lack of remorse akin to sociopathy? What if she was walking the line between the good guys and the bad? How could she tell the difference?
What was she capable of ? How far would she go for justice ?
She’d let the FBI report conclude it was justifiable homicide based on extreme emotional distress. Scott had shown her rape live on the Internet while thousands of sick perverts watched, believing she had been a consensual partner playing the part of a victim. She would never forget the lie she hadn’t corrected:
Ms. Kincaid believed that Scott had killed her brother, Dr. Dillon Kincaid, in the moments before she arrived at Dr. Kincaid’s house and saw Scott at the scene .
Scott had not pointed a gun at her. She had known Dillon was safe; she’d seen him. She’d taken her father’s gun with the sole purpose of killing Adam Scott.
Lucy had been forced to talk to shrinks about her rape and the shooting. And she had played the stalwart victim. Only, she didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much deception. Maybe all of it was an act. She’d finally told her parents that she wasn’t talking to one more psychiatrist or rape counselor or priest. The tightrope she’d walked during the months before she moved cross-country to attend Georgetown University had been unbearable because she didn’t feel at all like herself. It was as if her entire life was happening to someone else, and she was observing it as a bystander. The more she looked at herself from the outside, the more distance she had from her own emotions. And she liked becoming focused, cool, and unemotional. It wasn’t happening to her; she was merely an observer. She had never broken down, not then, and didn’t want to now. Moving to D.C. had given her the space she needed to distance herself from her own thoughts and sensitivities. Until now.
All these complex and foreign emotions about Sean were dangerous. After seven years of keeping her feelings under tight lock and key, she was out of control. What if the fates made her pay for her actions? Justified killing or not, understandable or not, Adam Scott’s murder had been premeditated and calculated. And wouldn’t it be just the perfect sick cosmic joke to take away the one person who had so easily picked the lock that had guarded her thoughts, feelings and—ultimately—her sanity?
“Lucy?”
Sean touched her damp face carefully, as if she were precious to him.
Tell him you love him. Tell him .
She kissed him.
“I need you.” She hated that she couldn’t say the words. She wanted to, but fear shut her down. Sean wanted her to; it hurt him that she hadn’t, though he’d never tell her that. She saw it before he hid his disappointment.
But if she said the words out loud, she feared what was so special between them would suddenly end.
“I’m here, Princess.” He held her face, planting soft, gentle kisses on her lips, the kind of kisses that made her melt, and in her current state melting would turn into a meltdown, and she couldn’t have that.
You overthink everything .
She turned off her inner critic, which seemed to be taking Sean’s side in everything. Lucy needed to be in control. She couldn’t give it up, and love meant no control. It meant sacrifice and heartache and being lost in another person. If she could just keep the barrier up a little while longer, to figure out what this all meant, where it was going, how she was going to survive.
Lucy straddled Sean, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pushing it up, her cold hands warming against his chest as she opened her mouth and kissed him fully, no soft sweetness, no doubts that she wanted to make love. No more talking about her feelings or his feelings or thinking about anything. She could lose herself in the moment because that’s what this passion was—a moment in time.
She needed to be lost. She needed to stop thinking.
Sean wanted to savor Lucy, to show her that he needed her as much as—maybe even more
What was she capable of ? How far would she go for justice ?
She’d let the FBI report conclude it was justifiable homicide based on extreme emotional distress. Scott had shown her rape live on the Internet while thousands of sick perverts watched, believing she had been a consensual partner playing the part of a victim. She would never forget the lie she hadn’t corrected:
Ms. Kincaid believed that Scott had killed her brother, Dr. Dillon Kincaid, in the moments before she arrived at Dr. Kincaid’s house and saw Scott at the scene .
Scott had not pointed a gun at her. She had known Dillon was safe; she’d seen him. She’d taken her father’s gun with the sole purpose of killing Adam Scott.
Lucy had been forced to talk to shrinks about her rape and the shooting. And she had played the stalwart victim. Only, she didn’t know how much of it was truth and how much deception. Maybe all of it was an act. She’d finally told her parents that she wasn’t talking to one more psychiatrist or rape counselor or priest. The tightrope she’d walked during the months before she moved cross-country to attend Georgetown University had been unbearable because she didn’t feel at all like herself. It was as if her entire life was happening to someone else, and she was observing it as a bystander. The more she looked at herself from the outside, the more distance she had from her own emotions. And she liked becoming focused, cool, and unemotional. It wasn’t happening to her; she was merely an observer. She had never broken down, not then, and didn’t want to now. Moving to D.C. had given her the space she needed to distance herself from her own thoughts and sensitivities. Until now.
All these complex and foreign emotions about Sean were dangerous. After seven years of keeping her feelings under tight lock and key, she was out of control. What if the fates made her pay for her actions? Justified killing or not, understandable or not, Adam Scott’s murder had been premeditated and calculated. And wouldn’t it be just the perfect sick cosmic joke to take away the one person who had so easily picked the lock that had guarded her thoughts, feelings and—ultimately—her sanity?
“Lucy?”
Sean touched her damp face carefully, as if she were precious to him.
Tell him you love him. Tell him .
She kissed him.
“I need you.” She hated that she couldn’t say the words. She wanted to, but fear shut her down. Sean wanted her to; it hurt him that she hadn’t, though he’d never tell her that. She saw it before he hid his disappointment.
But if she said the words out loud, she feared what was so special between them would suddenly end.
“I’m here, Princess.” He held her face, planting soft, gentle kisses on her lips, the kind of kisses that made her melt, and in her current state melting would turn into a meltdown, and she couldn’t have that.
You overthink everything .
She turned off her inner critic, which seemed to be taking Sean’s side in everything. Lucy needed to be in control. She couldn’t give it up, and love meant no control. It meant sacrifice and heartache and being lost in another person. If she could just keep the barrier up a little while longer, to figure out what this all meant, where it was going, how she was going to survive.
Lucy straddled Sean, reaching for the hem of his shirt and pushing it up, her cold hands warming against his chest as she opened her mouth and kissed him fully, no soft sweetness, no doubts that she wanted to make love. No more talking about her feelings or his feelings or thinking about anything. She could lose herself in the moment because that’s what this passion was—a moment in time.
She needed to be lost. She needed to stop thinking.
Sean wanted to savor Lucy, to show her that he needed her as much as—maybe even more
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