She spared some thoughts for the man responsible for her misery, a man she had loved, a man who had become an assassin. He could have killed her, but he didn’t. Why, had been the question that had superseded every other since the shooting. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She loathed the sight of him now. Yet, she wanted to see him again. She wanted to unreel her vengeful torment upon him. The rage she felt was oddly intertwined with the memory of the times they spent together—the beaches, the sunshine, the warmth of the day…
