“Do you – do you blame me for what happened? For what that sick f**k did to you in the conference room, and for the end of your career?”
“No.”
“But how can you not?” he asked, and she heard the despair in his voice.
“Because I only blame one person, and he’s dead. You killed him as he held a knife to my throat and whispered in my ear that he was going to s***h it wide open. Greg Wallace did all of this to me, and I know that he was sick and maybe one day I’ll feel pity for him… but right now, I’m angry as hell at him. Only at him.” Her eyes held his. “I know what it cost you to pick up that rifle again, babe, what you risked losing of yourself by doing that. I know how slim the chances were that you were going to make that shot. But you did it anyway, and you saved my life. I love you
