“This time, we’ll escort you and make sure you get on that plane,” Julia said. “Make sure your relatives meet you at the airport.”
Dad’s eyes cut to the other woman in the room. “And you are?”
“She’s with the DEA. She is helping Quinn.”
“I’m the one who contacted you, per Quinn’s instructions,” she said.
Dad eyed her as he put Stevie down. “Can you do me a favor, buddy? Can you go get yourself a glass of milk and wait for me in the kitchen?”
Stevie nodded and ran between them to the kitchen.
Dad leveled his gaze on her. She was a little girl again, being scolded. “You were told not to involve the police. You could have lost Stevie forever, Bree. That was a huge risk. I counted on you.”
“Your father doesn’t trust the police?” Julia asked.
“Those were the demands.” Bree paced the small space, wanting to get away from the tension and go find Quinn.
“And you trust her because...” her father said.
“I brought your daughter and grandson back here to the house after the abductors left them unconscious in a car. They had drugged them so they wouldn’t have to kill them.”
Dad threw his hands up in the air, a show of exasperation. “Well, that’s comforting.”
“We don’t have time to talk about this, Dad. Now, are you going to take Stevie away from here or not?”
“Sure. And just so you know, I might not bring him back.”
Great way to encourage me, Dad. He was understandably upset about all of this. But she totally got where he was coming from. She might feel the same way if she were in his shoes, though she knew he would never take Stevie away from her.
“Can we get on with it?” Julia said. “Every minute we stand here talking is a minute we’re wasting. Quinn’s life depends on us.”
FOURTEEN
Pain rolled through him as he moved in and out of consciousness. He had to stay awake. How long had he been in this condition? When darkness started to take him under again, Quinn pulled himself out of it.
Focused on staying conscious. Pictured Bree’s face. Imagined her telling him to stay awake. To make it out alive. He recalled those last few moments with her. She’d grabbed him and kissed him.
Stay alive, Quinn Strand. He could hear her sweet voice in his head now.
He’d told her that staying alive was the plan. Problem was, he struggled to remember exactly how he planned to stay alive, or if there had been any real plan at all beyond saving Stevie. He’d watched the boy be delivered to her in the car. But that’s all he’d seen before he’d been whisked away into the warehouse. Then whisked away again.
So he had no idea where he was.
He was alone at the moment, having given them what they wanted, but he’d taken a lot of abuse, not wanting to give the information up too soon.
He’d wanted to give Bree the time she needed to get Stevie somewhere safe. He was actually surprised they didn’t offer to trade Stevie for the money instead of Quinn, but it seemed that they wanted him either way and believed they could, through torture, force him to tell them where he’d hidden it.
He had to make them work for it, and eventually, he’d given them a bogus location.
Water dripped incessantly, echoing through the dampness. Another warehouse? He couldn’t be sure. There was a bag over his head; he couldn’t see where he was. He wouldn’t be able to see out of his left eye, even if he didn’t have a bag over his head. They had transported him to another location away from the oyster warehouse along that part of Coldwater Bay. The drive had taken maybe half an hour but he couldn’t be sure, because he’d been kicked in the head a few times. He hoped he could remember his name when he came out of this.
When being the operative word.
The worst pain came from his pinkie finger, which wouldn’t stop throbbing, protesting the violence inflicted upon it. He’d held out as long as he could, so they would believe him about the money. When they’d started on the pinkie fingernail, he spilled his guts. But he’d managed to get information out of them, too—whether they’d realized that was what he was doing or not.
He’d gotten the confirmation he’d needed. Heard the name he’d wanted to hear—Declan had been the one to tell them he had seen Quinn taking money. A complete lie to divert attention from himself. Declan had also told them Quinn was undercover DEA. Unfortunately, these guys were especially brutal to him because they knew he was DEA. Quinn was surprised they didn’t kill him.
But they had to find the money. If it wasn’t there, then he was dead. And if it was there, then he was probably dead, too. He wouldn’t put it past Declan at this point to plant the money somewhere, setting Quinn up, so Declan would be off the hook. Except Quinn suspected the man had already spent the original stolen money.
That had been the risky part of the plan. Quinn hadn’t stolen the money so he couldn’t tell them where it was hidden. He’d fabricated a location in order to stop the questioning and get them all to leave. But if he was still here when they got back, his pinkie finger would be the last of his worries.
Others would suffer, too.
Bree and Stevie...
Okay, he had to get out of here. Focus, man. Focus. He shook off the agony of the last several hours. He started shaking his chair, bouncing hard on it in order to break it.
Footsteps told him he wasn’t alone.
Not good. He couldn’t get out of this with a guard watching over him. And by the boots clomping along the concrete, he could tell the guard was approaching him.
Moments later, he could smell the sweaty man in front of him. “Shut up or I’ll make you shut up.”
“But I haven’t said anything.” Quinn would have to appease him.
“You were moving around. And now you’re talking.”
Quinn stilled as if to obey. He hoped it was enough. He envisioned the man coldcocking him with the butt of his gun. Quinn sucked in a breath to brace himself. He could get knocked unconscious again and wake up to more torture over the money he didn’t have.
Now what?
Come on, Julia. What’s taking so long?
They hadn’t discovered his tracker, so she should have found him by now.
Gunfire resounded.
Not machine guns.
Julia. He hoped.
Grunts and kicks met his ears. Someone engaged the guy guarding him. The bag was yanked from his head. Pain thundered through his temples. “Ow!”
He opened his one good eye.
A beautiful woman with burning green eyes and fiery red hair stared down at him.
“Bree,” he croaked out. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you, what do you think?” She eyed him, a look of horror on her face. That and relief. Bree hugged him.
The slightest of touches was painful, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
“Thank you for getting Stevie back,” she said.
“No time for that. You can kiss and make up later.” Julia said. “We’re running behind.”
Bree cut him from the chair, and the women shouldered him out of the dilapidated structure. “It’s okay,” he protested. “I’m good to walk.”
“No, you’re not,” they said in unison.
He lay in the back of Julia’s rental car as Julia explained all that had happened. She’d done as he’d asked and protected Bree.
“Get us back to Bree’s house.”
“You should be prepared to be threatened again. Maybe the two of you should just leave, too, like your father did with Stevie.”
“And go where?” Bree said. “I’m not leaving my home. I won’t go into hiding like Quinn did...sorry, Quinn. No offense.”
“None taken.” Or at least he didn’t think so. Wait a minute...
“I’m not taking you bac
k to your house. That’s too dangerous—Jones and his men know where it is. We’ll just go back to the seedy motel where Quinn still has a room.”
Good. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Julia was right.
“What I mean is that I have family and loved ones. People I want to see. I can’t hide in the mountains in a camper until this dies down.”
Ouch. “You’re cutting me to the bone here, Bree. I thought I was already beaten up enough.” It was clear that she hadn’t fully understood his reasons for his actions.
She tossed a glance over her shoulder at him in the back seat. “I just thought it was time for truth instead of always dancing around things.”
What? Dancing around things? What was she talking about?
“That’s a smart girlfriend you have there, Quinn.” Julia steered them through downtown. He hoped they didn’t get pulled over.
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Bree said.
“Whatever you say,” Julia chuckled. She cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s talk about what’s next. I need to get on my cell if I can’t be there in person. Maybe I can convince Stan that Declan is involved—that he blew your cover and has framed you for stolen money.”
“That’s not going to work without proof. Jones’s men have probably already discovered there’s no money in that location by now. So I have to come up with a new plan.”
“Just tell Jones it’s Declan who knows where the money is,” Julia said. “That he framed you. Set you up. They torture him, I guarantee he’ll tell them.”
“And he’s going to believe me now, why?”
“Because I’m going to tell him.” Julia sounded smug.
“I know I’m not DEA here,” Bree said, “and I don’t do things the way you do, but how does that make you any better than this Declan agent? If you’re just going to put his life in danger.”
“Good point.” Julia sighed. “I’m not above turning this back on the man who is to blame. But it would be better if DEA arrested him rather than him disappearing into some torture chamber. But for that we need proof.”
“What we need is a confession,” Quinn said.
“You’re never going to get that.”
* * *
Julia wasn’t kidding. This was a seedy motel room. A good hiding place, too. Her only immediate concern was infection. This place was probably crawling with germs and definitely wasn’t the best place to give Quinn first aid—doctor his wounds and scratches. She could hardly bear to look at him.
The thought of what he’d gone through made her physically ill, but she wouldn’t let him see that and forced a tenuous smile to her face. Relaxed the lines she knew tried to inch between her brows and across her forehead.
“Just hold still,” Bree said. “I wish we could just take you to the doctor instead of this nasty motel. You could get a secondary infection here.”
He made a weird sound, almost like he tried to laugh but pain prevented him. “Secondary infections are common in hospitals. Ever heard of—” A racking cough cut him off.
“Careful now. Don’t try to talk.”
That cough worried her. She’d looked at his ribs, but none were broken. As a deputy, she had some basic medical training, and all that training was telling her now to get him to a qualified, experienced doctor, which she was not.
She’d put ice on his swollen eye. Maybe a raw steak would be better.
She’d doctored his face.
Bandaged his fingers, taking special care with the pinkie from which his fingernail had been stripped. Hold it together. She blew out a breath to keep her hands steady and focused on a particularly nasty cut along his arm.
While she cleaned, she focused on something other than Quinn’s blood. Julia had gone to grab fast food. For the first time since this nightmare had started, Bree could finally relax—if only a little. Dad and Stevie were safe in Idaho. Quinn was safe here with her. Nobody was actively chasing them at this moment. Nobody was shooting at them.
Perspectives could sure change on the turn of a dime, Dad always said.
She thought about how she had braced herself to find Quinn in the warehouse, fearing what she would see. And here she was, tending to his wounds. She struggled to swallow against the sudden thickness in her throat.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she whispered. “I can’t believe you would go through this when you knew this was going to happen.”
He released a grunt and nothing more as she continued to administer first aid.
“You’re good at this, you know?” His one good eye peeked at her.
“At what?”
“At nurturing. But that doesn’t surprise me in the least. You could have been a doctor or a nurse. Anything you wanted. Why did you choose to be a deputy?”
“I could ask you the same. Why did you go into the DEA?” And put yourself in this kind of dangerous path?
“I guess if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here now in this situation.”
What could she possibly say to that? She bandaged the wound. “I’m afraid you could have a concussion. I definitely think there’s internal bleeding based on the way your torso is bruised.”
“I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.”
Bree glared at him. Maybe that look she always gave Stevie when she expected a different response would work on Quinn—though she doubted it.
“Look, I promise to seek medical treatment when this is over. Happy?”
Wow. That had worked. She’d have to remember that next time. “Well, if that’s the best I can get from you, it will have to do.”
She packed away the first aid kit and threw away the blood-soaked gauze, then washed her hands, trying to ignore the stained sink.
Would this ever be over? She hoped so, but right now it was hard to see the end. She turned around. Quinn still sat in that same chair with his eyes closed.
Sleeping or just resting? He had refused painkillers. She slowly approached until she felt the heat coming off him. His metabolism had ramped up. His body trying to heal?
“If we had called the police once Stevie was taken,” she said, “maybe you wouldn’t have had to go through this.”
“Maybe I’d be dead. Maybe Stevie, too.”
She’d wanted to quit dancing around the issues and speak the truth, but she had a hard time telling him what she really thought. Still, she had to try. “I didn’t call the police when Stevie was abducted because I believed you about that being more dangerous for him. But the way things stand now, maybe that would have been the better way to go. You wouldn’t have almost lost your life. You wouldn’t be suffering now.”
She moved to step away.
His eye flew open and he caught her wrist. “Nothing has turned out the way I thought it would.”
The way he looked at her now, with longing and regret, made her think of their kiss in the garage. Was he referring to her, too? Not just everything that had happened so far with his being framed?
“Quinn, I...”
He reached up and brushed a knuckle down her face, apparently oblivious to the bruises that remained from his last few days of trying to survive and escape the madness. She pressed her hand over his on her cheek and squeezed.
“Thank you for what you did. For saving Stevie. But I don’t want you to put yourself in that position again.”
“There aren’t any guarantees. You’re still in danger.” He slowly eased from the chair and leaned too far to the right. He supported himself on the chair. The tenderness in his face had fled and was replaced by anger.
“You should distance yourself from me in every way. I’m a train wreck right now. I thought I could protect you, but I don’t know how anymore. You should leave.”
“What do you mean? Leave you here injured like this?”
He nodded. “This isn’t your fight. It never was.” He released the chair and r
eached for her then, gently pulling her to him.
Her whole body shook. “Even if you hadn’t been there in the woods, I’d be fighting these men. They wanted me dead before you got involved.”
“They let you go because of me. You traded me. I only thought to get Stevie back and gain intel. Now that we’re on the other side of that operation, I see that nothing has changed nor will it change until I end this once and for all. But for the moment, Bree, you’re still in danger.”
He released her and she wished he hadn’t. She didn’t want to be afraid again.
“And Bree—” he looked at her, his eye fierce under his brow “—you’re a good deputy. The best. I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.”
She was the one to grab him this time. She gripped his shoulders and made him face her. “You saved Stevie. That’s all that matters. Now let me help you. Let me protect you.”
“I don’t want you to lose your job because of me.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
Bree gently hugged him. Somehow, they had to make it through this, and on the other side, she would have to let Quinn go again. She wouldn’t let herself love him. There was no time for that, even if she could fall for him a third time, but when he left again—and he would; he always did—it would hurt her just like always.
Quinn eased her away from him and headed for the mirror to look at the damage.
The door burst open. “Police! Freeze!”
FIFTEEN
His arms clasped behind his head, Quinn stared at the ceiling in the county jail cell. For the first time since he’d been betrayed, he almost wanted to give up. He certainly hadn’t imagined himself here in the small cell in a small town in Coldwater Bay. Betrayed by none other than his old flame.
Bree had called the cops on him.
I don’t want you to lose your job because of me.
Don’t worry. I won’t.
Now her words made a lot more sense. What an idiot he’d been!
He squeezed his good eye shut and relived the moment when Bree betrayed him.
The door kicked in. Quinn’s reflexes were slow, but he’d turned, preparing to protect her.
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