The Marshalls Boxed Set (Texas Heroes: The Marshalls Books 1-3)

by Jean Brashear

  The anguish and guilt he felt must have shown. She reached out a hand and touched his cheek. “Poor Quinn. You don’t deserve to have to deal with this. After Clarissa—”

  The old, dark remorse flayed at Quinn’s soul, given new life by anger and impotence at being too late to save Lorie, too. Oh, she was alive, unlike Clarissa. But wounded and broken as she was right now, he felt no sense of victory.

  Lorie stroked his hair as sorrow strengthened its chokehold.

  Quinn shook himself and rose, knowing from the experience of lost, bitter months that nothing would come of thinking about it now. He’d concentrate on Lorie’s needs. His own reckoning would come later.

  They left her apartment and rode downstairs in silence. Lorie had closed in on herself, and Quinn had no more answers to give. When the doors opened, he reached down to pick up the bags and stepped out, only to be met by Frank’s anxious gaze.

  “Mr. Marshall—” He gestured back over his shoulder. Quinn spotted strangers clustered outside the doors. A gasp behind him told him Lorie had seen them, as well.

  He glanced at Frank, who pointed down the hall in the opposite direction.

  “My replacement is here, so I stepped to the curb and sent the taxi around the block. If you’ll follow me, we’ll take the back way. Here, let me take some of those bags.”

  Lorie’s face was resolute. “I know the way.” She grabbed one of the bags, and they rushed down the hallway behind Frank. He led them to a service entrance at the alley behind the building. He reached the door and pulled it open, shouting to the cabbie, “Here—open the trunk, quickly!”

  He all but threw the bags inside, while Quinn bundled Lorie into the cab. As Quinn turned to thank Frank, he saw figures scurrying down the alley toward them.

  “That’s all right, Mr. Marshall. I’ll hold them off—go now!”

  Quinn threw him a grateful look, then leaped inside the taxi. He gave the cabbie Josh’s address as they sped out of the alley.

  Lorie sat beside him, her frame rigid, a hunted look in her eyes.

  He damned the fame that made this nightmare just that much harder for her to bear.

  Outside the freight elevator leading to Josh’s loft, Lorie squared her shoulders and blanked her face of all emotion.

  “Want to take a minute?” Quinn asked.

  She cast him a grateful look, but shook her head. “No. I’m as ready as I’m going to get. This is where we see just how good an actress I am.”

  “You don’t have to act brave. You already are.”

  She smiled and touched his arm lightly. “Quinn…I don’t know how to thank you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You just did.”

  The door above opened. They could hear Grant. “Mom? Mom?”

  “Grant, honey, I’ll be right there.” With one last nervous glance up at Quinn, she stepped into the elevator.

  When they arrived at the next level, Grant stood anxiously before her, scanning her face. Quinn opened the grill, and Lorie dropped to her knees, gathering her child in her embrace.

  Grant wrapped his small arms tightly around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder. “Are you okay, Mom? Did the bad man hurt you?” He looked up at Quinn, and Quinn could see his fear.

  “Your mother was very, very brave. The bad man scared her a lot, so you’ll understand, won’t you, if it takes her a little while to feel better?”

  Grant squeezed her more tightly. “He scared her really bad?”

  Quinn knelt on the floor behind her, at Grant’s eye level. “Yes, he did, and she was strong, but she’ll need our help now to get rid of the bad feelings. Just like sometimes you need her to help you when you’ve had a nightmare, right?”

  Grant nodded. Quinn cupped one hand at the back of Grant’s head and pressed one to Lorie’s back, stroking both to comfort them.

  “Well, your mom will need you and Josh and me to help her because this wasn’t just a dream. But we can do it, can’t we? She’s strong and we all care about her, so we’ll all work together to help her get better.”

  Worry clouded Grant’s normally bright eyes. “You couldn’t save her, Super Cowboy?”

  Quinn’s throat closed up. Bitter rage swamped him. He tried to think what he could possibly say, but Lorie beat him to it.

  “He did save me, Grant. I was in terrible danger, and Quinn showed up just when it seemed hopeless. He saved me from the bad man.”

  Grant beamed his relief, but Quinn was only too aware of how he’d failed her. She shouldn’t be giving him credit, not when he hadn’t listened to the premonitions that would have helped him prevent the whole nightmare.

  Grant threw himself in Quinn’s arms. “Thanks for saving my mom,” he said, squeezing Quinn’s neck hard.

  The boy couldn’t possibly understand the comfort he gave—or how little Quinn deserved it. He set the boy back on his feet and rose, holding a hand out to help Lorie up. Opening the door, he gestured for them to precede him while he cast about for a distraction to lighten the mood. “Have you been keeping Josh out of trouble?”

  Grant’s face lit up. “Josh says Mom and I are staying with you for a few days!” His joy sobered. “Mom, is that—is that okay with you?”

  Lorie might be one hell of an actress, but she couldn’t hide the ravages of her ordeal. Quinn wanted to tuck her into bed for a month.

  But she pasted on a bright smile for her child. “It’s fine with me. I—” She froze at the sight of Josh entering the room.

  His brother stopped cold, his shock visible at the changes in her. He recovered quickly. “Grant, your mom looks really tired. I think we should let her take a nap, all right?”

  Lorie wouldn’t meet Josh’s gaze, and Quinn watched hurt steal over his brother’s features.

  “But it’s barely morning—” Grant blurted. When Quinn shook his head at the boy, he quickly subsided. “Sure, Mom. Want me to fix you some cereal when you get up? Josh has this neat cereal with toys inside. Not like the healthy stuff you always buy. It’s great!”

  A shadow of the first genuine smile Quinn had seen on Lorie’s face in these dark hours flitted briefly across her lips as she leaned down to hug her son.

  “Maybe so, sweetie. I’ll see, okay?”

  “You can go back to cartoons, Grant,” Quinn offered. “But keep it down. Your mom is really tired.”

  “Okay, Quinn.” Grant turned to leave, then swiveled. “Want to come watch with me later?”

  Cartoons. Quinn couldn’t remember the last time he’d watched them.

  “Hey, sport, Quinn looks like he could use a nap, too. How ’bout you and me and cartoons? Wasn’t there a special program about to start?” Josh asked.

  Grant’s eyebrows flew up. “I’d better go fix our cereal quick!” He raced off to the kitchen.

  After he left, Josh stood there, studying Lorie, brow furrowed. “Lorie? Is there anything I can get for you?”

  Lorie still wouldn’t look at him. Quinn could see her fighting back tears. He felt sorry for his brother. He knew Josh only wanted to help her and probably didn’t understand the emotions careening through her. He hadn’t lived through unspeakable violence, and for that, Quinn was grateful. He wanted Josh’s innocence preserved. As he tucked her into his side, he sent Josh a look of apology.

  Lorie turned into his chest, and he felt the fine trembling in her delicate frame. He brought her close and stroked her hair, whispering murmurs of comfort. In his brother’s gaze, he saw only sorrow, no trace of possessiveness, and Quinn finally accepted that his brother and she were indeed only friends.

  And felt a fierce stab of hope.

  He bent and swept her into his arms, cradling her to his chest. He looked at Josh, who gestured toward the room Quinn occupied. “I’ll move Grant’s things to my room. It looks like she needs you close for a while.”

  Quinn shot him a look of gratitude. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he placed a kiss on honey curls, murmuring softly as he carried the courageous, shatt
ered angel.

  And wondered who felt more comforted by the touch.

  Chapter Ten

  Unable to sleep, Quinn was in the kitchen making a sandwich when he heard her moan of terror. He charged toward his bedroom, glad Josh had taken Grant out to the zoo.

  Jagged sobs greeted his entrance. Lorie battled the covers, her head flailing from side to side.

  He approached the bed, letting her hear his voice before he touched her. “Lorie, wake up, sweetheart. It’s all right, I’m here…” When she didn’t come out of it, he touched her arm gently. She screamed, jerking away and scrambling across the bed.

  Her eyes were wild when they opened, her body shivering uncontrollably, her panting harsh and painful to hear.

  “Lorie, you’re safe. I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid.” He reached for her, and she bolted from the bed. He wanted to hold her, to soothe her, but he couldn’t get through her panic.

  Her pale, slender legs quivered beneath the hem of the t-shirt he’d loaned her. Her hands fluttered like bird wings, warning him off, then wrapping around her middle as if to prevent herself from flying apart.

  Her blue eyes gone nearly black in her terror, she looked through him, beholding some inner horror too great to contain.

  He kept a calm, even tone. “Lorie, it’s me, Quinn. Wake up, sweetheart. Everything’s fine. Grant’s okay.”

  Grant’s name seemed to get through to her. A speck of sanity returned to her eyes; the blue-black holes lightened a little.

  She closed her eyes and sank to the floor. Guttural sobs shook her delicate frame.

  Careful and slow in his approach, he eased to his knees beside her. Pulling in a deep breath to calm himself, he closed his own eyes, seeking a connection deeper than words could attain. He focused on the still, silent place that she needed, then he reached out and enveloped her hand in his own.

  The connection jolted both of them. Wild pain, crushing grief, both so powerful that he almost dropped her hand.

  He focused his thoughts on serenity and peace, let the windless quiet within him flow through their clasped hands.

  At last, a tiny lessening of her tension let him know that he was getting through. “Breathe deeply, Lorie. In…out. Slowly…deeply.” She released a ragged sigh. “Good. You’re doing fine. Now let the fear leave you with each breath. Blow it away, out of your body. Send it to me, Lorie. Let me take it from you.”

  He felt her tremble and pull at his hand. Firmly but gently, he refused to let her go. Instead, he opened his eyes and place his other hand on her head. As he gently stroked the soft, blonde waves, he drew her breathing along with his, evening out her rhythm.

  Breath mingling, souls reaching out, he took her pain for his own. Pulled into himself what she gave up as if he were extracting slivers of glass from her skin. As each sliver loosened, he used his strength to pull it away from her, consigning each one to the depths of his own private hell.

  Slowly, slowly…he sensed her coming back. So deeply in tune, he felt her voice before it registered on his hearing.

  “Why did you come, Quinn? How did you know?”

  How to explain what he didn’t understand himself? She needed confidence and strength, not the knowledge that he was mortally flawed. He wanted to heal her, not frighten her.

  As though healing was within his power.

  Physician, heal thyself.

  Thoughts of his tía filtered in. She would know what to do to help Lorie.

  But Tía Consuela would never leave the canyons.

  “Quinn?”

  He would be as honest as he thought she could handle right now. “I just…had a feeling.”

  She was silent for a moment. “He killed Tom.”

  “He told you?”

  Anger sparked deep in her eyes. “He laughed—no, he giggled when he told me he’d kill for me.” Guilt cast its pall. “Tom would be alive now if I had told the police about that note.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  She gasped and gripped his hand. “Quinn—he’s seen you now. You stopped him. You have to get away from me.”

  “Not a chance. I’m not going anywhere, honey.”

  Agitation shuddered through her slender frame. “But you have to, don’t you see?” Her gaze fixed on his face, laser-sharp. “I have to ask you to take Grant. He can’t be near me until this…person…is caught.” She squeezed his hand. “Will you do that for me, Quinn? Will you take him away where he’ll be safe? I don’t…he has no other family but me.”

  “Of course I’ll take care of Grant, but I’m not leaving you alone. Don’t ask it of me. I won’t do it.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. If I leave here, I’m taking you with me.”

  A tiny spark of interest leapt in her eyes. Then they darkened once more. “I can’t leave. My job—it’s all I have. I have to make the money to take care of Grant. I can’t just disappear.”

  But he was barely listening as revelation swept over him. Of course that was the answer to protecting her—he’d take her home with him, her and Grant. Away from the danger, away from the memories. Tía could help him understand what to do to help her heal. The clear, crisp air, the starry skies—they’d be good for Lorie as they’d been good for him in his darkest hours.

  For the first time since he’d arrived, he felt centered and sure. He’d take her away from all this, by God. Grant would love his ranch.

  He could give the boy that ride on Wind Dancer.

  Struggling to contain his elation, he looked at her solemnly. “We can figure out a way, Lorie. I want to take you to the canyon, let you sit on my table rock and listen to the wind. The skies…Lorie, you’ve never seen so many stars.”

  For a moment, they hung there, on the tip of possibility, hope stirring and awakening. Quinn saw a trace of the sparkle she’d once given off so easily. He smiled at her then, a soft, easy smile, feeling the rustle of dreams.

  She leaned toward him as if yearning to shed her sorrows. He slid his hands up her arms, rising to his knees, drawing her closer. Her longing spoke through the long pale fingers that trembled as she laid her hand over his heart and lifted her gaze to his.

  Then the anguish stole over her beautiful face once more, and he damned it. Maybe he couldn’t do more than stand by and watch it right now, but this time there was a difference.

  This time he believed he could win, in the end.

  Quinn leaned on the doorway and looked into the living room area where Lorie and Grant cuddled on the couch, watching The Lion King for what Grant said was the nineteenth time.

  Josh spoke quietly. “She’s different. I’ve never seen her like this, so lost and afraid. Even in her darkest moments, her spunk always showed through.” He uttered a low curse. “She looks like she’s been whipped.”

  “She’s still got guts. If you could have seen her force herself to walk back into the room and look at that table where he—” Quinn slammed his fist onto the kitchen counter. “Christ, I want that bastard!”

  He turned his back to the other room, battling his rage, head lowered, arms spread and hands planted on the counter as he struggled to keep quiet so Lorie wouldn’t hear.

  Josh spoke up. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? You still haven’t slept.”

  “If I hadn’t fallen asleep last night, she wouldn’t have been tortured by that maniac.”

  “You don’t know that. If you’d been awake, you might have been distracted and not sensed—” Josh obviously didn’t know what to call it. “Quinn, you can’t be responsible for the entire world.”

  “But I didn’t feel right about letting her go home alone, and I didn’t override her. Hell, I don’t know what to believe. I don’t trust my own mind anymore.” He couldn’t breathe. He had to move, had to do something.

  “Quinn—”

  He pushed past Josh on his way to the door. “I’m going to go see Colello.” He ground to a halt when Lorie rose from the couch. With great effort, he wip
ed his face clean of all expression and spoke as evenly as he could manage. “I have to leave for a little while, Lorie. Josh will stay here with you until I get back.”

  He didn’t wait for a response but left, nearly at a run.

  Colello was at his desk, looking more rumpled than ever. Quinn wondered if he’d slept, deciding as he took in Colello’s bloodshot eyes, fingers clutched around a cup of coffee—probably not.

  “You look like hell,” Colello muttered.

  “Thanks. Same ass end of a truck hit you?”

  Colello smirked, acknowledging the bond.

  Cop talk. Suddenly, what Quinn hadn’t wanted to hear from Josh or Lorie, he could take from this man. He knew he’d get no sympathetic words; it wasn’t their way. Oh, they all felt it for one another, no question. But to verbalize it—no way. Too much bad stuff coming down every day. If you talked about it, thought about it too much, you couldn’t do your job.

  So you BS’d your way through the day, the roughness of your manner saying what you didn’t dare voice. That you understood another cop’s pain. That the job would eat you alive if you let it. That every day, the hard shell had to protect you from thinking too much, feeling too much.

  Cop talk. Sarcastic. Black humor. A way to get by.

  For the first time in months, Quinn missed the job. He drank in the sounds of a precinct office. Phones ringing, desk drawers slamming, chair legs scraping the floor. The smell of one department was much like another: disinfectant, burned coffee and sweat. The sweat of cops too many hours for too little pay and not enough time off. The sweat of fear from those brought in for questioning. The sweat of mean-tempered animals, not fit to move around among their civilized prey.

  Shit. He really did miss it.

  But he wasn’t sure anymore that he was cut out for it. Quinn didn’t want to think he’d lost his nerve. He didn’t think that was the problem.

  But the fire in the belly…

  Colello spoke, interrupting his musing. “Sit down. How’s she doing?”