Free Secure Target (Elite Operators) by Rebecca Crowley

your mom,” he said suddenly. Her attention snapped up from her plate. “What happened?”
    “I had a scholarship to the University of Minnesota,” she explained almost automatically, feeling detached from this long-ago version of herself. “When I visited for Christmas, my mom had been diagnosed with cancer. That side of the family all live in Wyoming, and I knew my two brothers wouldn’t be any help, so I left school and came home. The disease ripped through her in about six months, and then I had to deal with the funeral and the legal loose ends. By then I’d lost the scholarship—and the momentum, if I’m honest—so I just stayed here.”
    His expression was thoughtful rather than pitying, for which she was grateful. Nothing annoyed her more than people feeling sorry for her.
    “It surprised me, back at the mall, when you said you were nothing special,” he said neutrally. He paused for a sip of Coke, and then leveled his gaze on her. “I think you’re very strong. Very special.”
    A flush rose in her cheeks, and she was instantly irritated by the degree to which she found herself caring about his opinion. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she muttered, staring down at her food. Then a chilling thought crept through her mind, and she raised her eyes warily. “Do you? Did you do this”—she swept her arm to indicate the restaurant, their shared meal—“with Hardy’s last victim?”
    He dropped his gaze to the table. “No. I barely spoke to her.”
    She frowned. He drew a deep breath and continued, “Our theory is that Hardy doesn’t really care about you. He doesn’t care about any of his victims. They’re not real people to him, they’re just a physical template that he needs in order to act out an impulse, to find his sick catharsis. Police involvement adds massively to the thrill. Avoiding capture is probably almost as exciting for him as the murders themselves. That’s why he phones ahead, and that’s why he lurks in the shadows instead of going to ground.”
    “I don’t see the connection.”
    “He’s arrogant, and so was I. When the Task Force commander called me in to tell me I was taking over the case from the homicide unit, I assumed it was a matter of blundering cops falling flat against a slightly above-average killer.” He shook his head in disgust. “Then six months ago, in England, I heard the girl scream and I knew he’d gotten her, that she was dying. I knew that for the first time in my career, I’d failed. I massively underestimated Hardy, and someone else paid the price for my arrogance.”
    They sat in silence for a moment. “Then what?” she prodded gently.
    His smile was grim. “The bastard got me. Hardy stabbed me, just here.” He touched a place below his ribs, on the left side. “I thought I was going to die. I’ve been cut before, and I’ve been injured—in an average week I probably get shot at three or four times, minimum. But lying there on the ground, tasting blood? I thought my life was over. And I thought I probably deserved it. I couldn’t save that girl in the office, so why should I get to walk away?”
    She just stared at him, her mind spinning with half-formed thoughts.
    “Anyway”—he shrugged—“I lived. I got a second chance I definitely didn’t earn. And all the time spent in hospital for surgery and recovery gave me a lot of space to think. I realized that each one of Hardy’s victims would have felt just like I did, like their life was slipping out of their hands, and it was only luck that had kept me alive where they died.” When he looked at her, his face was resolute. “I’m determined not to let that happen to anyone else, ever again. I know who I’m facing now, and I refuse to let him take another life. I swear, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe, Lacey.”
    To her annoyance, she felt her eyes begin to well again. She believed him. All the way through from her head to her toes, she believed