Chapter 42

The soft tick of the grandfather clock in the atrium ticked away the seconds. The muffled sound of a radio filtered through the air vents of the old building. The distant but distinct accent of the resident hall manager drifted across the lobby as she answered the phone.

Hannah heard every ping, click, and pop around her, but her vision was still nothing more than dark formless blobs. Even so, she couldn't mistake the voice she heard from the hallway if she tried. Part of her wanted to run the other way. It wouldn't do her any good. She'd faced countless drug dealers and terrorists; she could handle this.

Squaring her shoulders and drawing a fortifying breath, she stepped forward into the spacious entrance hall. The tap of her cane against the tile alerted the occupants to her presence before she could say anything, and all conversation ground to a halt.

"Hannah!"

For all her experience with intense situations, Hannah was at a loss when she was suddenly pulled into a tight embrace. Facing off with the worst of the worst was nothing. In an instant, she felt transported back in time and steeled herself for the reprimand she knew was coming.

Chris - Dr. Russell Christopher Leveret - had a way of making anyone feel small. Throughout high school and college, his attentive, dutiful behavior made her feel special. Chris had treated her like a princess until she'd gone against his wishes.

Growing up as next-door neighbors in Texas, their parents didn't think anything of it when they hung out together. He was four years older, a friend of her brother's, and despite her tomboyish ways she'd been exactly what his parents wanted— the perfect socialite wife. Who better than a preacher's daughter to help him work his way into the philanthropic circles expected of the future doctor.

Until she'd done an internship at the nearby FBI field office, she'd lived up to all of their expectations. Working with the special agent that year, she'd found her calling in life. A calling that didn't include the Austin medical scene. Going to Quantico didn't play into the image his family had created for her.

Almost overnight, he'd changed into a manipulative, controlling jerk. His lame excuse for not being able to attend her graduation and his obvious disinterest in her cases were just the beginning. The calls from him became farther apart. He was always too busy to take hers. It took her years before she realized that he expected her to fail so he could swoop in to pick up the pieces. He was the last person on Earth she would have expected now.

"I was so worried when I called Mother and she told me of your accident," the strong masculine voice cajoled as he physically led her to a nearby bench. Hannah felt like a child as he continued on, his grasp on her hands making it hard to keep hold of her cane. He didn't even seem to notice that it was even in her hand. "I came as soon as I could."

What?! She quelled the retort. Getting angry wasn't going to help with Mr. "Ivy League doctor with the world at his feet" Leveret. Pasting a smile on her face, she clenched her hand tighter around her cane. "The explosion was three months ago, Chris," she choked out, struggling to keep her tone even.

"Don't be obstinate, Hannah," he chastised her sternly. He had a way of doing it where it made you feel like you deserved it. "You know I couldn't leave the villagers without a doctor and how long it takes to get transportation that far out in the bush."

Yes, nothing could come between him and the village. The Hannah of five minutes ago would have told him just that, but this Hannah couldn't form the words. So much had changed in seven years, but so much had stayed the same.

Chris had that affect on her. From the first day he showed an interest in the 15-year-old tomboy, he'd had her wrapped around his finger. Or more like his noose wrapped around my neck.

He'd treated her to the best of everything - taking her to the finest restaurants, the glitziest parties, and most fabulous shows. Something she'd never thought she'd have the opportunity to do.

But at the same time, he'd always made her feel that any value she had was because of her connection with him. His parents only increased the feeling, going on about how she'd be such a wonderful hostess, how marvelous it would look for his image to marry someone from 'the wrong side of the tracks'. She'd been programmed to believe she was lucky to have him.

Quantico had changed all that. Hannah discovered that she was good— darn good, in fact— as an agent, and she was happy. Something she'd realized would never happen in Chris' shadow. And when he refused to share her discovery, she realized there was nothing for them.

Which made his presence here both confusing and a bit alarming. "What do you want, Chris?"

There was a pause, and she pictured a dark brow going up, as if silently questioning her need to ask. "I'm here to take you home of course."

"Of course." She refused to show that his statement hit her like a bullet. She drew a deep breath. "And what if I say I am home?"

"Oh, come now, Hannah." His voice held undisguised arrogance. "I've let you have your turn at playing cops and robbers for seven years. Now it's time to come home." Hannah hadn't heard a tone like that since her parents scolded her when she was seven for sneaking her dog, Rusty, into her bedroom. "Mother has already called the caterer and Reverend Taylor has reserved the church for us two weeks from Saturday. I know that's not a lot of time to plan a wedding, but I have to get back to the village and Mother is so good at these things."

She held her outrage tightly. "Play cops and robbers? Plan a wedding?"

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Of course, you'll be staying with Mother while I'm away, but it will give you time to get acquainted with some of the wives from the hospital. Father will be talking to Mrs. Moultrie about getting you on the Rose Society board…not that you'll be able to do much there, but they're old friends so she won't mind doing him this favor."

Favor? The fury was rising in her like a volcano ready to explode. She hadn't talked to him in years, hadn't seen him longer, but here he was planning her life as if her opinion didn't matter. She wasn't a charity case! "Christopher!"

The first time she ever used his full first name seemed to do the trick as his ramblings stopped. She could feel his eyes on her, shocked that she'd raise her voice at him. This wasn't the time to back down. "I'm happy where I am. I have plans…"

"Plans?" Chris snorted. "Like your plans with the FBI? I told you when you insisted on going to the Academy that the FBI was no place for a woman."

"I did extremely well at the Academy." The cane prevented her nails digging into her palm. "And since—"

"And since you've managed to almost get killed…not once but twice—"

More than that. If he only knew how many times she'd come close.

But Chris always had a way of taking over any situation and this was no different. Before Hannah knew what was going on, he'd spoken with the resident manager about getting her clothes delivered to his hotel. Every argument she'd posed was shot down as he continued to downplay her job for the last several years as if it was some fluke. Like it didn't matter.

Did it matter? Hannah wondered as he droned on about moving back to Texas with him. She'd been so gung-ho at her first assignment in Newark. She'd achieved recognition for her work with the Community Outreach program, but really never did any true crime field work until the attacks in New York.

Following the terrifying events that September day, she acquiesced to her parents demands and returned home. Where it was safe. At least that's what she kept telling herself. But safe wasn't' want she'd wanted. She could make a difference. She knew she could and meeting Bobby had provided her with that opportunity.

But she hadn't. Only three months on the job in the nation's capital and she'd failed. Her drive to help others had been foiled by a crazy woman bent on 'reuniting' with a man who was never hers to begin with. Maybe it was never meant to be.

No, she couldn't give up on it. One thing being here at this school solidified for her was that God had a plan for everyone. Just because she was blind didn't mean she wasn't capable. She had a purpose.

"Doesn't anything ever get you down, Agent Starr?" she remembered Myles asking one night while they hid away at Ruth's. Hannah smiled recalling the New Englander's pessimism about his recovery.

She wasn't overly optimistic herself but she'd done so many different things while she was with the bureau that not being in the field anymore didn't bother her. Perhaps working with Sue had finally taught her to use her abilities and not harp on disappointments. Perhaps she already knew and this was just God's way of reminding her.

She had a role in life and it wasn't being a doctor's wife. She listened as Chris droned on about the plans he'd made for them. The house built on his parents' farm. An apartment in the city. Hiring a nurse to be with her during the day while he worked. He had it all worked out.

But it wasn't what she wanted. There was something out there for her. And maybe even someone. Hannah wasn't going to be bullied. Not without finding out for herself.

Before she could protest, Chris had her bags packed and was ushering her into a taxi waiting out front of the resident hall. Hannah stopped him before he could follow her in, her hand meeting his chest. "There's something I need to do."

"Don't worry about a thing, dear," Chris insisted, trying to ease her over so he could sit down with her. "I'll take care of everything you need."

"No!" Hannah regretted her harshness, but she couldn't have him come with her. "This is something I need to do alone. I'll meet you at the hotel."

The silence that greeted her told her that he wasn't happy, but the taxi driver ended up helping more than he would ever know. "Hey, I don't have all day!"

"Okay," Chris muttered stiffly, leaning past her to hand something to the driver. "Bring her to the Ritz-Carlton on Third when she's finished her errand." He pulled back, but Hannah could feel his face hovering close to hers. "Our flight is in five hours and security at Reagan is atrocious. You know I hate being late."