by Jaycee Clark
Las Vegas
Ella Ferguson sat in the airport waiting on her flight. She had watched earlier, hiding in a coffee shop at the hotel, when Quinlan had climbed into a limo and headed—she presumed—to the airport.
God her head hurt. But then it had since sometime this morning, early. The walls and sidewalks had finally stopped spinning a couple of hours ago. She knew she’d been stupid. Beyond stupid, really. She was rarely this idiotically stupid. She’d always, always done what she was supposed to.
What was expected of her—well, most of the time. Yes, she had a few tattoos. Three, so what? And yes, her hair was whatever color she felt like dying it. So what? That did not make her an irresponsible person normally.
She remembered making love early this morning. How she remembered as gone as they both had still been, she wasn’t sure, but they had. He’d made the comment that his family would love her.
She had met his brothers back in New Orleans. They’d all headed to Magnolia Grill.
Group like that . . .
Family like that? Love her? Yeah, right.
And the panic had slammed into her and swallowed her up.
She was married.
Again.
To another fast-playing rich boy.
What the hell was the matter with her? What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking, that was clear enough. Drinking and thinking were not synonymous or even symbiotic—no, more like polar opposites.
She twirled the platinum band between her thumb and forefinger.
What had she done as soon as she’d realized the folly of her grand weekend? She’d lain there, looking at that beautiful ring she couldn’t really remember picking out. Where had they gotten the rings?
Married.
She liked Quinlan, he was funny and quirky and hid it all under that solid seriousness. But they’d gotten past somber Quinlan sometime down in New Orleans. They’d talked, cooked, laughed and dreamed.
Connected.
She’d jokingly told him he was wasting time feeling sorry for himself.
Too wrapped up in what he could no longer do, in what had almost happened rather than what didn’t happen, or what he could still accomplish with his life. The fact he was in a position to help others had honestly seemed lost on him. She’d told him he should help others in worse situations than he’d been in, put things in perspective. So he limped, had a cane, couldn’t run a marathon or 10K anymore. So what?
Yeah, they’d connected. Stranger things happened, she supposed.
Married. The thought kept screaming in her head.
And his family?
Old money, the Kinncaids. Old traditions, she would bet.
Something to do with hotels.
She didn’t care.
She’d been down that road before. Married a rich boy from the Garden District in college and then he’d chosen his family over her when it came to that. She got a nice settlement and heartbreak. She no longer trusted men—especially not trust-fund boys.
Yet, Quinlan didn’t exactly seem that way. Not really.
What the hell did she do now?
See her lawyer when she got home?
Or maybe she could just file an annulment?
She’d have to look into it. Or maybe just leave it be. She’d left the papers with Quinlan, let him take care of it. When he sobered up . . . it wouldn’t be like he’d really want to introduce her to his family, at least not as his wife.
Right now, her head freaking hurt way too damned much to figure out any of it. The kid screaming and running between his mother and other waiting passengers was driving spikes into her brain.
Really, couldn’t the woman control her kid?
Kids.
Her birth control pills were at home, they had to be because they were not in her purse, or the bag she didn’t remember packing. Not really. She remembered making love on the plane. That was about it. God, had they been smart or stupid? Probably stupid, it wasn’t like any of this could be termed in any way or fashion smart.
She put her hands over her stomach for just a second. Nah. Wouldn’t happen. Instead, she rubbed the side of her head.
Just move on and forget him. That’s all she needed to do. Just move on, and in time she wouldn’t remember the way his chuckle sounded deep in his chest as she lay her head down, or the way his heartbeat lulled her to sleep. The way her mouth watered at the very scent of whatever cologne or aftershave he wore. The way his fingers raked through her hair, or softly grazed her skin. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t know more about him.
And now what?
Go back, what else was there? She had a life in New Orleans, and a job. This was just a great and fabulous weekend to write down and remember. To forget if she could for now. It wasn’t like she had never had a one-night stand before. Granted, it had been years, and okay, yes—years. Since college and her divorce from Lance—that she hadn’t wanted, but had too much pride to beg when a man didn’t want her. And the guy her friend Marie had set her up with.
Twice. She’d done the one-night never-look-back twice.
And both of those times? No backward glances.
You weren’t married to either one of them. And she’d spent the weekend with Quin. The weekend.
God. She was M.A.R.R.I.E.D.
Maybe she should have waited for him to wake up and they could have discussed it all. But really, what was she going to do? Wait for him to sober up and look at her with the what the fuck did we do? look she saw in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror?
No.
Coward, maybe she was. Okay, that was a given, and that was fine. Her heart would survive for another day. Sooner or later she’d forget him. And he’d forget her.
She’d gone back to the hotel after he’d left and asked the concierge if there was a message for her. There had been. His phone number and a Call me ~Quin. She’d stood there looking at the message and didn’t realize he’d left something else until the man handed her an envelope with money and another note. You didn’t have to run, you could have ridden home with me. We could have talked about this, which we will have to do. I’ve got to get the plane back and get my brothers. Here’s some money to see you back to New Orleans. Something was scribbled out. Then again, Please call me. Yours, Quin.
Yours.
She was not going to read more into that word than he’d meant. What else would he sign? Love? She had folded it up and put it in her purse and made her way to the airport.
Now here she sat wondering how she could be so . . . reckless? Irresponsible?
It was his eyes, those damned haunted green intense eyes. And that smile. His laughter. His voice and . . .
The announcement for the flight pulled her attention back. They started boarding the plane and she waited. She had enough she could have gotten a first-class ticket, but she’d save the money. She always saved money. It was the only smart thing to do. Call him? Maybe. Maybe not.
Who knew what the future held?
• • •
Washington, D.C., two weeks later
Quinlan stood staring out the windows of his penthouse suite. The brothers were all at home, with their wives and kids. Families.
He was staring out a dark window.
Family.
He’d never wanted one of his own before. Not like his brothers had. Things, apparently, change. When death sat and whispered in your ear, it made you sit the hell up and ask what was important.
Family was damned important.
It was the all, he had realized at some point. When? Had he already realized it and that’s why he didn’t remember halting any of the crazy things he’d done two weekends ago?
Maybe, or maybe it was just that Ella solidified it all for him.
You could do so much more than feel sorry for yourself, Quinlan.
Family . . .
It was what he wanted, deep down inside.
The more he thought of family, the more he thought of her.
>
Ella.
Of her note . . .
“ . . . move on and find someone else . . .”
Anger licked through him all over again. Fact was? He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else.
The question was why.
Did he want her simply because she didn’t want him?
He raked a hand through his wet hair and rubbed his thigh, which was hurting like a bitch.
The lights of D.C. twinkled and spread out before him. From here he could see the Mall, the white hallowed walls of the Capitol. He wanted answers and of course there were none.
He sighed and walked to his black leather couch and all but fell on it.
He reached for the remote and clicked on the TV. He didn’t want to watch anything. He wanted to . . . to . . . do something. What, he had no idea.
Twitchy.
He was damned twitchy and couldn’t sit still.
Maybe he’d go to the gym. He reached for his damn cane and cursed as pain radiated through his leg as he stood. Maybe not the gym. Where did that leave him then? Pacing, apparently. Or limping.
The wedding bands sat on his black granite countertop mocking him. The lights glinted off the platinum of his and winked off the perfect diamond of hers.
An image of her hand flashed through his mind.
She’d reached up to him, the diamond ring sparkling brilliantly as he slid hotly into her and kissed her palm.
Mine.
But she didn’t want to be his.
After he’d dropped his brothers off upon arriving back from their mini-vacation, he’d had Roger fly him back to Vegas. He’d looked for her, asked around, then flown to New Orleans, but she hadn’t been home either. Not knowing what else to do, he’d simply come home and waited.
He sighed and continued to pace. Maybe he’d go down to the office. He couldn’t sleep. He’d already tried that and here he was at three a.m. pacing. The bright lights of D.C. mocked him from beyond the windows.
He needed to do something.
Something.
Anything.
He’d head down and work for a while . . . Maybe then he would be able to forget.
• • •
“Sally said you were in early, like before she arrived there at seven,” Aiden said without preamble when Quin answered the phone.
He glanced at the clock. It was nine. He needed to get in touch with Uncle Broderick’s law firm before noon. That was a call he really didn’t want to make. He’d already dodged Brody’s call. Father or son? His uncle would be like telling his dad. Brody, on the other hand, was like his brothers—plus a lawyer. Brody. Yeah, he’d be giving his cousin a call and not his uncle. Though his uncle would probably learn. God, he hoped not.
He just needed to see what he needed to do, what papers he might draw up to protect his family from . . .
He shook his head.
Ella wouldn’t come after his family. Or him. She wasn’t that way.
But you could be wrong; you were before.
True. So just to be safe, he’d talk to them and see what he needed to do. Be safe, even if it was a bit late.
Quinlan sighed and leaned back. “You know, I’m beginning to think I’m damned if I do or damned if I don’t, brother.”
Aiden was quiet.
“It’s not that, Quin. It’s just been a hard year and—”
“You think I don’t know that? It’s me that still has to do physical therapy sessions and is stuck with this damned cane and—”
“Then you should also know that no matter what, we will all worry about you.”
“Well, you all need a damned hobby then.” He closed his eyes. “What’s the problem, A? I came to work early? So what? A few weeks ago you were wishing I was here more like before. Missed me being here. Now you don’t want me here? Don’t want me to—”
“Shut up. You know that’s not what I meant.” Aiden muttered something. “You were there before five this morning.”
How the hell did he know that? He glanced to his door and knew that Aiden knew everything that went on in this place. “So?”
“Look,” Aiden said, sighing. “Just don’t . . . don’t overdo. Mom will have my ass.”
He rubbed his hand over his face. “Did everyone just forget I’m an adult and have been for some time. And anyway, how would my ‘overdoing’ be your fault?”
“Because I’m the older brother, dumb ass.”
Quinlan smiled. “I’m not a dumb ass, numb nuts.”
Aiden chuckled. “I’ll be in later.”
“Checking up on me?”
“No, I just call to annoy. Ian’s the one that checks up and keeps us all appraised. Which reminds me, what did you do? He was on his PC most of the flight, and just after we dropped you off and he was almost home, I heard him on the phone to John.”
Quinlan closed his eyes and thumped his head on the desk.
“And?”
“I heard your name and he snarled what? Boy was pissed.”
Great. How did he think he’d keep this a secret?
Well, he had already told them the truth, and if they didn’t believe him that was their problem. But Ian would be calling or . . .
No, Ian would wait. He was a damned sneaky bastard.
Quinlan looked at the framed photo of him with his brothers last Christmas. He was pale and in a wheelchair, but they all stood before the decorated tree. The other photos were of his nieces and nephews and his parents. One of him and Aiden on a business trip in the Bahamas.
Yeah, family was everything. Because no matter what . . . they were there—at least his was. Sometimes more than he’d like.
“Hello?” Aiden said.
Quinlan shook his head. “What?”
“I said, whatever he found out he was pissed. What did you do?”
“Nothing you don’t already know.”
Aiden scoffed. “Well, whatever problems arise, we’ve got your back. You know that, right?”
Quin nodded. “Yeah, I think I remember that after you guys kicked the Traynworthy boys’ asses.”
Aiden chuckled. “I’d forgotten about that. They deserved it.” A woman’s voice floated through the phone and two high squeals and laughter.
“Gotta go, Quin. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Chapter 10
Taos, October
Quin stared at the ceiling in the Richardsons’ spare bedroom. He could have stayed over at the house, but the Richardsons had nixed that idea. They wanted to be sure this was what Ella wanted—him being here. His first reaction was to tell them to fuck off.
Then reason settled.
He knew they cared for her. They’d watched out for her when he hadn’t been here. So he agreed and thanked them for their hospitality.
The cops didn’t do a damn thing, at least not in his opinion. They’d asked a few questions, made some notes and said they’d be in touch tomorrow—today as it were—if she hadn’t turned up.
The Richardsons vouched for him. He provided his name for the police, his number, and then nothing.
She was an adult. Thankfully, there wasn’t a waiting period to look for a missing person.
But she was still missing.
Missing and scared. He’d told them about the phone call. The Richardsons had said she was scared of something or someone. And again they’d actually vouched for him saying no, she hadn’t been scared of Quinlan.
He should probably call Brody. Just in case.
He might be stupid when it came to women—seemed a given at this point. But he knew enough to know that the police always looked to relatives when someone went missing. Hell, he was the perfect suspect. Wife gone and hiding, no contact with her husband for months, then he finds out about a baby and she goes missing?
Luckily he could prove he didn’t know, that he had no clue and that he’d been in the air on his way here when she went missing. He had the time stamp for the rental on the receipt and Mr. Richardson could corroborate when he’d arrived, as the
barking dog—a husky—was theirs.
Where the hell was she? He glanced at the clock on his phone. Three a.m. Christ, he hadn’t slept. Couldn’t sleep.
He kept hearing her voice. Her voice and the fear and . . .
Screw it.
He slid his thumb across his phone and pulled up Brody’s contact info. Maybe he’d send the man a text. Text. He didn’t want to talk to anyone just yet. They’d have questions and he didn’t have any answers.
Might need you. Like really need you. Just an FYI.
He grinned. His cousin would love that.
Then he thought about another text . . . Or not . . .
Ian. It was five a.m. on the East Coast.
Hell. The man probably knew he was married, not that Ian had ever flat out said as much, but Quin knew his brother knew.
Might need that help you offered me once. Will call later. He left it at that.
He tossed his phone onto the bed beside him and then got up, wincing at the ache in his leg. He reached over for his cane and pulled on his jeans. Cold here. Damn. Mountains. He hadn’t packed a pair of sweats. But that was the least of his worries.
Pacing one way then the other, he wondered what he could do tomorrow . . . The cops weren’t going to look for her, unless he pushed like hell for it. Then again, they probably would, he just wanted them looking now. He wanted to be looking now, he just had no idea where to start.
So he’d damned well push if she wasn’t over there come morning.
As of now, the lights were still off in the whole damned house. He could see it from here.
Maybe he could go to where she worked. If she stayed out there before, maybe she stayed there again . . .
Could be. He’d ask Mrs. Richardson in the morning where exactly Ella had worked. From the way they had talked earlier she didn’t teach yoga anymore at the studio but at some retreat place or something. And she volunteered at nursing homes. If he had a name, he could simply drive wherever-the-hell it is and see if they’d seen her.
Something was wrong. He’d felt little things being off for months and hadn’t damned well paid attention to them, too wrapped up in self-pity again. Life hadn’t been the way he’d wanted it. So the hell what. So she hadn’t been right there with him, he could have damned well kept in contact.