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Where was Malone?

The rest of the team?

Waiting it out? Trying to get a good shot?

“You never loved me, though. You wanted the things I had. That’s the real reason you kept quiet about Jubilee. You knew you’d have to give all those pretty things up if you took my daughter away. Admit it!” He jabbed the blade a little deeper, warm blood oozing from the fresh cut.

Quinn didn’t feel the pain from it.

She could barely feel the pulsing agony in her wrist.

She was looking at her sister, trying to read her facial expression, trying to get some clue as to what she had planned.

“I admit that’s why I kept quiet at first. Later, though...” She finally looked at Quinn, offering a sad, sorry smile that made Quinn’s heart ache. “I fell in love with being her mom. I realized I was my best me when I was taking care of Jubilee. I didn’t want to give that up. It was selfish. I know it was, but I loved her.”

“You don’t love anyone,” Jarrod spat, his grip on Quinn’s arm loosening. “I needed a wife who would be willing to do anything for me. I needed a wife who would sacrifice her time, her energy, even her child for me! I gave you everything to ensure you would do that. And what did you do? You betrayed me. Where are the clothes I left in my gym bag, Tabitha? You locked them away somewhere, right? So you could blackmail me into giving you more money.”

“I locked them away so you couldn’t get your hands on them while I was bringing Jubilee to safety.”

“Protecting my daughter from me? Not necessary.” His voice had gone silky smooth. “You’re going to pay. You know that, don’t you?”

“So are you, I already called the Las Vegas police and told them where they could find the clothes. I told them that you murdered John, and I told them why. I’m not nearly as stupid as you think. I’ve hacked into your computer system. I found the emails you sent to John, the ones where you threatened to kill him if he went to the police.”

“Exactly. I warned him that he’d pay if he crossed me. He committed suicide when he decided to betray me!”

“You’re crazy,” Tabitha whispered. “I cannot believe I ever loved you.”

Jarrod growled, shoving Quinn forward. She landed hard, her bad wrist taking the brunt of the fall. She saw stars, heard screams. Lucille? Tabitha?

Quinn rolled to her side, saw her sister at the bottom of the porch stairs, Jarrod grasping her hair, slamming her head into the pavement.

“No!” Quinn scrambled to her feet, her stomach heaving as pain shot through her arm. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except Tabitha.

She lunged down the stairs, slamming into Jarrod. He tumbled sideways, and Quinn grabbed Tabitha’s hand, tried to pull her to her feet.

“Get up!” she shouted. “Tabitha!”

But her sister’s eyes were closed, blood seeping from beneath her head, soaking into the green grass, staining the earth.

“This is ending. Now!” Jarrod shouted, and he was up again, moving toward them, the knife raised.

The air exploded with sound, the night reverberating with it.

The knife dropped from Jarrod’s hand, and he fell to the ground, howling with rage and with pain.

Shadows moved in.

No. Not shadows. Men. Women.

Stella touched Quinn’s arm, murmuring something about her being tougher than Stella had given her credit for. She was there. Then gone. And Quinn thought maybe she’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe there weren’t deputies rushing toward her. Maybe August wasn’t bounding down the porch stairs.

“You okay, sis?” he said.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Tabitha is hurt worse. You need to help her.” She got the words out, and he moved past her, kneeling next to their sister’s still form.

Sirens screamed, and the sheriff was suddenly striding across the yard.

He yanked Jarrod to his feet, and Quinn could see that her sister’s husband had already been handcuffed, his right hand seeping blood. No one seemed worried about his injury. She supposed that meant he was going to live.

Quinn wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about anything.

Her legs buckled, and she would have gone down, but an arm slid around her waist, warm fingers caressed her side.

“It’s okay,” Malone said, easing her to the ground. “Everything is okay.”

“Lucille?”

“Right here,” Chance said as he led Lucille out onto the porch. She had her hair in curlers, a plastic shower cap covering them.

“Quinn!” she said, her voice trembling. “I was terrified for you! Are you okay?”

“I was terrified for you, too,” Quinn mumbled, the words seeming to trip all over themselves. She felt shaky and disconnected, not sure what was real and what was imagination.

Lucille patted her shower cap, zipped her housecoat a little tighter. “Oh, my. The neighbors are coming out, and I’m standing here like this. Young man!” She patted Chance’s arm. “Bring me back inside so I can make myself presentable.”

“I’m not sure that the sheriff wants you in the house, ma’am.”

“Do I look like I give a lick what the sheriff wants?” She hooked her arm through Chance’s, dragged him back into the house.

Quinn wanted to smile, but her face felt numb. Her body felt numb. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t sure if she was sitting or standing.

“Whoa!” Malone said, his arm tightening on her waist. “You got through the worst of it. Don’t pass out on me now, Quinn.”

“I won’t,” she said, but the world was going dark, everything around her fading.

The last thing she saw were Malone’s eyes—those beautiful dark eyes—and then she saw nothing at all.

* * *

Three stitches on her collar bone and a cast on her wrist. Things could have gone a lot worse for Quinn, but in Malone’s mind they could have gone a lot better. The team had been at the back of the house, everything going exactly the way they’d planned it when they’d heard Tabitha calling for Quinn. She’d been the surprise player, the heroine who no one would have ever suspected of heroism.

They’d been wrong.

They’d underestimated Tabitha, and both women had almost died because of it. That didn’t sit well. At all.

Malone scowled, pacing Quinn’s hospital room. She looked dead to the world, her face pale, her bruise deep purple and blue. A bandage peeked out from her hospital gown, the edge of it just visible. A thick red scratch snacked out from under it, the end of it right over her jugular.

She could have died.

The thought infuriated him.

But Chance had been right. They’d both already crawled through the window when Jarrod made his move, and Malone had raced through the house, nearly run onto the porch.

Chance had held him back, told him to wait it out, take an opportunity when it presented itself and not before.

It had been one of the toughest things Malone had ever had to do—watch from the shadows while Quinn was terrorized. If he’d acted sooner, though, the knife would have plunged deeper, might have arched higher, and she might have bled to death before help arrived.

He’d waited, and then he’d moved, lunging through the front door as Quinn tried to save her sister. Another heartbeat of waiting to make sure she wasn’t going to get into his line of sight, and then he’d taken aim, shot Jarrod’s knife hand.

He’d almost aimed at the guy’s heart, but taking a life was always a last resort. Offering mercy in this case? Harder than with others. Jarrod was crazy. There’d been no doubt about that. He’d ranted and raved all the way to the sheriff’s car, and Malone was certain he’d done the same all the way to jail. Worse, though, he’d been bent on killing. He was determined to take Tabitha out and to take Quinn out with her. A bullet to the heart didn’t seem like unfair punishment. But then, there’d been plenty of times in Malone’s life when he hadn’t gotten the punishment he’d deserved, when he’d been granted clemency, given mercy instead of justice.

Jarrod would stand trial eventually, and it would be up to a jury to decide his guilt or innocence. More than likely, he’d go to jail for the rest of his life.

“And he deserves it,” he muttered, checking his phone messages for what seemed like the hundredth time. Nothing from Chance. He must have made his flight out. He’d be in DC in a couple of hours, meeting with Boone and his wife to offer the support they needed.

“Who deserves what?” Quinn said sluggishly, her words slurred.

“You’re awake.” He moved to her side, lifted her good hand. Her skin was smooth and soft, her hand dry and warm and filled with life. He’d come
this
close to losing her. The thought shook him to the core.

“And you’re pacing like a caged tiger,” she replied. “Now that we’ve established that,
who deserves what
?”

“Jarrod deserves to spend the rest of his life in jail.”

“He’s there now, right?” Her gaze shot to the door as if she were afraid Tabitha’s husband might burst through it.

“Yes,” he assured her. “He’s locked away. For good. The best lawyers in the world couldn’t get him a Get Out of Jail Free card.

“Good.” She closed her eyes, and he thought she might have drifted off again. “Funny,” she continued, opening her eyes again, “I thought I saw the sheriff take Jarrod away, but everything is kind of hazy, and the memories just won’t seem to stick. Except...”

“Jarrod and his knife?”

“No,” she laughed shakily. “You. Your eyes, I mean. You have beautiful eyes.”

“I think the medicine is getting to you, Quinn.”

“You’re getting to me. That kiss got to me.”

He laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and skimming her cheek with his knuckles. “You’re going to be very upset with yourself later.”

“For telling the truth?”

“For letting me know what the truth is.”

“No. I won’t,” she said, suddenly stone-cold sober. No slurred words. So sluggish speech. If the medicine had been affecting her, it didn’t seem to be anymore. “One thing I learned from watching my husband battle cancer—we only get one chance to walk this path. If we don’t take the opportunities that come our way, we may never get them again.”

“Am I your opportunity?” he asked, smoothing her hair, his heart filled with a hundred dreams he hadn’t realized he wanted.

Until now. Until Quinn.

“I think you are,” she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks.

He wiped them away, his palm smoothing over velvety skin. “Then why are you crying?”

“Because, I didn’t think I’d have an opportunity like this again. I didn’t think I’d want one.”

“And you’re sorry that you do?”

“I’m not sorry for anything that has to do with you, Malone.” She touched his cheek, her fingers tracing the line of his scar. He sat down on the edge of the bed so he could cradle her in his arms. She fit perfectly there, her head against his chest, her arm around his waist.

“But, you’re still crying,” he pointed out, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“It’s hard to see something end. Even when what I’m beginning is so wonderful.”

“I’m sorry, Quinn.” There was nothing else he could say. No other comfort he could offer. She’d lost someone she loved. Because of that, they’d found each other.

“Don’t be. I’m where I’m supposed to be. All the tough stuff? It led me here. And Cory? He’d be happy for me. He’d have liked you, Malone. I know he would have.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d have liked him, too.”

“Yeah?” she said with a soft smile, and he kissed her forehead, her cheek, let his lips taste hers. Just a brief touch. A comforting one.

“Yeah. Now, how about I call your brother and tell him that you’re awake? He’s been texting me nonstop.”

“Where is he?”

“The Portland trauma center. That’s where they took Tabitha.”

The words must have sparked Quinn’s memory.

She shoved the blankets and sheets away, tried to stand. “Tabitha! I can’t believe that I’m sitting here blubbering about my life when her husband nearly murdered her!”

“Slow down,” he commanded. “You don’t want to open your stitches up.”

“My sister is at a trauma center, Malone. She could be dying, and I’m sitting on a hospital bed, doing nothing about it. My stitches are the least of my worries!”

“She was bleeding a lot, but it’s a superficial wound. She hit her head on a rock.”

“
He
hit her head on a rock,” she corrected him. “I saw him do it.”

“And now he’s in jail, and your sister’s head is stitched up, and your brother is at the hospital taking care of her.”

“I’m surprised. Those two have never gotten along.”

“Your brother knows how to come through when he has to.”

She frowned. “Did you talk him into it?”

“I explained my thoughts about people who don’t take care of their families. Truthfully, I don’t think he needed to hear them. He might not trust Tabitha, but he does care about her.”

It was a mild version of what happened, but he wasn’t going to tell Quinn that. August had some hang-ups. Just like everyone. Eventually, he’d work through them. Hopefully, Tabitha would work through hers, too, and the two of them could patch things up.

“There’s more to the story,” she accused, and he smiled.

“He wanted to be here for you. I told him that I could manage.”

“And?”

“That’s all you need to know for now. I’ll tell you all the details when you’re not in a hospital bed.”

His phone buzzed and he glanced at it, his pulse jumping as he read the text.

“Is that August?” Quinn asked, and he shook his head.

“No. I think your brother got tired of pestering me about your health. He’s been silent for a couple of hours. This is from Chance. He said Boone is going to finally see his daughter on Saturday. He and his wife, Scout, want you and your sister to be there. They think it will make the transition easier on Jubilee. Her caseworker agrees.”

“Are you serious?” she said, bouncing off the bed, the hospital gown dragging on the floor as she walked to the closet and opened the door. “I need to get dressed.”

“We have until Saturday, Quinn. I don’t think it’s going to take that long for you to put on your clothes.” He laughed, and she smiled, her eyes dove gray and filled with humor.