Kelly hesitated. If she was going to trust him, then that meant all the way.
“So do what you can,” she said, and pulled the T-shirt over her head, then held it in front of her like a shield.
Quinn tried to hide his surprise, but without success. The knot in his belly tightened. Didn’t she have any idea what the sight of a beautiful, naked woman did to a man?
She sat, watching him without moving.
He sighed. Obviously not.
“I’ll just get the stuff,” he muttered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Yeah, well…lucky for you, lady. Personally, I’m going out of my mind.
Wisely, Quinn kept his thoughts to himself as he began to clean her wounds.
“Are you in Galveston on a case?”
Quinn frowned and thrust a dry washcloth into her hands. “Sit still,” he said. “You’ll make me get alcohol in your eyes.”
She held the washcloth near her hairline, trying not to squeal as he poured the antiseptic liquid onto the cut in her scalp. Damn, but it burned.
“Well…are you?” she persisted.
“I told you, I was fishing,” Quinn said.
She waited, sensing there was more.
Quinn surprised himself by telling her the rest, from the moment of his partner’s death to his boss telling him to take a vacation or he would fire his ass.
She sighed. That was the hell of working with someone day in and day out for years.
“Survivor’s guilt,” she said.
Quinn paused in the act of dabbing antibiotic ointment on some cuts on her back.
“What?”
“You’re alive and he’s not. Survivor’s guilt.”
“I don’t feel guilty,” Quinn snapped.
“You said you’d called him to meet you at the bar, right?”
The hair on the back of Quinn’s arms suddenly crawled. He put the cap back on the ointment, then sat down on the side of the bed—too stunned to speak.
Kelly laid a hand on Quinn’s knee.
“If you hadn’t called him, he wouldn’t have been shot, right?”
Quinn started to shake. He couldn’t look at her. Wouldn’t look at her. Damn the woman. How had she known something this personal…something he had yet to face?
“It’s what you think. It’s what you believe, isn’t it, Quinn?”
He looked down at the floor. There was a thin spot in the carpet near the foot of the bed. It reminded him of the bald spot on the back of Frank’s head. Frank had been using some of that hair regeneration stuff, trying to grow it back.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.
Kelly sighed. “Yes, I do. May I remind you that you’re not the only cop who’s ever lost a partner?”
He looked up at her then, unaware there were tears in his eyes.
“You too?”
“My fifth year on the job. I still dream about it sometimes. It doesn’t go away, but I know now it wasn’t my fault. It’s part of the job, McCord. Your partner knew it, and you know it, too.” Then she stood, a little shaky, but determined. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything in this place to eat? I haven’t eaten in almost three days.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “Holy hell, woman. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
She almost smiled. “I guess I was too busy defending my naked self from your lecherous gaze.”
Indignation shifted within Quinn, driving the grief into a darker part of his mind.
“I did not lech at you.”
“Then turn around while I put this back on,” Kelly said. As soon as he turned around, she pulled the T-shirt back over her head.
His anger felt good. At least now his focus was on her and not the brutality of his partner’s passing.
“So, is there anything to eat or not?” she asked.
Quinn turned, and as he did, the anger he was feeling suddenly faded. She’d done that on purpose. Without thinking, he reached out and cupped the side of her face.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Kelly allowed herself the luxury of his hand against her face long enough to nod; then she moved away. There was no sense in going all gooey on a man like McCord.
“You’re welcome. Now, about that food?”
“I’ve got a friend in town. His name is Daryl Connelly. He’s a retired Texas Ranger and I’d trust him with my life. If you’ll let me give him a call, we can have food within the hour.”
Kelly’s stomach growled as her knees went weak. She sank back onto the bed, too shaky to stand.
“Make the call,” she said. “And tell him to hurry.”
Dominic Ortega was alive.
It had taken less than thirty minutes for his men to get another boat, then get him to a waiting chopper. They’d transported him to a private clinic run by a man who’d done business with them before.
The doctor had removed the knife from his chest in the operating room, repaired the damage, then dosed Ortega with enough painkillers to drop a horse to its knees. Ortega was breathing on his own and feeling no pain. The men standing guard outside his room made no attempt to hide their weapons. It was to the doctor’s advantage that Ortega did not die in his facility.
And so the wait began. Just before midnight, a nurse noticed movement beneath his eyelids and called for the doctor, who came on the run. Moments later, Dominic Ortega came to, muttering the same name over and over again.
“Kelly…Kelly Sloan…Kelly Sloan.”
The doctor looked to one of Ortega’s men for an explanation.
“Is she family? Is she someone we should call?” he asked.
Ortega inhaled. “No. She is someone we should kill.” Then he moaned as pain shattered his concentration.
Daryl Connelly watched the leggy brunette tip the cup of soup sideways, trying to spoon out the last bit of liquid, then grinned when she gave up in disgust and drank it instead.
“Quinn didn’t tell me how much you enjoyed your food or I would have brought more.”
Kelly eyed the pile of empty throwaway containers from the Hungry Wok as she seriously considered his offer, then shook her head.
“Better not,” she said. “I don’t want to overdo.”
“Uh…yeah…right,” Daryl said, and looked to Quinn for reassurance that he’d done the right thing.
Quinn grinned at the rangy, gray-haired ex-Ranger. It was time to explain.
“She hasn’t eaten for three days,” he said.
Daryl frowned. “You hadn’t oughta go on any diet, missy. You look just fine the way you are.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said, as she cracked open a fortune cookie. “Hmm…says here I’ll meet the man of my dreams.” She waved the tiny slip of paper in the air and grinned at Daryl. “I always did favor an older man.”
Daryl turned red.
Quinn laughed.
Kelly ate the fortune cookie in one bite.
“She’s not dieting, Daryl. She’s DEA. Let’s just say that a case she was working went sour, okay?”
Daryl eyed her with new respect. “Is that true?”
Kelly frowned. The fewer people who knew the truth about her, the better she would feel.
“Yes, but keep it to yourself, okay? I would really like them to think I drowned.”
This time it was Quinn who caught the brunt of Daryl’s gaze.
“You gonna get mixed up in this, too?” he asked.
Quinn shrugged. “I already am.”
“No, you’re not,” Kelly said. “And trust me when I say neither one of you wants to be a part of this.”
Quinn’s expression hardened. “I’m gonna excuse you for the insult on the grounds that you don’t know me, but I’m telling you now—and for the last time—you’re wrong. I am a part of this already. I became part of it when I pulled you out of the water, then took you away from the scene before the guys in that boat had a chance to see you.”
Kelly flinched as if she’d just been str
uck.
“What guys? What boat?”
Quinn silently cursed his big mouth. He hadn’t intended to mention that, simply because it was probably nothing; then he reminded himself that it was her life that was at stake. She had a right to know all the facts.
“When I was driving away from the beach, I saw one of those speed boats…the kind they call cigarette boats. It was cruising pretty close to the shore.”
“Was it going fast or slow?” she asked.
“Slow.”
“Damn it.”
“Do you think it was some of Ortega’s men?” Quinn asked.
“You talking about Dominic Ortega?” Daryl asked.
Kelly sighed. “Just forget I said that, will you?”
Daryl frowned. “I’m thinkin’ you two need a keeper. He’s bad business.”
“He’s my business,” Kelly said. “Both of you back off.” Then she added, “But thank you for the food.”
Daryl eyed her cautiously, then looked at Quinn. “I don’t think you should have fed her. She’s turning real mean.”
“She’s going to get even meaner if we don’t get her some stuff to wear,” Quinn said.
Daryl looked nervous. “What do you mean we? I don’t know how to shop for no girl.”
Kelly turned on Quinn. “Damn it, McCord. You need to quit running my life. I can shop for myself.”
“See…she wants to shop for herself,” Daryl said.
“And what if one of Ortega’s men sees you? What if they’re already in Galveston asking around? What then, Ms. DEA? If you get yourself killed, you’re going to screw up your friend’s trial big time.”
Kelly frowned. Damn the man for being right.
“Okay, fine. Just find a Wal-Mart and do your best, Daryl. I’ll write down my sizes. At least everything I need will be under one roof.”
“What do you mean…everything?” Daryl asked.
“I’ll make the list. If you can’t find some of the stuff, ask an employee. They’ll help you find it.”
Daryl blanched. “Just don’t tell me it’s your time of the month, cause I swear to God, friend or no friend, I’m not buyin’ anything that comes under the heading of feminine hygiene.”
Kelly grinned, then surprised both men by giving Daryl a quick hug.
“Daryl, my man, this is your lucky day. I am in no need of anything quite so personal.”
“Thank the Lord,” Daryl muttered, then glared at Quinn. “Why don’t you go buy the stuff and I’ll stay here with her?”
“Because…if anyone did see my truck and put two and two together, they’ll be looking for me. And if they see me, then follow me back to Kelly, we’re both dead. Right?”
Daryl’s shoulders slumped. “Right. I’ll just sit right here and wait for the list.”
He flopped down on the side of the bed as Kelly began writing. A few moments later, she handed him the piece of paper.
“I really appreciate this, and I’ll pay you back as soon as I can get my hands on some money.”
Daryl stood, read the list slowly to himself, then shook his head.
“No need paying me back. I’m happy to help you, honey. Really I am. I’ll be back in a while with your things.”
“Take your time, Daryl. We’ve got some plans of our own to make,” Quinn said.
Kelly refrained from arguing until the old man was gone. Then she turned on Quinn.
“You have no jurisdiction in this,” she said.
“I’m not going with you as a cop.”
She frowned. “You just lost your partner, remember? You’re supposed to be getting some R and R.”
“I’m not likely to forget Frank is dead,” Quinn said. “As for R and R, I don’t believe in it. All it is, is more time to dwell on things you can’t change. I’d rather be doing something productive, like keeping your hard little head in one piece. Okay?”
Kelly hesitated. She hated to admit it, but having someone at her back was becoming more of a necessity than she would have preferred.
“Okay. But I’m still the one in charge.”
“Honey, I’ve never met a woman who wasn’t.”
She glared. “If we’re going to do this without coming to blows, you’re going to have to stop calling me, honey.”
Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Well, all right, then, but I didn’t think we’d known each other quite long enough for darlin’. However, I’m man enough to admit I was wrong.”
“Damn it, McCord. I’m serious.”
Quinn flipped a loose strand of hair away from her face and then winked.
“I know, darlin’. So am I.”
3
After giving up the only bed in the room to Kelly, Quinn was sleeping on the floor. Or, it would be fairer to say, he was lying on the floor. He had yet to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing that boat in his rearview mirror and the trio of men with binoculars standing at the rail. They had probably gotten the tag number and make of his truck, but it still didn’t link her to him. They could have been tourists. Galveston was a place for tourists, and tourists came seaward as well as landward, but his first impression had been that they were searching for something—or someone. And given Kelly’s story, it was most likely her.
It had also occurred to him that if Ortega was dead, his men would most likely have headed back to Mexico to regroup. A new leader would have to be named within the organization, and new plans would have to be made. But if they were searching for her, someone had given the order to do so, which could mean that Ortega wasn’t dead. Muscle didn’t make decisions or seek retribution. The men behind the brawn took orders and meted them out. It took brains and organization for that to happen, which meant someone was still in charge.
The fact that they’d seen his truck made him nervous. But he was almost positive they hadn’t seen her with him, which was the only way they could link him to the missing DEA agent. He wanted to believe he’d been seen as nothing but a fisherman, but, in law enforcement, assuming could get you killed.
But Quinn was a careful man, so he lay near the door, listening to the comings and goings of vehicles out in the parking lot and making sure that the footsteps he heard on the walkway outside the door did not linger too long in his vicinity.
Kelly went to sleep, unaware of Quinn’s concerns. Knowing he was an officer of the law might have given her a false sense of security, but for tonight she didn’t care. Tomorrow she would begin to make plans to get to D.C. Tonight, she was willing to let Quinn McCord be her eyes and ears to the world.
It was just after midnight when Quinn heard her moan. He remembered closing his eyes just to give them a rest, but he must have drifted off to sleep. The terror in her voice was enough to bring him to a rude awakening. He came to in a heartbeat, with his pistol in his hand, only to realize that they were still alone and she was having a bad dream.
With his heart still thumping from the adrenaline rush, he laid the gun on the floor and hurried to the bed where she was sleeping. She was moaning and shaking, muttering words he couldn’t understand. He thought of her head wound. Although it hadn’t seemed all that serious, he worried that she had suffered a concussion after all. Regretting his decision not to take her to a doctor, he gently laid the back of his hand against her cheek to test for fever, then smoothed back the hair from her face. Instead of comfort, his touch set off her panic.
She moaned. “Not the knife…God, please…not the knife.” Then she began pushing at his hands.
Quinn cursed beneath his breath. Sorry that he’d frightened her, he had no option now but to awaken her and let her know she was safe. He cupped her shoulders and gave her a slight shake.
“Kelly…Kelly…wake up. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re just having a bad dream.”
She gasped long and loud, as if surfacing from watery depths for a life-giving gulp of air, then sat up in bed.
“Where…?”
; “It’s me. Quinn. You’re safe, remember?”
Kelly stared, as if memorizing every facet of his features, then covered her face.
“Crap,” she said.
He chuckled as he slipped a finger beneath a stray lock of hair and lifted it from her eyes.
“Know something, Sloan?”
Kelly looked up, defiance back in her voice. “I know a lot of somethings.”
His smile widened. “You are my kind of woman.”
“What kind of woman is that?”
“A woman of few words.”
Kelly resisted the urge to snort. “You are so full of it,” she muttered, then swung her legs off the bed as she stood.
Quinn got a better than average look at her shapely little butt before she strode past him and into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly between them. He would have asked her to explain herself, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like her answer. A few seconds later he heard the shower come on and then the hard spray of water hitting the back of the stall.
He frowned. She’d already had two baths. He was at the point of thinking she had some kind of cleanliness phobia. He sat for a few moments, wondering how long this would take. Then the softness of the mattress enticed him. He would lie down only until she came back. After that, it would be back to the floor.
He didn’t know it, but it had been the dream that had sent Kelly back to the shower. Just the memory of Jose Garza’s leer and Dominic Ortega’s hands on her body had been enough to make her want to puke—never mind what they’d done to her in the name of revenge. As she stood beneath the spray, letting the water cool her heated flesh, she wondered if she would ever feel clean again.
A short while later she emerged to find the Ranger sprawled across two-thirds of the bed.
“Great,” she muttered, then winced as the motion of her body sent pain rocketing through her bones.
Obviously sleeping on the floor was impossible. Not until whatever Ortega had broken in her could heal. She walked to the side of the bed, staring down in the darkness. Quinn McCord was good-looking, if you liked the dark-haired, dark-eyed, smart-ass type, which she told herself she did not. And he was trim and leggy, with strong bones and well-defined muscles. Then she rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to snort.
On the Edge Page 24