FBI: Drawn In Blood Part 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX.

Derek's reaction to Sloane and Jeff's report was not what Sloane had expected.

All he did was sit silently at his desk, fingers interlaced behind his head, and listen to what they had to say.

When they were finished, he unlinked his hands and leaned forward, scribbling down some notes on a piece of paper.

"Jeff, type up the report and e-mail it to Tony and to me. Sloane, nice work at the shelter. Both of you go back tomorrow as planned. With any luck, Sloane, you'll get some solid information out of Lucy." He rose. "Just so you know, Fred Miller's body was pulled out of the East River an hour ago.

No surprises. Estimated time of death is consistent with your mother's kidnapping. Cause of death -one lethal stab wound to the back. Sloane, I'm putting full-time security on you until your involvement in this case is over. Right now, I've got a meeting with Tony."

Without another word, Derek headed off.

Jeff and Sloane stared after him and then exchanged glances.

"That was weird," Jeff commented. "No explosions. No lectures. And he didn't pull you off the case, or confine you to desk duty. He was almost eerily quiet. When do you think the volcano's going to erupt?"

"I don't know." Sloane was puzzled. She shared Jeff's opinion that there was a lot more brewing beneath the surface than Derek had displayed. But she knew Derek better than anyone. The emotion he was repressing wasn't anger. It wasn't even frustration. It was something more.

She broached the subject that night when they were getting ready for bed. It was the first time they'd been alone all day. The hounds were snoozing in a pile of blankets they'd arranged at the foot of the bed, and Derek was in his gym shorts, doing his nighttime push-ups.

Sloane came out of the bathroom, pulling on one of Derek's Colorado State T-s.h.i.+rts that she used as a nights.h.i.+rt. Then, she slid between the sheets. "Do you want to talk about what happened today?"

she asked, sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees.

"Not particularly." Derek reached his fiftieth push-up and rose.

"Well, I do."

"Fine. Which part of what happened today did you want to discuss?"

"Your reaction, or lack thereof, when Jeff recapped what happened."

"I did react. There's FBI security posted outside the cottage. You should be used to that by now. It's not the first time I've a.s.signed security to you. I'm sure it won't be the last." Derek took a few gulps of water and got into bed.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Something's going on in that nonstop mind of yours.

You're not p.i.s.sed, which I expected. You're not threatening to take me off the case, which I also expected. You're not even raving about my impulsive way of putting myself in danger."

"Would there be a point?"

"That's not the question, not in this case. I know you, Derek. This isn't about your resigning yourself to who I am. It's about something else. Whatever that something is, I want you to share it with me."

"I'm not sure you do." Derek propped his back against the headboard, staring straight ahead. His expression was sober, and his jaw was tight.

"Let me be the judge of that."

"This isn't a five-minute conversation, Sloane. Let's shelve it."

"For when? When we have hours of free time? That's not going to happen. If we have to lose a night's sleep, so be it. We've done it before, for pleasure and for work. So talk to me."

Derek was silent for a long moment.

"What's going on inside me is complicated," he said at last. "I'm not even sure I can sort it out myself, much less explain it to you."

"Try." Sloane slid down and rolled over to one side, propping herself up on her elbow. "I might surprise you."

A hard swallow. "Our lives are spinning out of control. I need some sense of order. I thought living together would resolve that. It hasn't. And I'm not sure it ever will."

Whatever Sloane had been expecting, it hadn't been this. An odd knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "What is it you want to change-our living arrangement, or us?"

"It isn't that simple. I love you-the kind of crazy, forever, deep-in-my-gut love I thought existed only in books and movies. I'd go to h.e.l.l and back for you."

"As I would for you," Sloane replied quietly.

"I know. We've got all the vital feelings down pat. And that's supposed to make everything right.

But it doesn't. That's the part that stops me cold."

"Why, because we're different? Because we don't do anything half-measure-love, fight, make up, back down? Is that it?"

"It's not that we're different. It's how we're different." Derek exhaled heavily. "Sloane, I want you to be everything you want to be, everything I know you can be. I want you to go back to Quantico and kick a.s.s. I want you to rejoin the Bureau and be the special agent you've been deprived of being for so long. I want you to leave your mark on the world."

"I never doubted that." Sloane was studying Derek's expression, trying to read his thoughts. "Is it my ambition? The pressures of the job? Are you worried that we'll lose sight of each other once I'm back, working under the same Bureau constraints as you do? Because I'm out now, and I'm still working my a.s.s off."

"That's not it-although both of us being workaholics makes it twice as hard to prioritize our relations.h.i.+p. But that's life. Neither of us does anything halfway. We'll find a way to make time for each other. With regard to your rejoining the Bureau, if I have to be honest, I hope you'll go back to white-collar crime. Given what a stubborn, fearless ball-breaker you are, I'll have less to lose sleep over if you're out of Violent Crimes. Plus, there's no way we can ever work together. Our objectivity is compromised. Our feelings get in the way. We'd clash at every turn. Frankly, I'd either kill you or myself."

Sloane gave a soft laugh. "That won't be a problem. The FBI wouldn't put us on the same squad.

Hopefully in the same Field Office, but never on the same team. It was hard enough when we collided in Crisis Negotiations where I was the lead negotiator and had to deal with you on SWAT. Our styles are different. Our wills are both like steel. Top that off with our emotional involvement, and, yeah, we'd kill each other if we were on the same squad. But we'll be working separately. So what's the problem?"

"Our long-term goals. Personal goals. The ones I try never to bring up. I can't live like that anymore. I can't ignore my own needs, waiting for yours to change. Life is too short. Guarantees are nonexistent. We have to treasure what we have, and fight for what we could have."

"I agree." Sloane now understood Derek's reaction to what had happened to her and Jeff this morning. He'd been rattled by the fact that she'd come face-to-face with danger again. It had happened to her far too often these past few years, starting with her near-death experience with the bank robber who'd carved up her hand. All these incidents had impacted Derek, and together with the fragile aspects of their relations.h.i.+p, had brought on this philosophical frame of mind.

"I know how precious life is-and how precious we are," she a.s.sured him. "I never want you to compromise your goals or your needs." She reached out, caressed his arm. "You're not the only one who's grown and whose perspectives have changed. Mine have, too. I'm sorry if I scared you today.

I'll do my best to minimize those situations."

"How do you feel about kids?" Derek blurted out.

That one caught Sloane totally off guard. She startled, her hand jerking off Derek's arm. "Excuse me?"

"Children. Babies. How do you feel about having them?"

"Wow." She breathed. "Talk about coming out of left field."

"Does that mean you've never thought about it? Or that you've thought about it and decided moth-erhood isn't for you?"

"Derek, we just moved in together."

"I didn't ask for a recap. I asked if you wanted kids."

Sloane was still reeling. "Okay, yes, I want kids-someday. But I've got a lot to accomplish before then." She searched Derek's face, totally bewildered by this radical leap into the future. "Where is this coming from?"

"From day-to-day life. From risks that appear out of nowhere. From my feelings for you. From the fact that my job is great, but that I want a family. From the knowledge that a family is the only true legacy one leaves behind. From the fact that I see you fighting to protect your father, and I recognize that family means more to you than you realize. And from the fact that, despite my determination to give you s.p.a.ce, it isn't working-not for me. This baby-step stuff is c.r.a.p. I want more. I want you. Not just as my girlfriend. Not just in a halfway, live-together mode. I want you as my wife, as the mother of my kids."

Derek's p.r.o.nouncement just hung out there, like a finely suspended thread of silk that could either be broken or caressed.

A wealth of emotion swelled inside Sloane-one that was more intense than she'd expected. "I've got to hand it to you," she managed. "When you warned me this conversation would be a biggie, you really meant it."

"So, am I packing my things and moving out tonight, or can I wait until tomorrow to break the news to Leo that he won't be finis.h.i.+ng his redecorating job?"

Sloane didn't smile at Derek's attempt at dry humor.

"When you started talking, I thought you were about to call it quits," she said with stark candor.

"The pain I felt was excruciating. When I realized you were talking about the total opposite, about making us permanent, official-I didn't feel trapped. I felt moved, overjoyed, and so relieved, you have no idea. I don't think I realized until this very instant just how much I want to spend my life with you. The s.p.a.ce I needed-at some point, I stopped needing it. As for kids..." This time, Sloane smiled, picturing the adorable little tyrants they'd make together. "That's going to take some mental preparation. It's also going to take some time, some planning, and a fair amount of juggling, given our careers. But I'd love to have children-our children. I just hope they don't line up their booties in neat little rows beside their cribs."

Sloane's eyes were sparkling with mirth and misty with tears as Derek pulled her into his arms and rolled her onto her back.

"I love you," he said hoa.r.s.ely, tunneling his fingers through her hair.

"I love you, too." Too choked up for words, Sloane resorted to actions, wriggling out of her T-s.h.i.+rt, tugging it over her head, and tossing it aside.

Derek kicked off his gym shorts, then blanketed her body with his.

"Mental preparation, yeah," he murmured in a husky tone. "But physical preparation, too. Making just the right babies is going to take hard work and practice." He took her mouth in slow, deep kisses. "Lots of practice."

"Then we'd better get started right away." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "From what I hear, boot camp is one h.e.l.l of a challenge."

Xiao Long sat alone in the back room of his gambling house, gripping his bottle of Tsingtao Dark Beer. Every now and then, he took a swig. Most of the time, he was absorbed in his thoughts.

He was closing in on his prey. A little more toying with them. Just till he got the word. Then came the kill.

The toying was losing its l.u.s.ter. He'd upped the ante, as his Dragon Head had directed. And, yes, it pleased him to torture Burbank by going after his family. To tighten the noose around Martino's neck. To have Leary's bookie threaten him, not only with cutting him off, but with bodily harm. To get closer to locating Fox's fiancee. And to dig a deeper and deeper grave for Johnson, while Cindy enticed him like a sheep being led to slaughter. All that pleased him, mostly because he was doing it for his Dragon Head.

But none of it provided him with the rush he craved.

He had to focus on the prize. He'd honor his Dragon Head's dying wish, punis.h.i.+ng his enemies and killing them with the maximum amount of suffering possible. It was a gift he'd savor.

He shut his eyes, visualizing how he would wring the life out of each man. Different methods. But the same sense of exhilaration as he watched their expressions, the emotions mirrored in their eyes.

The transformation from realization to fear. To panic. To a frenzied struggle for survival-one that lessened and weakened as it faded into glazed resignation.

And then froze in the empty vacuum of death.

He could feel the sweat as it soaked their skin. The blood as it oozed from their bodies. Their heartbeats pounding with terror. Beating unsteadily. Then faintly.

Finally, not at all.

The rush of power was indescribable. He always had to be a vital part of the closure. He'd wrap his fingers around his victims' throats and squeeze, squeeze-even though they were already gone.

That moment belonged only to him.

This time, he'd have multiple such moments. Including the added gratification of forcing Burbank to watch his wife being brutally murdered before his very eyes-and dying with that as his final memory. The same fate awaited Fox, once they located his precious Amalie. Martino and Leary were so weak, it would be enough to see them die in their own excrement.

He'd squeeze until he heard bones crunch. Until he felt rings of cartilage crumble. Until he...

Xiao Long winced as a sharp, cutting pain sliced through him. He looked down, surprised to see he'd shattered the beer bottle in his bare hand. He eased his grip, noting he'd pierced his flesh in numerous places. Shards of broken gla.s.s clung to his palm, some embedded in his skin, the larger, jagged pieces falling off, tumbling to the floor.

The blood began to flow. Rivulets trickling down his hand, converging at his wrist, and dripping onto the tablecloth.

Pain and blood.

A promise of things to come.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

Jeff and Sloane arrived at the women's shelter the next morning promptly at ten.

Crossing her fingers, Sloane sought out Mrs. Chin and asked if Lucy had made a decision.

"Actually, yes." Mrs. Chin nodded. "I was surprised. But she said she'll speak to you. But only you," she added, glancing at Jeff. "She still cowers when a man approaches her."

"I understand. I'll wait out here." He motioned for Sloane to go in.

She followed Mrs. Chin, who guided her through the living room and into a cafeteria-type kitchen, meagerly stocked with a toaster, a microwave, and a basic sink, stove, and refrigerator. Lucy was sitting at one of the kitchen's round tables, sipping a cup of tea, and staring off into s.p.a.ce.

"Lucy?" Quietly, Mrs. Chin got her attention. "The woman from the FBI is here."

Lucy's gaze darted straight to Sloane. "You're alone?"

"Yes." Sloane waited for an overt invitation to join her.