CHAPTER TWELVE
And you start by telling us your real name.
Quinn stared at Russel as his words looped inside her head. Damn. Not only had he unearthed her identity, he knew it was fake. Not that she’d ever believed it was failsafe, but she’d paid a hefty sum to make it convincing. No one had uncovered that, before. But, even more astounding, he’d known, and he’d still helped her. Still…made love to her. Had stated he wanted her in his life.
God, he really was crazy.
Russel smiled, and just like that, some of the fear bled from her system. Her muscles eased slightly, and the gagging feeling in her throat diminished. He wasn’t scared. Not an ouch of fear. He wasn’t even breathing hard. She was wheezing. She was sure of it. Her heart rate was probably over two hundred, and she was pretty sure her blood pressure was beyond medical help. And yet, he was standing there, calm. Collected.
Ice.
She closed her eyes, fighting the instinct to run. He was right. It really was too late. These men—they wouldn’t give up. They’d track her down. Force her to accept their help. Better to get it all out in the open.
Lips caressed her eyelids, and she opened them to find Russel nothing more than an inch away. Green eyes shining in the sunlight. Lips curved into the kind of smile that dropped her stomach and spun the room. He motioned to the table, and she allowed him to lead her over—plunk her ass back in the seat.
Quinn gathered her composure. This was it. The point of no return. Either they stuck with her, or they jumped ship. Though, she knew they wouldn’t. They were warriors. They’d spent their lives fighting for justice. They wouldn’t bail once they learned how much was at stake.
She cleared her throat, glancing at him then Rigs. The other man was unreadable—face firmly set. Arms still crossed over his chest. She focused on the phone, on getting her tongue to form the words, because right now, it felt large and sluggish. Too big to fit.
Another deep breath, and the tight feeling eased. Not completely, but enough she might be able to get out more than just a squeak. “Before I tell you that, you should know something outright. I won’t give you any evidence that will clearly implicate my father. I know that might be wrong. Trust me. I’ve spent years agonizing over it. But…”
God, more tears clogged her throat. She hadn’t cried this much in ten years. “In his own way, I know he loves me. And he’s never, once, raised a hand to me. Never done anything other than try to raise me on his own. I realize, looking back, that it wasn’t the kind of home to have a kid in, but… He did his best. And I…I can’t hurt him that way. Not directly. I know there isn’t much hope he’ll escape, but it won’t be by my hand.”
Silence. Nothing but utter silence.
Then a hushed breath. “Quinn, this is Bridgette. I know we haven’t met, but I understand why you’d feel that way. Up until a few months ago, I worked for the US Attorney’s office in Seattle. Oddly, it was in the Organized Crimes division. I know the kind of courage it takes to break out of that environment. How much it’s cost you. And I give you my word that I’ll do whatever I can to help you. So, if you’d let me know what I’m up against, I can start.”
A US Attorney?
Shit. This was either really great news, because she had a flash drive full of documents and photos that would put Thomas on death row or it was her worst nightmare, and she’d be putting her father in a cell right along beside the bastard.
Russel’s hand covered hers, again. Strong. Warm. Unyielding. He was telling her he was there for her. She didn’t know why. What she’d done to earn his trust. Hell, what looked like his love. But she was happy for it. It made everything seem a bit less vast. Up until now, she’d been lost in an ocean with nothing concrete in sight. But, with his hand over hers, it grounded her. Gave her something to focus on.
She smiled at Russel. “You’re right. Quinn Scott was my attempt to distance myself. Growing up, I hadn’t really realized my life wasn’t typical. That everyone didn’t have armed men covering every inch of their property or that their fathers didn’t have meetings in the middle of the night. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I learned the truth. That my dad wasn’t a successful businessman, and that my uncles and their sons weren’t part of a thriving corporate venture. That they were all…criminals. My father had gone to great lengths to hide it from me. So, when I discovered the truth, I left.”
She collapsed against the back of the chair, her strength flowing out and into the floor. God, she was tired. Tired of looking over her back. Of being someone else.
“But I knew I couldn’t go far. I’d confronted my father, and he’d admitted that he wasn’t what he appeared to be. He said I was free to go. All he asked was that I didn’t question him about his business, and that I agreed to meet him for lunch once a month.”
Russel grunted. “That’s what you were doing when you made me leave you. You were having your regular meeting with him.”
“That’s why I couldn’t ask you to stay. My dad’s very protective. If he’d discovered who you were—that you were ex-military—he would have had Thomas come after you. Prevented you from unearthing the truth.”
“So, what happened? Obviously, something did, because those men were there to hurt you, Quinn.”
She shuddered, memories of that day filtering through her mind. “While I was in the café, I saw something I shouldn’t have. A man. He was tied to a chair, all beaten and bloody. I was convinced it was all Thomas. That he was doing this behind my father’s back, but then… Then, my dad went into the office with Thomas, and they…they…”
Russel sighed. “They killed the guy, didn’t they?”
She nodded, a few tears running down her cheeks. “I’m sure it was Thomas who pulled the trigger, but that’s when I realized I couldn’t turn a blind-eye, anymore. That by saying nothing, I was just as guilty of killing that man as they were. That I was every bit the criminal my father was.”
“Quinn—”
“No. I can reason it away, but we all know it’s true. That’s when I decided I was going to take it all down. But I couldn’t gather any evidence without going back to the estate. I made up a story so my dad would let me stay in my old room for a couple of weeks—one he was more than happy to believe—and spent every moment I could going through files and reports. I took photos of everything. It seems Thomas had taken over most of the company—everything but the money laundering side of it. I’m not sure my father even knows that he’s been overrun. That’s when I decided to focus on Thomas. But I must have screwed up. Somehow, he discovered what I was doing.”
She looked up at Russel. “Last night. I don’t know why I went back to that bar. I think I was secretly hoping you’d be there. That maybe I could have one last night before everything changed. I had planned on turning myself over to the FBI the next morning. Showing them everything I had saved onto a flash drive. Enough to put Thomas away. But then, he showed up, and…”
“And things went sideways.”
“If you hadn’t been there…” She’d be dead. Or tied to a chair with pieces of her bones sticking through her jeans.
“Do you still have the flash drive?” Bridgette’s voice was tight. Slightly higher than it had been a minute ago.
“Not…with me.” Quinn groaned and slumped onto the table, her elbow bridging most of her weight. “I taped it to the inside cowling of my motorcycle.”
Russel cursed. “Shit. The one we abandoned.”
“You didn’t know. And it wasn’t like we were in a position to get it. I also hadn’t planned on telling you any of this. If I’d insisted, you would have questioned me until I’d spilled it all. But I put an encrypted backup on my cloud server. It’s under lockdown. I programmed it to allow one hour of access every forty-eight hours. If I don’t input my code during that window, it stays in lockdown, regardless of anything I do. The first opportunity is tomorrow afternoon. So, I can get it all back.”
“That was smart thinking.” Did the other woman sound proud? “Though, I don’t want you doing that until you’re here. Where these guys can keep you safe, and I have access to more resources. I’ll have a better idea what you’re truly facing once I go through those files.”
“There’s just one small problem.” Quinn locked her gaze on Russel’s. “When I was in the café, I also overheard my dad say that he had properties and accounts in my name. I swear, I didn’t know about them, but… It’ll be my word against theirs. I’m the daughter of a crime boss. That’s not going to carry much weight. Not that it matters. I don’t care what it takes. If I have to spend the rest of my life in jail, I want it gone. The whole fucking thing. Burned to the ground.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about that? But…I need to know your name. So, I can start doing some very careful probing of my own.”
She swallowed, again. Christ, saying her name shouldn’t be this hard. Russel squeezed her hand, and just like that, the band around her chest loosened.
“I didn’t venture far from the truth. My mother picked out my name just hours before she died. And I…I couldn’t completely give it up. So, I shortened it.”
Russel frowned. “What is Quinn short for?”
“Harlequin. My name is Harlequin James.”
“Holy shit.” Bridgette’s voice reverberated through the room. “As in daughter to Henry James? Seriously?”
“What?” Russel was looking around as if he could uncover whatever had Bridgette agitated. “Why holy shit? Who’s Henry James?”
“Just the man at the top of everyone’s watch list. You remember how long the Bureau had been trying to take down Alexander Stevens? That case that nearly got me killed?”
Russel’s face hardened. There was obviously a story there. “I’m familiar.”
“Double that time. Or triple it. Henry James…the man’s a legend. I knew he had a daughter but… He kept your existence very hushed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a photo of you. Then, about ten years ago, there was a death certificate. A drowning accident.”
Quinn nodded. “That was his way of trying to give me an out. He let me become Quinn Scott as long as I remained loyal to him as a daughter. I guess it was part of the excuse I made for not coming clean. Turning him in.”
“No.” Bridgette’s voice was stern. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if you’d tried to turn him in without proof? You’d be dead. For real. And an eighteen-year old isn’t supposed to be gathering evidence against her family. Christ, I can’t believe you’ve managed to stay alive and out of it this long on your own. Russel.”
He sat up a bit straighter. “Yeah. Still here.”
“I am personally holding you responsible for her safety. If she gets so much as a scratch, I’ll send Sam after you.”
He chuckled. “I believe I was the one who rescued his ass, but don’t worry. Not going to happen. Period.”
“Okay, it sounds like we have enough to go on.” The guy, Hank. “Rigs, have you got alternate transportation they can borrow?”
Rigs took a step closer. “I’m picking up a vehicle this afternoon that can’t be traced. Russel can leave his truck here until this is dealt with. I suggest we leave first thing tomorrow. They should be safe here, until then, and I have a few contacts I can call in Seattle. Find out more about this Thomas Carlson guy, and what we might be facing. I’d hate to go back out on the road without any kind of intel. He could have an entire army amassed and looking for them. Better we know ahead of time if his connections end at the state line.”
“Agreed. Okay, we’ll expect you at Bridgette’s office tomorrow before that window of Quinn’s opens. We’ll make further plans from there. But…should the circumstances change, I expect a call. Regardless of what time it is. Understood?”
“Crystal clear.” Russel picked up the phone then clicked it off. He turned to Rigs. “You need backup getting this vehicle?”
“Got it covered. No one’s looking for me. Besides, it’s riskier to have you both leave here before we’re ready.” He headed for the door, again. “Just hang tight. I’ll be back sometime tonight. The place is yours, but…don’t go walking about. I haven’t had time to disarm any of the security measures.”
Quinn sat in the chair, heart pounding, mouth dry, as the door clicked shut. She’d done it. Told them who she was, and somehow, they hadn’t run away screaming. She knew what Bridgette was talking about. After digging for evidence, she’d unearthed far more than she’d wanted to. The only saving grace was that her dad had always been more of an administrator. A figure head of sorts. Yes, he laundered money, and he was well aware of what Thomas did—of the violence—but she hadn’t found anything to suggest he’d ever been involved in it.
Of course, she hadn’t proven that he wasn’t, either. Or that he hadn’t sent Thomas after her. She didn’t want to believe it, but until she knew, one way or the other, she’d have to at least be open to the possibility.
A hand settled on her shoulder, and she turned. Russel was watching her, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring with every whispered breath. He didn’t look shocked or angry, but there was a fierceness about him that made her squirm under the weight of his stare.
He leaned forward, stopping with his nose nearly touching hers. “You could have told me. In my truck that day. I would have understood. But I also would have had your back. Could have been there, in the café, with you.”
“Right, up until my father realized you were a threat. Then, you would have been the next guy tied to a chair with his knee shattered and blood…”
The images came rushing back. The whiteness of the bone against the denim. The blood collecting in pools on the plastic sheet—the one Thomas had put underneath the guy so the blood wouldn’t get on the rug. So, he’d be able to clean it up fast. No bleach, no residual DNA. God, how many times had he done that? How many sheets of plastic had he gone through? And had her father watched every time?
“Quinn?”
It was too much. The blood. The guns. The acrid smell of fear and sweat—the sound of Thomas’ fists connecting with bone. The hollow pops, the ones that had sounded through the door. The ones that could have killed Russel. She could see it. Him lying on the ground, blood washing away with the rain. And Thomas would have been standing over Russel’s body, thankful he didn’t have to clean it up. God, he probably had more of that plastic in his car.
“Fuck. Hold on.”
Arms wrapped around her, then she was against Russel’s chest, moving through the house. She didn’t see where he was taking her—the walls a dull wash of the images still playing inside her head—when something sounded in the background. Tinkling sounds that penetrated the hazy blur. She blinked as Russel removed the last of her clothes and lifted her into the shower.
Hot water splashed across her skin, finally cutting through the nightmare. Russel had her on his lap, sitting on a small ledge at the back of the large enclosure, his arms like steel bands around her. Holding her tight. Keeping her safe. She took a few gasping breaths, then leaned into him, gripping his forearms with both her hands. He couldn’t let go. If he did, she’d fly apart.
He nuzzled her neck, dropping a kiss on the shell of her ear. “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. You’re safe, and I’ll keep you that way. So, let it go.”
To her horror, tears welled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks, mixing with the water cascading down his arms. She didn’t try to stop herself, just laid against him, letting the past slowly fade. The water was starting to cool by the time he finally eased up on his hold. But he didn’t let go, managing to stand with her in his arms.
She wrapped her hands around his neck, still leaning into his chest as he exited the shower, turned off the taps, grabbed some towels then took them back to the room they’d shared the night before. He settled her on the bed, wrapping a huge length of terry around her. She shivered, not sure why she was cold, when the bed dipped from his weight. He shuffled against the headboard then bodily lifted her and placed her between his thighs, again.
She burrowed against him, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her hands over his as he held her tight. Not as firmly as in the shower, but enough it soothed the jumpy feeling in her stomach. The one that threatened to toss what little food she’d eaten across the bed.
He brought his cheek next to hers. “Just keep breathing.”
Breathing. He said it as if it was easy. Natural. Not the labored effort it took her to draw air in then push it out. But, slowly, the burning sensation in her lungs faded, each breath a bit easier than the last. Russel didn’t move, didn’t talk. Just sat there, wrapped around her, listening to her gasping pants.
When she’d finally regained some modicum of composure, he released one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Feeling better? Chest still tight?”
She shook her head.
“Words, Quinn. I’d like you to tell me you’re okay.”
She swallowed, nearly gagged, then twisted enough to look at him. “Better.”
There. She’d managed a word without puking. Without passing out. Surely, that was enough? A Herculean effort.
He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. Not the nauseous feeling like before. This was warm and tingling. The way she felt when she realized she was about to capture the perfect shot. Only this made that feel colorless. Two-dimensional.
“Not quite the declaration I was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing. Do you need to rest? Or have some more food? Maybe a shot of whiskey?”
“You.”
He frowned. “Me?”
“It’s what I want. What I need. Just you.”
His eyes narrowed, the green color slowly darkening as the skin over his cheekbones tightened. “Quinn—”
“Are you always going to try and talk me out of making love to you?”
“Are you always going to want sex when you’re on the edge?”
“You’re describing every moment of every day of my life for the past ten years. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Wondering if someone’s watching me. Following me. If I’m putting friends or co-workers at risk simply by agreeing to meet them for a drink or collaborate on a project. It’s never a perfect time, and I’ve never been safe. So, if you’re waiting for that moment—it doesn’t exist.”
“Not yet. But it will. We’ll figure this out. But even if we don’t. If Thomas is untouchable. If there isn’t a way to bring him down, no one is ever going to hurt you, again. Not as long as I’m breathing. That’s not a promise. It’s a fact.”
She twisted in his arms, losing the towel in the process. “Then, here’s another fact. I want you. No, need you. On the edge. After the fallout. Doesn’t matter what’s happening around me, I can’t get you off of my mind. Can’t focus. I’ve never felt like this. Like I’m careening out of control. Stuck on a Ferris wheel that won’t stop turning. But what’s crazier is that I don’t want to get off. I want to stay on it. With you. So, unless we’re back to you not being interested…”
Russel’s mouth twitched a moment before his hand slipped to the back of her neck and his mouth crushed down hard on hers. A brief meeting of flesh, then he twisted her mouth open and licked his way inside. He tasted like coffee. Like spicy man and strength. A potent combination that was somehow linked to her DNA. One taste, and she was ready. As if he’d inserted a code and unlocked her defenses. No need to scale her walls or knock them down, he just opened the door and walked inside.
She gave him control, wrapping herself around him, trying to climb onto his lap without letting go. She couldn’t let go. Couldn’t get her fingers to release their death grip on his neck. They were glued to his skin. Stuck in place as she returned his kiss, eating at his mouth when he paused for a quick breath.
Russel chuckled, lifted her up as he straightened his legs, then set her back down—directly above his erection. The head was hot and wet, pulsing with every brush of her skin against it. She balanced her weight, hands still digging into his flesh, her tongue still tangling with his, and rubbed the flared crown the length of her cleft.
A guttural moan rumbled through Russel’s chest. Low. Throaty. Like the growl of a wild animal just before it struck. She grinned and repeated the motion, teasing him with a hint of penetration.
An actual growl surfaced, this time. It was deeper. More of a warning, now. He was declaring his dominance. Giving her time to accept it before he lost control.
Good. She wanted him to lose control. Wanted to see him sweat. Shake. She didn’t want Ice, the calm, cool soldier who faced death and didn’t blink. She wanted Russel. The man who’d swept her off her feet. Who was willing to stand by her, despite the fact she came from poisonous stock. The apples that fell from her family’s trees were like the ones in Eden. Tempting but deadly.
He nipped at her bottom lip, licking the small hurt as he grasped her hips and held her still. She wiggled, gasping when he tightened his hold then thrust up, plunging inside her in one forceful stroke.
Colors danced across her vision, dimming the edges as the coil inside her core whirled inward, tightening painfully then shattering. She arched back, bending over one of his arms as he stayed still inside her, her walls contracting around his length.
Heat poured off her body, coating it with sweat as her orgasm pounded through her. Her head fell backwards, her neck muscles cording until the searing pleasure receded, and she collapsed forward, her forehead on his, her hands now gripping his shoulders.
“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart. Again.”
He pulled out then pushed back in. Harder. Deeper. He didn’t stop, each punishing stroke more forceful than the last. The bed squeaked, the headboard banged, joined by their joint grunts. It was primal. Raw. And she didn’t want it to stop.
Russel quickened his pace, shafting her hard, holding her captive as he claimed her. His mouth, his hands, his cock. Over and over, kissing, touching, thrusting. Every inch felt possessed. Every breath shared as he pushed to the edge, again.
She held on. Clung to him in desperation, wanting to go over but not wanting it to stop. She’d never been taken before. That was the only way to describe it. Even during their rambunctious play last night, she hadn’t felt this owned. But not in a suffocating way. He was cherishing her. Showing her how much she mattered. That she was special.
Her climax hit her hard, stealing her breath, dragging her under while shattering her into a thousand pieces. Russel shouted her name, drove up into her and came—emptying in a series of jerking half thrusts. Quinn floated in a numbing haze, finally coming back to herself—minutes, hours, days—later.
Russel held her close, his breath hot and spicy across her cheek. He gave her a squeeze, moving one hand to pinch her chin—raise her gaze to his. She lifted heavy eyelids, smiling up at him as he stared down at her.
He nuzzled her nose. “You okay?”
“Mmm.”
“You are a woman of many words.”
She laughed. “Perfect. Tired.”
“How tired?”
And just like that, her muscled flexed. Gathered back strength she swore was gone. Drained out of her like her tears in the shower. Even her sex heated, clamping down around Russel’s semi-erect shaft. God, how was he still even remotely hard?
She tilted her head a bit, giving him a playful smile. “With you? Never that tired.”