But she didn’t really believe that, and she suspected Carter didn’t, either. Jake’s MVP status meant he was in demand—interviews and sports talk shows, not to mention the parties that were no doubt taking place. But sooner or later, she expected he would get back around to her.
She became aware that, somehow, her fingers had tangled with Carter’s. His thumb stroked lightly over her knuckles, creating a swooping pull low inside her. She dared to look up at him again, but his gaze was down, his head bent. He frowned slightly as he seemed to study their joined hands, almost as if he were as surprised as she was. But the sound of the elevator opening and recognizable voices in the hall jolted them back to reality. As Quinn stepped away, smoothing the long-sleeved yoga tee she wore over her leggings, he cleared his throat, reaching for his shirt in an attempt to cover the scars on his chest before Jolene and Olivia entered. Doug had taken to following Jolene around as she worked, and Quinn could hear his padding trot accompanying the conversation.
“I figured we’d find them down here,” Jolene said as they turned the corner.
The women halted in the doorway. Carter pulled the T-shirt down over his chest. But it was obvious by the shock in Olivia’s eyes he had been too late. Jolene recovered more quickly.
“Carter, your mother brought the most beautiful cupcakes from Café Bella.”
Carter had risen from his seat on the massage table. Olivia moved to where he stood. Staring up at him, she cupped his face. Quinn saw him swallow at her touch.
“Hi, Mom,” he murmured.
* * *
“You know the cupcakes were just my excuse to see you.” Olivia stood in the main living area as Carter sat on the sofa. Her discarded raincoat lay across its back.
“You’re welcome here anytime. You know that.”
She paced before sitting beside him, her face tense. “I’m sorry about my reaction downstairs. I saw you in the hospital, but—”
“It’s okay, Mom.”
“It’s not,” she fretted. “The violence—what that woman did—it still takes my breath away.” She placed a hand on his sweatpants-clad knee. “How’re you feeling, darling?”
“I’m doing a little better every day. I’m getting stronger.” Through the French doors, Carter could see Quinn outside on the covered porch. She had added a cozy sweater over her clothing, and she sipped from a mug—green tea, no doubt, since he’d never seen her touch coffee—as she watched the rainfall.
“I’m so happy to hear that.” Olivia looked out at Quinn, too. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? Mark was right. That young lady knows her stuff.”
“She does. But I’ve still got a long way to go.”
“I haven’t a doubt you’ll get there.” Olivia twisted the sapphire ring on her finger. “I did come by for a reason, Carter. I…need to tell you something. I talked to Mark last night and to Mercer by phone this morning.”
Her nervous tone concerned him. “Are you all right?”
“Oh, health-wise, I’m fit as a fiddle. I wanted to talk to you about Anders and me.” She took a breath. “He’s asked me to marry him.”
“Mom,” Carter said, surprised.
She pushed several strands of her silver bob behind her ear, emotion in her clear blue eyes. “I know you and your father were especially close. Harrison was my first love, and I miss him every day. But Anders has been so good for me. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until he came into my life. I…do love him.”
Carter’s gladness for his mother mingled with a sadness. Still, he smiled. Putting his left arm around Olivia, he pulled her close and kissed the side of her head. “I think that’s great, Mom. Congratulations. You deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Relief brightened her voice. “I know this might seem sudden, but we’ve been talking about it for a while. I just didn’t want to say anything until I was sure you were on the mend. Now that all of you know, Anders wants to have us to his home for a celebratory dinner. You don’t have to worry—it will just be us, Anders’s daughter and her family, and a few friends.”
“When?”
“Next Saturday night. Mercer and Jonathan are going to try to make it in for the weekend.”
“My calendar’s pretty full these days, but I might be available.” He gave her a wink. Just then, Jolene called to Olivia from the kitchen.
“I’ll be right there,” she responded, then stood. She laid a hand on Carter’s shoulder and looked out through the French doors again. “You should consider bringing a date,” she said before heading into the kitchen.
Quinn had placed her mug on the porch railing and assumed a yoga pose that he imagined required a great deal of strength and flexibility. He had witnessed her slipping in her practice before—in the solarium, on the terrace by the pool—during the empty spaces of time between their work. She was mesmerizing to watch and had clearly been at it for years. A short time later, she moved into another graceful pose that resembled a standing backbend, her thick, wavy hair falling behind her like a russet waterfall. Carter felt something sexual stir inside him. He looked away, swallowing down guilt. Perhaps it was just another sign his health was improving.
But that didn’t explain how he had ended up holding Quinn’s hand downstairs. He had seen the worry in her eyes when he had asked her about Medero. He had only been attempting to comfort her, hadn’t he?
The police had failed to locate the man who had assaulted her on the beach. Like Quinn, he now believed the gang member had left town after carrying out Medero’s order. Still, Carter insisted Quinn call him each night when she arrived back at her mother’s home from his, and that she also call him each morning before leaving the B&B to come here. At least that way, if she didn’t arrive, he would know something was amiss. It wasn’t foolproof, but it was the best he could get her to agree to.
He looked out at Quinn again.
While the reduction in pain meds might be the reason for his reawakening libido—dormant since the attack—it didn’t seem to be having an impact on his lucid dreaming. He’d had the same dream last night he’d had before. It had recurred several times now over the past few weeks, the one where he was trying to get into the bathroom through the locked door. But in last night’s dream, Carter had had a key, and he had opened the door. He’d come awake at seeing Bianca, nude, sprawled on the bloody floor.
The violence—what that woman did—it still takes my breath away.
He couldn’t shake the feeling it was more than a dream.
Chapter Nineteen
As it had for the last four days, dreariness dominated the Monday afternoon. Quinn sat in the cardiology office’s waiting room on the fifth floor of the medical center in Charleston. She glanced through a magazine as she tried not to listen in on the conversation of the older, African-American couple seated nearby. The husband was being treated for heart failure and had a mobile oxygen tank. Quinn’s throat tightened at the way he and his wife held hands as they awaited his appointment.
It also made her think of what had happened between Carter and her last week.
Her fingers had felt so natural inside his. Neither of them had mentioned it since, though, and she told herself it would be foolish to construe it as anything more than a show of support. Even in his recuperative state, Carter’s physical magnetism was strong. She had simply been temporarily caught in its pull.
The older couple looked up along with Quinn as the door leading to the exam rooms opened and Carter appeared, escorted by a nurse wearing scrubs. From the couple’s surprised stares, it was clear they recognized him. Quinn picked up his leather jacket from the seat next to her and helped him into it, then handed him his baseball cap as well as the cane she had kept while he was inside. Sliding on her own coat, she went with him into the hall.
“How’d things go?” she asked as they awaited the elevator. The bay had a large plate-glass window, and a boating marina on the Ashley River was visible below, swathed in gray mist.
“You
mean other than having my chest hair ripped out?”
She knew he was talking about the electrodes that had been attached with sticky pads for the echocardiogram.
“No different from having my chest waxed—God knows I’ve been through that a few times.” He grew more serious once the elevator doors opened, and they entered. Carter held the cane, but so far hadn’t used it. “The doctor says my heart function has improved since my last echo. My EF numbers are up.”
Her spirits lifted. “That’s great.”
As they traveled down to street level, he dug into the pocket of his jeans and handed her two prescriptions that required filling. “My heart meds are being reduced, too,” he said just before the doors opened into the lobby.
“Hey, you’re Carter St. Clair, right?” Two men approached as Quinn and Carter walked across the marble floor toward the automated doors. One of them, an African-American, walked with a limp, and Quinn suspected he had a prosthetic leg. The other wore a baseball cap with U.S. Army Special Forces emblazoned on it. The cap partially hid a burn scar that ran down his temple and across his left cheek.
“I wasn’t sure at first, but it really is you,” the one in the baseball cap said, sounding in awe.
Carter greeted the men, shaking their hands and finding out through conversation they were both former military, at the hospital for a weekly support group for disabled veterans. He thanked them for their service.
“Would it be too much trouble to stay a few minutes and say hello to our group?” the one with the prosthetic leg asked. They had learned he had lost his limb in an IED explosion while serving in Afghanistan. The other had been injured in a fire when his plane had been shot down. He’d spent months in an Iranian prison. He indicated a meeting room, its doors closed, at the other end of the lobby. “It’d be a real thrill. Most everyone’s inside already.”
Carter bobbed his head. “I’d be happy to.”
Quinn waited in back of the room, holding Carter’s jacket and cane, as he was introduced to the group. More than a dozen men with physical disabilities—many missing limbs—were in attendance. Modest and self-effacing, Carter talked with them, signing anything thrust at him and having numerous photos taken. A few asked questions about the stalker attack, and he answered honestly. He asked Quinn for his cane only after he’d been on his feet for nearly a half hour.
* * *
“I think you made their day,” Quinn said as she pulled the Mercedes from the pay lot where they had parked.
“They made mine. Those men are real heroes.” Carter stared pensively out the windshield. “Their injuries put mine into perspective.”
It was clear the experience had affected him. Before they’d departed, Quinn had seen him giving his contact information to one of the vets.
“Would you mind taking a detour before we go back?”
She looked at him. “Where to?”
“The Battery.”
The palm-tree-lined promenade in Charleston Harbor appeared in front of them a short time later. Its waters were rough, rippled by the wind and as gray as the late afternoon sky. A little farther down, antebellum mansions painted in cheerful pastel hues lined the waterfront.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve been here.” Quinn felt a pang inside her. In her youth, prior to her parents’ divorce, trips into Charleston had been a regular family occurrence. As they reached East Battery Street, she saw sightseers in front of an ancient church, climbing aboard a horse-drawn carriage for a guided tour. “Any reason we’re here?”
“You heard Mom’s getting remarried.”
“Olivia told me last week. Anders seems like a nice man.”
“His house is here. I looked up the address.” Carter pointed out the location up ahead. Quinn slowed the car as they drove past the elegant Greek Revival mansion with outsized colonnades and double porticos. Twin, high staircases that led up to the main floor were located on its front, and the wrought-iron fence surrounding the property featured a pineapple design—a longtime symbol of Charleston hospitality.
“They’re having the engagement dinner here Saturday night. Those stairs are going to be a bitch,” Carter mused as he peered up at them.
Quinn heard the anxiety in his voice.
“We were going to start tackling stairs soon, anyway. They’ll definitely up your cardio. I’d hoped to increase your elevation on the treadmill a bit more first, but plans change. We can make it our focus the rest of the week.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced over at him. “You could mention it to Olivia. They probably haven’t even thought about it. Maybe they could move the dinner to the Big House? Or the St. Clair?”
“I know she wants to have it here. She talks about Anders’s home all the time—it was featured in Garden & Gun. Besides, I don’t want to be the reason they have to change plans.”
While the house Carter had grown up in was large and quite grand itself, Quinn wondered if his mother wanted to have the party here since it was neutral ground. Both the hotel and home Olivia lived in had been in the St. Clair family for generations. It was where she had raised her children with her husband, Harrison. Perhaps there were too many memories, and celebrating her engagement there didn’t seem right.
They drove past White Point Gardens. Quinn recalled its oyster-shell pathways and displays of Civil War mortars and cannons among the centuries-old live oaks. Then she turned the car around and headed back to Anders’s home for another look. As they passed it again, she estimated there were at least twenty steps. “You really are ready, Carter. You’re barely using your cane these days. You’ll do fine if you just take your time and—”
“Go with me.”
His intense blue gaze held hers before she again looked at the road. Quinn shook her head. “The party’s for family.”
“As Mark has reminded me, you are family. And Mom sort of already suggested I bring you.”
The comment surprised her.
“Besides, it’s not just family. There’ll be others. Mom assured me the gathering would be small, but she has her own view of what small means.” He paused for several heartbeats. “I could use your support there, Quinn,” he said seriously. “This will be my first time in front of a lot of people. I probably can do the stairs, but I’d feel more confident knowing you were with me.”
Quinn felt herself relenting. “Mom does have guests arriving later this week. I suppose you’d be saving me from an evening of white zinfandel and canasta.”
Carter smiled. The matter apparently settled, he laid his head back against the headrest. But as she accelerated the car onto the causeway a short time later, his cell phone that he had placed in the cubby between them sprang to life. Quinn glanced down at the caller’s identity displayed on the screen.
Los Angeles Police Department.
He picked up the phone. Before answering, he said, “They’re returning my call.”
Quinn drove as she listened to his side of the conversation. When he disconnected, she asked, “Is everything all right?”
“That was Detective Warren. He was one of the leads on my case. I called him a few days ago with a question. He had to go back and look at the files before he could give me an answer.”
Quinn glanced over at him.
“Remember the dream I told you about? About the bathroom door being locked? I had it again, but it went further. I had a key to the door, and I unlocked it.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Something kept telling me it wasn’t just a dream. I asked the detective if there was a key recovered at the scene. It turns out there was a key in the bathroom door’s lock. It’s visible in the forensics photos.”
Her stomach fluttered.
“I kept that key in a drawer of the nightstand. It’s a master key that fits all the interior doors. Which means I must’ve used it to get in.”
She recalled Mark’s observation that it wouldn’t have been possible for Bianca Rossi to close and lock the door in her condition. Carter’s thinking must have
been on the same wavelength, because he said, “I think Kelsey Dobbins was in the bathroom all along. She locked the door. The bathroom’s pretty big, and she could’ve been hiding in there.”
Quinn was confused. “Which would mean what, exactly?”
“That she locked the door to keep me out.” He hesitated, seeming to measure his thoughts. “She didn’t want me to see what she’d done. But when I got inside, she had no choice but to attack me, too. She couldn’t escape without me seeing her, and I would’ve been able to identify her.”
“So, you’re saying she stabbed Bianca out of jealousy? That she never planned to hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” He sighed softly. “I’m not sure any of this matters. Dobbins still did what she did. But maybe it means some of my memory really is returning.”
The skies had grown darker. Although the forecast had indicated the rain was on its way out, fat drops splattered the windshield. “Are you sure that’s something you want?” Quinn asked.
“I didn’t say I want it. I just said it might be happening.”
Chapter Twenty
The engagement party had begun winding down inside as Carter located Quinn in the courtyard of the Charleston mansion. She had been with him for most of the evening, but had slipped away at some point when he had been in discussion with other guests. He had wandered the residence’s well-appointed rooms until spotting her through the window of Anders’s wood-paneled study.
Arriving at the edge of the formal garden, he stilled. Quinn wore the lavender cocktail dress she had bought several days ago when they had gone into Charleston together to find suitable attire for the dinner. The dress set off her auburn waves and porcelain skin and melded against her curves.
Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two Page 14