nearly demonic activity that spanned decades. She knew. Sheâd handed the file over to Brie herself.
Ian had been presumed dead for decadesâ¦which meant heâd been a demonâs prisoner for all that time.
A chill went through her.
Demons thrived on torture, abuse, rape and murder. It was a miracle he was still alive. But the emerging facts were beginning to explain a lot. No wonder he was such a hard-ass. Heâd been so unlikable, so cold and unfeelingâuntil heâd had the breakdown.
What had they done to him?
She was never going to forget the sight of him on his hands and knees, trembling violently, tears streaming.
Her heart seemed to stir within her chest. Sam jerked in shock, and she looked at her reflection in the mirror. For one instant, she saw herself standing there, naked and cut, and her blue eyes seemed unusually soft and worried.
Her eyes looked like Tabbyâs, except for their color.
Her sister was the kindest woman sheâd ever known. Tabby worried about everyone. Tabbyâs compassion knew no bounds. Tabby often had that look in her eyes.
Damn it . She, Sam, was never concerned. She took life in stride. She fought for the Innocent, was prepared to die for them, but she never had and would never shed a single tear over an Innocentâs murder. She hadnât even cried when sheâd realized her mother was dead. Sheâd gone hunting, instead.
Her composure did not slip now. The image of her motherâs murder was engraved on her mind, and she wanted it that way. Sheâd been twelve years old, walking home from school alone, because sheâd cut her Spanish class so she could play street hockey with the boys. But theyâd pissed her off and sheâd gotten into a fistfight and gone home instead. When sheâd walked into her front yard, sheâd seen the man getting up, her mother lying prone and lifeless on the ground.
Sam had run to her mother, and had quickly realized Laura was dead. Tears had burned her eyes, but the grief had been dull because there was so much rage. She welcomed the fury, the need to strike back, the burning revenge. She leapt up and set chase. The demon had been halfway down the block. But instead of confronting her, heâd vanished, leaping into time.
Sheâd meant to murder him with her bare hands, even though just a skinny kid.
âCoward!â she had screamed.
Sheâd spent a year hunting him but heâd never come back.
Now, sixteen years later, she knew sheâd never find him. He might even be vanquished by someone elseâs hand. But every time she brought a demon down, there was a deep, internal satisfaction. Laura would be proud.
Being cold-hearted was far more than a means of survival. It was the only way to win. She was a Slayer. And that made her a soldier. No soldier could succumb to compassion, much less sorrow. There was no room in her life for regrets. She took the mouthwash and poured it over her rib cage. It stung. Compassion was not a part of her MO. And it was an especially bad idea where Maclean was concerned.
If he thought her sympathetic toward him, heâd use it to his advantage.
Grim now, she doused the wound with the rest of her scotch. It was a good thing she still thought him a complete bastard. There was no sympathy to be had. He wasnât that kid in captivity anymore. Heâd survivedâpeople survived the bad, the evil and the ugly, all the time. She took an emerald-green towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself, staring at her set face in the mirror. And she made a pact with herself.
No matter what theyâd done to him, it wasnât her business; she had a war to wage.
Sam picked up her cell and dialed Kit, who was back at the office. âHow was the rest of the party?â
âBoring. Good caviar, though.â
âAs if youâd know. Did Hemmer take you on the VIP tour?â
âNo, but he asked a lot of questions about