“The bitch tried to kill Max. She did kill Jacobson.” Quinlan swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What did you think I was going to do? Let her walk away? She screwed with my plan.”
“Our plan.” Nathan Donnelley snapped, pacing quickly across the room. “Our damn plan. And she’s not the one who f**ked it up; you are.”
Quinlan’s eyes narrowed.
“Why did you kill them?” Nathan’s hands fisted. “That wasn’t the agreement. You said you were just going to hold the men, just going to make some money off them—”
Quinlan rose. “I would have, if their fathers hadn’t been dicks.” A little shrug lifted his shoulders. “I had to change my plan.”
“I gave you the drugs because you promised you wouldn’t kill those men!” It had all seemed so simple at first. Take the men. Don’t ask for too much money. Get the cash that the rich bastards would have sitting in their banks. Then get out of town.
Quinlan laughed. The boy actually laughed in his face. “You gave me the drugs,” Quinlan stalked closer and jabbed a finger into Donnelley’s chest, “because you wanted your cut of the money. And you were a hard negotiator, Don. Forty percent.” Quinlan smiled, and the sight chilled him. “Of course, I had to get rid of everybody else with you taking that much money.”
Asshole. He’ll get rid of me, too. Only a matter of time. He had to be careful with Quinlan.
But then, he’d been careful with Quinlan Malone for years, since the boy was fifteen. Donnelley hadn’t been Frank Malone’s doctor, not at first. He’d been there for Quinlan.
Because the boy had liked to hurt himself. Too much.
“Don’t worry.” Quinlan’s jabbing finger finally left his chest. “The Feds think the bitch killed herself.” His mouth hitched into a half-smile. “Another suicide.”
“How did you kill her?” That part hadn’t been on the news.
“I slit the whore’s wrists.” Quinlan turned toward the window and gazed below. “She killed for me.” His head shook a bit. “Had to admire that. If she hadn’t messed up my plans, I might’ve even let her live. Beth was always ready to do anything for me.” He tossed a glance back at Donnelley. “You know what I mean. She f**ked you quick enough when I told her to.”
Donnelley swallowed. “When do I get my money?” This whole thing was about to blow up in their faces. He wanted to be long gone before the shit hit the fan. Far away from Quinlan and the bastard’s blood-stained hands.
“I already transferred it to your account.” Quinlan stared out the window. “It’s in the Caymans, just like we agreed. You can get it anytime you want.”
Donnelley’s hands were sweating. “And what are you going to do?” Killing Frank hadn’t been part of the plan. Never the plan. Not for me.
But he wondered now… had Quinlan been planning that all along? Was the bastard that smart? Maybe. Quinlan had hated Frank, and shit, now Frank was dead, and Quinlan only had one person standing between him and the Malone fortune.
Maybe the little prick had planned it all from the beginning… or maybe Quinlan had just started to enjoy the blood too much.
“I’ve got to take care of some final business.”
“What you need to do is get out of town.” Donnelley realized his voice was threatening to rise and sucked in a deep breath. “Those Feds are going to piece this shit together. Get out while you can.” If that money really was waiting on him, he’d be running soon, too. As fast as he could go.
“Maybe they will.” A shrug. Quinlan finally turned to face him. A shark’s smile curved his lips. “Or maybe when you disappear, they’ll think you’re guilty. After all, they are going to find your se**n on those sheets. Frank’s sheets. And your fingerprints were all over his room.”
“You kept the sheets?” Bastard.
“Why do you think I sent her to screw you?” A wink. “Always got to have a backup plan. When you cut out of the city, you’ll start to look mighty guilty. That’ll make those Feds shift their focus.”
Nathan’s fingers curled over the black bag. One last batch. He’d brought the drugs Quinlan demanded, and now the kick in his gut told him who they’d be used on.
“You want the account number, Don? Go give my brother a drink, and it’s yours.” Quinlan’s smile flashed again, and the sight of it made bile rise in Donnelley’s throat.
Only one person between Quinlan and the Malone fortune. And now Quinlan wanted him to dose Max. Donnelley tossed the bag at Quinlan. “You do it. I’m done.” He had enough blood on his hands.
“Then you don’t get a dime.”
A tremble shook his body. Part rage. Part fear.
“I need your fingerprints on the glass, Don. Yours, not mine. When the Feds check, I need to be clean.” He walked closer, nice and slow. “You’ll be long gone. Hell, go jump a plane tonight. Doesn’t matter what you leave behind because they won’t be able to touch you.”
Money. Finally, he wouldn’t have to kiss some rich jerk’s ass. Wouldn’t have to watch while everyone else lived the good life while he stood on the fringes.
“I know why you stayed with dad. Your career was shot after that nurse found you using, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t speak. Why bother? Quinlan would know. The guy knew everything. Watched everyone.
“I had a PI do some research on you a couple of years back. That nurse—her name was Sheila, right?—she still remembered you.”
Of course the bitch had. “My wife… she’d just left me.”
Quinlan shook his head. “Do I really look like I give a shit? I don’t need to know why. Save that crap for your shrink.”
Donnelley glared at him. Asshole.
“I picked you to help me not because of the drugs. Hell, I could get those from anyone I wanted on the street.” When had Quinlan’s gaze become so mocking? “You’re my fall guy, Donnelley. The man who takes the blame, but gets to walk away with a boatload of cash.”
Only if the Feds didn’t grab him first.
“Go back outside,” Quinlan ordered. “Tell my brother I’m fine. Then have a drink with him.” Quinlan’s gaze dropped to the bag. “Just a drink. Then you walk away.”
Max stopped pacing when Donnelley came out of Quinlan’s room. “How is he?”