Chapter 7
Josie bit the tip of her thumbnail. Oh, god. She’d almost forgotten about Frasier’s creepy crush. It was something she’d put out of her mind eighteen months ago. Except on the rare occasion she walked alone, then the biting fear of that night came back to haunt her.
“He followed you? What does that mean?”
Her ankle pounded in rhythm with her temples. Sitting down, she stared at the early-afternoon storm. The rain came down in sheets. Lightning flickered. There was no way it was letting up anytime soon.
Quin sat on the edge of his seat, his position putting him directly in her personal space.
He rested his hand on the back of her chair, and his other elbow rested on the table.
His silence poked her resolve. She didn’t want to talk about what had happened with Frasier—gosh it was embarrassing—but if there was even the slightest chance that he’d hurt Liam . . .
The gentle brush of Quin’s knuckles on the sleeve of her still-wet jacket made her shiver. “You should get into dry clothes,” he said. “But I really want to know what happened.”
She knotted her hands on her lap. “I was out with the girls for drinks and appetizers. I had too much to drink so I called Liam to pick me up. I started walking away from the bar, heading toward home so Liam wouldn’t have to drive so far, and—”
Her throat seized at the memory. She remembered the sinking sensation of being watched, the terror of being followed in the shadows. His hands on her body.
Quin didn’t make a sound, but his body vibrated. The soft hiss of his breath through his nose reminded her that he had a temper similar to Liam’s. God help Frasier if he was involved in killing Liam and stalking her now.
She rolled her lips in. “He’d tried to buy me a drink at the bar. Of course I refused.”
“What happened, honey?” His hand moved to her ponytail, and he gently wound it into her hair.
She let out a breath. The endearment made the wiry angst inside her crumble. The gentleness of his voice was something she’d been missing in her life. The soft coaxing. The comfort of having someone just listen.
“I knew he was behind me. I sensed him approaching . . . He grabbed my elbow and said I was too drunk to walk home. I told him Liam was picking me up, but he pulled me toward his car, trying to force me inside. I screamed and he pinned me against the door—” The words tumbled out of her mouth like the vomit had later that night.
“Then Liam was there. I’d seen him furious before,” she said, smiling at the memory of his ire.
“But nothing like that. He beat Frasier to a pulp. I had to pull him off Frasier. I tried to call an ambulance but Frasier somehow made it into his car and drove off. Probably when I was trying to calm Liam—well, at that point he was calming me because I was so worried he was going to end up in jail.” She moved some wayward strands of her hair behind her ear.
Quin’s movement on her ponytail stopped, and she ached for him to continue.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Quin said, his voice thick with fondness. “Liam was always crazy when it came to you.”
She chuckled. “Maybe it was a bad thing.”
“Nah. He loved you. I never saw him hurt a fly. Yeah, he gave people a piece of his mind when he was mad, but to beat up a dude . . . he must have been scared.”
She turned to him and lifted her eyebrows. “You mean mad.”
“No, scared. If he let go of his control that quickly it was out of fear of losing you. Or you getting hurt.”
Pressure built behind her eyes. She wouldn’t cry again. She bit the insides of her cheeks to stop the trapped emotion that wanted to pour out.
“I think that gives Frasier a damn good motive, don’t you?” he asked.
She nodded slowly. “It honestly never crossed my mind. It happened a year and a half ago. For him to come after Liam six months later . . .”
“That’s what happens, though. Frasier was obsessed with you. He was humiliated by Liam and he probably hated him even more after that night. Did you guys call the police?”
“No. I didn’t want Liam to get into trouble. And Frasier didn’t report it either.”
“So he’s been stewing on this since then.” He straightened in his seat. “There’s just one thing that doesn’t fit.”
She shifted so she faced him.
“Frasier doesn’t drive a blue Dodge.”
Josie fought the urge to pace the room. Doing so would only inflame her ankle even more. She shivered and sat on her hands to keep herself still. “If his intention was to kill me, he wouldn’t have used his own vehicle.”
Quin folded his arms across his chest. “True. He would need to have access to another vehicle. Hopefully the sheriff can find out who in the area owns a blue Dodge.”
“I wish I could’ve gotten the license plate.”
“Kind of hard to think of that when you’re running for your life,” he said gruffly. “You should probably have that bath. I can warm up the ramen while you soak.”
She flicked her gaze to the window. “I’ll call the sheriff first. I don’t want one of the officers to come while I’m in there.”
She knew Quin wouldn’t hide inside and avoid the police. Had she not needed his assistance, he wouldn’t have lasted the day without getting arrested.
Her phone buzzed on the table. She leaned forward. Private caller. A teeter-totter of unease tossed inside her. “This might be the police now.” Or someone else . . . She swiped to answer and pressed the device to her ear. “Hello?”
“Josie?” She recognized the sheriff’s old, rumbly voice. “It’s Hank.”
The muscles in her back released. She was going to need one of McKenna’s acupuncture treatments when all this was over. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I’m sorry to hear about what happened on Palliser Road. Sure makes you wonder what the hell people are thinking. The storm’s getting really bad. I thought you’d be okay with giving your statement over the phone instead of having me drive out to your place.”
“Of course. That works better for me.”
“Great. Start at the beginning,” he said.
She filled Hank in on everything she could remember and could hear him tapping on a keyboard.
“And you didn’t recognize the driver at all?”
“No. It happened so fast.”
“I understand. Sometimes things come back to you that you’ve forgotten, so if you think of anything else, don’t hesitate to call me. In the meantime, I’ll see if I can find out who owns that make and model.”
“Thank you, Hank.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He disconnected and she laid her phone on the table. “I’m glad that’s over with.”
Quin’s warm hands covered her shoulders. He gently squeezed, kneading the muscles there. Her insides turned to liquid and she let her head drop forward as he rubbed her neck. This was her kryptonite. If she had a love language it was definitely touch.
Only she shouldn’t be thinking about love languages or relationships when it came to Quin. The pads of his thumbs worked the flesh on her neck and her toes curled.
“Go have a bath.” Quin’s deep, soothing voice made her want to roll into a ball and just listen to him talk.
She snapped her eyes open and shifted in her seat. “I’m fine. I think I’ll change and then eat and have a bath later.”
He moved his hands from her skin, probably at the tension in her tone. “Suit yourself.”
She went to her bedroom and changed into warm sweats and a loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt. The clock on her nightstand read 1:58 p.m. Rain pattered on the window, warning her that it wouldn’t let up soon and the odds that Quin was going to stay another night were looking more and more likely.
Not that this was a bad thing.
There was something comforting about having him here. Well, having someone here period was nice. The melancholy that clung to her was less piercing when she wasn’t alone. Plus, after what had happened this morning, she was grateful for his company.
Her attraction to him, on the other hand, needed some reining in. Nothing she couldn’t handle. All she had to do was think about Liam and how hurt he’d be that she’d moved on so quickly—that she could even think about another guy while still in mourning.
Except Liam was the most understanding man in the world, and he wouldn’t want her to hurt. Or to be alone. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was the guilt, and that getting caught up with a guy right now, their friend no less, would make her a hussy.
She’d just have to keep her distance. At least Quin could pick up on subtle hints. But damn his hands had a way of calming her stress. His embrace absorbed her pain like a sponge—it didn’t make it go away but easier to bear.
She tugged her hair out of the ratted ponytail and returned to the kitchen.
Quin stood at her stove, and the scent of vegetable broth and ginger reached her nose, making her salivate.
He’d laid out the sushi on the table with two plates and the wasabi divided between them.
“That looks yummy.” She sat as he dished out the soup into two white bowls.
He’d shed his long-sleeved shirt for a white tee that fit snug around his biceps and chest. Butterflies swarmed inside her belly as he sat in the chair next to her.
A strand of his sandy blond hair fell across his forehead and her fingers ached to dust it aside.
He blew on a spoonful of noodles, his brow puckered, and his skin smooth, tanned and even.
So hot. Quin was every girl’s fantasy. Kind, affectionate, and the type of guy who’d give a stranger the shirt off his back.
That’s why he and Liam had been such good friends. Two genuine men who were rare finds.
She slurped some soup off her spoon and relished the saltiness of the soy sauce. “So. You going to tell me how you got those images from Frasier?”
Quin’s lips quirked in that oh-so-sexy way that instantly made her press her thighs together.
Down, girl.
“I might have taken them from his laptop . . . from inside his house.”
She choked and sputtered, dropping the spoon to the bowl with a clatter. “Quin!” She pressed a napkin to her lips then took a sip of water. “You broke into his house?”
“Not exactly. He’s as crazy as you and leaves his door unlocked.”
She glared at him. “You’re going to end up in jail.”
“Not if I’m right and he killed Liam.”
She pressed her fingers to her forehead and massaged the area that pulsed. “You can’t do things like that. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”
He popped an avocado-and-tempura roll into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “No, but I hope I’m doing Liam one.”
She slapped her palm on the table. “Ugh. Would you stop?”
Josie surged from the table, tears stinging her eyes. Quin was on his feet in seconds, leaping in front of her before she could cross the threshold into the living room.
Her nose bumped into his chest. She kept her gaze down as she tried to move around him, but he seized her arms, holding her in place. “Dammit, Jos. What did I say?”
Grief and anger collided inside her body—combined, they were a dangerous cyclone. She shoved her hands against his chest. Her fingers wanted to explore the muscled wall. He didn’t break away.
“It’s just . . . you. Frick, Quin.” She finally met his stare. Tears blocked her vision, but she’d let her eyes burn out of her skull before she allowed them to fall.
A frown indented his forehead and his eyes scowled.
“It’s you,” she continued. “You left overnight then came back out of nowhere. Now you’ve sucked me into this mess and I—I don’t want it.
I don’t want you here, reminding me of .
. .” A sob broke through her lips, and the dam of resolve holding back the emotion shook. She couldn’t finish. Didn’t dare.
Seconds ticked by. Quin didn’t move. His expression didn’t change, but she’d seen the flash of hurt in the hazel eyes that threatened to steal her heart from the man she still loved.
“Reminding you of what? Hmm?” The sharpness to his voice made her want to hurl everything in his face all over again.
“You think I’m not hurting too? You think I want to be the bearer of agony for you, over and over a-fucking-gain?
I don’t. Because I don’t know if you’ve figured this out, Josie, but all these years, I’ve wanted you. ”
Her jaw went slack. Her raging blood slowed to a dull pump as her brain replayed his words on repeat.
“That’s right,” he said, growing bolder. “Liam knew. We both wanted to ask you out years ago, but he just happened to say it to me first. So, I stood back, wanting you every day and hating myself for it.” His voice broke, and he lowered his hands as if her skin had burned him through her sleeves.
His words had punched into her chest, one after another, pummeling her soul. She brought her hand to her temple as the room threatened to pull her to her knees.
She hadn’t misread his lengthy grins, hadn’t misunderstood the chemistry between them. Something had always been hovering below the surface, something that never would have been touched or uncovered while Liam was alive.
But he was gone. And maybe, just maybe, in some screwed-up act of fate, Liam had brought them together. Call it fate, call it destiny, or just the Universe playing out a card, she couldn’t ignore the events her life had taken and that Quin was here with her now.
As Quin tunneled his hand through his hair and started to turn away, Josie rose onto her tiptoes and caught his jaw between her palms. The tears she’d been holding back flowed freely, releasing some of the torture she’d endured and, for a second, allowing light to penetrate the black cloud of anguish that had followed her for so long.
She pressed her lips to Quin’s. The room tilted as his warmth touched her mouth, as his spicy, earthy scent swirled around her and his arms folded at the small of her back, hugging her close.
Blood rushed through her body at the speed of light. She rubbed her palms against his stubble as his mouth moved gently against hers.
Knock, knock, knock
Shock made her tear her mouth from his. She jerked her head to the door. “Shit,” she muttered.
He peeled her off his body and her limbs resisted like Velcro. “Stay here.”