“Isn’t that what you want?” So soft.
And then she was gone before he could tell her that hell, no, that wasn’t what he wanted.
You pushed her away. Told her to leave.
Max whirled around and headed back to the chair near Quinlan’s bedside. He wasn’t leaving, wasn’t going to chase her.
Not yet.
Six hours later, Quinlan’s eyes opened. His hand moved first, jerking against the sheets, and Max leaned forward at the small movement.
“Quinlan?”
His eyes fluttered and opened in a squint. Quinlan blinked as fear filled his gray gaze. His mouth opened—
“It’s okay.” Max grabbed his stepbrother’s right hand. “You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s head turned toward him. Slowly, carefully. “M-Max?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s me.” Max blew out a hard breath and punched the call button for the nurse. “Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”
Quinlan’s gaze drifted around the room, tracking to the left, then to the right. “H-hospital?” he rasped.
“You’re all stitched up.” Max tried to smile but the move just felt awkward. “In a few days, you’ll be as good as new.” But he’d carry the scars inside and out.
A deep furrow pulled down Quinlan’s brows. “Wh-what happened? I don’t…” His eyes widened. “That room.” His left hand flew up as the beeping machines screamed. “They… c-cut off my finger….”
And tried to slice him apart.
“Said—said I wasn’t w-worth… anything…” His voice broke. “Said D-dad wouldn’t…” He stopped. Didn’t seem to breathe. “Dad!”
Shit, shit.
Quinlan looked up at Max. “Where’s Dad?” The question came softer but was laced with fear.
The door opened behind Max. He looked back and saw a nurse bustle in. “He’s awake!” she said, smiling.
Max gave a grim nod. He tried to step away from the bed.
“Dad?” Quinlan’s fingers clamped down on his wrist.
Did the guy remember? Max didn’t want to tell him this.
Quinlan stared at him, his gaze searching Max’s face. “I-I… didn’t…” His hand fell away, and he shrunk back against the mattress. “Not a dream…” A hard sob broke from his chest, and he shuddered. “N-not… a-a…” His whole body shook, and his breath heaved out.
“Calm down, sir!” The nurse bustled past Max. “Everything’s all right.”
But the machines were going crazy.
“It’s okay!” she told Quinlan, grabbing for the IV bag. “You’re in a hospital. You’re—”
“Dead.” Such a low whisper.
Max couldn’t lie to him. He nodded.
“Wh-what?” The nurse glanced up with surprise.
Quinlan’s eyes closed. “Oh, God, Oh, God, it… was me…” Tears leaked down his cheeks.
As his brother cried, Max stood there helpless knowing there was nothing he could do.
“I killed him.”
• • •
Sam spun away from the hospital room. The sound of Quinlan’s sobs tore at her heart.
Dammit, the last thing I expected.
Frank Malone shouldn’t have been at that scene. It should have been a rescue mission. Not body recovery. She yanked out her cell and called Luke’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Tell me you’ve got something on Frank’s phone,” she said.
A rustle of air. No, his sigh. “The number went back to a disposable cell, one we found here, in the same damn room that they kept Quinlan in.”
Luke was still at the crime scene. She knew that he was searching the area and going over every inch with the investigation unit.
Her eyes squeezed closed. “Are we missing something?” Someone.
Not… m-me.
“Ramirez is at The Core, talking to the manager,” Luke said. “He found out that Milano was hired on at that place just four days before Jeremy Briar went missing.”
“From then on,” Sam said, rubbing her aching temples, “Milano watched every move the cops made.” And he’d taken more men, with the authorities right beside him. Damn ballsy.
“And there’s something else you should know,” he continued. “The money isn’t here.”
Her eyes opened. “It wasn’t at Veronica’s.”
“Either the perps stashed it somewhere before hell came to town, or—”
Or someone else had the money. And if someone else was out there…
Then the nightmare wasn’t over.
• • •
By the time Monica and Luke made it home, the clock was edging past nine a.m.
The door closed with a soft click behind them, and Luke’s sigh whispered to her.
She turned and caught his hands, pulling him close. “This isn’t your fault.” But she’d seen the guilt in his eyes. When it came to the victims, Luke always took things personally.
A muscle flexed along the hard line of his jaw. “We had the perps’ location. If we’d just gotten there fifteen minutes sooner, Frank Malone would still be alive.” He shook his head. “I don’t even know how he got there. He shouldn’t have been there.”
Monica stood on her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “The perps wanted him there. It was part of their plan.” Luke understood that, but right then, Monica knew that emotion ruled him.
It often did.
“Come on, let’s get in bed,” she said. More questions would come soon. More interviews. More crime scene searches. But for a few hours, it would just be the two of them.
Luke nodded slowly and stepped forward.
Monica didn’t move. Her heart drummed faster. This wasn’t the perfect time. She’d thought to wait for romance and—hell. Her fingers were shaking.
“Monica? Baby, what is it?”
“I love you,” but she knew that he already realized that. Now for the hard part. “And I-I…” A deep breath. “Yes, I want to marry you.”
And just like that, she was in his arms. The death and the blood were pushed away, and it was just her and Luke. He was smiling and holding her tight, and in that moment, she was happy.
His mouth took hers in a deep, long kiss.
Sometimes, it wasn’t about the killers and victims.
Sometimes, it was just about life.
CHAPTER Twelve