Claire didn’t utter a word the entire drive home, and from the glances Gideon sent her way, her silence unsettled him. He might not know what to do or how to deal with a quiet, brooding Claire, but she did. She knew exactly what needed to be done.

“Want something to eat?” Gideon asked when they entered the kitchen.

She shook her head. Surprisingly, even food didn’t appeal to her. Ever since the lake house she had resisted voicing the one question burning in her mind, too afraid he might reconsider helping her. But that didn’t matter anymore. She had to know the truth. Lifting her face to stare him directly in the eyes, she asked, “Why haven’t you killed me yet?”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“Why haven’t you killed me?” she repeated, her voice insistent. She dug her nails into her palm, waiting for his response, determined to have it.

Gideon flexed his hands into fists beside him.

“Claire, I—” He stopped abruptly, leaving whatever he was going to say unfinished as he shrugged out of his jacket with jerky, agitated movements.

She watched as he laid his jacket over the back of a chair, her gun clearly outlined in the pocket. She buried her hands in her pockets, curling her fingers into tight fists. Turning, he stalked out of the kitchen without a word, ignoring her question.

Claire followed him into the living room. “Other agents would have. Hell, your sister would have.”

He stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to face her. “I intended to destroy you.”

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as she sank to the couch. “That night in my apartment. You were there. You were going to kill me, then.”

He stared out the front bay window that faced the street, nodding. “I had the gun in my hand,” he said quietly, touching his fingers to his mouth. A mouth that even right now she would like to press against her own, to kiss until the nightmare faded. Insanity. That was the only word for it.

“I put the barrel right to your head.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.

“You should have ended it then.” Before things got so carried away.

Claire drew a deep, shuddering breath at the image of him standing over her as she slept, a gun pressed to her head. She would never have known what hit her. Never have even seen his face. Never have felt the things she did for him. Kit’s words blew through her like an arctic wind. If you care at all for my brother, you will end this before he gets hurt.