The furniture was sparse and dingy. The bed was covered by a faded blue comforter and already had a crater in the middle from one too many guests. The air was motel air, stale, reeking of old cigarettes mixed with undertones of Windex.

It was a room. It had a bed. She could sleep.

Kimberly cranked the air-conditioning. She stripped off her sweat-soaked clothes, climbed into the shower and scrubbed her battered body. She shampooed her hair again and again, while trying to forget the rocks, the snakes, that poor girl’s torturous death. She scrubbed and scrubbed. And she knew then that it would never be enough.

She was thinking of Mandy again. And of her mother. And of the girl found at Quantico. And of Vivienne Benson. Except the victims got all tangled in her mind. And sometimes the body in the Quantico woods bore Mandy’s face, and sometimes the girl in the rocks was actually Kimberly in disguise, and sometimes her mother was fleeing through the woods, trying to escape the Eco-Killer, when she had already been butchered by a madman six years before.

An investigator should have objectivity. An investigator should be dispassionate.

Kimberly finally got out of the shower. She pulled on a T-shirt. She used the dingy towel to wipe the steam from the mirror. And then she regarded her reflection. Pale, bruised face. Sunken cheeks. Bloodless lips. Oversized blue eyes.

Jesus. She looked too scared to be herself.

She almost lost it again. Her hands gripped the edge of the washbasin tightly. She sank her teeth in her lower lip and fought bitterly for some trace of sanity.

All of her life, she’d been focused. Shooting guns, reading homicide textbooks. She had genuinely found crime fascinating, sought it out as her father’s daughter. All cases were puzzles to be solved. She wanted the challenge. Wear a badge. Save the world. Always be the one in control.

Tough, cool-as-a-cucumber Kimberly. She now felt her own mortality as a hollow spot deep in her stomach. And she knew she wasn’t so tough anymore.

Twenty-six years old, all the defenses had finally been stripped away. Now here she was. A young, overwhelmed woman, who couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and had a fear of snakes. Save the world? She couldn’t even save herself.

She should just quit, let her father, Rainie, and Mac go at it alone. She’d already bailed from the Academy. What would it matter if she simply disappeared now? She could spend the rest of her life curled up in a closet, hands clasped around her knees. Who could blame her? She’d already lost half of her family, and almost been killed twice. If anyone was entitled to a nervous breakdown, surely it was Kimberly.

But then she started thinking of the two missing girls again. Mac had told her their names. Karen Clarence. Tina Krahn. Two young college students who’d simply wanted to hang out with friends on a hot Tuesday night.

Karen Clarence. Tina Krahn. Someone had to find them. Someone had to do something. And maybe she was her father’s daughter after all, because she couldn’t just walk away. She could quit the Academy, but she could not quit this case.

A knock sounded on the door. Kimberly’s gaze came up slowly. She knew who had to be standing there. She should ignore him. She was already walking across the room.

She opened the door. Mac had obviously used the past thirty minutes to shower and shave.

“Hey,” he said softly, and strode into her room.

“Mac, I’m too tired-”

“I know. I am, too.” He took her arm and led her over to the bed. She followed only grudgingly. Maybe she did like the smell of his soap, but she also wished desperately to just be alone.

“Have I mentioned yet that I don’t sleep well in strange motel rooms?” he asked.

“No.”

“Have I mentioned that I think you look really good wearing just a T-shirt?”

“No.”

“Have I mentioned how good I look wearing nothing at all?”

“No.”

“Well, that’s a shame, because it’s all true. But you’re tired and I’m tired, so this is all we’re gonna do tonight.” He sat on the bed and tried to pull her down with him. She, however, dug in her heels.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

He didn’t force the issue. Instead, he reached up a large hand, and cradled her cheek. His blue eyes weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her intently, his eyes dark, his expression somber. When he looked at her like this, she could barely breathe.

“You scared me tonight,” he told her quietly. “When you were up on those rocks, surrounded by all those snakes, you scared me.”

“I scared me, too.”

“Do you think I’m toying with you, Kimberly?”

“I don’t know.”

“It bothers you, that I can flirt, that I can smile.”

“Sometimes.”

“Earnest Kimberly.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “You are honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how to tell you that without you thinking it’s just some kind of line.”

She closed her eyes. “Don’t.”

“Would you like to hit me?” he murmured. “Would you like to yell and scream at the world, or maybe hurl your knife? I don’t mind it when you’re angry, honey. Anything’s better than seeing you sad.”

That did it. She sank down on the bed beside him, feeling something big and brittle give way in the middle of her chest. Was this weakening? Was this succumbing? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t care. Suddenly, she wanted to press her head against the broad expanse of his chest. She wanted to wrap her arms tightly around his lean waist. She wanted his warmth all around her, his arms holding her close. She wanted his body above her body, demanding and taking and conquering. She wanted something fierce and fast, where she didn’t have to think and didn’t have to feel. She could simply be.

She would blame him for it all in the morning.

Her head came up. She brushed her lips over his, feeling his breath tickle her cheek and, being rewarded, his tremor. She kissed his jaw. Smooth. Square. She followed its line to his throat, where she could see his pulse pounding. His hands were on her waist, not moving. But she could feel his tension now, his body hard and tightly leashed with his effort at control.

She caught the fragrance of his soap again. Then the trace of the mint on his breath. The spicy tones of his aftershave on his freshly razored cheek. She faltered again. The elements were personal, powerful. Things he had done just for her that had no place in raw, meaningless sex.

She was going to cry again. Oh God, she hated this hard lump in her chest. She didn’t want to be this creature anymore. She wanted to return to cold, logical Kimberly. Anything had to be better than to be this weepy all the time. Anything had to be better than to feel this much pain.

Mac’s hands had moved. Now, they found her hair, gently feathering it back. Now his fingers ran from her temples all the way down to the taut lines of her neck.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Shhh,” though she wasn’t aware she’d ever made a sound.

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“You just need sleep, honey. It’ll be better in the morning. Everything’s better in the morning.”

Mac pulled her down beside him. She fell without protest, feeling his arousal press hard against her hip. Now he would do something, she thought. But he didn’t. He merely tucked her into the curve of his body, his chest hot against her back, his arms like steel bands around her waist.

“I don’t like strange motel rooms, either,” she said abruptly, and could almost see his grin against her hair. Then in another minute, she could tell he had drifted off.

Kimberly closed her eyes. She curled her fingers around Mac’s arms. She slept the best she had in years.