No. No, no, no.

I close my eyes. I want to cry. I want to curse karma for messing with me like this. But I can’t. This is no one’s fault but mine. “Quinn, I was going to tell you.” Hollow words that sound too weak. Too late.

Whether he believes me or not doesn’t matter. I’ve waited too long. I watch a myriad of expressions chase across his face. Pain. Puzzlement. Despair. Anger. Frustration. Agonizing pain.

His phone drops from his hand, and he staggers to his feet. He starts to yank at his tie, and that’s when I notice he’s not breathing right.

I reach out for him. “Quinn?”

He stumbles back, his eyes eerily unfocused. Then he whirls away from me. “I can’t…Jesus. I can’t breathe…” The words are mumbled and thick, as if he can’t get his tongue to work. I step toward him again and then freeze as I hear a vicious rip as his tie comes apart in his hands.

“Oh God…”

 He flings the torn pieces away. His jacket comes off next before both hands claw into his hair. His whole body is caught in deep shudders that strike fear into my heart. “Why?” Again the word is a rough whisper, as if he’s talking to himself. That he can’t bear to look at me.

“Please listen to me—”

The sound that tears from his throat is the kind a severely wounded animal would make. A half keen, half howl of utter desolation. I freeze in place as the sound whips into a frenzy around me before it trails off in an eerie echo.

Jesus, what have I done?

His hands link at his nape, and still without looking at me, he stumbles over to the bar at the far right corner of the living room.

After nearly drinking himself to death when I left him last year, Quinn limited his alcohol intake to the odd glass of red wine or a shot or two of his favorite Macallan whiskey. Now I watch him gulp down half a glass of whiskey before he balls his shaking fists on top of the bar counter.

I force my feet to move toward him after a minute. I need to make him understand. Somehow.

“It was just a feeling at first. I didn’t say anything because I thought I was being paranoid, after what happened last year.”

His head bows, and I watch his eyes squeeze shut.

“Well, you know what they say about paranoia, dear. If it walks up to you on the street and talks to you, then it’s probably real.”

I jerk around at the female voice, and my heart sinks to my feet.

Fionnella Smith.

Of course. I should’ve known she would be the bringer of the shit storm I’m currently wading through. She’s connected to Quinn through tragedy, and her loyalty to him is absolute. I can’t even blame her for throwing a giant monkey wrench into my life.

“Are you okay, dear?” the diminutive woman in drab, oversized clothes asks me. For once, her perpetual smile is missing.

I grip my arms and shake my head. “No, I’m not. Neither of us are.”

She nods, and her gaze moves to Quinn. Before she can open her mouth, his head whips around, and he spears her with penetrating eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, if it walks up to you on the street?”

I thought Fionnella was making a generalization but Quinn’s question makes everything inside me clench harder with agonizing premonition.

No.

As if she hears me, Fionnella’s eyes return to me. I see the clear sympathy in her gaze but I know she’s not going to spare me what’s coming.

“For fuck’s sake, spit it out!” Quinn’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter tells me he’s on the verge of losing control.

Fionnella hesitates for a moment and then reaches into the oversized hobo purse hanging off her arm. The envelope she takes out shreds my insides.

“No…”

Fionnella sends me a pitying smile. “You should’ve told him, dear.”

“I was going to tell him tonight—”

“Were you?” Quinn finally looks at me, and the wasteland of hopelessness in his eyes flays me. “After three fucking weeks of leaving yourself exposed to this asshole, what was so special about tonight?”

“I didn’t…I was scared we weren’t strong enough to sustain another hit. I wanted to wait until I was sure—”

“You mean you were testing me?”

“No! I was hoping it was nothing.”

“Your instinct wasn’t enough? You have to wait for him to come right up to you and fucking touch you, or Jesus Christ, hurt you before you believed it? That’s what Fionnella is saying, isn’t it? This asshole has had some sort of contact with you?” he barks at me.

“Come on, son. Calm down—”

“And you! Where the hell were you, Fionnella?” he snaps.

“I had a situation in Nevada to deal with. They approached me based on your recommendation, I believe.”

“That is no goddamn excuse. You weren’t here when I needed you.”

“Now, now, there’s enough of me to go around.”

He pushes away from the counter and stalks to Fionnella. “Yes, but do you see her, Fionnella?” He points a trembling finger at me.

Fionnella frowns. “Of course I see her—”

“There’s only one of her!” His agonized bellow threatens the very foundations of the building.

My blood threatens to curdle with fear. Fionnella doesn’t blink. “I understand, son.”

“Do you? Really? Because, right in this moment, I don’t think anyone does.” The words emerge in a tortured whisper, as if torn from the center of his being. He starts shaking again.

Fionnella lays a hand on his arm. “I do, Quinn. I really do.”

“No. I don’t think so or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

“Calm down, son,” she says again.

“Stop telling me to fucking calm down.”

He whirls away, meets my eyes, and freezes in place. I swallow my fear and misery and step up to him. When he doesn’t flinch away from me, I place my hand on his chest. His heart is beating wild and fast. Out of control. “Please, Quinn.”

A deep shudder runs through him. “Why, Elyse? How could you not see…how could you not know that this would kill me?”

I blink back the tears that fill my eyes. “I could see, Quinn. Don’t you see? It was why I wanted to spare you this in the first place.”

He shuts his eyes and gives a vicious shake of his head. I step closer and wrap both arms around him. He doesn’t pull me in or rest his face in the crook of my neck like he usually does. He holds himself rigidly still, that deathly stillness multiplied by a thousand. He’s barely holding on.

I take his hand in mine. “Sit down.”

He stiffens for a moment but then walks over to sink into the sectional sofa. He pulls his hands from mine and clasps them between his knees. Although I sit next to him, I feel a gulf between us, and it tears me apart.

“Everything. I want to know every last fucking thing, so start talking right now,” he orders.

Fionnella perches on the far side of the sofa and nods encouragingly at me.

“I was on my way to class three weeks ago when I…felt I was being watched.”

His jaw clenches, and a wild curse rips from his throat. I lay a hand on his arm. The tendons bunch brutally but he doesn’t move away.

“I thought I was imagining it. It’s been a year since Clay—”

“Trust me, I know exactly how long it’s been!”

I nod at the clipped reminder. “Anyway, I didn’t sense anything for another few days, but then it happened again.”

“When?”

“On my way to the library.”

“Let me guess, another time when you should’ve let Lionel drive you but chose to walk instead.”

“It’s only four blocks away.”

“A hell of a fucking lot can happen in one block!”

“Stop yelling at me, Quinn.”

Ferocious silver-blue eyes blaze a sizzling warning. I know I’m going to pay a hell of a lot more later, but for now, his hunger for information overrides his need to deliver the retribution that’s coming my way. “Speak.”

But I don’t get a chance to. A knock on the door startles both of us, but Fionnella smiles and rises. “Ah, sorry, I forgot to mention. I invited another player to help speed things along. Stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

When she returns thirty seconds later with Ellen Schultz in tow, Quinn jerks to his feet. “Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is she doing here?”

“You want answers, son. You’re getting them.”

“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Mr. Blackwood,” Detective Schultz offers.

“I wish we weren’t meeting at all,” he snaps with zero mercy.

“I understand.”

He props his hands on his lean hips. “Yeah, everyone seems to fucking understand. Maybe you’d like to throw me a fucking bone and fill me in?”

I clear my throat. “I called her two weeks ago. I wanted her to look into whether I was being followed or if it was just in my mind.”

Thick silence throbs through the living room at my words. Quinn exhales in disbelief and stares at me. “You went to her. Instead of me.”

“Mr. Blackwood—”

“I’m speaking to my—” He stops suddenly, and we’re both thrown back to the moment by the window. Quinn down on one knee, asking me…

Agony ripples through me. Oh God, was it only a half hour ago?

I watch his chest rise and fall. He swallows, then grits his jaw. “You went to her. Then what?”

“We’ve been trawling through CCTV footage and mug shots,” Ellen speaks up again. I have to hand it to her—she has guts.

“And let me guess. You’ve come up with fuck-all?”

The detective’s lips purse but she shrugs her defeat.

Quinn’s gaze swings to Fionnella. “And you, dear friend? How are you up to speed with all this?” His tone drips with acid sarcasm.

Fionnella shrugs it off. “After what happened last year I put a few safeguards in various places.” She sends Ellen a droll don’t ask glance. “When the detective filed a report about a certain piece of evidence she picked up from an Elyse Gilbert this afternoon, I got an alert. I looked into things, got a picture of what was going on.”

Ellen’s eyebrows spike but she doesn’t respond.

Quinn eyes lock on me. “What evidence?”

I clear my throat. “He…left a package for me this afternoon. I gave it to Detective Schultz before I came to meet you tonight.”

Another forked lightning of censure lances at me. “So it wasn’t just stalking. The fucking bastard made actual contact?”

“Yes.”

His forefinger bounces against his thigh as he stares at me. “What…what did he leave for you?” he asks gruffly.

“The laptop case I thought I lost a couple weeks ago. With a Post-it note that said Lost.”

“I’ve handed it to my tech guys. If anything pops, they’ll let me know immediately.”

Quinn doesn’t acknowledge Ellen’s response. He’s staring at me as if he’s never seen me before.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth. His eyes remain on me. Harrowing. Desolate. Infinitely puzzled.

Fionnella clears her throat. “There’s been another development since this afternoon.”

With every cell in my body, I wish she would shut up. I don’t know how much more of this Quinn can take. But his stance is resolute as he turns to her.

“What?” he asks.

She holds up the envelope she took out of her bag minutes ago, opens the flap, and pulls out half a dozen sheets of glossy paper. It’s the kind used to print photos. She sends me another sympathetic look before she holds them up. “He had a courier deliver these downstairs for you an hour ago. The concierge was about to deliver them when I got here.”

Ice drenches me from head to toe as I watch myself in a series of shots taken outside Blackwood Tower. Quinn marches over and snatches them from her. Brows clamped, he stares down at it. “Jesus, he got close enough to take pictures of her?”

Fionnella and Ellen flinch at Quinn’s roar of disbelief. I can’t stop the uncontrollable shaking that is going through me. My stalker is the stranger who tried to share my taxi when I left Blackwood Tower. God. “I…I didn’t recognize him. I have no idea who he is,” I whisper as fresh shivers rack my spine.

Quinn finally sees my reaction. He slaps the pictures on the coffee table and scoops me into his arms. His touch is gentle but the tension vibrating through him is anything but. His hand slides up and down my arm to warm me up, but his focus is fixed on the two women in the room. “What the fuck does that mean?” He points to the Post-it note stuck to the picture that says Found.

“He’s playing a game, I guess,” Ellen offers.

Lost and Found.

“Oh God!” I lay my head on his shoulder, and his arms tighten almost painfully around me.

“Fionnella, you do not fucking eat or blink or sleep until you find this asshole. I don’t care what you do—”

“I’m already on it, son.”

A look passes between them. Then he nods grimly.

“If anyone’s interested, I have a theory,” Ellen Schultz says.

“Not interested,” Quinn snaps.

“Christ, Quinn, just hear the woman out,” Fionnella grumbles.

“There might be a way to bring all of this to an end quickly.”

She outlines her plans.