“What did you want to talk to me about?” Brent asked, as he followed Gene into his office. Although he could hardly refuse his supervisor’s request for a private meeting, he was anxious to get back to the cabin—and Claire.

“Close the door,” Gene said.

“This sounds serious.”

“Claire’s given me her resignation.”

Brent frowned as he lowered himself into a chair. Claire had said she was in no hurry to tell Gene she was quitting.

“When did you talk to her?” he asked.

“She called me this morning before you arrived.”

Brent’s mouth went dry. He’d thought he and Claire were in the negotiating phase. How could she have acted without talking to him?

Gene was watching him, so he added quietly, “Maybe she’ll change her mind.”

“I don’t think so. When I spoke to her, she was adamant about leaving. I probably shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but I’ve known Claire a long time, and this has come as a big shock to me. If you have any ideas about how to convince her to stay, I’d like to hear them.”

He resisted the urge to squirm in his chair. “Did she say why she’s quitting?”

“She said she didn’t think her counseling was doing the men any good.” Gene leaned his elbows on the table, made a steeple of his fingers and regarded Brent over them. “I’m not convinced that’s the real reason.”

“She’s mentioned her doubts to me, too.”

“Then she’s wrong, plain and simple,” Gene said. “Anybody who has ever dealt with her professionally has benefited a lot.”

Brent wasn’t surprised. How many times had he rebuffed her? And yet she’d continued to offer him her empathy and support.

“In fact,” Gene continued, “that’s one of the reasons I suggested you use your cabin as a safe house for her.”

Brent felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. “You’re saying you set me up?”

“In the best possible way,” his boss assured him. “I knew you were tangled up about Pete’s death but too stubborn to go for counseling. And Claire needed protection from Forrester. I figured that if I threw you alone together in a secluded place, you’d both get what you needed.”

Brent didn’t know about Claire, but he had certainly gotten more than he needed. Making love with her and waking up beside her had been two of the sweetest experiences of his adult life. He wanted to share intense conversations and comfortable silences with her. He wanted to come home to her at the end of the day.

The thought pulled him up short, but he had no time to dwell on it because Gene had started speaking again.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am that she’s leaving. She’s been a valuable resource to the agents in this office.”

“She doesn’t believe that,” Brent reminded him.

“She’s wrong. Last year, our departmental budget was tight, and the finance guys really pushed hard for me to cut in-house counseling.”

“They wanted you to fire Claire?” He couldn’t help but feel indignant on her behalf.

“I was dead set against making the cut,” Gene said, “but I knew I’d have to defend my position so I e-mailed every agent I’d sent her way. I asked them for their input, whether they’d found talking to her helpful or not. Their response was overwhelmingly positive.”

“Did you keep those e-mails?” Brent asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did.” Gene rummaged through the bottom drawer of his credenza, found what he was searching for and pulled out a thick envelope. “I had planned to show them to her at her next performance review, but it doesn’t look like I’ll get that chance.”

“She needs to know she’s made a difference.”

“I agree.” He passed the sealed envelope across the desk. “I don’t know that this will change her mind about leaving, but I don’t want Claire doubting the impact of the work she did here.”

Brent nodded. “I’ll be sure to give this to her.”

“You can also tell her that I’m grateful—not just for what she did for those agents, but for what she did for me. Without Claire, it’s unlikely I’d be celebrating my anniversary tomorrow.”

Gene’s admission was surprising because the supervisor rarely mentioned his personal life. Brent rose to his feet, anxious to take the file to Claire.

“I still think there’s more to her decision to leave than job dissatisfaction,” Gene said. “And if it has anything to do with her relationship with you, I want you to think long and hard about how to fix it.”

Brent bristled instinctively at the accusatory tone. “You’re assuming whatever’s wrong is my fault.”

“That’s right, I am.” Gene folded his arms over his chest. “Claire was terrified for you last night when the bullets started to fly. It’s obvious to me that she’s in love with you and has acted on her feelings. I’d like to think it’s not only lust on your side.”

“Gene—”

“I’ll trust you not to screw this up.”

“I’ll do my damnedest not to.”

He spoke with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. Although he had ammunition to prove to Claire that she’d succeeded in her work, he wasn’t sure that would be enough to convince her to stay. She needed a compelling personal reason. She needed him to say that he was open to the possibility of loving her.

For Claire, he could do that. He could let go of the past and embrace a future with her.

If he hadn’t already lost her.

THE BREEZE PICKED UP off the lake, sending Claire’s list of moving reminders flying. She scrambled to retrieve it, then retreated indoors where she wandered restlessly into the kitchen. She should be making phone calls, making arrangements, getting ready to move on with her life. A life she would continue in Minneapolis—without Brent.

“Hello, Dr. Lamont,” a voice said behind her.

Her heart slammed against her rib cage as she whirled around to find Alec McKenna lounging casually in the kitchen doorway.

A single thought broke free from the chaotic jumble in her mind. “H-how did you find me?”

His lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “It took some prompting, but Gene’s admin assistant remembered faxing papers for Brent to Weir’s Marina. When I showed up there asking for directions, the owner was more than willing to help me out.” His gaze moved over her T-shirt, lingering on her breasts in a way that made her feel sick.

“Why are you here?”

“Just tying up some loose ends.”

She swallowed. “I thought that’s why you were meeting with Gene and the other agents today.”

“These are non-FBI loose ends.”

She didn’t have to feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

“Maria Gomez’s phone call to you.”

How could he know that the nurse had phoned her? Even as the question formed in her mind, she realized the reason didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fact that he did. “Forrester’s nurse did call me today,” she admitted. “She was upset by news reports of his death.”

McKenna’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s all you two talked about?”

“She was the last one to see him the night he escaped. I did my best to calm her down, but she kept repeating that if he hadn’t gotten out of Ridsdale, he’d be alive today.”

“She called Gene, too,” McKenna said, “and left a message with Lisa, which I was lucky enough to intercept. Now how do you suppose she knew his name?”

Was McKenna toying with her? “Maybe she lost my phone number, called the Bureau and got redirected to his line.”

He shot her a disgusted look. “Her message said you had told her to call. Why would you do that?”

She grasped at a possible explanation. “I thought Gene should know that she was feeling some guilt about Forrester’s death, and he might want to ask her more questions about that night.”

“Don’t lie to me, Claire.”

She held his gaze without blinking.

“I think she saw my picture on the news and spilled her guts to you.” He added slyly, “Of course, she regrets that decision now.”

“What have you done to her?”

“Nothing…yet. Before I left the city, I called to remind her how easily her three-year-old could disappear if she opens her big mouth about me to anybody again.”

Relief that the nurse hadn’t been harmed was cut short by his next words.

“I’ll deal with her…after I’ve finished with you.”

A trickle of sweat ran between her breasts, and she racked her brain for a way to save herself and the young nurse. “Brent knows that you coerced Maria Gomez into helping Forrester escape. If something bad happens to her or me, he’ll know you were responsible.”

“Brent doesn’t know anything and neither does Gene. I just came from a meeting with them—”

“I talked to Brent after the meeting.”

He looked skeptical.

“When we spoke,” she continued, “he was more than halfway here.”

Suddenly, she found herself staring at a wicked-looking ten-inch blade. Backing away, she made a last-ditch attempt to convince him not to kill her. “If you leave right now, Brent won’t be able to catch up to you.”

“You think so?” His tone was rhetorical. “Well, it’s time you and I left, anyway.”

Did he intend to kidnap her? Or was that just wishful thinking because death was the alternative?

“Where are we going?”

“I rented a speedboat at the marina and docked it not far from here.”

“Brent will come after us,” she warned, “and he won’t stop until he’s arrested you.”

He turned the knife in his hand, carefully studying the blade. “I’d like to see him try.”

A moment ago, his tone had been casual, almost dispassionate. Now both his voice and body language conveyed an eagerness that terrified her. Desperately, she jerked her gaze away from the knife and scanned the kitchen, searching for something she could use to fight him off. In movies, there was always a butcher block of knives close at hand or a heavy cast-iron frying pan on top of the stove. But reality wasn’t like that. Reality was a plastic spatula in the dish drainer.

She pressed her fingers against her temple, which had begun to throb.

He gestured toward the hall. “After you.”

She walked past him, shoulders slumped, outwardly obedient. But as soon as she pushed open the front door, she leapt off the porch, hitting the ground so hard she bit the inside of her cheek. The taste of blood spurred her on. If she didn’t get away, he would shed more of it with that lethal blade he carried.

Sandals slipping on the grass, she darted around the side of the cabin and raced for the trees.

A surprised shout rang out behind her, followed by pounding footsteps and ragged breathing. She pushed herself to run faster. The uneven ground made it risky to lengthen her stride. If she twisted an ankle, he’d be on her in a heartbeat. She had to make it deep into the woods where there might be a place to hide.

She could tell he was closing the distance between them. She dodged left, then scrambled over a fallen log, her lungs burning, her muscles screaming. The denser part of the woods wasn’t far off now—

McKenna tackled her.

She sprawled onto the ground with him on top of her, unable to move, unable to breathe. The weight of his body—and her fear—threatened to suffocate her. He would kill her now. Plunge the knife into her and leave her body here, where it would be devoured by scavengers.

He surprised her by grabbing her arm and jerking her to her feet. “That wasn’t a smart move.” He spat out the words through his teeth, his breath coming in short gasps.

She struggled to catch her own breath, stumbled twice as she tried to regain her footing. She had lost this chance to escape. It wouldn’t be so easy to find another. As he navigated back through the trees without difficulty, she realized he must have scouted out the area earlier.

He propelled her down the hill toward the water. Her footsteps slowed instinctively, until he laid the cold steel of his knife against her throat. She resisted the urge to shiver. “Where are we going?”

“We’re taking a ride in the canoe I found in the boathouse.”

When they reached it, he opened the door. But instead of going inside, he pushed her ahead of him toward the dock where the canoe was already waiting.

“Why did you leave the door open?”

“Just thought some crumbs would be helpful.”

He was setting a scene. When Brent returned to the cabin and didn’t find her inside, the open door would automatically lead him to the boathouse and the missing canoe. That’s why McKenna hadn’t used the knife on her. He wanted to make her death look like an accidental drowning.

She stiffened her spine—no way was she going down without a fight.

The blade fell away from her neck as he pointed to the canoe. “Step in,” he ordered. “Sit in the front.”

If she dove into the shallow water, McKenna would be on top of her in an instant. Better to wait for another opportunity. She gingerly set one foot, then the other on the wooden slats. The canoe bobbed in the water, giving her an idea. When they reached the middle of the lake, she’d hammer him with a paddle, then dive overboard and escape.

“Let’s go,” McKenna said.

She dipped the paddle into the water. With her heart pounding and her muscles quivering, it wasn’t easy to move them away from the dock.

“Don’t get any bright ideas about using that thing as a weapon,” he warned. “I still have my knife, and I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

She didn’t doubt him. He pointed to a rocky outcropping in the distance and instructed her to move in that direction.

She was safe as long as she was paddling, so she made a determined effort to delay reaching their destination. Since she hadn’t been in a canoe in years, it took little pretense to be awkward with her paddle. Alternating the paddle from side to side, she barely kept the boat going in a straight line.

Fifteen minutes later, they hadn’t made much progress.

“Pick up the pace,” McKenna ordered.

She swung her paddle out of the water. In her peripheral vision, she saw a flash of wood—the other paddle.

Oh God. She was too slow, her paddle too heavy from the water—

“So long, Dr. Lamont,” McKenna said.

A searing pain turned her world black.