Chapter 73 #2
“I killed him.” Her voice came out hoarse. “You don’t have to investigate it further. I killed him. I told you all that.”
“See, I don’t know if I believe you,” I confessed, observing her closely. “Your polygraph test says you’re lying. You didn’t kill him, so who did?”
“I did.” She flexed her jaw. “He harmed her, taunted her, kidnapped her—I did what you were too fucking square to do!”
“Kill a boy?” I raised my brows. “Why on Earth would I kill anyone just because they crossed me?”
“You think I killed all those men because they crossed me?” Quincy laughed hysterically. “Because they were too sexist? No. Unfortunately for your case, I’m a woman, and we have a lot more fucking control than you think, Chris.”
“Then why kill all these people? Why continue to cause trouble after you’ve been put away?” I sighed and shook my head. “Quinn, you killed your father. He’s gone! You can stop.”
It’s insane how much Quincy resembled her father as she glared down the slightly longer than wide table.
Her arched brows and wildly uneven hair reminded me of the days Graham had done time while I was undercover.
She even had his smile, a sadistic little grin that toyed with my senses and took me back to horror nights when I was her age.
“You can stop now, Quinn,” I repeated. “It’s okay. Help me so I can help you.”
“Every man I killed touched her, looked at her wrong, taunted her, knew where he was keeping her.” She balled up her hands and slowly put tension on her wrists.
The handcuffs dug into her, bloodshot eyes fighting off the tears I could see burning angrily in her eyes.
“Oscar kidnapped her, and Maxim delivered the proof she was dead. So, I killed them both.”
“How?”
“Stab to the lung and a blow to the same area.”
“Hm.” I resisted the urge to rub my face and looked through her file again while I processed. “And the men in the barn when we found you both?”
“They were torturing her, waterboarding for answers on my whereabouts. My father deemed me a traitor.” Quincy was looking at me, but her eyes became distant. “So I killed him and everyone who dared touch her.”
“So—”
“I wanted to kill you for treating her the way you do.” She leaned forward, her face twitching with aggravation.
“I saw you hold that gun to her head. I saw you constantly put her down. She laid in my arms multiple nights and cried for her mommy. How desperate does a sweet girl like her have to be to be loved, right?”
“My relationship with my children is complicated.”
“Complicated? No.” She laughed. “It’s nonexistent. You brought your daughter to a town where you knew she’d be targeted. You grew up in Murdafest with my family. You fell in love, you left, and you did the same when you had Quinntessa. Loved her, dumped her, blamed her for all your issues.”
“Let’s stay on track here?—”
“And now you’re here because Quinntessa is going to college and you’re not sure you can protect her out there in the big city, surrounded by scary bad guys.”
I raised my eyes from the crime scene photos in her file.
“How did you know about her college acceptance?” I asked.
The dark-haired girl filled with energy once more. She shifted in her seat and inched to try to grab the letter between us, but her chains weren’t long enough.
“How did you know?” I repeated.
“I want you to bring her here,” Quincy demanded. “I want to see her. Then I’ll tell you.”
“No.” I closed the file and shoved my chair backward. “I had a deal for you, but now, I’m not quite sure I can trust you on the outside.”
“We don’t take deals.” Quincy rolled her eyes.
“Ah, right. I forgot your situation.” I pulled the paper with the arrangements Richard and I discussed before turning it around. “So I guess you can forget about getting out in July.”
Quincy scoffed, her eyes flickering between the paper on the table and me. Her gaze followed the sheet as I pushed it with two fingers across the table.
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen here,” I confidently said, not allowing Quincy to feel powerful any longer.
“You have two options. You stay in jail, and there will be a restraining order against you that keeps you from contacting my daughter. She’ll also be moved into Witness Protection if you keep it up.
You’ll never see her again. You’ll never even hear her name. ”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Quincy’s nostrils flared.
“I’ve already started the process. You helped me prove my point today. You’re unable to stop this unhealthy, inappropriate desire for my daughter, and that’s enough grounds for me to act against a violent stalker.”
Quincy ground her teeth and looked from me to the paper. She leaned forward and skimmed the document.
“Or.”
I fixed my suit and pulled an envelope from my inner coat pocket. Quincy’s eyes followed the envelope as I placed it on the table and slid it to the middle. My fingers weighed it down, fighting the urge to rip it back and walk out of the room.
This was important to the investigation. I had to fully commit to anything we might uncover using Quincy to dig deeper.
“You walk out of here in July with money in your pocket, enrolled at the University of Chicago.” I raised my chin when Quincy’s eyes snapped to mine.
“And you become an informant for the FBI so you can help us put a stop to the Harrekson family’s power over you and innocent people. Your community would be free.”
Quincy leaned away from the table and violently shook her head.
“What the fuck?” Her eyes went wide, glancing around us. “No! No. I am not working for you people.”
“No?” I shot up from the table and ripped the envelope open. I poured the pictures of my daughter onto the table and spread them out. “You want to sit in here and rot, or do you want the chance to be a good fucking friend to this girl?”
“This girl? Friend?” Quincy laughed and shook her head. “You’re pathetic. You can’t even treat your kid like your kid. You’re no different than an abusive father who drags his child through the mud.”
“You’ll be an informant for our investigation on your grandfather?—”
“Hell-to-the-no.”
“You can have a life, protection from the law. You’ll get paid.”
“I get paid much more than you’ll pay me just being a member of this family.” Quincy scowled. “And let’s talk about the taxes. This country is fucked. I’d rather drive a tesla straight into World War III’s combat zone!”
“You get to be a mother!” I raised my brows and leaned over the table. “Do you want a chance to get out of here, or have you accepted you’ll always be a slimy monster who kills for fun? Isn’t that what your father would tell you? It’s in your blood, Quinn. It’s in your genes. The urge to kill!”
Quincy swallowed hard and stared up at me, her brows pulled together.
“Your grandfather—Ivan—did the same thing to your mother, then to your dad when he ripped him from his life to become a husband at sixteen. The entire point of their marriage was to make you, a killer!”
“Bullshit!”
“When Evelyn got pregnant in high school with Dominik’s kid?—”
“Stop.” Quincy yanked on her handcuffs. A flicker of surprise crossing her face. “I’m ready to go! I want to go back to my cell!”