Chapter 8
Quinn
For the next week, Graham and I often worked together. I tolerated him because he didn’t talk much—and honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing having another human in my vicinity. Someone who wasn’t constantly shooting me death glares like the other locals.
Graham was always reading, and the books were constantly changing.
I didn’t know whether I’d ever seen someone read so much nonfiction on so many different topics—psychology, criminal behavior, the human condition, even philosophy.
I wondered whether he ever read for fun, or whether he liked any fiction at all.
When he wasn’t reading, he was on his computer or grading papers. He taught a class at the local college, I’d learned. He was a steady, calm presence when my mind was whirring and obsessing over the case. Though I’d never admit that I didn’t loathe him being there.
With the passing weeks, I was also meeting regularly with my client at the jail.
“What do you like to do? In your free time?”
I glanced up from my computer, meeting Graham’s intense gaze.
The blue of his eyes seemed brighter today, but he was more anxious than usual.
Perhaps he was somehow sensing my own unsteady energy.
I’d been to the jail that morning. Nothing significant had happened—the visit had been routine—but I hadn’t been able to shake the strange heaviness that had followed me back.
Things had been much the same since the first meeting with my client, but the little comments he made that bordered on inappropriate were getting harder to ignore.
The way his face lit up when he saw me made my stomach twist into a nauseating knot, no matter how much I rationalized it.
I was safe in that jail. No one could hurt me there.
“Quinn?”
Graham said my name, and I gave my head a quick shake to clear it.
He’d asked me a question. He sometimes did that, asked random questions here and there. Sometimes I answered. Sometimes I didn’t.
I cocked my head to the side. “Free time?” I said it like I’d never heard of the concept.
He frowned. “I don’t believe there’s nothing else you’re interested in besides work.”
I grabbed a pen and rolled it between my fingers, watching the metal clip glint in the low lighting.
“I…” I hesitated. “I like to read.”
“Romance novels?”
When I looked back at him, his eyebrows were raised, but not in a mocking way.
He didn’t seem judgmental, just curious.
I nodded, my eyes narrowing. I supposed on that first day in the library, he’d found me bleeding in the romance section. I hadn’t realized he’d been paying that close of attention.
“Anything else?” he pressed.
My throat tightened. I wasn’t going to offer anything else, but as I cast my gaze back down, I mumbled, “I like football.”
There was a long pause. “Football?” he echoed, sounding surprised. “Do you like any particular team?”
I ran a finger over the face of my watch, already regretting telling him. “The Ohio Central Cardinals,” I said quickly.
When I chanced a look at him, he seemed pleasantly surprised. He didn’t ask anything else, though, and some of the tension eased as I focused back on my work.
We continued silently for about another hour before I decided I was tired enough to quit for the night. My stomach had been rumbling for the last thirty minutes.
Graham glanced up from grading papers as I packed up.
“Leaving already?”
I checked my watch. “The library closes soon, and I’m starving.”
Graham nodded. “I’ll be done in about five minutes. If you want to wait, I can walk out with you.”
Slinging my bag across my body, I thought about that. I didn’t mind the idea of waiting for him—but I didn’t want him knowing that. I was an adult. I’d walked myself out countless times before.
“No, thank you,” I said tightly as I headed around the stacks, not waiting for his reaction as I left him sitting there.
I hurried toward the exit, waving briefly at the librarian, Mara, as I passed by her. Pushing through the back door, I stepped into the cool, dark night. One of the sconces on the porch was out, making it darker than it should be.
I didn’t notice anything off right away; I was busy taking out my phone to see if I’d gotten any messages. For some reason, I never got good reception inside the library.
I was distracted for a moment—but it was long enough.
A hand shot out from the darkness and grabbed me. My phone went flying.
Before I could react, my body was whipped around and slammed face-first into the rough brick siding of the library.
My head cracked against it, pain flaring white-hot behind my eyes and against my mouth.
The breath was torn from my lungs as a heavy, solid weight pressed against my back, pinning me in place.
For a split second, I wasn’t in Ember Hollow anymore.
I was back there, when I was nothing more than a kid—barely a teenager.
I could smell him. Feel him. The same sour tang of sweat. The same crushing weight.
“If you’re going to defend monsters,” a low voice hissed against my ear, hot and close enough to make bile rise in my throat, “we might as well treat you like one.”
My vision tunneled. My cheek scraped against the brick, rough and stinging, but I couldn’t move. I didn’t make a sound—I never did, not back then either.
My heart hammered so violently I thought it might explode.
“You shouldn’t be in this fucking town,” a man snarled, his words vibrating through my spine. “You should leave.”
I tried to think. To fight. But my body wouldn’t listen. My limbs were frozen and unresponsive. My lungs seized, ribs tight like steel bands refusing to bend or break.
Then his arm locked around my throat.
Panic detonated inside me. My vision blurred as he squeezed, applying pressure around my neck. I clawed at his arm, trying to suck in air that wouldn’t come. The sound of my pulse drowned out everything else—until the faint creak of a door drilled into my consciousness.
Then, a familiar voice drifted through the night.
“Good night, Mara. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Graham.
My heart stuttered.
In the same breath, the pressure vanished. My attacker shoved away from me and bolted, his hurried and frantic footsteps fading into the night. I stumbled forward with a gasp, one hand fluttering against my throat.
I couldn’t move. One palm was pressed against the brick, nails scraping rough mortar. My chest heaved—each breath a sharp, broken rasp. My throat burned.
“Quinn?”
The sound of my name was like a strike of lightning through the darkness, snapping up all my attention. I looked toward the sound, seeing wide, blue eyes. Graham’s eyes.
That’s right. He was here. We’d been at the library.
I stared at him as he stepped closer, his gaze darting around my face. Something shifted in his expression, like anger sparked beneath the forced calm.
“Quinn, what happened?” His tone was steady, but there was a twinge of rage underneath, so subtle I thought I imagined it.
I shook my head. I was fine. Everything was fine.
I was always fine.
But nothing came from my mouth when I opened it. My mind was still stuck in that place—years ago—somewhere dark and heavy and full of pain I’d promised myself I’d never feel again.
Graham stepped close, a hand raised and reaching for me.
I flinched, stumbling away from him, my back hitting the building so hard my bones rattled.
“Don’t touch me.” The words burst out of me like a reflex.
Graham froze. He pulled back his hand, but kept it raised, palm out toward me. Everything was starting to spin. My ribs ached.
“I won’t touch you,” he said softly. “But I need you to breathe.”
My gaze shifted, vision blurring. I couldn’t. My lungs wouldn’t cooperate. My chest hurt so bad.
“Quinn.” Graham’s voice was sharper this time. “Look at me.”
I dragged my eyes back to his, unaware they’d even drifted away. There was an annoying buzzing in my ears.
“Breathe,” he said again. “With me, okay? In…and out.” His chest expanded, stilled as he held the air in, and then he let it out slowly.
He continued the exaggerated breathing, deep and even, the sound of his breaths anchoring me. It took a few tries before my own chest eased enough to mimic him. Air scraped down my sore throat.
He nodded at my shaky inhales. “Good. You’re doing good. Keep going.”
My racing heart slowed a fraction as the breaths became less labored. My head started to clear from the fog of panic. Graham came more into focus.
He was closer now, but he didn’t touch me. His hands were still up, held close to his body with palms out.
“You’re doing great,” he said, his lips trying to find a smile but not making it. “Can you tell me what happened?”
I blinked at him, my mind rebelling to recall, but I knew it was important to explain myself.
My chest hitched again as I tried to speak. My throat ached, though I couldn’t remember why. “There was—someone grabbed me. I think it was a man, but I—I didn’t see him.”
My eyes burned as pressure built behind them. Horror washed over me. I couldn’t cry. Not now. There would be plenty of time to cry when I was alone, when no one could hear it.
Graham’s expression sharpened. He looked me over again, assessing, lingering on my face, my shaking hands, my wobbling knees.
“Are you injured?” he asked slowly, pointedly.
I shook my head before I even thought about it. I was fine.
His eyes narrowed. “Quinn,” he sounded tense for the first time, “I think I need to call the police.”
I paled. “No.” I shook my head so hard it made me dizzy. “No police.”
His mouth fell into a harsh frown. “Quinn, I think you were attacked. We need to—”
“I said no.” My voice was louder than I intended. I pressed back into the brick wall, needing the solidness to keep me from collapsing. “I don’t want—” My voice broke. I couldn’t stand the thought of the flashing lights. The questions. The looks of pity. I couldn’t do it. Not again.
Graham stood there, watching me. My breaths were hitching again, my heart racing so hard it felt like an ice pick splitting my bones.
“All right,” he said finally. “All right. No cops. Not right now.”
Relief washed over me, accompanied by a jab of guilt. I couldn’t explain to him. “Thank you,” I breathed. My fingers clung to the wall behind me, my legs on the verge of giving up entirely.
“Is there anyone else I could call for you? Someone who would want to know what happened?”
I stared at him blankly. There wasn’t anyone he could call who would care. “No.”
He hesitated, expression hardening as he looked around us.
“We can’t stay here,” he added, gently. “Can I take you somewhere safe?”
Safe. I wasn’t sure what that even meant.
“The B&B is close. I can drive you—”
“No.” I couldn’t go there like this. Raleigh couldn’t see me this way. She would think I was some unstable person in her home. I couldn’t.
The night air seemed to seep right through me as I stood there, trembling.
Graham exhaled slowly through his nose. A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I think you’re in shock.” He slid off his jacket as he said it. He had nothing on but his thin button-down underneath.
“Can I put this on you?” He held the coat out.
I glanced between the coat and his face. He patiently waited until I nodded. I was so cold.
He looked relieved as he draped the jacket over my shoulders, careful not to touch me, and wrapped me in warmth. The scent of old paper and amber and spice enveloped me. I loosed a long breath.
“Where can I take you?” Graham asked.
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Your lip is bleeding,” he murmured.
He was so close to me now. He was offering me something, a white handkerchief.
“I want to make sure you’re okay, physically. I can bring you to the hospital—”
I shook my head.
He pressed the thin cloth into my palm, speaking before I could verbalize, like he had anticipated it. “Or I can bring you to my house. I don’t live far. I have a friend who’s an MD. She can come see you there.”
I stared at him, uncomprehending. Reflexively, I brought the handkerchief to my throbbing lip. It came back red with blood. I couldn’t go to his house. I didn’t need a doctor.
“I’m fine.” The words sounded dead on my lips. “I’ll be okay by myself.”
Graham winced, though I wasn’t sure why. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “I can’t leave you alone. You can either come with me, or I’ll have to call someone…most likely the police.”
“Please,” I begged.
“I will not leave you alone.” His words were pointed. Final.
I clenched my jaw. My lips quivered. I wished he wasn’t here. I could do this by myself. I was fine.
If he hadn’t been here, maybe the attacker wouldn’t have run away.
The unwanted thought struck me. I stared at Graham, wanting to run away too.
Eventually, I nodded, relenting. As much as I didn’t want anyone seeing me this weak, I should be thankful. This could’ve been worse.
“Okay,” I rasped. “I’ll go with you.”