Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  She had to trust Quinn. She couldn’t leave Anna alone. The woman’s time was close now. She focused her mind on the task ahead.

  ***

  A ROUGH WOODEN bench, a pair of tiny gold scissors, fingers tracing their contours.

  A photo, man and boy on horseback, woman with her face lifted to them, wreathed in smiles.

  The scissors slashed through the man's face first.

  Then the boy's.

  One finger stroked over the woman with blond curls.

  Then, slowly and carefully, he cut all but her away.

  QUINN'S HEART RACED as he remembered the dream that had awoken him this morning. He entered the cabin with his great-aunt in his arms. Her breathing was shallow, and her pallor worried him.

  But what he felt most was gut-deep fear for Grant.

  "Grant!" he called out. "Grant, where are you?" What he wouldn’t give to have the dark head pop out from the banister above.

  He laid his great-aunt on the sofa and dialed the phone, issuing clear directions. Then he returned to her side but saw no sign of change in her. He stepped outside on the porch and called out again for Grant.

  Fear stabbed his gut as the visions he’d been having, night after night, returned to haunt him. A boy’s screams echoed in his ears. A different altar…old, dusty wood…tiny scissors added to the collection of items he’d seen before.

  Had Lorie's stalker found them?

  And—oh, Jesus—did he have Grant?

  ***

  "Hold on, Anna. You can do this." Oh, please, somebody…help me. I don’t want to do the wrong thing.

  Anna’s fingers dug into Lorie’s hands as she panted. "I—have—to push," she pleaded.

  "Let me look again." Lorie moved to the foot of the bed to see if she could see the head yet, as Consuela had said she must do before it was safe for Anna to push. Her heart lifted. "I can see it! I see a patch of dark hair!"

  Anna smiled through her exhaustion. A feverish gleam rose in her eyes. "It’s—Lorie, I have to—"

  Please, God, let them be okay . She was as prepared as she was going to be. "It's okay, Anna. Go ahead. Push!" The sound of Anna’s straining groan filled the room.

  No more time to be nervous. The head popped through—a tiny human coming into the world. A miracle, she thought, as she reached to support the head. "The head is out, Anna, and it’s beautiful. One more push and I think you’ve got it!"

  The next contraction wasn’t long in coming. Anna tensed up once more, but though her hair was soaked with sweat, she looked fiercely determined to bring this child into the world. Lorie’s heart swelled almost to bursting with the glory of what was happening here.

  Anna screamed and strained—and the slippery infant slid out. "It’s a girl! It’s a girl, Anna, and she’s beautiful!" Lorie held the child in her hands, overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment. The two women exchanged brilliant smiles as Anna sank back on the pillow, exhausted.

  Lorie held the infant up a little higher so Anna could see. Quickly she laid the baby on Anna's belly and cast around in her mind to remember Consuela’s instructions.

  Consuela . How was she? Had Quinn found Grant? Forcing her concentration back on the task at hand, she reached for the twine and scissors, tying off the cord as instructed. The wail of sirens sounded in the distance, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  When she had the cord tied, she massaged Anna’s belly as Consuela had told her, to aid in expelling the placenta. When the knock sounded on the door, she raced to let them in, wondering if she’d ever heard anything sweeter.

  The paramedics came inside, and Lorie escorted them to see Anna. The second man turned back to her.

  "Ma’am, the other call we got—it's right down this road?"

  "Yes—I'll show you. Can we leave now?"

  "Yes, ma’am. My partner will take care of the lady and the baby in there. It looks like they’re going to be fine. You did a good job."

  She raced after him, her heart thundering as her worry for Grant crowded back in. Surely Quinn had found him. She’d have a talk with her son about not coming directly back as she’d told him to do.

  ***

  QUINN HEARD THE siren with relief—Tía would be cared for, and he could go after Grant.

  "Emilito, come here." Her voice was faint. "I must talk to you before they arrive."

  He dropped to one knee beside her. "Don’t talk now. Wait until you feel better, Tía."

  "This cannot wait. You have been having visions again, have you not?" At his reluctant nod, she continued. "You have seen that he has Grant." A statement, not a question.

  "I…I can't be sure." And that ate at him. "I hear the screams of a child, but I don’t see the face. I don’t see where they are."

  "I know that the visions disturb you, but deep within, you must know the strength of your spirit. It is time for you to put aside your resistance and accept this power as a blessing and not a curse. It will be your only way to find Grant."

  "I plan to gather searchers to help me look for him."

  "No!" She spoke sharply. "There is no more time for you to pretend, Quinn Emilio. You must quit fighting this and open your mind completely. Grant’s life depends upon you."

  He didn’t want to hear this, but Grant’s life was too important. Deep in his gut, he knew she was right. That bastard had found them and had taken Grant. It was up to him to find the boy.

  "Tell me how, Tía." He gave up any pretense that there was a choice. "Tell me what to do."

  He heard footsteps run across the porch. Not much time now.

  "Listen to your heart, Quinn. Let go of your logic and clear your mind so that you may listen to the voice within you."

  "Excuse me, sir, but I need you to step back now." The paramedic spoke gently but firmly. Quinn stepped away as the man examined Tía. Turning, he felt a hand on his arm and saw Lorie’s face, white and pinched.

  "Where is he, Quinn? Did you find him?"

  Quinn would have given anything not to have to tell her that her nightmare was not over. He had no idea how to cushion the blow. When he reached to steady her, one look told him she was already bracing for bad news.

  But she had no idea how bad it really was.

  Chapter Eighteen

  * * *

  THE COLOR DRAINED from Lorie’s face. She took a halting step backward. "He’s…here? He has Grant?" The blue eyes he loved filled with terror. "Are you sure, Quinn?"

  He strode for the door, caged and restless with his own questions. "Hell, yes, there could be a mistake!" He slapped the doorframe with his open hand. "I could be crazy. I could be hallucinating every night." He turned the force of his agony upon her, whispering brokenly. "But I’m…" For the first time he faced reality head-on. "I'm not."

  Her hand touched his cheek, and he leaned into it as if it were salvation. "This is what you’ve had nightmares about, isn’t it?"

  He’d never planned to talk to her about this. He hadn’t wanted to see her dismay at who he had become.

  "The night—" She looked away, then back. "The night he attacked me, are these visions how you knew to come to me?" She stroked his face, and he could see only tenderness and concern, not revulsion.

  He owed her honesty. He nodded.

  She closed her eyes. "Oh, thank God. Then you can find Grant."

  "But I can’t!" He recoiled from her. "I don’t know how it works. I can’t control it. I never know when it’s going to happen, and I don’t see things clearly. I wish Tía were here. Maybe she could tell me how. She only said—"

  "Said what?"

  "She only told me to put away my logic. To clear my mind so that I could listen to my heart."

  "She believes you can find Grant?"

  He nodded, his gut twisting. "But I don’t know how the hell to conjure it up on demand, and I’m afraid—" Shut up, Quinn. Lorie doesn’t need to hear that you’re afraid you might be too late.

  Her eyes saw too much. "That he'll hurt Grant like he hurt me? Oh
, God—"

  "I'm going to put together a search party."

  "How long will that take, as remote as we are?"

  "I can't say."

  "He could do anything to Grant. He could vanish with him or—"

  Quinn's gut twisted. "I'm going to find him, however long it takes." He made his way to the phone.

  "Wait—" Before his eyes, the fierce mother emerged. "Consuela said you saw me even before we met. What exactly did you see?"

  "Why?"

  "It's going to get dark, and Grant will be so afraid. If she believes you can help, you have to."

  "Don't you think I'd sell my soul to find him?" Damn it. He couldn't stand here talking, not when—

  One delicate hand on his arm stopped him. "I know you love him, too. Please…if we work together, maybe we can figure out some way to make sense of the visions."

  Blue eyes pleaded with him, and he'd never felt more helpless in his life.

  "I believe in you, Quinn. On the worst night of my life, you saved me. Your visions saved me. Please…please try."

  Dread rolled through him in waves. He didn't know how to trust this. Control this.

  You must quit fighting this and open your mind completely .

  He closed his eyes. Tried to focus. To remember.

  "There were candles…" he said. "A wall with clippings and photos."

  Lorie gripped his arm, and the images faded.

  "Don’t—when you touch me, all I can sense is you." He opened his eyes. Saw the hurt. "I’m sorry."

  "No, it's all right." She stepped back. "What kind of clippings and photos?"

  "They were all of you." Their eyes met for a second.

  She steeled herself. "Go on."

  He went inward again, but whatever was there had gone. He swore. "Nothing. I wish I knew how to make them clearer." Then he thought of where he felt most at peace. "Maybe my table rock…" Quinn hesitated. "I feel like I ought to be organizing a search first."

  Lorie prayed she wasn’t gambling her son’s life. She recalled how no conventional means had intervened to save her from this maniac before. It had been Quinn and his abilities that had come to her rescue.

  I trust what I see in your heart. You may struggle with what you have heard, but if you consider carefully what you know of Quinn, you will in time come to peace with who he is. He needs that peace .

  She would have to have faith for them both. "You’re the key, Quinn. I know you can find him."

  Doubt warred with wistfulness on his face. She pushed a little harder. "You’re doing it again. Stop thinking like a cop. Listen to your heart as Consuela said." She framed his face in her hands and kissed him gently. "I know you love him. I know you’ll do everything you can to save him. Just remember, you and your visions are what saved me. Go there. Give it a try."

  "I didn't save Clarissa."

  Fear gripped her heart in a brutal fist. "But you did save me, and I believe in you."

  He rested his forehead against hers, and she strove for every bit of calm she could muster to help him out.

  Then he straightened. "All right. Let’s try it."

  A sudden inspiration hit her. "You go on. I just thought of something Consuela does that might help. You don't have any basil growing here by chance?"

  "She plants me some every year—why?"

  "Where is it?"

  "In a pot on the back deck."

  "Do you have any scissors or a sharp knife?"

  ***

  KNIFE .

  A sudden flash struck, a memory that haunted his dreams. "The altar…" he murmured. "The knife…"

  Lorie came up behind him. "What did you say?"

  "I've seen an altar he’s created…an altar to you." He turned and grasped her shoulders. "I saw the knife that he used that night…even before I met you."

  She gasped. "What else?"

  There was no way he was telling her about Grant’s screams. "An ivory glove…small, like your hands."

  Her eyes widened. "Ivory?"

  He nodded. "And scissors."

  "What about them?"

  "Lately, the altar has changed. There’s a pair of tiny gold scissors, too, and—"

  Her breath hissed.

  "What is it?"

  "My needlework scissors are missing. They're tiny and gold." She clutched at him. "Oh, Quinn, don’t you see? You should believe in yourself. He must be here…those scissors are mine and they've been missing for several days. You’ve felt him, haven’t you? That’s why you can’t sleep."

  He started to deny it automatically, then stopped himself. If he was Grant’s best chance, then he had to give this a shot.

  "Go to the table rock," she continued. "Settle in, and I'll be right there." She went after the basil.

  He made his way down the slope to the table rock, agitation pushing him to mount a search party right this second.

  But the area was vast, and assembling a group would take time.

  You know how to calm your mind. Do it .

  He removed his boots, then sat on the rock cross-legged as he did when he meditated. He began his breathing and focused on emptying his mind.

  Lorie approached quietly. "Is it okay for me to be here?"

  Once he would have said no, but now he needed to be with her as much as she needed him. She must be going half out of her mind with worry, yet she was showing him only resilience and courage.

  "What's the basil for?"

  "She sometimes uses this to sweep away evil, but she says it also helps people focus. Close your eyes, and I'll do what I saw her do."

  He closed his eyes and sought the still, calm place within. Please let me understand. Please let me find him. Worry was distracting him. He focused again on the deep, rhythmic breathing he'd learned in the long months of his recovery.

  Lorie brushed the branches over him from the top of his head down. The scent of the herb washed over him, and the wind swept away the doubts as they popped up to distract him. Lorie's breathing had settled into his rhythm, and he began to go deeper, his focus to sharpen.

  He felt his mind opening to a familiar sensation and tensed, dreading the darkness.

  Again, he willed himself to relax and take what would come.

  As he re-established the rhythm, an awareness stirred within him. Images assaulted him, shutter-click fast. He forced himself not to resist, pushing his consciousness back down toward the still place, opening himself up to what would come.

  Dust motes lazily whirling in the air…old weathered beams … Grant’s terror pressed in on him, and he tried to push past it, to see through Grant’s eyes, but the panic was difficult to cut through.

  The altar he’d seen night after night…a ragged photo of Lorie. Her glove…the scissors.

  But the knife was missing, and his heart pounded as Grant’s fear bled through.

  He forced himself to stay with it, to follow the thread of the dark presence he felt. A blast of hate seared his mind, hatred he somehow knew was meant for him. Keep going—don't get sidetracked.

  This rock…a mesquite tree . Images mingled…he could see Lorie curled on the rock, but the vision he saw was not his own memory but that of another.

  The bastard had stood there while she was vulnerable and unprotected, watching her. Quinn knew it like he knew his own name, and he shivered at the thought that she could have been taken again so easily.

  He’d relaxed too much, and look what had happened.

  Stop the guilt. Concentrate .

  His mind kept returning to the mesquite. Why?

  Gray weathered boards, rotting away .

  Where? Was that where Grant was?

  The mesquite .

  He opened his eyes to see Lorie standing beside him, worried but tender in her regard. "I keep seeing a mesquite, the big one over that rise." He pointed. "I don’t know why, but somehow it’s important." He sat up and pulled on his boots.

  He rose and cradled her face in his hands. "I…I—it sounds crazy, but I feel Gra
nt. I don’t think he’s hurt, just scared."

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "No. Damn it, I'm sorry…I can’t see enough. But I have to go to the big mesquite."

  "I’m coming with you." She hugged him. "Thank you. I know this is hard on you."

  "I don’t care how hard it is, if it just works."

  He clasped her hand, and they made their way over the rocky ground. As they neared, Quinn spotted a scrap of paper on the trunk of the tree and took off running.

  I won’t hurt him if you leave the dark one and come to me. Wait here at sunset alone and I will come to you, my only love .

  Lorie gasped.

  He whirled on her. "Over my dead body, you’ll meet that bastard alone."

  "I have to, don’t you see?" She clutched at his arm, her eyes pleading.

  "You seriously expect me to stand by and let that monster touch you again?"

  "We don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t obey."

  "No. I don’t have to let him have you, and I won’t. What I have to do is figure out where Grant is before sunset." He snatched the paper from the nail which held it and was immediately stricken with an image he couldn’t quite capture. He stopped in his tracks.

  Whoa. That had never happened before…what the devil…?

  "What is it?"

  He shook his head, concentrating. A horseshoe? That made no sense unless they were on horseback maybe or…

  "Quinn, what's the matter?"

  He frowned. Closed his eyes and leaned against the tree trunk. Fear flashed through him—

  But not his own. Grant had been here. He could feel the child’s fear. He could almost see his face…his hands had been tied...

  A horseshoe again, clear as day, nailed above a doorway. Why on earth…

  He blinked. Excitement zipped down his spine. "Lorie, there’s an old abandoned homestead on the edge of my land. It's connected somehow."

  "Why?"

  "I—" He couldn't worry about how crazy it might seem. "I see an image of a horseshoe nailed above a doorway. Of weathered gray boards. And I can feel that Grant's been here."