CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The nicely appointed office was full of people. Five men. One woman. All of them staring at her. Watching Quinn’s every movement as if they’d never seen another person breathe before. She coughed, and two of the men palmed their weapons. It was overwhelming.
After a lifetime spent of blending into the background. Making herself invisible. Doing everything she could not to attract attention to herself, being at the center of an immense amount of focused energy made her pulse race. Despite the comfortable temperature in the room, a cold sweat beaded her skin, and it was taking all her strength to hold her ground. Not run for the door and disappear.
She didn’t think it was a conscious decision on their part. But, with Rigs waking them in the middle of the night, then the race to get to Montana before another group of mercenaries or thugs closed in on them, they’d arrived early. And, now, it seemed that everyone was content to just stand around and wait until she was able to download the evidence from her server.
She glanced at a clock—thank god there was an old-fashioned one on the wall and she didn’t have to ask one of them. Five more minutes.
She forced herself to swallow, to gaze around the room. Do anything other than look at the expectant faces fanned out in a semi-circle around her. She was at Bridgette’s desk, hands resting beside the keyboard, as they gathered behind her. Soft whispered breaths that made the hair on her neck prickle.
Four minutes.
She fisted her hands, finally twisting to face them. “Ya know, hovering behind me isn’t helping any.”
The guy on the left—Hank—sighed. “We’re all just a bit…anxious.”
“Understood. But all this tension is making my hands shake. I might mess up the code, and I only get one chance to get it right.”
And, just like that, they disbanded. Hank and Swede walking over to check the doors and windows as Midnight led Bridgette back to the coffeemaker. Only Rigs and Russel remained behind her. Russel had insisted on redressing Rigs’ shoulder. The bullet had left a long, jagged crater across his flesh, which she knew would scar. Not that he didn’t already have lots. It hadn’t been apparent until he’d removed his shirt that the scars on his face weren’t the only ones he’d suffered during that incident.
Long, raised keloids ran across his chest and down his ribs, ending a few inches above his waist. She couldn’t imagine how he’d survived for two days, or how Russel had managed to carry him and keep him from bleeding out. It seemed so obvious to her, now, that she was the weak link in the group. They were soldiers. Hardened. Able to bend steal and chew on bullets. Rigs was shot and hadn’t so much as flinched. Then, there was what Russel called “situational awareness”.
She’d always considered herself to be acutely aware of her surroundings. Above average when it came to reading a room. But these men…
They’d made it into an art form. It was obvious by the way they endlessly scanned the area, as if expecting trouble to jump out at any second, that they wouldn’t get caught unaware. Even Bridgette had her strengths. She was a lawyer. A previous US Attorney. That took hard work. Dedication and the kind of intelligence most peopled envied.
What did Quinn have? A few years of self-defense training and an eye for symmetry. Colors. Not the kind of qualities that would keep her alive or out of jail based on her current circumstances. She’d never fired a gun in her life, and if she tried to throw a knife, it would most likely just bounce off and clatter to the floor.
And, of course, there was the part where her family were criminals. Not petty thieves. How had Bridgette phrased it? At the top of everyone’s watch list? Yeah, that was her contribution. The daughter of a mobster.
She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder, nearly tumbling out of the chair as she tried to scramble to her feet. Everyone turned to look at her, the metallic squeak of the springs just now fading.
Russel frowned. “You okay?”
She pretended to smooth out her shirt. “Guess I’m a bit edgy.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Except she was the only one who looked edgy.
He placed his hand on her arm. “I just wanted to tell you that it’s time.”
Time?
The files.
She reclaimed her seat then clicked on the computer. The hard drive spun for a few moments then flashed to life. She hunched over the desk then set to work—accessing her remote server, imputing the correct code then initiating the download. In under twenty minutes, she had the files unencrypted and sitting on Bridgette’s desktop.
Quinn worried her bottom lip, aware this was another point of no return. Once she showed the other woman the files, there’d be no going back. No way to save her father if—when—he got caught in the crossfire. All those years of taking care of her, and she was essentially stabbing him in the back. It didn’t matter that she’d concentrated her efforts on Thomas, on his crimes, it all led back to Henry James.
Russel squeezed her shoulder. “Quinn?”
She choked back the bile burning her throat then turned. Everyone had gathered, again, but she focused on Russel. On the green of his eyes, the soft skin of his lips. On the way his mouth lifted ever so slightly as he watched her closely.
She cleared her throat then stood. “That’s all of it. Copies of ledgers, manifests. Lists of inventories and suppliers. I also tried to photograph as many of the men as I could so they could be identified. I only know a few of them by name. Some of the information is still in code, but I can translate it for you if you need me to.”
Bridgette’s eyes widened. “You know their code?”
Quinn shrugged. “I was pretty much confined to the property until I was sixteen. Not much to do, so I’d play spy. Try to sneak around without getting caught. I used to hide in my dad’s study and see if he noticed. Sometimes, I overheard stuff. I didn’t really understand what it was at the time, but… When I saw the codes, I thought they were puzzles. And I spent weeks going over whatever I could get my hands on until I figured it out. I didn’t realize what they implicated. I just enjoyed the challenge.”
Midnight stepped in beside Bridgette. “Is that how you managed to get all of this? You played spy, again?”
“I was…motivated.”
“Christ.” The man shoved his hand through his hair. “What the hell would you have done if you’d gotten caught?”
“I didn’t.”
Russel spun her slightly to face him. “But you could have. Damn it, these men are killers. And you snuck around the house, taking photographs?”
“I did what I had to do to get concrete proof. My word against theirs wasn’t going to cut it. Quinn Scott doesn’t even exist. How was that going to look? How credible can I be when I’m a fake? I needed proof. And not just for the authorities. I needed it for me.”
His mouth pinched tight. “You wanted to know how deep your father was in it. If he’d always been a part of the violence.”
Her chin quivered, but she held on. “He looked me in the eyes when I was eighteen and swore he’d never killed anyone. Never resorted to violence. That all he did was move money around. Sell a few things some people frowned upon. And I believed him. I agreed to look the other way if he let me have a life outside of his. So, yeah, I wanted to know if he’d stood there that day and lied to my face. If every person that’s died as a result of my family’s business still being functional is more blood on my hands.”
“Quinn—” Russel’s face reddened, but he seemed to bite back the rest of his reply. “You didn’t find anything, did you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No. Trust me, if I had…” She swallowed with effort. “But I didn’t find anything to prove he hadn’t, either. And, now, men from that organization—my family’s business—are trying to kill me. So… You tell me the answer.”
Russel sighed, glanced at his buddies, then headed off to grab a cup of coffee.
Quinn watched his back for a few moments, the obvious disconnect tightening her chest, then turned to Bridgette. “Like I said. That’s everything I have. I don’t even know if it’s enough.”
Bridgette smiled at her, gave her hand a squeeze, then sat down. She stared at the screen, moving the mouse as she flipped through some of the pages. She hadn’t gotten more than several images in before she reached for her cell then turned. “These files… God, Quinn. You’ve single-handedly just crippled one of the largest criminal organizations to date.”
She couldn’t smile. Didn’t really feel anything other than numb. “Can you put Thomas in jail for the rest of his life?”
“I can put the bastard on death row if the prosecution wants it.”
“Good.”
Bridgette’s smile faltered. “Quinn. Harlequin. You should know—”
“Don’t. I’d rather not. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you. Any of you. You’ve all spent your lives fighting for justice. Running into the line of fire, never thinking about your own safety. So, loving a man who the rest of the world sees as a monster? It doesn’t make much sense.”
Hank stepped forward. “No one’s judging you.”
“I am.” She pursed her lips, hoping it would keep the tears at bay, because she wouldn’t cry, again, damn it. “When I look at Henry James, I see the man who read me stories every night. Who checked for monsters under my bed. Who never once blamed me for my mother’s death. He said he’d never let anyone hurt me, and for as long as I lived there, he did his best to keep that promise. And now…now, I’m breaking mine. I know it’s the right thing to do. I just wish it felt right.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I can wash up? That doesn’t require you to call in the rest of your men?”
Bridgette stood and pointed to the back of the room. “There’s a small shower through there. It’s stocked with toiletries and some spare clothes. I’m not sure how well they’ll fit, but you’re welcome to anything you find. A lot of the women I help leave with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, so… I like to have a few comfort items for them. Please, take your time. There’s not much you can do until I’ve gone through these files and noted anything I might need your help on. I’m going to call a colleague of mine. Pick his brain a bit. Then, we’ll talk.”
Quinn nodded then turned, walking as quickly as she could to the back room. Knowing the others were watching her, feeling sorry for her, just made everything worse. She didn’t want their pity. Didn’t want them to make excuses for her. Grant her forgiveness because there wasn’t any. She’d made her choice, and she’d have to live with the fallout. Good or bad.
The washroom door creaked as she closed it, shutting out the rest of the world. Maybe she could pretend for a few minutes that it didn’t exist. That she hadn’t just handed her father over to the authorities. That she hadn’t betrayed him.
Steam filled the small space as she stepped beneath the spray. It wasn’t overly strong, but enough to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. It was the first time she’d been cold since the bar. Up until now, Russel had been her source of heat. Her foundation. He’d sensed when she’d needed his strength and had offered it without her asking.
Pain flared in her chest. He’d looked so…lost, when he’d turned away to grab coffee. She hadn’t meant to make a scene. To put her fears, her failures on him. If it wasn’t for him and his teammates, she’d be dead. A dozen times over. So, spiraling into self-pity was the last thing he deserved.
Quinn closed her eyes. Maybe, with time, she’d learn to forgive herself. To see it the way others did. But, right now. Right this moment, she was damned. Guilty for not stepping up sooner, and guilty of abandoning blood.
The pain blossomed, creeping through her chest and up to her throat, making it hard to breathe. To swallow. Water poured over her shoulders, but all she felt was the oppressive weight slowly suffocating her. Edging her toward darkness. She palmed the tiles, wondering if she might throw up, when the shower door opened, and a swirl of cold air curled around her.
She jumped, trying to turn, when Russel’s large calloused hands slid across her waist then settled on her rib cage. They tugged her against a wall of hard male flesh, his shaft long and stiff against her back. Tears threatened, but she refused to cry, leaning into him. Trusting him to bear her weight.
His lips caressed the side of her jaw, smoothing up to her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”
She placed her hands over his, clinging to him. “Say it, again.”
“It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. Promise.”
“I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. I wouldn’t blame you. I’m not like your friends.”
Russel’s raspy breath swept across her neck. “Do you remember when you asked me why I was at the bar that first night?”
She tensed. “You said something about a change in career.”
His fingers flexed against her skin, digging in slightly then flattening. “I didn’t quit the Air Force because I was done. I was discharged. But not the normal way.” He exhaled. “My last mission—I disobeyed direct orders. Went after a teammate who’d been captured. In the process of freeing him, I killed a very important informant. My punishment was getting an other-than-honorable discharge.”
“Other than honorable?”
“It means everything good I did has been virtually erased. Replaced by this…black mark. It might as well be a scarlet letter. I lose my pension. My dignity. My honor. There’re lots of people who can’t see past it. Who only see the words and not the actions behind them. I got lucky. I have brothers who look beyond it. Who have my back. But there’ll always be those who judge and assume based on those four words. So, no, Quinn. I’m not going to walk away over sins your father committed. For not wanting to betray your only family.”
He took another breath, holding for a few heartbeats before slowly exhaling. “I know this is all happening quickly. But I don’t care about that. I care about you. But, if what I told you changes whatever you feel for me…”
She stood there for a moment, listening to him breathe. Feeling his muscles clench and release against her skin, before spinning inside his embrace. She tilted back her head, staring up at his face. At his shadowed jaw and green eyes. He wasn’t pretty like some men. Probably wouldn’t get a spot on the cover of a magazine, but every time she looked at him, he became more captivating. More handsome.
She laid one arm across his shoulder, smoothing her other hand along his chin. “I was right.”
His lips quirked, a hint of a smile showing through. “About choosing to let me give you a lift home? Of course, you were, sweetheart.”
“About you being the kind of man I’d always dreamed of being with. I’m falling for you.”
His eyes widened then darkened. He shuffled her back, pressing her against the wall of the shower. A light mist sprayed across them as he leaned forward, dropping his forehead to hers. “That’s okay. I’m already there, so, I’ll catch you.”
His mouth settled over hers, and everything else faded. The sound of the water. The hum of the overhead fan. There was just Russel and his lips on hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth. He didn’t rush. Took his time tasting and licking, easing up enough to catch a breath, reposition his mouth, then kissed her, again.
Quinn wrapped her arms around him, palming his head and kneading the bulging muscles in his back. She wanted to get closer. Touch every inch of his skin. Feel him pressed against her. Moving inside her.
The kisses deepened, lengthened, then he was lifting her up, spreading her thighs and driving into her. Long, steady thrusts. Hips grinding, her ankles crossed behind his back. He ate at her mouth, one hand palming her breast, the other squeezing her ass cheek.
She held on, gasping in breaths as pleasure coiled in her core. She dug her fingers into his flesh, bit at his lips. Anything to keep from screaming out his name.
Russel moaned against her ear, tilting her hips, changing the angle. His pace increased. Each stroke longer. Harder. His breath grew raspy, his heart rate pounding in time with hers. She felt each forceful beat. Felt her body respond in kind. His cock swelled every time he bottomed out, his sac slapping her cleft, his muscles clenching beneath her touch. He was on the verge of coming, but so was she.
Quinn nipped at his ear. “Now. God, Russel. Please.”
She wasn’t sure which word set him off. If hearing her growl out his name made him pound into her or the way she’d all but begged. She didn’t care. All she needed was Russel. Consumed with his need for her. Claiming her. Binding them together.
The air thickened. Heavy with steam. With their panting breaths. She pressed her heels against his ass, levering up, trying to meet each stroke, when he released her breast, wedged his hand between them and rubbed her clit.
She exploded. Eyes squeezed shut, her fingers clamped around his neck and head. Her body contracted around him, rhythmic pulses that locked around his shaft. He drove into her, using all his weight, crushing her against the wall until his cock swelled even more.
“Fuck, Quinn.”
His control shattered. The long strokes replaced by sharp jerking thrusts. He moaned against her ear, locked his mouth on her shoulder then stiffened. Then, he was coming, his cock emptying inside her, his fingers digging almost painfully into her ass. Over and over, hips pressed together, the water spraying across his back, misting into her face.
It was perfect.
Russel held her tight, his weight holding them up as the tremors slowly subsided. She tucked her head into his shoulder, allowing herself to drift, to lose herself in the warmth of his skin, the feel of his breath against her neck when someone knocked on the door. She managed to lift her head slightly as a creak echoed through the room.
“Ice.”
Russel clenched his jaw, squeezing her closer before barely turning his head. “What’s up, Sam?”
“There’s been a…development.”
“Roger. We’ll be right out.”
The door clicked shut. Quinn closed her eyes. She didn’t want to let go. Didn’t want to slip from this bubble outside reality. Where there was just the two of them. Just heat, and skin, and tangled limbs. Where she wasn’t Harlequin James, whistleblower and crime heiress. Where she could pretend that everything would turn out okay.
Russel sighed. He dropped a kiss on her shoulder, then her neck, working his way to her lips. He didn’t possess her like before. Didn’t twist her mouth open and delve inside. It was just a brushing of flesh on flesh. Soft. Gentle. Tears threatened, but she choked them back.
He eased away, letting her feet fall to the floor, as he slipped free. One large hand cupped her jaw, tilting it up. “Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Teammates, remember?”
She nodded, afraid her voice would crack if she answered. If she breathed. He smiled, quickly washed them both then twisted off the taps. Her skin beaded with goosebumps as the air immediately cooled. He handed her a towel, stepping out without one. He didn’t seem to feel the cold. To be anxious, at all.
That’s when she realized—Russel was gone. Ice was back.
It only took a couple of minutes to dry off and dress. Bridgette had a variety of yoga pants and soft long-sleeved shirts. Quinn found a set that fit well enough, taking a moment to run a brush through her hair. God, even combed out it looked unruly, curls going in every direction.
Russel appeared behind her in the mirror. He looked perfect. Skin still nicely tanned, eyes bright. Alert. The creases feathering out from them might have been a bit deeper, a bit more noticeable. And his five-o’clock shadow was nearly a beard, again. But he didn’t look like a man who’d avoided an army’s worth of hired thugs in the past twenty-four hours.
He smiled, lightly brushing his fingers over the mark he’d left on her neck. “You’re beautiful.”
She snorted. “If you like the pasty, nervous wreck look.”
His hands moved to her shoulders. “If that’s what this is, then you pull it off. Ready?”
She swallowed but nodded. She wasn’t ready. Not to face the others—especially when she knew they were all aware of what she and Russel had been doing in the shower. And definitely not ready to hear this “development”. She knew the code for bad news when she heard it.
Russel took her hand in his then led them back into the office. Everyone turned to watch them as they walked toward Bridgette’s desk. Quinn’s heart rate kicked up, and despite the cold shiver that beaded her skin with another round of goosebumps, her face heated. She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d jumped in the shower—when she’d jumped Russel. She’d needed the comfort. To reduce her world from complicated to binary. It had been more than sex. More than getting off. It had been reassurance. A promise that she hadn’t just lost everything with one act of bravery.
They stopped just back from the desk, Russel behind her, his strong hands braced on her waist. He pulled her against him slightly—just enough for her to lean into his chest. She felt his heartbeat through her back—slow and steady. One for every second. It soothed some of the restless energy strumming through her. Regardless of what she discovered, she could handle it as long as he was there. Calm. Ready to react on a moment’s notice.
Bridgette stood, immediately joined by Midnight. Her fiancé took a position similar to Russel’s—a visible show of support and strength.
Bridgette glanced at the other men, looked directly at Russel then sighed. “I just got off the phone with a colleague from the US Attorney’s office. I wanted to get a sense of how this would play out. What options we had before doing anything official. Like I said. They’re aware of your father’s activities. As soon as I mentioned his name…”
Quinn forced herself not to shake. Not to show any emotion. She’d knew this was coming. The fallout. And she knew she’d have to live with the consequences of her actions. And not just her father’s. She had no idea what accounts or properties he’d been talking about. Hadn’t unearthed information on them. That meant she could end up in a cell right alongside him.
She forced in a shallow breath. “And?”
Bridgette pursed her lips. “I’m not sure how else to tell you. Jeremy just heard from the feds. Your father was rushed to the hospital late last night. He’s in critical condition from gunshot wounds.”