Free The Hunt by Allison Brennan Page A

interfere with me because you want justice as much as I do. Maybe even more.”
    They stared at each other. Miranda detested how he scrutinized her with his intelligent eyes, as if he could read her mind, see clear down to her damaged soul. She straightened her back and didn’t waver from his gaze.
    “Since you have professional experience in search and rescue, you’re an asset,” he continued, “for now. But if I think for one minute that you are behaving in any way that is unprofessional or could jeopardize this investigation, I will have you pulled.”
    Her jaw worked, itching to respond, but instead she turned away to control her unsettled feelings. It wasn’t his threat that bothered her—it hurt to realize he still believed that she would fall apart. For years, she’d harbored that same, almost crippling fear every waking moment. She pictured herself falling apart each night when she closed her eyes.
    But she persevered. She’d made it ten years without collapsing under the weight of her fears; she couldn’t let his doubts weaken her resolve.
    She wanted to share her struggles, but feared he would use her confidences against her as an excuse to take her off the investigation. Everything she’d told him before Quantico had been used against her, all her fears and insecurities and overwhelming need to right wrongs had forced him to expel her from the Academy. She had learned her lesson. She wouldn’t give him any ammunition now that might be used against her later.
    She kept her mouth shut. She hadn’t broken twelve years ago, and she damn well wasn’t going to break today.
    “Very well, Agent Peterson,” she said formally. She started down the path, focusing on the ground and the shrubs, concentrating on Rebecca. She heard Quinn fall into step with her, taking the right. He muttered something, but she couldn’t make out the words.
    She hoped she’d pissed him off.
    They proceeded carefully. Miranda kept the map. They spoke only to point out potential evidence, and Quinn photographed and tagged anything even remotely relevant.
    About a mile from the ridge where Rebecca had been found, Quinn pointed to four deep impressions in the mud. “She fell here,” he said as he photographed the spot.
    Miranda stared at the holes, seeing Rebecca’s naked body shaking with cold and panic. And hope. Because without hope, she wouldn’t have run.
    Miranda closed her eyes. If she were alone, she would have gone back in time and remembered the many times she had fallen. Each time she questioned her ability to get up. Each time, she rose because she hoped she could make it.
    “Miranda,” Quinn said quietly.
    She quickly opened her eyes. Quinn of all people couldn’t witness her reliving the past. He knew too much about her, what she’d gone through; ultimately, she felt that had been the reason he’d kicked her out of the
FBI
Academy
. He feared she’d lose it when on a case and jeopardize the team, endangering herself and others, if she found herself stuck in her own waking nightmares.
    She had to keep her fear to herself.
    “It was raining,” she said, coughing to cover up any emotion that might creep into her voice. The overgrown path was even denser here, though it was obvious someone had run through. The moist branches didn’t break easily, but there were a few hanging at a forty-five-degree angle, and several small plants and saplings had been trampled.
    “Because it was raining,” she continued before Quinn could interrupt her contemplation, “he had to follow her from behind. The noise of the storm would have made listening for her difficult, so he wouldn’t have strayed far from her path.” Unlike his pursuit of her and Sharon, she thought. He’d run parallel to them most of the time.
    “You’re probably right,” Quinn said, looking at her with an odd expression.
    She didn’t want to read anything into it, good or bad, so she turned to her map. She made a very small red mark where Rebecca had