Quinn's Deirdre (19 page)

“Are you two ready to go home?” Quinn
asked.
 
He’d trailed them from one store
to another, disgruntled but without
complant
. “I am.”

“Oh, yeah,” Deirdre said with a
sigh.
 
She scooted across the seat to sit
beside him, and he flashed
her a
brief smile. “Let’s
go.”

Like shoppers in the stores, traffic
jammed the roads in all directions.
 
As
they headed away from the mall, Quinn took I-70 and some of the congestion
eased although the roadway remained busy.
 
They were nearing the exit which would take them back into the Power and
Light District when Quinn nudged her. “Scoot over where ye belong and fasten
your seat belt,” he
said,
his voice sharp. “Do it
now.”

“Why?” she asked, as she obeyed.

“Eileen, do the same,” Quinn said.
“Now!”

“What’s the matter, Quinn?” his sister
said. “Are ye in the throes of another premonition?”

“Shut it. There’s a black sedan coming
up on us far too fast, and I’ve a bad sense about it.
 
Hunker down and be quiet, the both of ye.”

Deirdre glanced back and gasped.
 
The car barreled up behind them with speed
and as she turned around, the driver crashed hard into the back of her Chevy
with a crunch.
 
Eileen shrieked and the
car swerved.
 
Quinn fought the wheel and
brought it back, then floored it forward.
 
The black sedan sped up and paced beside them.
 
Deirdre recognized the driver as the same man
who’d threatened her and winked.
 
Beside
him, another man lifted a semi-automatic pistol and prepared to fire.
 

“Get down, for the love of god,” Quinn
cried.
 
Then he swung the wheel and
rammed into the other vehicle with force.
 
Eileen babbled prayers from the back seat, her voice thick with terror
and Deirdre twisted her head to see what happened.
 
The driver of the other car lost control when
Quinn hit it and swerved into the other lane, almost colliding with a delivery
truck.
 

Quinn gained control and headed for the
next exit.
 
As they came down the off
ramp, the sedan caught up and crashed into their rear again.
 
Deirdre’s Chevy careened into a road sign
pole with a harsh shudder.
 
Metal
crunched, plastic cracked as it broke, and the windshield erupted into cracks
but the safety glass held.
 
Quinn, who
hadn’t fastened his seat belt, slammed forward to strike his head against the
rearview mirror.
 
Deirdre screamed his
name.

The sedan idled and started forward
again, but a passing patrol car pulled a sharp U-turn and approached, light bar
flashing.
 
When it did, the other car
careened away.
 
By the time the officers
approached her car, Quinn had pulled himself upright.
 
Blood trailed from a growing goose egg on his
temple.
 
“Are ye hurt?” he asked.
“Deirdre, are ye all right?”

She nodded. “I’m shaken up and scared to
death but I’m okay.”

Quinn turned around. “Eileen?
Oh, Jaysus god, Eileen!”

His sister slumped in the floorboard,
head down but when he spoke, she raised up. “I’ll live, Quinn,” she said in a
choked voice. “I got no more than a
bap
on the head.”

“Thanks
be
to
god,” Quinn said.
 
His voice sounded odd
and before Deirdre had time to answer, his eyes rolled back as he lost
consciousness.

The thin, high wail of an ambulance
approached and although glad because it brought aid, she shuddered.
 
It reminded her too much of a banshee’s cry.

Chapter Twelve

Although Quinn wasn’t out for more than
a minute or two at most
,
 
the
EMTs insisted on transporting him to the nearest medical
center.
 
Since Deirdre’s car had been
totaled, they allowed the women to ride up front with the driver, an exception
to their rules.
 
After a through check-up
at the scene, both women were pronounced uninjured but Quinn, with a huge knot
on his left temple, needed further testing to make sure he hadn’t suffered head
trauma or a concussion.

He had fussed and raged, but the first
responders refused to back down.
 
At
Truman Medical Center, in the Hospital Hill district, the staff hustled Quinn
into a
cubible
, leaving Deirdre with Eileen.
 
“Call Uncle Des,” Quinn told her, while their
hands were still clasped. “Tell him to come get us in a bit and tell him,
please, I’m fine.”

“I hope you are,” Deirdre said. “I love
you.”

“Aye, I love ye too,
acushla,”
he called as they rolled him
away.

In the waiting room, Eileen cried.
 
Then she gathered her wits to call Neal and
told him what had happened. “No, don’t ye come,” she told him with her usual
blunt tone. “I’m perfectly fine. ‘Tis Quinn I’m worried sick about.
 
He took a knock in the head and he was
bleedin
’ too. What? Oh, she’s fine, but upset about Quinn as
well.
 
But I’ve decided we should go home
in the morning after all so pack the bags if ye would.
 
No, I do mean it.
 
I’ve never been so scared in all
me
life as I was this day.”

Deirdre counted tiles on the floor, an
effort to keep her mind occupied and prevent an emotional breakdown.
 
After Eileen finished her call, she asked,
“Do you mean it? You’re going home as planned?”

The other woman wiped her eyes. “I think
it’s for the best, as long as Quinn’s all right.
 
Do ye think he is?”

“I hope so.
 
There’s Uncle Des.”

The older man stood at the far end of
the large waiting area.
 
Deirdre waved to
capture his attention, and he moved toward them with swift steps.
 
She met him and he hugged her tight.

“How did you know to come?” she cried.
“I was getting ready to call you.”

“Quinn called and it’s a blessing I even
answered the phone,” he said. “After the bit with
ye
,
Eileen, this morning, I turned the
bell
back on and
it’s good I did.
 
He sounded a little
puny, if ye ask me.
 
How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Deirdre said. “He hit
his head pretty hard and the cut bled all over.
 
He was out but for just a minute, but the paramedics thought he should
be checked out so they brought him here.
 
They’re afraid of head trauma or concussion, I think.”

“Ah, he’ll be grand.
 
Quinn Sullivan is too hard-headed for
either,” Desmond said.
 
Despite his
words, though, Deirdre noticed he twisted his hands together.
 
He’s
worried, too.

“I hope you’re right.”

Two hours later, Deirdre’s stomach had
tied into tight knots.
 
The longer she
waited, the more concerned she became.
 
Maybe his condition had been worse than she thought.
 
She had almost determined she would walk into
the cubicle where they had taken Quinn, no matter what, when he appeared.
 
A bandage covered most of his forehead, and
he walked with slow steps toward her. Deirdre leapt to her feet and rushed to
him.
 
“Quinn! Thank goodness. Are you all
right?”

He opened his arms wide and she stepped
into their circle, cautious not to bump heads. “I’m well enough except for a
thumping,
feckin
’ headache.
 
They wanted to make me stay the night for
observation, but I said no bloody way and signed their bloody papers so I could
get the hell away from here.”

Her fingers trembled as she touched his
face, and her hands shook as she lowered them onto his shoulders.
 
Touching him was vital, a necessary
reassurance he wasn’t damaged. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Quinn snorted. “Other than a desperate
headache and the same sense of impending doom, I’m perfectly well.
 
I nearly lost
me
mind back there, worried for ye.
 
It’s
likely not safe here or anywhere else.”

Eileen and Desmond approached,
then
hung back. “Ye gave us a fright,” Eileen said after a
moment. “I want to hug
ye
, but I’m afraid I’ll hurt
ye.”

“I’m not so easy broken,” he said. “But
ye’ll have to take yer turn.”

Des grinned. “I told the both of them ye
were too hard-headed to be hurt much.
 
Come then, lad, let’s get out of here.
 
I’ll bring the van around so ye won’t have
far to walk.”

Once Quinn released her from his arms,
Deirdre stuck to his side.
 
Eileen
embraced him and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I told Neal we’d go home as
planned tomorrow,” she said. “I hope ye won’t mind, but what happened put fear
into my heart.”

His tone was dry as vintage champagne.
“And sense into yer head, I see.
 
I’m
glad to see the back of
ye
and yer family, because I
love the lot of ye and want ye safe.”

“Then Uncle Des can drop me at the
hotel,” Eileen said. “We’ll say our farewells on the way.
 
The wanes can see the lights another time and
with yer poor head, ye won’t need our noise the rest of the day.”

“Thank
ye
,
sister.”

At the pub, Quinn winced as he climbed
out of the van and Deirdre, hovering, noticed. “What’s wrong? Is your headache
worse?”

“It couldn’t be worse if the devil
himself were beating it with the hammers of hell,” Quinn said. “I’m the wee bit
stiff and sore, that’s all.”

He made straight for the bar as she
followed. “Wouldn’t you rather go lie down upstairs?” she asked. “You didn’t
sleep much last night.”

Quinn pulled a crumpled paper from his
pocket. “They told me not to sleep just yet.
 
Here’s the list of instructions they handed me.
 
Ye’d think I was an invalid from the look of
it.”

Deirdre scanned the page.
 
“This is pretty standard.
 
Since they didn’t find any evidence of a
concussion or further damage, it says you can sleep in a few hours if you’re
not dizzy or sick to your stomach.
 
You’re not, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nay, I’m not.
 
I want a drink, though, and maybe a bite to
eat.”

“Didn’t they give you any pain pills?”

“No, they told me take something over
the counter, as if that could touch this level of hurt,” he said with a
snort.
 
He grabbed an unopened bottle of
Jameson’s from behind the bar and three glasses.
 
Then he sat down at a corner table. “
Come,
sit down, both of ye.
 
We need to talk.”

Desmond turned around a chair backwards
and sat in it. “I thought to go fix something to eat.”

“In a moment, ye can.
 
Sit down with me, woman.”

She pulled her chair beside him as he
poured two fingers of whiskey into each glass. Quinn lifted his to his mouth. “
Slainte,”
he said and drank.
 
So did she and shuddered when the potent
burst of liquor traveled through her body.
 
“In case ye’re wondering, whatever danger lurks, it’s far from over.
 
If ye’d been driving instead of me, love, I imagine
ye’d be dead.
 
They meant to kill
ye
, surely ye know?”

“Yes,” she said and then blurted out the
one small fact bothering her. “I’m sorry you got hurt and it’s my fault.”

His blue eyes met hers. “It’s never yer
doing.
 
Ye saw something and they came after
ye
.”

“Not that—there should’ve been air bags
in the car, but I never had them replaced after I hit a deer and I should
have.
 
If I had, you probably wouldn’t
have whacked your head so hard.”

Quinn shrugged. “Ah, it’s no
matter.
 
What’s done is done.”

“I’m still sorry—and scared.”

He nodded.
 
“Aye, I know. So, tell me—and Uncle Des here—who’s
after ye and why.”

Deirdre hated to recall the moments that
sent her life into a tailspin and robbed her of everything she held dear. “You
were at the trial with me, Quinn.”

“Aye, I know and I remember plenty, but
I also spent the last three years with me head shoved up me arse.
 
Refresh my memory and tell Desmond here.
 
He may know a little, but I doubt he knows
all he should.”