Drawn in Blood by Andrea Kane

when it came to this. She couldn’t make that claim. Sometimes she waffled. Sometimes she was terrified. And sometimes the bitterness ate away at her. Then again, she was the one who’d lost a chunk of her life doing the job that she loved, being with the man she loved.
    And for what? Lousy judgment. Doing a hel of a job defusing a hostage crisis in a bank barricade, and then blowing al her hard work by acting like a stupid newbie. Not waiting for backup. Single-handedly chasing down the one scrawny teenage punk who’d gotten away. Cornering him in an al ey, and assuming the threat was eliminated once he’d dropped his weapon and was on his knees. Then finding out he was smarter than she was. He’d whipped out a knife he’d stashed in his boot, and sliced up the tendons, nerves, and flesh of her right hand.
    Three surgeries and seventeen months of occupational therapy later, she stil wasn’t whole. Maybe she never would be.
    “Cut the self-doubt,” Derek instructed, reading the emotions on her face. “You suck at it. Besides, you want back into the Bureau so bad you can taste it. Combine that with the fact that you’re stubborn as a mule, and you’re practical y a special agent again.”
    Sloane arched a brow. “Ya think? I’m not so sure. I mean, regaining my skil s is one thing. But rejoining the Bureau? It would mean a major pay cut. Going from private consulting to federal law enforcement—it’s usual y the other way around, isn’t it? Plus, by the time I’m ready, I’l have been out for almost two years. I’l get as many recommendations as I can, but I’l probably have to go through the whole training program again. Twenty weeks at the FBI Academy at Quantico, plus weeks of brush-up in crisis negotiations. Not to mention…”
    “Not to mention you want it almost as much as you want me.”
    Sloane blinked, then dissolved into laughter. “You lend new meaning to the word ‘arrogant.’”
    “Yeah, but I’m incredible in bed.”
    “True.” Sloane took another sip of Chianti. “That’s why I put up with the rest.”
    “Put up with it at your place.”
    Derek’s words cut through their banter like a knife.
    He put down his glass and walked around to grip her shoulders. “Sloane, you can’t babysit your parents forever. I know you’re investigating something. And I know it involves your father. If you’d let me, I could help.” Unless he’s guilty of a crime was omitted but clearly implied. “It would make whatever this is go away that much faster.”
    “Maybe. But whether or not I talk to you isn’t my decision.” A pointed stare. “Just like fil ing in for me whatever details you know that might help, or at least tel ing me what I’m up against, isn’t yours.”
    “Fine.” Impatience laced Derek’s tone. “Then let’s cal it a draw and move into your place.”
    “So we can get me far away from the danger you al uded to? So you can protect me?”
    “Partly. Partly so we can live together.”
    “We’re already living together. I’ve slept here every night this week.”
    “Out of necessity. This is a temporary hangout for you, and for us; a place to stay over when we’re stuck late in the city. But a home? No way. It’s a coffin with a bathroom, with the continuous rumble of Midtown Tunnel traffic for mood music. You’ve got a cozy cottage, seven acres, and three hounds who are about to mutiny if they’re locked up in this place much longer. And I’l be joining them.”
    Sloane could feel herself losing this argument.
    So could Derek.
    “Most of my stuff is already at your place,” he continued, then went in for the kil . “So’s your archery range, by the way. You haven’t practiced in almost a week.” Inhaling sharply, Sloane glared at him. “That was low.”
    “It was honest. Manipulative, but honest.”
    She couldn’t deny that one. Archery had always been her thing. She’d been captain of every archery team she participated in since high school. She