The Hunt by Allison Brennan

likes entertaining. I declined the first time I came out here years ago when a couple of their cattle had been stolen. After I was elected, Judge Parker explained that his wife takes hospitality seriously, and he’d appreciate it if I accepted in the future.”
    “You should have told me Parker was a judge. I didn’t even remember he was an attorney.”
    “Nonpracticing at the time. He was on the Board of Supervisors. Now, he’s a state Superior Court justice. Word is he’s up for consideration to the Appellate Court.”
    “That’s a big jump.”
    Nick shrugged. “He has friends in high places.”
    “Wonderful,” Quinn said cynically.
    Nick shot him a glance. “You’re not thinking that Richard Parker has anything to do with what’s been happening to these girls?”
    Quinn didn’t say anything for a minute. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “We have no witnesses, and Miranda only had vague impressions of her attacker’s shape and size.”
    The Butcher not only kept his victims bound in chains to the floor, but he blindfolded them. Miranda swore she would know him by smell, but a man’s scent would be next to impossible to get a conviction on. They needed hard evidence.
    Quinn hadn’t realized how much he had missed Miranda until he saw her today. He’d wanted to touch her, make sure she was really there, in the flesh and not another dream.
    “She led us to the shack she’d been held in,” Nick continued. “She tracked down where the Croft sisters had been imprisoned. Miranda has led us to more evidence than anything you or I could have done on our own.”
    Quinn knew it, and he knew why. The very reasons why Miranda would have made a damn good FBI agent were the same reasons why she would likely have gotten herself killed.
    Miranda was driven, steadfast, unwavering in her pursuit of a killer. But she was obsessed with the Butcher. The case ate at her until it consumed her existence. Quinn didn’t blame her. Hell, who would? The bastard had destroyed her life. She’d had to rebuild it, brick by brick. And, amazingly, she had become an intensely strong woman. No longer a victim, but someone whom Quinn greatly admired for her ability to heal.
    While she had dealt with being raped and tortured better than any victim he’d ever met, she hadn’t handled the survivor’s guilt. She blamed herself for Sharon’s murder, and her decision to join the FBI was more to avenge Sharon than to become an agent. And, ultimately, it was her need for vengeance that showed up in the psychological tests. Quinn had gone to bat for her time and time again, but when faced with the results of repeated sessions with the shrink, he had to agree Miranda wasn’t ready.
    He ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes. Because he’d loved her, and because his recommendation as much as her qualifications led to her acceptance into the Academy in the first place, he’d insisted that he be the one to tell her.
    It hadn’t gone well.
    He would never forget the look of betrayal in Miranda’s deep blue eyes when he told her she was out of the Academy. Was it really ten years ago? Damn, he missed her.
    “Shit,” Nick muttered as he slammed on the brakes. Quinn jerked in the passenger seat, opened his eyes.
    There were at least thirty Jeeps, trucks, and cars parked along Route 84. Quinn scanned the area. “Miranda finally gained some sense. Her Jeep isn’t here.”
    Nick glanced at Quinn as he carefully turned onto the rough logging road. “You think she didn’t just drive in?”
    “You said no unauthorized personnel could use the old road,” Quinn said. “I would—”
    “Quinn, she is authorized. She’s the director of Search and Rescue, a division of the Sheriff’s Department.” Nick paused. “Miranda doesn’t want to be protected, so give it up.”
    “It has nothing to do with protection, and everything to do with jeopardizing this case.”
    “Miranda knows these woods better than anyone, including me.