Mallory had started this chain of events. He’d started it when he turned vigilante. And all for what? Because of his fucking
Rage was foreign to Sean, and he couldn’t explain the fury tearing him apart inside. The deep need to protect Lucy from this pain battled with his near-primal urge to pummel Mick Mallory. Vigilante justice was sounding good right now.
“Sean?”
He kissed her forehead. “You want something? Just name it.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I can feel your anger.” She put a hand on his chest and tilted her head back to look into his face. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle of this.”
“Don’t.” He kissed her deeply, his hands splayed on her back. “Don’t think.” He kissed her over and over, no sweet savoring of her lips, but possession. His hands moved upward, touching her soft, tear-stained face. And he continued to kiss her, hating that his rage at both Mallory and Cody Lorenzo upset her.
“Do not apologize,” he said, his lips skimming across hers. “Do not tell me you’re sorry for anything.” He kissed her cheeks, her chin, her neck, her ear. She tasted sweet and salty, and if she wore perfume it was subtle and floral, something soft and springlike and beautiful.
He whispered into her ear, “I’m here, Lucy. I’m not leaving.”
Her arms tightened around his neck and she turned her head so she could kiss him. “I’ve been so lost,” she whispered.
His chest tightened. That she could feel lost and alone when she had a family who loved her so much was a testament that she still kept her true emotions under lock and key.
A phone vibrated on the table in front of them, and Sean wanted to ignore it. He glanced at the caller ID and handed it to Lucy. “It’s Dillon.”
“Hello?” she said.
Sean could tell by the way her body began to shake that it was bad news.
“I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up and said, “Mallory wants to talk to me.”
Sean was shaking his head as she spoke. “No. No!”
“He’ll tell me the truth. He promised.”
“The guy is a freak! Did you know he has a picture of you in his house? Right next to his dead wife and son?”
Lucy flinched, and Sean rubbed her arms. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You didn’t tell me you were in his house.”
“Dillon and I went out to Herndon and I searched his place. I knew he was watching-sensed it-so we waited until he left, then apprehended him. But-” He hesitated.
“And?”
“I left before the police came. Dillon didn’t tell anyone I was there.”
“They must know.”
“Probably, but right now the important thing is
“Sean, I need this to be over. I have to do it.”
She was right, of course, but Sean didn’t let her go. She straddled his lap and hugged him tightly. Slowly, she began to relax in his arms.
“I wish I could keep you here, safe, forever,” Sean whispered.
“Hiding is never the answer. I can do this, Sean. Mick Mallory can’t hurt me.”
“You’re amazing, Lucy. I’ve never met anyone braver than you.”
She rested her forehead on his. “I’m not. I just can’t sit in a corner, scared of dark shadows and creaking stairs for the rest of my life. I made that decision six years ago. Mallory isn’t going to change that.”
Lucy was the epitome of courage, but Sean didn’t repeat the obvious. “I’m going to wash my face,” she said, “then we should go. I’m relieved this will be over tonight.”
THIRTY-TWO
“You don’t have to talk to him,” Kate said when she saw Lucy.
Lucy had admired Kate from when she first met her, for more reasons than Lucy had ever shared with her. But the primary reason was that Kate was willing to face evil and fight for what was right, that she could put her pain and her anger aside to do the right thing
Lucy hugged Kate spontaneously-neither of them was demonstrably affectionate, and the physical display came as a surprise to both. “I love you, Kate. I don’t think I ever told you that.”
Lucy stepped back and Sean took her hand. He’d accepted her decision to talk to Mallory, even if he wasn’t happy about it.
Lucy observed Mick Mallory through the one-way glass. He sat rigid, though he’d been there for several hours. His hands were on the table in front of him, shackles on his feet.
He was much older than she remembered. But she didn’t really remember what he’d looked like. She’d blocked him from her mind the way she’d blocked what happened to her on the island.
There were only two things she remembered clearly from that time: when Dillon pulled her up from the filthy floor of the cabin and gave her his shirt to wear, and when she shot Adam Scott two days later.
Everything else was dark and fuzzy, and she preferred it like that.
But she’d know Mick Mallory if she saw him on the street. That he was living in nearby Herndon seemed unreal. She didn’t hate him, and that surprised her.
He hadn’t raped her.
He’d apologized.
He had nearly died sending Kate information.
Lucy might be able to forgive the past, if only because harboring lifelong anger and pain would destroy any chance of living a normal life. But what if Mallory had killed Cody because of her? Because she’d asked Cody to look into Prenter’s murder?
Maybe it would have been better if she’d looked the other way. If she’d ignored her suspicions. Prenter was a rapist. Cruel, sadistic, he didn’t care about the women he hurt, drugged them so they didn’t remember, couldn’t testify. Drugged them into a coma.… He was better off dead. She had no remorse that he was gone. No guilt. No grief. No sympathy.
Did that make her as cold and calculating as Mick Mallory?
Yet she would never have killed Prenter. She would never have killed any of those men, unless they were a direct threat. She’d never have thought of it … but she’d thought about killing Adam Scott. Not only thought about it, but took a gun from her father’s safe and walked the three blocks to Dillon’s house and shot the bastard who’d kidnapped her. Six times. She remembered it as clearly as if she’d shot him yesterday, felt the recoil of the handgun each time she pulled the trigger.
Maybe she was more like Mick Mallory than she thought. More like him than she wanted to be.
Cody was dead and even though he had been following her, he wasn’t a rapist or a killer. Had he found something that incriminated Mallory? If that was the case, his death was for nothing-the FBI had found the connection to Mallory only hours after Cody died.
But if Cody had committed suicide, then he’d done it because of her. In her head she knew that if Cody was distraught enough to kill himself, he had a lot of problems. But in her heart she couldn’t help but think that the way