Broken (24 page)

One thing that was proving to be very frustrating was the fact that he could find out all of those things, and damn easy. He had the tools he’d need right at his disposal and she wouldn’t ever have to know. But he wanted her to tell him.

Yeah. He could. But instinctively, he knew she didn’t want to tell him anything about herself. The few awkward attempts he’d made, she’d neatly sidestepped answering much of anything, and she’d done it in a way that made him think she’d been dodging anything personal for quite a while.

She was hiding.

He just wished he could get her to open up and tell him what she was hiding from. He wanted her to trust him enough to tell him. He wanted that trust . . . he wanted it like crazy.

But in addition to wanting that trust, he wanted to help. Whatever or whoever it was she was hiding from, he wanted to help. The bad thing about hiding was that sooner or later, whatever a person was hiding from always caught up. He couldn’t do much of anything to help her until he knew what it was.

The last time you tried to help a woman, it didn’t really end too well
, a sardonic voice drawled inside his head. Quinn tried to block it out—this wasn’t the same situation. Elena was a world away from the woman in front of him now.

“Quinn?”

Jerking his mind away from the dark misery of memories, he looked up and found Sara watching him, a concerned look on her face. There was also a plate of food in front of him, and he didn’t even remember the waitress bringing it over.

“Sorry . . . just thinking about something.”

“Must be a pretty serious something,” Sara said softly. “You looked like you were about ready to spit nails.”

“Serious enough.” He reached for his fork and studied the plate in front of him. It was a steak, cooked medium rare, a huge pile of steak fries on the side. A few minutes ago, he’d been fairly hungry. Now his stomach was a hard, cold knot. He glanced at Sara, wondered if she’d ask him what he’d been thinking about.

Wondered if he could tell her if she did. He
wanted
to tell her, but just because he wanted to didn’t mean the words would come.

But she didn’t ask.

The silence between them no longer felt as easy as it always did, at least not for him. He ate mechanically because he didn’t want her asking him what was wrong. He’d either have to lie or tell her that he was getting pissed off because she wouldn’t talk to him, because she wouldn’t tell him the things he needed to know.

Needed to know . . . man, was that a fucking switch. He didn’t just want to know about her, he needed to. It was becoming an obsession, just like she was quickly becoming the center of his entire world.

Everything he did, it seemed he somehow managed to link it to her. He was finally in the habit of shaving regularly because he didn’t want to scrape her soft skin with stubble. He’d gotten in the habit of eating fairly regularly because even though he didn’t always feel hungry, he’d realized he was sometimes more surly than normal when he hadn’t eaten in a while. He was even answering the stupid phone when the agency called, because he’d rather get done earlier than work late into the night. He’d much rather spend those nights with Sara.

God, was he ever falling for her . . .

“Man, if you looked like you were going to spit nails a few minutes ago, now you look like you’ve been hit across the head with a two-by-four.”

He lifted his eyes away from his plate and found her staring at him, her chin propped on her hand. “Huh?”

A smile curled her lips. “I said you look like you’ve been hit across the head with a two-by-four. Thinking those same heavy thoughts?”

“Thinking about you.” He caught her free hand, rubbed his fingers over the back of it.

She grimaced, her nose crinkling. “Man, I don’t know if I like being the source of heavy thoughts, Quinn.”

“I kind of like it,” he said. He lifted her hand and nibbled on her knuckles. “Beats out a lot of the miserable shit I’ve had trapped inside my head.”

“Wow.” She cocked a brow at him. “That’s flattering.”

Scowling at her, he replayed those words through his head and then winced. “Hell. That does sound a little less than flattering, doesn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” She continued to gaze at him, but her eyes danced with suppressed laughter.

Fuck. He loved those eyes. Loved seeing the smiles that danced there, hated the sadness that too often broke his heart. He could look into those eyes every day for the rest of his life . . .

Right there, right in the middle of a meal he didn’t really want, in the middle of a crowded, mom-and-pop diner, he realized he was in love with her. He’d already gone and put his heart in her hands—and he was terrified.

Floored, his mouth dry and his heart racing, he leaned back against the padded bench and stared at her. Unable to tear his eyes away from her face, unable to speak, even when she started to squirm around under the weight of his stare.

“Ahhh . . . you’re doing it again,” Sara said, licking her lips. “Doing that drift off into outer space or something.”

“No, I’m not,” he answered, forcing the words past his dry throat.

He could look into those eyes, every day, for the rest of his life. And do it quite happily. He was in love with her.

And Quinn was abso-fucking-lutely clueless about how to handle it.

“WHY in the hell aren’t you answering?” Quinn muttered to himself while he waited for somebody to pick up on the other end.

Quinn had tried calling Luke’s cell phone and after it rolled over to voice mail, he’d hung up and tried calling the house. Back in his basement apartment, he paced the floor, listened to the phone ring, and tried to figure out if he’d lost a grip on reality.

Finally, somebody picked up the phone and Quinn didn’t even wait for a greeting before he barked out, “Damn it, it’s about fucking time.”

There was a pause, and then a soft, female voice said, “The voice is pretty familiar, so I’m going to assume this is Quinn. You can’t be Luke . . . I just left him out in the backyard. Besides, he knows I’d kick his ass if he came on the phone sounding like that.”

Blood rushed to his cheeks and he swore. Immediately, he could have bit his tongue. “Ah . . . sorry, Devon. Uh . . . you said Luke’s in the backyard?”

“Yes. I assume you want to talk to him?”

“Yeah . . . uh, yes, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to figure out why talking to the woman who’d married his brother always made him feel more than a little tongue-tied.

Actually, most women tended to do that to him . . . unless he disliked them. The ones he disliked, he just ignored or avoided. Trying to talk to them wasn’t even an issue.

Sara was easy to talk to, though. He could talk to Sara forever . . .

“I’m getting him now. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s good. Are you still in St. Louis?”

Quinn grimaced as he paced the floor. “Yeah, I’m still in St. Louis. Probably hanging around here, too.”

After all, Sara was here. He wasn’t going anywhere unless she went with him.

“That’s good to hear . . . do me a favor, though. Call a little more often. Luke worries about you,” Devon said quietly.

“He doesn’t need to. I’m doing fine. Actually better than I have been in a while.” A vague sense of shame rose within him, made him itch, but it wasn’t the kind of itch that could be scratched. He didn’t call his brother enough—he knew that. It normally didn’t bother him. But having Devon point it out definitely did. “Look, I’ll try to call more often.”

“Good.”

He heard the door open and then Devon’s voice as she called out to Luke.

A few seconds later, Luke came on the line and his voice was flat and harsh. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Quinn scowled.
Well, other than the fact that I’m in love and I don’t know what to do.

Luke was quiet for about two seconds. “Nothing? You sure?” “Yeah, I’m sure. I think I’d know if something was wrong,” he snapped.

“Don’t take this wrong, but if nothing’s the matter, why are you calling?”

“You act like I’ve never called you before,” Quinn said.

“Oh, you’ve called before. But it’s almost always when I’m either pissed off, or something else is off with me. But I’m not pissed and there’s nothing off. You don’t ever really call just to talk.” He blew out a breath and added, “So . . . are you calling just to talk?”

Once more, shame curdled inside. “Uh . . . well, not exactly.” “Shit. I knew something was wrong,” Luke muttered. “Out with it, man. Just get it over with.”

Seconds stretched out as Quinn tried to figure out what to say. What he needed to hear. How to say what he needed to say, and how to ask the questions he needed to ask. But the words were lodged in his throat, and in the end, it was all he could do to manage one single sentence.

“I met somebody.”

“Somebody?” Luke parroted back.

Through their vague connection, Quinn could feel Luke’s bemusement. He didn’t get it—Luke didn’t. Quinn had always picked up more from his brother than Luke could pick up from Quinn and right now, Quinn really hated that. He didn’t know how to say whatever he needed to say, and if Luke could just pick up on what Quinn was feeling . . .

Then Luke
did
pick up on it. Quinn felt it echo through his twin only a heartbeat before Luke said, “Somebody . . . as in a female somebody, maybe?”

“Yeah.” He reached the wall but turned around and instead of continuing on his marathon pacing session, he slumped back and sank to the floor, keeping his back braced against the wall. “A female somebody.”

Once more, he picked up on something from Luke—a whole slew of somethings. Delight. Amazement. Disbelief. Curiosity.

“Okay . . . so tell me about this somebody.”

“God, where do I even start . . .” Quinn closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

“Why not start with her name. What she looks like. Where you met her. Stuff like that, and we can work up from there.”

“Her name’s Sara . . .” He didn’t realize it, but he was smiling. Smiling as he pictured her face, smiling as he told his brother about the woman who was becoming the most important part of his life.

D
ON stared down at the piece of paper in front of him, eyed the image of the smiling woman, and then looked back up at James. He swallowed nervously and said, “Are you sure this is the way you want to handle this?”

For two weeks, he’d wracked his brain, tried to think of another way, another road, another choice. And for two weeks, he’d failed. He’d known time was running out and tried to prepare himself for the possible outcomes, but he hadn’t seen this one.

“If I wasn’t sure, I don’t believe I would have told you to go forward.” James looked at his own copy, a frown on his face. “This was a last resort option. It’s definitely not the ideal way to proceed. But a man does what he must.”

Don swallowed, fear and anger bitter on his tongue.

So many might be fooled into believing that James was a devoted husband, one who was heartsick at the disappearance of his wife.

But Don knew better.

He cleared his throat and pasted a small, professional smile on his face. Despite the fear roiling inside him, despite his own doubts, despite the fact that he was nearly overcome with terror, he met James’s stare levelly. His voice didn’t shake as he asked, “Did you have any particular starting point in mind?”

Something on the computer screen on his desk caught James’s attention. As the other man leaned forward and frowned, Don waited in silence. For a few moments, there was no sound but the hum of electronics while James took a pen from his desk and jotted down a few notes.

Tossing the pen aside, James leaned back in his seat and focused on Don once more. “I’ve already done most of the hard work. Surely you can figure out how to distribute the information in a suitable manner.”

Don nodded and turned to go. As he pushed open the frosted glass door, James called his name. Pausing, he looked back.

“Don, don’t mess this up. I will not tolerate further incompetence on your part.”