She closed her eyes and realized she was very tired.

What we both need is a vacation, she thought.

But a vacation wasn’t in the cards for the near future.

She felt a little drowsy and had almost dozed off when a memory forced its way into her mind …

She was bound hand and foot by a madman wearing a clown costume and makeup.

He held a mirror to her face and said …

“All done now. Have a look!”

She saw that he had smeared makeup all over her face so that she, too, looked like a clown.

Then he held a syringe in front of her. She knew that if he injected her with its deadly contents, she’d die from sheer terror …

Riley’s eyes snapped open and she shivered all over.

It had only been a couple of months since she’d barely escaped death at the hands of the notorious so-called “Clown Killer.” She was still having painful flashbacks of her ordeal.

As she tried to shake off her memory, she heard someone coming down the apartment building steps to the basement hallway.

Ryan! He’s home!

She jumped up from the couch and checked the oven to make sure it was at its highest temperature. Then she turned off the apartment lights and lit the candles she’d set on the table. Finally she dashed toward the door and met Ryan just as he came inside.

She threw her arms around him and gave him a kiss. But he didn’t kiss her back, and she felt his body sag from exhaustion. He looked into the candlelit apartment and blurted …

“Riley—what the hell’s going on?”

Riley’s heart sank.

She said, “I’m fixing something nice for dinner.”

Ryan came inside and set down his briefcase and collapsed onto the couch.

“You shouldn’t bother,” he said. “It’s been a hell of a day. And I’m not very hungry.”

Riley sat down beside him and rubbed his shoulders.

She said, “But everything’s practically ready. Aren’t you hungry enough for ribeye steaks?”

“Ribeyes?” Ryan said with surprise. “Can we afford it?”

Fighting down a surge of irritation, Riley didn’t reply. She handled the household finances, and she felt like she knew pretty well what they could afford and not afford.

Apparently sensing Riley’s dismay, Ryan said …

“Ribeyes sound nice. Give me a few minutes to wash up.”

Ryan got up and headed for the bathroom. Riley hurried back into the kitchen, took the potatoes out of the oven, and seared the steaks and broiled them so that they’d both be medium rare.

Ryan was seated at the table by the time she put their meals on the table. He’d poured glasses of wine for both of them.

“Thanks,” Ryan said, smiling weakly. “This is nice.”

As he cut into his steak he added, “I’m afraid I’ve brought some work home. I’ll have to get to it after we eat.”

Riley suppressed a sigh of deep disappointment. She’d hoped their dinner would end more romantically.

She and Ryan ate in silence for a few moments. Then Ryan started to complain about his day …

“This entry level work—it’s practically slave labor. We’ve got to do all the heavy lifting for the partners—research, writing briefs, making sure everything’s ready for the courtroom. And we put in longer hours than the partners by far. It feels like some kind of fraternity hazing, it except never stops.”

“It’ll get better,” Riley said.

Then she forced a laugh and added …

“Someday you’ll be a partner yourself. And you’ll have a team of entry level guys who’ll go home and complain about you.”

Ryan didn’t laugh, and Riley couldn’t blame him. It seemed like a lame joke now that she’d said it.

Ryan kept grumbling during dinner, and Riley didn’t know whether she felt more hurt or angry. Didn’t he appreciate the effort she’d gone to make everything as perfect as she could tonight?

And didn’t he understand how much their lives were about to change?

When Ryan fell quiet for a few moments, Riley said …

“You know, we’re having a get-together tomorrow at the FBI building to celebrate the end of the internship. You’ll be able to come, won’t you?”

“I’m afraid not, Riley. This is going to be a seven-day week.”

Riley almost gasped.

“But tomorrow’s Sunday,” she said.

Ryan shrugged and said, “Yeah, well, it’s like I said—slave labor.”

Riley said, “Look, it’s not going to take all day. There’ll be a couple of speeches—the assistant director and our training supervisor will want to say a few words. And then there will be some snacks and—”

Ryan interrupted, “Riley, I’m sorry.”

“But I’m leaving for Quantico tomorrow, right afterwards. I’m taking my suitcase with me. I thought you’d be driving me to the bus station.”

“I can’t,” Ryan said a bit sharply. “You’ll have to get there some other way.”

They ate in silence for a few moments.

Riley struggled to understand what was happening. Why couldn’t Ryan come with her tomorrow? It would only take a couple of hours out of his day. Then something began to dawn on her.

She said, “You still don’t want me to go to Quantico.”

Ryan let out a groan of annoyance.

“Riley, let’s not get started on this,” he said.

Riley felt her face redden with anger.

She said, “Well, it’s now or never, isn’t it?”

Ryan said, “You’ve made your decision. I took it to be final.”

Riley’s eyes widened.

“My decision?” she said. “I thought it was our decision.”

Ryan sighed. “We’re not going to have this conversation,” he said. “Let’s just finish eating, OK?”

Riley sat there and stared at him as he continued to pick at his meal.

She found herself wondering …

Is Ryan right?

Did I just railroad us both into this?

She thought back to their conversations, trying to remember, trying to sort it out. She remembered how proud Ryan had been of her when she’d stopped the Clown Killer …

“You saved at least one woman’s life. By solving the case, you may have saved other lives as well. It’s crazy. I think maybe you’re crazy. But you’re also a hero.”

At the time, she’d thought that was what he wanted—for her to pursue a career with the FBI, to keep right on being a hero.

But now that she thought about it, Riley couldn’t remember him saying those precise words. Ryan had never told her …

“I want you to go to the academy. I want you to follow your dream.”

Riley took some long, slow breaths.

We need to discuss this calmly, she thought.

Finally she said …

“Ryan, what do you want? For us, I mean?”

Ryan tilted his head as he looked at her.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked.

Riley’s throat tightened sharply.

“I want to know,” she said. “Tell me what you want.”

A pained look crossed Ryan’s face. Riley found herself dreading what he was going to say next.

Finally he said, “I just want a family.”

Then he shrugged and ate another bite of steak.

Feeling a glimmer of relief, Riley said, “I want that too.”

“Do you?” Ryan asked.

“Of course I do. You know I do.”

Ryan shook his head and said, “I’m not sure even you know what you really want.”

Riley felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. For a moment she simply didn’t know what to say.

Then she said, “Don’t you think I can have a career and a family?”

“Sure I do,” Ryan said. “Women do it all the time these days. It’s called ‘having it all,’ I hear. It’s tough and it takes planning and sacrifices, but it can be done. And I’d love to help you do all that. But …”

His voice faded.

“But what?” Riley asked.

He breathed deeply, then said, “Maybe it would be different if you wanted to become a lawyer, like me. Or a doctor or a shrink. Or go into real estate. Or start your own business. Or become a college professor. I could relate to any of those things. I could deal with them. But this whole thing with going to the Academy—you’re going to be in Quantico for 18 weeks! How much are we going to see each other during that whole time? Do you thin any relationship can survive so much time apart? And besides …”

He held Riley’s gaze for a moment.

Then he said, “Riley, you’ve almost been killed twice since I’ve known you.”

Riley gulped hard.

He was right, of course. Her most recent brush with death had been at the hands of the Clown Killer. Before that, during their last semester in college, she’d almost been killed by a sociopathic psychology professor who still awaited trial for murdering two other coeds. Riley had known both of those girls. One had been her best friend and roommate.

Riley’s help in solving that awful murder case was how she’d gotten into the summer intern program, and it was one of the main reasons she was thinking about becoming an FBI agent.

In a choked voice, Riley said, “Do you want me to quit? Do you want me to not go to Quantico tomorrow?”

Ryan said, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Riley was struggling not to cry now.

“Yes, it does, Ryan,” she said. “It matters a lot.”

Ryan locked gazes with her for what seemed like a long time.

Then he said, “I guess I do. Want you to quit, I mean. I know you’ve found it exciting. It’s been a great adventure for you. But it’s time for us both to settle down. It’s time for us to get on with our real lives.”

Riley suddenly felt as though this had to be a bad dream, but she couldn’t wake up.

Our real lives! she thought.

What did that mean?

And what did it say about her that she didn’t know what it meant?

She only knew one thing for certain …

He doesn’t want me to go to Quantico.

Then Ryan said, “Look, you can work at all kinds of jobs right here in DC. And you’ve got lots of time to think about what you want to do in the long run. Meanwhile, it doesn’t matter if you make a lot of money. We’re not rich on what I’m making at the firm, but we’re getting by, and I’ll eventually be doing really well.”

Ryan started eating again, looking oddly relieved, as if they’d just settled everything.

But had they settled anything at all? Riley had spent all summer dreaming about the FBI Academy. She couldn’t imagine giving it up right here and now.

No, she thought. I just can’t do that.

Now she felt anger swelling up inside her.

In a tense voice she said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’m not changing my mind. I’m going to Quantico tomorrow.”

Ryan stared at her like he couldn’t believe his ears.

Riley got up from the table and said, “Enjoy the rest of your meal. There’s some cheesecake in the refrigerator. I’m tired. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed.”

Before Ryan could reply, Riley hurried into the bathroom. She cried for a few minutes, then took a long, hot shower. When she put on her slippers and bathrobe and came back out of the bathroom, she saw Ryan sitting in the kitchen. He’d cleared the table and was working at his computer. He didn’t look up.

Riley went into the bedroom and climbed into bed and started crying again.

As she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, she wondered …

Why am so angry?

Is Ryan wrong?

Is any of this his fault?

Her thoughts were such a jumble, she couldn’t think things through. And a terrible memory started to creep up on her—of waking up in this bed with a sharp pain, then seeing that she was soaked in blood …

My miscarriage.

She found herself wondering—was that one of the reasons Ryan didn’t want her to go into the FBI? She’d been badly stressed by the Clown Killer case when it had happened. But the doctor in the hospital had assured her that stress had nothing to do with her miscarriage.

Instead, she’d said that it had been caused by “chromosomal abnormalities.”

Now that Riley thought about it again, that word disturbed her …

Abnormalities.

She wondered—was she somehow abnormal, deep down inside where it really mattered?

Was she incapable of having a lasting relationship, let alone a family?

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt as though she knew only one thing for sure …

I’m going to Quantico tomorrow.

She was asleep before she could think about what might happen after that.