“Mm-hmm.” Derek was already punching in Sloane’s speed-dial number.
He frowned when her phone went directly to voice mail. Then he remembered she had an appointment with Connie before meeting Larry at John Jay. “Hey, it’s me,” he said after the beep. “Listen, I’m going to have to cancel our weekend plans. A Bureau emergency just landed in my lap. I’ll be stuck in the office all day tomorrow and the entire weekend as well taking care of it. I’ll give you a call as soon as I can.”
Hospital for Special Surgery
New York Weill Cornell Medical Center
East Seventieth Street, New York City
5:30 P.M.
“Thanks for taking me so late, Connie.” Sloane slid into the padded chair across from Connie at her physical-therapy table. “I’m meeting a colleague at John Jay around eight o’clock. The hounds are troupers, but do have their limits, and my neighbor who usually watches them is ill. So I combined all my Manhattan appointments into the latter part of the business day.”
“Actually, it worked out well for me, too.” Connie sat down on her stool, moved the sensory reeducation tools off to the side, and checked Sloane’s palm. Before they began any aggressive steps, she wanted to make sure it was healing on schedule, with no internal complications. “I’m meeting my date at a restaurant in midtown at seven-thirty. So the timing’s ideal. You and I can have an hour together, and I’ll still have an hour to make myself gorgeous and catch a cab to the restaurant.”
“A hot date, huh? Ken the lawyer?” Sloane’s eyes twinkled.
“Yes.” Connie grinned. “He’s turning out to be a keeper—at least for now. Let’s see how he handles the probation period.”
“You’re tough.”
“And you’re sleeping with Derek again.” Connie propped her elbow on the table and studied Sloane intently. “It’s written all over your glowing face. Wow. That happened even faster than I thought.”
“You and me both.” Sloane didn’t even bother trying to deny Connie’s shrewd assessment. “Our chemistry—it’s like something you read in a novel and say, ‘Yeah, right, like that could ever happen in real life.’ But there it is, and neither one of us can fight it.”
“Why would you?” Connie tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “It sounds like sexual heaven. Have you talked?”
“Every day,” Sloane replied, with a casual shrug. “We’re working on a case together.”
“Who cares? Have you discussed the breakup? Who said what, felt what, did what, and why? It’s the only way you’re going to get past this.”
“I told him the details of the knife attack. We exchanged a few angry words about feelings we’ve been harboring. It was more than enough. I don’t want to delve too deeply into this. Frankly, what we have now is wonderfully uncomplicated. If we start dredging up the past, it’s going to get messy, angry, and accusatory—all of which will destroy a great thing.”
“So your new relationship is just sex?”
“Not just sex,” Sloane assured her. “Amazing, addictive sex.” A quizzical look. “Since when has that offended you?”
“It doesn’t offend me. I’m all for amazing, addictive sex. But in this case, it won’t work.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re in love with the guy.” Connie flattened her palms on the table, looked Sloane straight in the eye. “You’ve been in love with him since Cleveland. And no matter how pissed off you feel, no matter how much of a grudge you hold, you’re not going to be able to bury those feelings or make them go away.”
Sloane’s jaw tightened. “Maybe not. But I can damn well try. I never intend to be that vulnerable to another human being again. The fallout is too much for me to handle.”
“What fallout?” Connie demanded. “This is the part I don’t get. I know he disagreed with y
our decision to leave the Bureau. I know his reaction hurt you deeply. But he didn’t break your trust. He didn’t desert you when you were in the hospital practically bleeding to death from the wounds to your hand. He didn’t ask you to ignore his phone calls. And he didn’t ask you to pack and leave without saying good-bye. So where is this sea of resentment coming from?”
“My job at the Bureau meant the world to me,” Sloane replied in curt, clipped tones. “I wanted to be a special agent for as long as I can remember. Derek knew that. He respected it—or at least I thought he did. The fact that he expected—and still does, for that matter—me to accept being placed on medical mandate, turn over my weapon, and become a Bureau pencil pusher—stunned me. And the more I explained, the less he understood. He effectively labeled me a coward and a quitter. My pain, my emotional meltdown, none of it got through that thick skull of his.”
“Maybe he just needed time to—”
“Maybe nothing. Underneath that charismatic exterior is an Army Ranger, a soldier to the core. You know the motto—‘Rangers lead the way.’”
“DNA. That’s hard to overcome when your whole family are West Point grads,” Connie reminded her.
“Actually, it should be easier. Yes, Derek’s father and siblings all went the West Point route. But Derek didn’t. He went the ROTC route. He wanted to have other options. And he’s been the black sheep of the family ever since. His father still hasn’t forgiven him, not really. I know that, on some level, that bothers Derek, even after all these years. He made a choice, one his father didn’t understand or agree with. But he still should have supported it. That’s what love is about. Given his own experience, Derek should have been the first one to accept my choice and support me. But somehow, when it came to my decision to leave the Bureau, all that support went right out the window. He couldn’t or wouldn’t put himself in my shoes. He was an obstinate, unfeeling SOB. So yes, I walked away. Or, to be more precise, he drove me away.”