by Lisa Harris
“I don’t know. Atkins specified the FBI. Maybe we should stick to that,” Quinn replied.
“Do you know anyone in the FBI?”
Quinn sighed, wagging her head. “I used to. Back when I started at the law firm in Tampa I knew a guy…” She trailed off. “But it’s been years. He’d probably be safe though.” Disquiet bubbled within her. “But why the FBI? Why not the FDA? They’re the ones who govern the approval process. Wouldn’t that be where we should start?”
“Atkins said Rhinehardt was paying people off. It would make sense for one of them to be inside the FDA. If you reach out to the wrong person, you could end up like those other patients. I say we drive straight to Tallahassee. Go to my brother’s house and figure this out. Ten-to-one his buddy can get us in front of an FBI agent quicker than we could on our own.”
She didn’t like dragging Ian’s brother into this thing. But at the moment she didn’t see another option. “I think you may be right. I definitely don’t think I can go back to Seaglass Cove. Not if they’re watching my house. By now they probably know I’m gone.” It was an easy enough drive to Tallahassee, as Highway 27 ran right through it. Maybe it’s a sign, Quinn thought.
“So Tallahassee it is,” Ian said.
“But I don’t want to go to your brother’s house,” she said, qualifying her agreement to his plan. “I don’t want to endanger him. We’ll find a hotel somewhere.”
Ian nodded. “Okay, yeah. That’s smart.”
“And…Ian, are you sure? I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you came this far, but you didn’t know what you were getting into.”
Ian’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then he stepped on the brakes, slowing the Jeep smoothly but quickly. He veered onto the shoulder, bringing them to a stop, dust swirling behind the SUV. They were in the middle of no-man’s-land—no towns, no businesses, just woods, creeks, and county highways.
She swiveled toward him, confused. “What are you—”
He twisted in his seat, his eyes full of purpose as he interrupted, “no, I didn’t know what I was getting into.” He leaned in, closing the space between them, cupping her face in his hands. “I just knew it didn’t matter.”
And then he kissed her, and there was only dizziness and Ian and warmth and more feeling, more hope…just more. Finally he pulled back from her, threading the fingers of one hand through the red locks draped over her shoulder. His charcoal eyes met her gaze with unabashed intensity. “I’m in this thing. End of story.”
She dropped her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “Okay.”
He kissed her again, sending waves of electricity through her until, with a heavy sigh, he leaned back in his seat, put the Jeep into gear and pulled onto the highway. He laid his open hand on the center console and she reached for it, intertwining their fingers. Though her spirit lifted at his touch, a hard knot was forming in her gut. One she couldn’t ignore.
“There’s something I need to talk to you about,” she said softly.
“Shoot.” His voice was relaxed, but his grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, as if she had triggered some measure of apprehension that involuntarily forced the contraction.
“What’s your relationship with Meghan Carne?” she asked.
Ian turned to look at her, puzzlement knitting his eyebrows together. “Meghan Carne?”
“I’ve seen the two of you…interacting…at The Shed a few times. I thought maybe there was something there.”
“No,” Ian answered emphatically. “Absolutely not.”
Quinn’s stomach knot began to unravel. “It just seemed like you were pretty chummy.”
“Meghan’s the one who’s chummy. She’s also chummy with every guy that walks in there. It’s just easier to let her be. But she’s not my type.”
The corner of Quinn’s mouth drew up. “Really? And what’s your type?”
Without skipping a beat Ian flipped down Quinn’s sun visor, opened the vanity mirror on the back, and tapped it.
Quinn snorted. “Smooth.”
“Glad to see you’re finally getting that.” A confident grin played on his face, but after a few seconds it seemed to lose its vitality.
He cut a sideways glance at her, then fixed his gaze back on the road. “But speaking of things we need to talk about, I think maybe it’s time I come clean about something.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Cool air blew from the vents, tickling Quinn’s face and sending strands of hair fluttering above her shoulders. The greasy scent of the sausage biscuits from that morning still lingered, the takeout bag crumpled on the floorboard at her feet. The radio was off and there was only the sound of the road whirring beneath them and Ian’s somber voice.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” he started, his fingers now gripping hard at ten and two on the steering wheel. “I came to Seaglass Cove to start over, and I thought it would be easier if people didn’t know my story. But it doesn’t feel right holding back from you anymore.”
“Okay,” Quinn said, a nervous noose tightening around her chest as she wondered whether this was going to be something she really wanted to know.
“I joined the Chicago P.D. right after I graduated from Northwestern with a degree in criminal justice. I always knew I wanted to be a cop, but Dad insisted I go to college first. As soon as I could I applied to be a detective, and by the time I was twenty-seven I was assigned to the Bureau of Organized Crime, Narcotics Division.”
“That sounds dangerous,” she said.
“Sometimes. But I was good at it. Kept catching bigger cases, moving up in the pecking order. I had some good friends there and we accomplished a lot. Got a lot of dangerous stuff and people off the streets. Saved lives.”
There was something about the hollow way he was speaking that made Quinn think Ian wasn’t telling her this, so much as he was telling himself—something she suspected he had done many times. She waited silently, not pushing, giving him space until finally he started up again.
“Our unit saw a lot of seized narcotics pass through it. Narcotics worth a lot of money. The kind of money a cop could work his whole career and never see. At some point some of the guys in my division—a few of the other detectives—decided to start skimming from the evidence. I didn’t know about it,” he said quickly, glancing over at her for the first time since he started explaining. “It was a group who came in about ten years before me. Eventually I started to have a bad feeling about things. A little voice nagging me that something wasn’t right.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Little things that didn’t add up. A discrepancy here and there—always explained of course.”
“What did you do?”
“That’s just it. I did nothing,” he replied. “I made a choice to trust them, even though I had my doubts. These were guys that, by that time, I’d worked with for over four years. They had taken me in. Looked out for me. Even saved my life a couple of times. So I shoved my misgivings away and took them at their word. It was just easier.
“And then it all blew up. Someone else in the department had suspicions which prompted an undercover investigation. All three of the guys involved were brought down. I had to fight hard to prove I wasn’t a part of it because I was so close to them.” He sniffed. “One of them was my partner. They all confirmed I knew nothing about it, but eventually it came out that I’d had my suspicions along the way and hadn’t done anything. They offered me a choice. Resign or be fired for negligent performance of duties. So I resigned.” Though he was facing straight ahead, Quinn could see a glistening at the edge of his eye, and her heart melted.
“Ian, I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “Thing is, I had it coming. Yeah, I trusted those guys and yeah, they lied to me, but somewhere deep down I knew the truth. I just didn’t want to face it. I went against my better instincts—what I knew was right, who I really am—because it was the path of least resistance. And I h
ad to pay the price.”
He drew in a long, deep breath, Quinn silent as she extended a hand back across the center console. He dropped his right hand from the wheel and clasped hers, holding on to it as if it anchored him. “I kept my mouth shut when I should have spoken out. I chose poorly. Instead of standing strong and stepping out, I took the easy route because I was scared to rock the boat. Scared of what I might lose if I blew the whistle. Turned out I lost anyway—my credibility, my job, my reputation. Friends too, and my faith in myself.”
He stole a quick glance at her. “When you talk about labels, about mistakes that define you and feeling like you’re just resigned to be what everyone thinks of you…I get it. I really do. And wanting someone to believe in you without reservation? I get that too. I think that’s part of what drew me to you. I recognized the same brokenness in you that’s in me. I wasn’t looking for someone to get involved with, Quinn. When I resigned from the force, Dad happened to be moving into his facility at the same time. So, I thought—perfect timing. I’ll disappear into some tiny town near him, cook for people—the only other thing I’m good at—and start a new life. I made it a rule to keep to myself, stay out of trouble and out of other people’s lives. And especially to avoid romantic entanglements.
“But then you walked in The Shed the morning after the break-in…I mean I’ve always thought you were…well, attractive…but that day I saw a kindred spirit and I just wanted to make it right. Because I wish somebody could have made it right for me. I know what it’s like to need a second chance. I want to be yours. If what I just told you hasn’t completely put you off me.”
Overwhelming affinity gushed up within Quinn and she squeezed his hand, then leaned into him, putting her head on his shoulder. “Like you said, if anyone understands needing a second chance, it’s me. And what was it you told me? Your mistake isn’t who you are. It’s just one bad choice you made.”
“You haven’t felt that way about yourself, though.”
“No, but this,” she said, pointing to the manila envelope beside her in the seat, “this really could change things.”
“When it all comes out, you’ll get your life back, including your law license. And people will understand now. They won’t judge you the same way.”
“The license, yes. But change people’s estimation of me? I don’t know if I can shake the old labels at this point.”
“God didn’t make people things to be labeled by their mistakes. He made them souls to grow from them. Your mistakes were part of your growing process. They played a role in your becoming, but they aren’t what you’ve become. You’re more than a label. You’ve got to decide once and for all who you believe yourself to be. You have faith. Does that faith say your identity is defined by your past, or by the God who rescued you and who he says you are? Until you decide that, you won’t have peace.”
“What if I can’t find peace in Seaglass Cove with the history I have there?”
“You don’t have to stay in Seaglass Cove. I get it if you can’t. You shouldn’t have to live in a place where you’re fighting unfair prejudices constantly. But you also need to realize that wherever you go, there will always be that moment when someone is going to misunderstand you, or your intentions, or judge you. The only way to have peace through it all is to know in your heart who you are.” He slowed the Jeep and pointed to a sign announcing a gas station half a mile up. “We’re low on gas,” he said. “I’m just gonna stop real quick.”
Is he right? Quinn thought. Is this more of a heart issue than a geographic one? “So you think I should stay in Seaglass Cove? Tough it out?”
“I’m saying ‘toughing it out’ is the wrong strategy. You’ve been toughing it out for too long. And it isn’t just other people’s opinions that created the situation. I think, because of your guilt, you’ve voluntarily been carrying these negative labels since the night your friends took that boat out. You’ve lived your whole life trying to disprove them, when what you really need to do is rip the labels off and refuse to claim them anymore.”
“And if others won’t let me?”
“Let you? Quinn, you can’t control how others perceive you. If you’re waiting for someone else to come along and rip the labels off for you, you’re wasting your time. You have to do it yourself. And if someone tries to slap one back on you, you have to choose not to accept it. Let it bounce off of you instead of torment you.”
“I’m rubber and you’re glue?” she said, a smile lifting her mouth.
He chuckled. “I guess so.”
Ian took a right turn off the highway, then a quick left onto the access road leading to the gas station about a hundred yards down. But as they rolled along, something remained unsettled deep in Quinn’s core. Something Ian said earlier about him relating to her brokenness. She ran her thumb over his hand, contemplating the best way to ask about it. She landed on being straightforward. “But…I’m not just some charity case you want to save, right?”
Ian turned to look at her, the Jeep now bouncing intermittently on the pothole-filled road. “Are you kidding me?”
She wasn’t. She wanted this, but not if it was built on the wrong reasons. She held his gaze, and gave the tiniest twitch of her head.
He tightened his grip on her hand as he resumed looking straight ahead. “What we have in common may be part of why I was drawn to you, but it wasn’t the only reason. And it wasn’t what kept me coming back. You are. All of you.”
She grinned, relief pouring into her. “I’m really glad—”
A violent impact at the back of the Jeep slammed Quinn forward, her seat belt yanking hard against her. Ian whipped forward too, but managed to slam on the brakes, bringing them to a screeching halt.
“You okay?” he asked, grasping her shoulder. The usually faint lines in his forehead were etched deeper, concern sharp in his gaze.
She nodded, sucking in a breath. “Yeah, I’m—”
Ian’s eyes went wide at the same time there was a hard rap on Quinn’s window. She swiveled to see a man standing outside her door, holding a gun aimed at her chest.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Three men were in the car that rear-ended them. What was made to seem like a fender-bender was actually a targeted kidnapping. The men forced Ian and Quinn into the back seat of Ian’s Jeep—after patting them down and removing Ian’s weapon—then drove to a secluded spot on a country road. They bound their hands with zip-ties, then moved them into the Jeep’s cargo area, instructing them to shut up, lie down and stay down. One drove off in the car that had hit them, leaving the other two to take the Jeep—one driving and one in the back seat holding a weapon on Ian and Quinn during the entire trip back to Seaglass Cove.
There were no explanations given. Only silence and fear and the foreboding fact that their captors weren’t wearing masks and she and Ian had not been blindfolded. It meant the men weren’t worried about being identified later.
Just north of Seaglass Cove, in another remote spot, they pulled Quinn and Ian out of the Jeep. They cut the zip-ties on Ian and put him in the driver’s seat, then put Quinn, still bound, in the front passenger seat. They instructed Ian to drive to his house while they hid on the back seat floorboard, threatening to shoot Quinn if Ian tried anything. Ian complied, driving to his small, ranch-style house on the east side of town, pulling into his garage and lowering the door as instructed. The men ordered Ian and Quinn into the living room, then onto the couch where they now sat side by side, Ian protectively sidled up against Quinn, his body slightly angled in front of her, his hands zip-tied again.
Of the two men, the one who seemed to be in charge was older, maybe in his early forties, with dark-brown hair, a sharp chin and eyes devoid of feeling. The other man, a late twenty-something, had a buzz cut, a weightlifter’s build and rarely spoke. The older one took a ladder-back chair from the kitchen table, spun it around backward and sat down, the gun in his hand hanging over the top rung. The younger man stood behind him, poised to act if nee
ded.
“You finally going to explain what’s going on?” Ian asked, his words harsh.
Older Guy glowered at Ian but said nothing, then turned his attention to Quinn. “We need to know what you know,” he demanded, his cold stare fixed on her.
“I don’t know anything,” she said, working hard to keep her voice steady despite the fear that had been flowing through her veins since the men shoved them in the back of the Jeep. “Honestly! Just what’s on those pages,” she said, nodding toward Atkins’s manila envelope now held by Younger Guy.
“There’s more you’re not telling us,” Older Guy said.
“There’s not,” Quinn said, her voice thin, nearly cracking.
“Do you think I’m stupid, Ms. Bello?” Older Guy asked, his expression darkening by the second.
“No, I don’t—”
He cut her off by sucking in a long breath, then exhaling. “You think I can’t get the answers I want from you? Just look at what we’ve done to you. To your reputation. To your freedom. We have resources you can’t comprehend. Trying to hold out on us is a waste of time. We will get answers.” In his guttural tone, he practically growled the word “will,” like a sinister promise Quinn did not doubt he would keep.
“You don’t have to do this, capiche?” Ian piped in, the same undertone of authority in his voice that he had used with Shane when standing in Quinn’s foyer just nights ago.
Older Guy raised one eyebrow, though he did not appear amused. “Capiche? Seriously?” He pointed at Ian. “You, keep your mouth shut. And you,” he said, now angling his finger at Quinn, “start talking.”
“I don’t have anything else to tell you,” she said.
