at Cambridge Park. He could call them and come clean, but he knew he wouldn’t. If his family and friends found out what he’d done, they’d lose respect for him. His son might never allow him to take Amy for another outing.
“See me go really high, Grandpa,” she shouted, her skinny, pale legs stretching forward. “I’m flying.”
“You sure are, angel.” He smiled at her even though he felt like crying. These moments were what he lived for. He couldn’t bear to have them taken away from him.
Telling the truth would destroy his life. All because he’d made one terrible error in judgment. Thank God his wife, Jeannie, would never know the man she’d married was capable of such wickedness. He missed her so much. For decades he’d worked eighteen-hour days, six days a week. Jeannie hadn’t complained through the lean years, but later on she’d grown unhappy with rarely seeing him. She hadn’t wanted more houses or cars or money. She’d wanted more time with him. He’d told her to hang on, just a few more deals…
His retirement had come too late for them to enjoy it. A month before he’d sold off his businesses, Jeannie had caught a virus that became pneumonia and took her life. They couldn’t travel the world or laze on the beach or visit with friends as he’d promised her. And all the wealth he’d accumulated over the years couldn’t ease his crushing grief and loneliness.
If only Jeannie hadn’t died, he would have stayed strong, not become weak and vulnerable to temptation.
Amy giggled, the sound jerking him out of the past.
She swung in a wide arc, her face tilted toward the sun, her fine hair streaming down her back like liquid gold. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she called out to him.
“What’s that?”
“Ice cream!”
“Butterscotch ripple, two scoops?”
She beamed at him. “You got it, Grandpa.”
He watched her slow the momentum of the swing. Her sneakers skidded to a stop in the loose dirt, then she was racing toward him. A moment later, he swept her up in his arms and breathed in the scent of sunshine and innocence.
Did he have to lose everything because he’d messed up once? No, he refused to believe that. He would carry on as though nothing had happened. As long as he remained silent, that might be possible.
CLAIRE STARED out the passenger window at the trees whipping past. She’d been surprised to learn they were returning to Cincinnati to search Forrester’s house. She had just assumed they would wait at the cabin until he was arrested. Apparently Brent wasn’t content to do that. In addition to protecting her, he was determined to uncover Forrester’s other target.
She glanced sideways at her companion. His straight, black hair was cut short in a no-nonsense style that matched the expression in his brown eyes. Even though she knew better, his digs about her profession had stung. What had happened to make him feel so negative toward psychology? Had a suspect he’d arrested gotten off because of a psychologist’s testimony? Had a friend’s mental illness been misdiagnosed?
If she knew the basis for Brent’s hostility, she might be able to help him reevaluate the experience. Of course, getting him to open up wasn’t going to be easy. But then, few agents arrived at her office ready to pour out their hearts and souls. She had to build trust slowly.
“Most of the agents I know dreamed of a career with the Bureau when they were young,” she said. “Was that the case for you, too?”
“Pretty much,” he admitted.
“How long have you been an agent?”
“Seven years.”
She judged him to be in his late thirties, so his answer surprised her. “Why did you wait so long to apply?”
He frowned. “Who says I waited?”
“Well, I’m guessing you were older than the average recruit when you joined. There must be a reason for that.”
“Oh, there’s a reason, all right,” he muttered.
She waited for an answer that didn’t come. Finally, she prompted, “Are you going to give me a hint?”
Silence from the other side of the car.
She’d wanted to get him talking but had struck a nerve instead. Nice going, Freud.
“Let me ask you a question,” he said. “When you were a kid, did you dream of becoming a shrink?”
She wasn’t fond of the word shrink, but maybe if she volunteered some information, he’d reciprocate. “Actually, I dreamed of becoming a veterinarian.”
“What made you change your mind?” he asked.
Her brain responded immediately, but she pressed her lips together so her secret couldn’t slip out.
“Claire?”
She drew in a deep breath and held it, waiting for the sharp pang to recede to the more familiar ache she’d learned to live with. Oh, God. The loss shouldn’t hurt so much. Not after all these years. But it still did.
She made a fist in her lap, released her breath slowly. “I lost interest.”
“Why psychology?” he prompted, braking for a slow-moving vehicle.
Leave it alone. But she knew he wouldn’t. “I wanted to help people cope with the challenges in their lives.”
How idealistic she’d been at twenty. How discouraged she felt at this point in her career.
“Do you think you have?” Brent asked.
She’d been struggling with that question for almost a year. Was she having a positive impact on her patients? If she accepted that job in Minneapolis, she wouldn’t have to agonize anymore. In the meantime, she wasn’t about to broadcast her doubts to someone who was already pre-disposed to think badly of her profession. “I think I’ve been successful with many of my patients.”
“Like Forrester?”
Her temper rose. She ignored it, reminding herself that Brent was only doing what she often did: ask probing questions. “By committing Forrester to Ridsdale, I gave him the opportunity to be thoroughly assessed. I also ensured his safety as well as that of his intended target. Now that he’s out, who knows what might happen.”
“You’re not responsible for Forrester’s actions,” Brent said quietly.
Leaning her head back against the headrest, she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry about earlier. I wasn’t trying to pry.”
“What were you trying to do?”
She didn’t want to admit her real motive so she said, “Make conversation.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
She opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You
