Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (3 page)

Silly, but sometimes she worried that he was too perfect. That perhaps she was seeing
only what she wanted to see. When she was a kid, how many times had she looked up
at her daddy and thought him to be the most wonderful man alive? And what had he done?
He had brutally murdered her beautiful mother and then had cowardly taken his own
life. That had shaken Samantha’s trust to the core and destroyed her innocence.

Then, years later, both of her sisters had thought they’d found their ideal matches,
only to learn how wrong they’d been. With that history, why should she have faith
in any man at all?

Now Savvy was back in Midnight for a short time to ready the Wilde mansion for sale.
And she would most likely have to see the man who had shattered her heart. Life was
just too damn unfair sometimes.

Even though Samantha and her sisters understandably had trust issues with men, they’d
thankfully had one wonderful example. Daniel Wilde, their grandfather, had epitomized
everything honorable and good. If Samantha could find a man half as fine as Daniel
Wilde had been, she would call herself lucky. And unless she was seriously mistaken,
that man was Quinn Braddock.

There was one major fly in her happily-ever-after ointment: Quinn wanted nothing permanent—he
had made that clear from the start. Samantha, quite confident of her feminine powers,
hadn’t been worried when he had made that announcement on their first date. It was
the first time any man had ever made that stipulation. Instead of being insulted,
she had been amused, almost seeing his warning as a challenge. Weeks later, when she
realized she was falling in love with him, she wasn’t feeling quite so confident and
was most definitely not amused.

After almost four months of dating, their relationship was intense, passionate, and
more satisfying than anything she’d ever experienced. Even sex was exciting and thrilling.
Before Quinn, her sex life had been about as bland as cold grits. She had decided
that, for her at least, the idea of sex was much more enjoyable than the actual act.
She was good at a lot of things … sex just didn’t happen to be one of them.

Then, the first night she and Quinn made love, she had changed her mind. She had been
terrified, worried that she would disappoint him. Quinn had been incredible. Patient
and oh so very thorough in his intent to pleasure her. He had praised her, making
her feel beautiful and sensual—sexually confident. Their lovemaking was everything
she had wanted and so much more.

Still, even with the amazing connection they had, Quinn was never wavering in his
stance on no commitment. He seemed to enjoy their relationship, laughed with her,
talked with her, and made love to her until she was breathless and weak. But there
had been no indication that he had changed his mind about anything permanent.

She wasn’t giving up on her dreams, though. Beneath the façade of toughness she’d
adopted to handle her job as a cop, Samantha was still the romantic her sisters had
teased her about. The romance novels she had stashed away in bookcases and drawers
throughout her apartment were testaments to her belief in a forever kind of love.
And she was a small-town girl, with traditional values. That meant a wedding, babies,
PTA meetings, Pee Wee football, and school plays. She wanted it all. Unfortunately
the man she wanted to share all of that with had firmly denied wanting any of those
things.

With an explosive sigh, Samantha sprang from the bed and headed for the shower. Her
time was too limited to lie in bed and worry. Besides, staying busy had always
been her answer to her troubled thoughts. As a teenager, she’d involved herself in
every activity possible. It had made her numerous friends and paved the way for opportunities
and honors many had envied. Little had those people known that all of that had been
her way of trying to stay sane. Cheerleading, being the homecoming queen and class
president, and taking dance and drama classes had all looked like fun and frivolous
activities for a spoiled teenaged girl. That had been fine with her. Few saw beyond
the shield she had erected to deal with the crushing pain of her parents’ deaths.

She had eventually come to terms with her father’s betrayal, but work was still her
answer to her worries. Being a homicide detective definitely kept her mind from obsessing
over things she couldn’t change.

After her shower, she pulled her hair up in a tight, brow-raising bun, applied a minimum
of makeup, then stepped into a somber black pantsuit and low-heeled black pumps. She
hated that she was dressing for the judge, but couldn’t deny it. Yesterday she’d worn
what she had considered a conservative skirt and blouse. The judge had glared at her
as if she were wearing a bikini. Hopefully an even primmer outfit would help.

The clock chimed eight times. Grabbing the purse she’d dropped on her dresser, she
dashed toward the front door. A stomach rumble halfway there reminded her she hadn’t
eaten. Cursing softly, she detoured into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee from
the pot that Quinn had made, flipped the switch to
OFF
, and then looked around for something quick. The overripe banana on the counter or
a cold Pop-Tart? Quickly deciding, she shook the foil-wrapped pastry from its box,
dropped it into her purse, and headed out the door. Maybe she would call Quinn at
lunch and see if he had time to spare. The delightful prospect of seeing him in the
middle of the day gave her the boost of energy she needed.

Samantha ran down the stairs, enjoying the heady feeling of being young, healthy,
and in love with an amazing man, gloriously oblivious to the horror her life was about
to become.

Quinn parked his Audi across the street from Charlene’s house. Instead of immediately
getting out, he took a few seconds to center his thoughts and push aside his usual
revulsion at seeing his ex-wife again. Hell of it was, he wasn’t nearly as disgusted
with her as he was with himself. He’d made some dumbass mistakes in his life, but
marrying Charlene had to be the absolute worst.

An image of Sam came into his mind, instantly soothing him. How he’d fallen so hard,
so fast, he would never know. He’d met her at the hospital. She’d been there to interview
a shooting victim, and he’d been headed home after a grueling night in the ER. They
had walked into the elevator together, along with a couple of other people. Someone
had asked for a floor number to be pressed, and he and Sam had reached for the button
at the same time. He’d practically smashed her finger and had turned to apologize.
Whatever words he’d been about to say were instantly forgotten. Beautiful, brilliant
sunshine had invaded his life in an instant.

After his divorce, he had vowed he would never become seriously involved with a woman
again—or at least not until he was much older. Sam had changed his thinking. He wanted
something long-term. Not marriage. He was done with marriage. After seeing his parents’
ice-cold union and knowing what he came from, he should never have tried it in the
first place. Those asinine decisions were in his past. But Sam … Sam was his future.
She made him want more … something a hell of a lot deeper and permanent than the temporary
sexual relationships he’d had since his divorce.

She had no clue that this coming Friday he had something special planned at his apartment.
Her favorite restaurant was delivering an elegant meal. Amidst delicious food and
wine, along with candlelight and soft music, he was going to ask her to move in with
him.

Right now their hectic schedules prevented them from seeing each other every day.
Living together would make it easier on both of them. Waking up beside her every morning
was something he could definitely get used to. He hoped to hell he hadn’t misread
what he’d seen in her eyes. Finally he had found someone he could believe in and trust.

The screech of tires pulled Quinn from his thoughts. Out of the corner of his eye,
he caught a glimpse of a dark, blurred streak as it zoomed by, like a vehicle leaving
in a hurry. Someone most likely late for work.

Pulling in a deep breath, he got out of the car. This wasn’t going to get any easier … might
as well get it behind him. With quick, determined strides, Quinn headed across the
street. Two minutes. That’s all the time he would give Charlene. If not for the necklace,
he wouldn’t even consider coming back here.

He wasn’t as stupid as she apparently thought. The necklace was to get him inside
her house so she could once again try to seduce him back to her bed. That ploy hadn’t
worked the dozen or so times she had tried. Would never work. But he did want the
damn necklace and was willing to stomach her presence for the two minutes it would
take to reject her and get what belonged to him.

Sam’s birthday was coming up in a couple of months, and despite the fact that the
necklace was only ever given to a Braddock bride, he couldn’t squelch the thought
of having it reset and giving it to her.

Quinn was so focused on getting through the next few minutes with a minimum of drama
that his eyes
barely skimmed over the massive two-story, light brown brick house Charlene had gotten
in the divorce settlement. Purchased eight months before their divorce, the house
had never been home to Quinn. Before that, they’d had a perfectly nice condo in the
city. Charlene had insisted that decorating her own home would fill her creative void.

A few weeks after they moved in, the unsatisfactory marriage he’d stubbornly been
keeping together had unraveled further. Quinn had spent most of his nights on the
sofa in his study. Then one day he’d gone to talk to a friend and had gotten his socks
blown off. Seeing Nate and Charlene together had cleared up so many things. Instead
of the fury other men might have experienced, Quinn had felt only immense relief.
At last he could let go.

That day might have been the end of his marriage, but it was also the day he’d finally
started living again.

Quinn rang the doorbell and waited. When there was no immediate answer, he pounded
on the door and was surprised when it squeaked open. Charlene had probably left it
open, thinking he’d just come inside. That wasn’t going to happen.

Pushing the door open wider, he stayed on the other side and called out, “Charlene,
I’m here.”

The vile stench of blood attacked his senses and caught him off guard. The stink of
violence was a scent he knew all too well. Unlike the hospital, where the smell was
almost drowned out by antiseptic cleanliness, this was intense and brutal. The way
it smelled in battle. He’d been an army combat medic. The foul odors of dismemberment
and carnage were scents you never got used to or forgot.

He pushed the door open farther and saw the blood. Then he saw her. Lying on the floor,
facedown, blood pooled everywhere. God, there was so much of it.

Training kicked in—Quinn didn’t think, he acted. Rushing forward, he dropped to his
knees, touched her neck to feel for a pulse. Was that a faint flicker? Holding her
neck and head in place, he gently rolled her onto her back and saw immediately why
there was so much blood. Her throat had been cut, nicked at the carotid artery.

Her eyes flickered open, their light blue depths glazed with pain. There was no recognition
in them. Quinn had seen it too often not to know she was mere seconds from death.

“Charlene? Stay with me. You’re going to be all right. Try to stay awake.”

She opened her mouth to speak but there was only a gurgling sound.

Quinn’s hand on her throat stopped some of the bleeding, but blood still seeped through
his fingers. She raised her hand toward his face. Quinn grabbed for it but not before
she slashed him with her nails across his face. He jerked back and her hand fell to
the floor. One last gurgle emerged from her. Quinn watched as her eyes went still
and unfocused in death.

Dammit, if only he’d come a few minutes earlier. The only thing to be done now was
to call the police and alert them to a murder. Standing, he put his hand in his pocket
for his cellphone. The door behind him slammed against the wall. Quinn whirled around.

A uniformed policeman stood at the door, his gun pointed at Quinn. “Take your hand
from your pocket and put both of them in the air.”

Following the officer’s directions, Quinn raised his hands. “I was just about to call
the police. She’s dead.”

“No shit. Looks like you made sure of that.”

The sick feeling in his stomach sank lower in his gut. “I didn’t do this. I tried
to save her.”

“Yeah, right. Just keep your hands up.” The officer
glanced over his shoulder at his partner. “Cuff him and read him his rights.”

Knowing that arguing would do no good, Quinn held his words. As his wrists were cuffed,
he took one last look at the woman on the floor. She’d been a pathetic, miserable
human being and he’d lost any affection for her long ago, but she hadn’t deserved
this sad and horrible end.

In the backseat of the patrol car, headed to the police station, one thought comforted
him. At least he knew who he would call. Sam would figure out what to do about this
mess. If there was anyone Quinn knew he could count on, it was Samantha Wilde.

Samantha sat rigidly in the back of the courtroom and did her best to push aside her
fury at the imbecilic judge. Anger accomplished nothing. Having ground her teeth for
the last hour, all she had to show for it was a massive headache hammering at her
brain. She’d just completed her testimony and the judge had once again blatantly sided
with the defendant. The defense attorney’s dramatics should have been stopped long
ago. At the very least, the man should have been reprimanded. Instead, despite the
prosecution’s numerous objections, the judge refused to stop the grandstanding.

The case wasn’t cut-and-dried … she knew that. Despite the numerous television dramas
depicting clear-cut cases that were solved in an hour, few were so unambiguous and
easily resolved. This one was no exception. A young woman with a questionable lifestyle
had been murdered. Samantha had no doubts that the woman’s sometime boyfriend had
done the deed. However, the judge had blocked so much of the prosecution’s evidence,
it was obvious the creep was going to be set free. How she would love to get up and
tell the jury all she knew about the young man who sat behind the defendant’s table
with an innocent, injured look on his face.