Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (7 page)

“You said you talked to the police?”

“Yes, of course. That nice Detective Murphy. I just forgot to mention how angry Quinn
looked.”

“Anything else you forget to mention?”

“Only that I’m not surprised he killed her.”

“Who?”

“Why, Quinn, of course.”

“Why do you think he killed her?”

“That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? He goes to her door looking mad as a hornet and
a few minutes later she’s dead?”

“Why aren’t you surprised he killed her?”

“Because of their relationship. Even when they were married, it was terrible. I used
to hear some of the most gosh-awful arguments.”

“Was he physically abusive?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. Although there was that time at the pool.”

“What happened?”

“I was in my bedroom and heard someone yelling. I looked out and Charlene was standing
beside their pool, screaming at Quinn. Of course, all of the noise from their arguments
always came from Charlene. When she got mad, she was as shrill as a seagull. Anyway,
she was screaming about something.”

“And what was Dr. Braddock doing?”

“He just stood there, looking at her. I couldn’t see his face but I could just imagine
how angry he must’ve been.”

“Could you tell what she was angry about?”

“I couldn’t hear the words. They stood there for a good five minutes. Her screaming,
him just standing there.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, it was like something out of a movie. She slapped him across the face. He grabbed
her, threw her over his shoulder, and went inside the house.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“No. It was quiet the rest of the night.”

“Any other incidents like that?”

“No, other than every few days, I’d hear Charlene yelling about something.”

“Anything else come to mind?”

“Well, all I can say is I’m surprised he didn’t kill her before this. What with all
the men.”

“She was unfaithful?”

“Oh, I think ‘unfaithful’ is probably a mild word for what she was. And after he left,
it got worse.”

“Worse how?”

“There were even more men. Some were ones I’d seen before. Some came only once.”

“Could you describe any of them?”

“I could try, but the thing is, they all kind of looked like Dr. Braddock. Tall and
muscular, with dark hair. Guess you could say Charlene liked a certain type.”

“Anything else?”

“No, not that I can think of. Quinn’s an awfully nice man. When my husband fell off
a ladder the summer they moved here, Dr. Braddock was so helpful. I always wondered
why he married someone like Charlene.”

Samantha wondered the same thing.

“Sam, where is your mind?”

She jerked her thoughts back to the man sitting beside her. After hearing Marcie’s
words, she was even more unsure of what had taken place today. How could a man go
from the warm, caring person she knew Quinn to be to a cold-blooded murderer? It didn’t
seem possible. Quinn couldn’t have stabbed Charlene the moment she opened the door.
The knife had come from her kitchen. But what if he had gone into the house and then
into the kitchen? Maybe they had argued … perhaps about that mysterious necklace.
Maybe she had said something that had been the last straw. Had he taken a knife from
the kitchen and followed her to the foyer, stabbing her repeatedly?

Her conversation with Marcie had been upsetting enough, but the real nightmare had
begun when she’d gotten a call to come back to the station. When she had
arrived, Murphy’s sad eyes had been an indication that she wasn’t going to like what
he had to tell her. Kennedy’s smirk had made her even more uneasy.

She had kept her focus on Murphy. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you know about Dr. Braddock’s family?”

Telling them she knew nothing about Quinn’s family was the truth, but from Kennedy’s
increasing smirk, admitting that wasn’t a good idea. Still, she wouldn’t lie. “I know
his parents live in Virginia and he doesn’t see them often.”

“What about his brother?” Kennedy asked. “He tell you anything about him?”

Revealing she didn’t even know he had a brother would make it look worse than it already
did. Her expression impassive, she said, “No, he doesn’t talk about him.”

“That’s not surprising, since his brother was a psycho.”

The queasy roil of her stomach became a tidal wave of nausea as Samantha said, “What
are you talking about?”

Giving a glare to Kennedy, Murphy answered, “Looks like the brother raped and tried
to murder a neighbor when he was just a kid. He went to juvie and ended up committing
suicide when he was seventeen.”

No wonder Quinn didn’t talk about his brother. A rapist, almost murderer, who was
now dead? Yeah, those weren’t exactly the things you shared. Just like she had never
told him about her father’s crimes.

“Everyone has relatives who’ve done bad things. That doesn’t mean he’s a killer, too.”

Kennedy laughed. “You really do have blinders on with this guy, don’t you? There’s
plenty of research showing that killer tendencies run in the family.”

She wanted to fly across the room and wipe the grin off of Kennedy’s face. Instead
she said calmly, “And there’s plenty of research to refute that claim, too.”

Head high, she had walked out of the room and then the building. When she’d finally
gotten into her car, she had allowed herself to breathe. And she had argued with herself.
Just because a family member was sick didn’t mean the whole family was, too. She and
her sisters were proof of that.

“Sam?”

She jerked, realizing she’d zoned out again. That went along with exhaustion and almost
no nourishment. “Why have you never told me about your brother?”

Surprise and then pain flared in his eyes. “Dalton’s been gone a long time.”

“You had to know that this would come out in the investigation.”

“Hell, Sam. I’ve barely had time to breathe since all this started. And what my sick
brother did twenty years ago has no bearing on this.” His eyes narrowed into slits.
“Or is it that since my brother was a sick fuck, you think I am, too?”

“That’s not what I said, Quinn. I got blindsided by the detectives today who told
me about it. I wished you had told me.”

“There wasn’t anything to tell. He was sick and put away. Then he killed himself.
End of story.”

She drew in a silent breath and went another direction. “You said you saw a vehicle
leave quickly before you got out of your car.”

“No, I said I heard the squeal of tires, looked up, and saw a blur.”

“If that was the killer coming from Charlene’s house, how did you not see him? You
were directly in front of her house. And you notice everything, Quinn.”

“My mind was on other things.”

Again he had hesitated before answering. Had he always paused before answering questions
and she had just never noticed?

“Like what?”

“I was preparing myself to see Charlene. Seeing her was never a pleasant experience.”

“Were you angry when you got out of the car?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you tell me why you were going to go see her?”

“As I said … I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. She got the necklace in the
divorce. This morning she called and said she was going to give it back to me.”

“Just like that, out of the blue? She gave no reason for her change of heart?”

“No, but you know it’s not the first time she’s tried to get me to come over. It worked
today because I wanted the necklace.”

“Do you have a photograph of it?”

“Why?”

“They searched the house thoroughly. It’s not there.”

“Do you want the photo so you can be on the lookout for it? Or do you want it to prove
that it actually exists?”

Instead of answering, she stared at him hard for several seconds. His eyes met hers
unflinchingly, challengingly.

“I met Marcie Ballou today.”

“You went to Charlene’s house?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure Marcie was more than happy to talk with you.”

“She said you and Charlene argued a lot.”

“Do you know many divorced couples who didn’t fight before they split up?”

“No, but she said—”

“Samantha, do you think I killed Charlene?”

She hadn’t wanted him to ask that question. How could she explain her suspicions when
she didn’t totally understand them herself? Her exhausted mind whirled
with questions, doubts, and suppositions. She wanted to believe him … she really did.

Her hesitation gave him the answer. A blank look washed over his blue eyes, dulling
their brilliance. He stood and said coolly, “Unless you’re here in an official capacity,
you’d better leave.”

“Quinn … please. Don’t.”

“Don’t what? You’ve slept beside me for months and you actually think I could do this
thing? That I’m capable of murder?”

“It’s not that I think you’re guilty. It’s just …” Hell, what could she say? She had
doubts and they had only increased after talking with Marcie. And whether she wanted
to admit it or not, learning about his brother had increased her misgivings.

A hand reached for her arm, and without thinking, she jerked back. She hadn’t believed
his face could get blanker than it already was.

“Get out.”

Samantha went to her feet. Her knees wobbled as myriad feelings almost overwhelmed
her. She didn’t believe he was guilty but neither could she squelch the doubts. And
still, even though she had them, she knew she was hurting him and it tore her to pieces.

“I’m so sorry, Quinn.”

As she turned away from him, her thoughts whirled like a spinning top. Was it possible
to love and distrust someone at the same time? How could she want to comfort him if
she thought he was guilty of murder? How could she not trust a man who’d been so gentle
and wonderful to her? How could …

“Dammit, Sam!”

Hard hands shoved her into a chair and then pushed her head toward her knees. “Take
slow, even breaths.”

Holy crap, she’d almost passed out again. She concentrated
on breathing and the light-headed feeling dissipated. Now she was fully embarrassed.
She peeked up at Quinn, noting the grim set of his mouth. He was angry. But if he
was innocent, didn’t he have every right to be furious? She was letting him down and
breaking her own heart in the process.

His voice cracked like a whip. “Better?”

“Yes.”

“When was your last period?”

The question seemed so out of left field, she could only stare at him.

“If you’re pregnant, I want to know.”

Weary and disheartened, Samantha raised her head and pushed her fingers through her
hair. “I’m not pregnant.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Fine. I started my period this morning, around 10:02. Is that detailed enough for
you?”

He gave her a grim nod. “Then you need to eat.”

She stood slowly, grateful that her knees held and her head felt halfway normal. “I’ll
eat something when I get home.”

“As much as I want you out of here, I’m not letting you leave like this.” He whirled
around and headed to the kitchen. “I’ll make you a peanut butter sandwich.”

She waited until he was in the kitchen before she grabbed her purse and headed to
the door. He didn’t want her here and she’d be damned if she’d fall apart in front
of him again.

“Sam.”

She should have known she wouldn’t get out of here without him noticing. Still facing
the door, she whispered softly, “I’m sorry, Quinn.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She opened the door and walked out. With every step
that took her away from him, her heart cracked. And at the click of the lock behind
her, it completely shattered.

Refusing to give in to the hurt, Quinn went about his normal routine. He cleaned up
the few dishes in the kitchen, made coffee for the next day, and then changed into
running clothes. Late night runs were the norm for him. It was a good way to let off
the tension from the day, and this one had brought that in spades.

Though he wouldn’t let himself think about the betrayal he felt, he knew there was
one thing he had to take care of before he went through the door. He’d never been
much into denial and wasn’t about to start now. He was in trouble.

He grabbed his cellphone; Bob answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Quinn?”

“That defense attorney you told me about. I think I’m going to need him.”

“I’ll have him contact you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, man.”

He ended the call before his friend could offer commiseration. He didn’t need it.
What he needed was a good defense attorney who could figure out a way out of this
shit. And when it was over, he needed to figure out how to live without a woman who
had become the most important person in his world. A woman who believed he was a murderer.

Quinn closed the door behind him. Bypassing the elevator, he headed for the stairway.
When he had moved into the city, after his divorce, he’d had a list of requirements
he had given his real estate agent. One of those was his need to live as high up as
possible. Living on the twenty-fifth floor gave him the opportunity to warm up on
his run. By the time he made it to the street, he was
ready for the hard runs he enjoyed. And at the end of his runs, the stairs gave him
time to cool down.

The instant he was out on the street, Quinn took off like a bullet. This time of night,
few people were around to distract him. This had always been his favorite time to
run. Even in high school, when everyone in his house was asleep, he’d sneak off and
run. Not that it had been necessary to sneak around. His parents hadn’t given a damn.
Their only concern was that he not bring any negative attention to them. Other than
that, he could do what he damn well wanted.

It was on one of those midnight runs that he had saved his first life. That night
had been an epiphany in many ways. Saving a woman’s life had planted the seed in his
mind of being a doctor. That seed hadn’t taken root until years later but had waited
patiently for him to acknowledge his destiny.