Allison Brennan - The Kill

“Oh God, Liv.”

Suddenly he pulled off the freeway. Olivia opened her eyes and was surprised when Zack turned off the ramp and into the parking lot of some business. He shut off the ignition.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she began.

He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. At first she thought he was angry with her, and maybe he was, but not for the reason she thought.

“Stop saying you’re sorry.” His voice was low and gruff, full of restrained emotion.

She was drawn toward Zack, his dark eyes searching hers, as if sharing his vitality, his strength.

“Liv, you’ve been blaming yourself for something that is simply not your fault.”

“I don’t blame myself.”

“Don’t you?”

What did she really think? “I don’t know.”

“Who, then? What’s eating you up inside? Your father? Your mother?”

A tear leaked from an eye, the unfamiliar wetness sliding down her cheek. “I blame Missy’s killer for taking her. God for creating him in the first place. I blame me for not stopping him. I blame Missy for not leaving the park when I wanted to. My father for walking around the house like a ghost. And my mother for… for looking at me as if I should have been the one to die!”

Zack gathered Olivia in his arms as she cried silently, her body heaving but little sound escaping, as if she were fighting each tear. God, he wanted to take her pain. He would gladly shoulder the burden of her anguish if he could.

His mother had dumped him. She’d left him because it was convenient. She left Amy because it was convenient. He’d had a hard time with it when he realized his mother loved her freedom more than her children. He’d felt abandoned by his mother, but Mae had never made him feel unwanted or unloved.

Everything became clear to him. Olivia’s reaction to Brenda Davidson and little Amanda. Her obsession with the case. Her reason for joining the FBI in the first place. Justice was a powerful motivator, and while she’d believed her sister’s killer had been behind bars until recently, she was fighting for the living victims as well as the dead.

She’d spent her life fighting for victims like her.

He smoothed her hair, breathed in her freshness. He kissed her temple. Then her cheek. He tilted her chin so she looked him in the eye. Her lip quivered and her cheeks were bright with emotion.

“Olivia, when this is over I’m taking you away someplace. I want time alone with you. Without this case hanging over us, where we can really talk.”

Her mouth opened in protest. He put his finger to her lips.

“Shh. We deserve it, Liv. I need to know everything about you. How you grew into this incredible woman sitting right here. You’re smart and sexy and I’m damn glad you came to Seattle, not only because of the investigation.”

He leaned in and touched his lips to hers, remembering yesterday when he’d spontaneously kissed her in her hotel room. She’d been so enticing in that thin robe that molded to her full breasts, showing everything while hiding it at the same time.

That image had been in the back of his mind for the last twenty-four hours. Thinking about how enticing she looked then, how beautiful she was sitting beside him now, he wanted to disappear with her. The two of them together. Alone. In bed.

He intended the kiss to be light, gentle, loving. She needed affection, not passion. But one taste of Olivia wasn’t enough. She brought out the passion in him, a deep longing that he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. An intense need to connect with her on every level he could. To know her mind, her body, her soul.

He deepened the kiss, her lips salty from her tears.

She moaned into his lips, a small but deep sound that bespoke desire. He swallowed her need, taking the kiss deeper, his hands wrapped around her delicate neck, her silky hair entwined in his large hands. He rubbed her shoulders, his hand trailing down to the curve of her round breast.

They pulled back at the same time. He swallowed, his heart pounding. Her hazel eyes glistened, coated with emotion and desire. Her mouth was red, lush, swollen from his furious kiss.

Reluctantly, he let her go. “I definitely want more time with you.”

“After we catch this guy.” Her voice was rough, but she had already gathered up the strength he’d seen in her the first day they’d met in Pierson’s office.

He’d thought he’d wanted the killer bad before.

He wanted him even more now.

Olivia watched the interview from a secure room next to the public defender’s conference room. She wished Gary Porter had come, not only because he’d set the wheels in motion but also because he’d always been by her side when she had to face Brian Hall. Instead, a young cop stood sentry at her side, his face blank.

Of course, Hall was innocent and she shouldn’t fear him. Yet she did, an irrational and very real sensation that made her heart pound and her hands wring.

She couldn’t believe she’d cried in Zack’s arms. She felt foolish, but comforted at the same time. And then the kiss… her hands fluttered to her lips. That kiss .

She had to put it aside, think about it later.

When was the last time she’d cried? It might have been the day Missy disappeared. She had cried herself to sleep late that night, alone. She had tried to crawl into her mother’s bed, but her father told her to leave, that her mother was sleeping in Missy’s room until she came home.

Missy never came home.

Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

Olivia hadn’t realized until today how much internal anger she still had at her parents. And at Missy, though her frustration with her sister was more that she was gone, and that wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t rational, Olivia knew, but there it was, laid out for her to cautiously examine.

It had been easy to hate Brian Hall when he was the villain, the man who stole not only her sister’s life, but her family and security. His release brought back the other feelings she’d suppressed for so many years, like her anger at her family, particularly toward her mother. She should have seen it coming, especially after her confrontation with Brenda Davidson, but it wasn’t until Zack’s question earlier that day that Olivia knew she’d never forgiven her mother for treating her like a pariah.

For years, Olivia had wondered whether her mother would have felt the same way toward Missy if the roles had been reversed. If Olivia had died and Missy had lived. Would their mother have ignored Missy? Would she have mourned Olivia so deeply that she couldn’t function any longer?

As a child, Olivia believed her mother would rather have had Olivia die and Missy live. As an adult, Olivia knew it wasn’t as simple as that. It was like being in a burning building and only able to save the life of one of your two children: who would you pick? No matter which you chose, you would be filled with guilt over the one who’d died. You would look at the one left behind and wonder if you should have made the other choice. Bitterness and grief and pain would paralyze you until you couldn’t look at your child without regret.

With years of psychology classes and science behind her, Olivia intellectually knew that her mother had a psychosis and was mentally unstable. Perhaps Missy’s death triggered it, or maybe she’d always had borderline personality disorder. Intuitively, Olivia knew she shouldn’t blame her mother for everything she’d said and done-or hadn’t said, hadn’t done. In that case it was her father who should have stepped up and done something to get her mother help. To fill the role of both parents since her mother was incapable.

But the child inside Olivia just wanted to be loved completely, without reservation, because of who she was inside.