by Pamela Clare
Every part of him down to his DNA wanted to claim Lilibet as his lover, but he knew that couldn’t happen. She’d worked hard to get where she was. She wouldn’t sacrifice her career for a bit of sex and romance. By the time they were fully dressed, she would tell him how this could never happen again and how they needed to maintain a professional distance.
Aye, he could tell her that he felt more for her than friendship, that he wanted her in his life, but he didn’t want to come across like that fuckwit at the Agency. That bastard hadn’t cared for her at all.
Quinn did.
And that’s why you’ll let her go, aye?
It was better this way. Though Quinn had never struck a woman, he couldn’t be all that different from his da. He’d beaten the bastard bloody—and then he’d gone off to kill for a living. What woman could love a man who’d beaten his own da?
She stirred, ran her fingers through his chest hair, spoke in a sleepy voice. “Was that Scottish Gaelic?”
It took Quinn a moment to figure out what she was talking about. “Aye.”
“What does that mean?”
He had no idea how she’d react, but he told her anyway. “It means somethin’ like ‘sweetheart.’”
She made a little purring noise, and for a while neither of them spoke.
Then her body tensed.
“What is it?”
She turned in his arms and looked up at him. “Jack was murdered by someone who knew him.”
“That’s what’s goin’ through your mind—Jack’s murder?”
You’re no’ as good in bed as you think you are, man.
She smiled. “Nothing was going through my mind, and then the pieces just clicked. But I don’t want to talk about that now. I just mentioned it because I’m about to slip into a sex coma and didn’t want to forget. You’re amazing, Quinn McManus.”
She snuggled against him again, and soon they were both sound asleep.
Quinn was having a delicious dream about fucking Lilibet only to wake and find her kneeling between his thighs, giving him head. “Jesus!”
She moved her mouth and hand together up and down his length, her tongue doing something incredible. She lifted her mouth from him, gave him a pouty look. “I woke up hungry. I hope this is okay.”
Och, she was too much.
“Feel free to go down on me any time you…” His words unraveled as she took him into the heat of her mouth again.
He moved her hair aside so he could watch, the sight of her devouring him making his cock jerk in her hand. “More pressure … aye, like that.”
Pleasure uncoiled at the base of his spine, the first hint of climax making his balls draw tight. She kept up the pace, down to the base and up again, her tongue swirling around the aching head, her gaze fixed on his.
After that, it didn’t last long. Quinn clenched his teeth, arching as orgasm ripped through him, Elizabeth finishing him with her hand, cum spilling onto his belly.
He lay there, stunned. “If only I could wake up like this every day…”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She hopped out of the bed naked, walked to the bathroom, and came back with a warm washcloth to wipe him clean.
“Now, that’s service,” he teased, some part of him still unable to believe they’d slept together.
“You are the best sex I’ve ever had, Quinn, and that was the best sex nap ever.” She pressed a kiss to his solar plexus. “But now I really am starving.”
Quinn glanced at the bedside alarm clock to see that it was almost suppertime. How bloody long had they slept?
She jumped up again and bustled around, getting dressed, brushing her hair, perusing the room service menu. She glanced over at him. “Aren’t you going to get up?”
Quinn’s mind was willing, but his body was still coming down from somewhere in the stratosphere. Besides, he could have watched her all day. “Give me a minute.”
She read out the choices from the room service menu and ordered. By the time the food arrived—roast chicken and wine for her and venison and whisky for him—Quinn was upright and dressed.
While they ate, Elizabeth explained what she’d tried to tell him earlier.
“They found no sign of a struggle on Jack’s body. Whoever killed him had to be standing within arm’s length of him, either in front of him or off to the side. Whatever brought him to that alley must have been unusual, and that means he likely would have been on his guard.”
“Aye, true enough.”
“This morning, you told me that the best way to kill a man with a knife is to sneak up behind him and slit his throat.”
“Aye. You take him by surprise, sever his vocal cords and trachea and carotid in one motion. He can’t cry for help and alert others, and he bleeds out quickly.”
Killing was a gruesome business.
She took a sip of her wine, a thoughtful frown on her face. “I don’t think a man like Jack would stand side-by-side with a stranger in an alley in the middle of the night. It’s too sketchy. He probably wouldn’t let a stranger walk right up to him, either. He would maintain some distance. That’s what you’re trained to do, right?”
“Aye.” Quinn saw where she was going with this. “You’re sayin’ the killer had to be someone he knew to get close to him in that environment.”
She nodded. “The killer got close to him and managed to slash at him without giving a seasoned warrior like Jack any sense he was in danger in a situation where most of us would be on edge. I assess that this person was someone he knew, someone who had experience fighting with knives—perhaps someone who knew Jack was wearing body armor that night.”
Ava’s words came back to Quinn, prickles rising along his nape.
If only the killer had tried to stab him in the chest or back instead, he would have had time to react and fight back.
“Aye, the bastard knew right where to sink his blade.”
Elizabeth set her tray aside, leaned back with her glass of wine, her gaze meeting Quinn’s. “I can understand why Wilson is focused on the drug angle. This wasn’t a random robbery and stabbing. It was premeditated. It was personal.”
Elizabeth watched Quinn’s face as what she’d said sank in—anger followed by acceptance.
He sipped his whisky. “When I heard how he’d died, where he’d been stabbed, I knew that whoever had killed him hadn’t just meant to incapacitate him and take his money. They wanted him dead. I guess I was right.”
“Yes.” Her heart hurt for him.
“But who would want to kill him?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Quinn’s cell phone buzzed. “It’s Ava.”
Elizabeth went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and to give Quinn some privacy. She could still hear his side of the conversation. The news wasn’t good.
“Thanks for tryin’. Naw, nothin’ yet. Och, Ava, I’m so sorry. There’s got to be an explanation. We’ll do our best to find it—I promise. We spoke wi’ the man who threatened to kill Jack, but he couldnae have done it. She’s certain the killer is someone who knew him. Aye, we will. Thanks.”
Elizabeth left the bathroom to find Quinn staring at the ceiling. “Bad news?”
“The police willnae share information from the investigation wi’ Ava. There’s no file for her to request, no public information.”
“Damn.” But Elizabeth knew that wasn’t all of it. “What else did she say?”
Quinn looked up at Elizabeth, despair in his eyes. “She demanded to know about the toxicology tests. There were no drugs in his system, but they found cocaine and heroin residue on his hands, in his car, and in his jacket pocket.”
“Then it was drug-related. I’m so sorry, Quinn.” Elizabeth could only imagine how difficult this was for him.
Nothing hurt more than being disappointed by those you loved.
“I dinnae believe it. There must be an explanation.” Quinn’s faith in his friend touched Elizabeth. “I know how it seems, but Jack wouldnae sell drugs.�
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She wouldn’t argue with Quinn, not today anyway. He was grieving. She couldn’t expect him to be objective. That was her job.
She turned to the whiteboard. “Ava said Jack and Leo Grant had a falling out this summer. If the police talked to Clive, they’ve almost certainly paid Leo a visit. That doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve ruled him out. I’d like to talk with him, too.”
Ports and dockyards were a natural setting for drug smuggling, ships going in and out all day with cargo. She had no idea where Leo’s operation was located or which ports in Scotland were hotspots for drugs, but that would be easy enough to research.
“I’m no’ takin’ you to the docks at night. It’s no’ safe there.”
All at once, the situation seemed futile.
She sank onto the sofa beside Quinn. “This is getting us nowhere. The police are ten steps ahead of us. If I’m going to help at all, I need something to go on.”
“We can pay Leo a visit on Monday.
“Why not tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow, I’m takin’ you to see the sights.” Quinn drew her into his arms, resting her head against his chest as they talked about places they might visit.
It felt so natural to be held like this by him. She kept waiting for the post-sex awkwardness to strike, but it hadn’t. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Quinn he was the best sex she’d ever had. He had blown her mind. She had no regrets.
Still, they needed to talk. She needed to make it clear that once they got back to the US, everything would go back to the way it had been.
Are you sure you want that?
It was either that—or one of them had to give up their job.
Then it hit her. “I know where we should go tonight.”
“Where?”
She sat upright. “The alley where Jack was killed. I want to see what it’s like in the dark.”
Quinn scowled. “Naw, we’re no’ goin’ there, no’ at night. We should wait until daylight.”
“I want to see what it’s like at night, how well-lighted it is.” She stood, went for her shoes. “It’s not like the killer is going to be hanging out there, waiting for us. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I can catch a cab.”
He glared at her, got to his feet. “You’re no’ goin’ alone.”
She’d known he would say that. “I’ll look up the crime scene in the papers and meet you in the hallway in five minutes. Don’t forget to arm your security camera.”
10
Quinn stepped with Elizabeth into the elevator, the loaded Glock 42 tucked into its holster and concealed in the waistband of his jeans. It was time to lay out the rules. “If we get there, and I think it’s unsafe, I willnae let you get out of the car. If I tell you we’re goin’, they’ll be no argie-bargie.”
“What’s an argie—?”
He cut her off with a kiss. “You’re the intel expert, but if it comes to fightin’, it’s my problem. You’ll do what I tell you to do, aye?”
She nodded. “Right. Okay.”
They retrieved the rental from the car park and set out.
Elizabeth had looked up the location of the crime scene in the newspapers. “It’s an alley off Topmast Lane between Howard and Clyde. Do you want me to use GPS—”
“Naw, I know where it is.” He turned right. “What are you expectin’ to find? The police have already searched the area and cleaned away the mess.”
“I just want to see what Jack would have seen. Maybe the alley is near a busy place like a nightclub where we might find witnesses. Maybe there’s something about the location that explains why Jack was there. Maybe there are cams, and the police have the whole thing on video and haven’t told anyone. I don’t know. Maybe we won’t learn anything.”
The knot that had been in Quinn’s stomach since Elizabeth had mentioned going to the alley drew tighter, and it took him a moment to fathom why.
It’s where Jack died.
He wasn’t sure he was ready for this.
It took them ten minutes to reach Topmast Lane. Quinn drove slowly, looking for the opening to an alley.
Elizabeth pointed to a gap between buildings. “There.”
“Aye, I see it.” He turned left, steering the rental vehicle between the buildings.
The alley turned out to be more of a courtyard than a true alley. There were no exits apart from the one by which they’d just entered. The space was surrounded by three-story-high brick buildings, all of which appeared to be businesses. A few large rubbish bins sat along the walls, concrete steps leading to backdoors that were closed, all the windows dark.
“May I get out?”
There was no one around.
“Aye.” He parked but left the car running.
“Turn off the lights.”
Quinn did as she asked, and they both stepped out of the vehicle.
“It’s so dark.” Elizabeth moved to stand an arm’s length in front of Quinn. “He would have been able to see his killer’s face, but I’m not sure he would have seen a knife in anyone’s hand.”
Quinn stood where he could see the entrance to the alley, his gaze moving over the ground searching for the place Jack’s body had been found. There were, of course, no chalk marks like on American TV shows, no police tape left behind, nothing to show that a good man—a husband, a father, a warrior, a brother—had breathed his last here.
Grief, dark and heavy, hit Quinn square in the chest.
Jack, you bastard. What the fuck were you doin’ here, man?
It didn’t seem possible that Jack’s life could have ended on this meaningless patch of asphalt, this nothing of a space, not after he’d survived Iraq and Afghanistan.
“There aren’t any street cams here.” Elizabeth’s voice brought him back.
A flash.
He turned to see her taking photos with her phone. “What are you doin’?”
“I want the names of all these businesses. Some of them are painted on the doors. I can look them up later, see if they’re associated with anyone who knew Jack. There has to be a reason why he was killed here of all places.”
The reason seemed obvious to Quinn. “No one walkin’ or drivin’ by could have seen from the street. If they had, they wouldnae ask questions. It’s near the red-light district and the casino.”
“Yes, it’s a good place for a murder, but why would Jack come here? His car was here, and there was no sign of a struggle. He drove here himself.”
This was a good place for a drug deal, but Quinn couldn’t imagine Jack getting involved in something like that.
The bleep of a siren. Blue and white flashing lights.
Fuck.
Elizabeth walked over to Quinn, put her mobile away. “Have we broken the law?”
That bastard Wilson stepped out of one of the vehicles.
“How the bloody hell did he know where we were?”
“He’s got us under surveillance somehow.” Elizabeth spoke quickly. “We’re here because you want to pay your respects at the place where Jack died. Nothing more.”
“Aye.”
Wilson strolled up to them. “Have you been gone from home for so long that you’ve gotten lost, Mr. McManus? Or perhaps you and Ms. Shields are waitin’ for someone.”
“We came so I could see for myself the place where Jack was murdered. Is that against the law now?”
“No, but interferin’ with a police investigation is. So is dealing heroin and cocaine.”
Quinn laughed. “It’s us you’re after now? No wonder you cannae catch Jack’s killer. No one is interferin’ by standin’ here, and neither of us have touched drugs.”
“I heard you paid a visit to Clive MacDonald and asked him questions about Jack Murray. Some might wonder why. Now, if you’d get back in your car and follow me back to the station.”
“Are we under arrest?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not yet.” Wilson turned his back on them and walked back to his car.
; Elizabeth sat in an interview room with PC Patel, who asked questions, while pretending the two of them were just having a conversation. Was she enjoying her holiday? Where did she work? How long had she and Quinn known each other? Why go all the way to Edinburgh to talk to Clive MacDonald when there were better things to do and see there? What did she think of legalized marijuana in Colorado? Did she or Quinn smoke pot or take edibles? Never? Had she ever tried anything harder—like cocaine or heroin? Had she ever brought heroin back from Afghanistan?
None of this fazed Elizabeth at all. She knew all the games interrogators played. She’d mastered them working for the Agency. Because she and Quinn had nothing to hide, she told the truth. Yes, she was enjoying her time in Scotland. She and Quinn met at Cobra. They’d gone out to eat in Edinburgh, but they’d stopped to see if MacDonald was willing to explain why he’d threatened to kill Jack. Elizabeth hadn’t lived in Colorado when pot had been legalized, and, no, she’d never tried it or any other illegal drug. No, really. Not once.
After the last question, Elizabeth turned the tables. “If you know I’ve been to Afghanistan, then why did you ask me where I work? You already know the answer.”
Patel’s friendly façade vanished. “Where did you work before Cobra?”
“You’re not going to find that on your own.” Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “I was a counterterrorism analyst and interrogator for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
Patel’s mouth formed an O of surprise.
Elizabeth went on. “Between you and me, Wilson is wasting his time if he thinks either Quinn or I had anything to do with Jack’s alleged drug dealing. Quinn can’t even bring himself to believe that Jack was dealing drugs, even after getting the news about the toxicology reports. You’re on a fishing expedition, but you won’t find anything because there’s nothing to find.”
“Why did you visit the site of the murder?”
“Quinn is grieving right now. Surely, that’s not hard to understand. If someone you loved were murdered, wouldn’t you want answers? You might even want to go to the place that person died to pay your respects.”