by Susan Stoker
He had eased himself down to the bed and held Corrie to him and they’d lain there without words for what seemed like forever. Finally, Quint had eased out of her and headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He’d returned with a warm washcloth, as he always did, and after cleaning them both up, he’d snuggled in behind her again and whispered all sorts of amazing things while kissing her neck and shoulder.
It had been incredible…but then again, each time Quint made love to her, it was mind-blowing.
It’d been seven days since Corrie had essentially moved in with Quint, and he’d kept his promise and done everything possible to make her comfortable in his home. She’d been extremely worried about it, but so far it was working out.
Corrie knew she was moving way quicker with Quint than she probably should, but she couldn’t help it. He worked hard, was attentive to her without being smothering, was loyal to his friends to a fault, was romantic, and the chemistry between them was off the charts.
As she’d noticed before, Quint wasn’t perfect. He had a habit of throwing f-bombs around a little too much and sometimes when he slept on his back he’d snore loud enough to wake the dead. She also had a feeling he still tended to think of her as fragile because of her blindness…but for now, their relationship was working well. She’d have plenty of time to work on that other stuff with him. She hoped.
She listened as the shower turned off and Quint wandered around the room getting dressed. There was something very intimate about listening to him put on his clothes. Corrie never would’ve guessed. She hadn’t felt this way about Ian, not even close.
Corrie heard the creaking of Quint’s equipment belt as he walked toward her, and felt the bed dip as he sat down next to her hip.
“You gonna sleep for a while?”
“Um-hum.”
“Okay. You have to be at the clinic at nine?”
“Yeah, my first appointment isn’t until nine-thirty so I get to go in a bit later today.”
“Emily is picking you up?”
They’d argued about this the night before as well. Quint had been taking her to work every day, but since he had to go in so early, she didn’t want to inconvenience him by having him come back to the house during his shift. She was also being selfish by wanting to sleep in, and not get to work as early as she would if he took her in when his shift started. Emily had never minded picking her up, and when she’d asked, her friend had agreed immediately. It’d been a while since she’d had her Emily fix and they were both looking forward to catching up.
Corrie knew she had to think about rescheduling the car service she’d been using before everything had happened. She’d temporarily canceled it after the shooting, but she hated always relying on Emily and Bethany, and now Quint, to take her everywhere she wanted to go.
Realizing Quint was waiting for her answer to his question, she quickly said, “Yes, she’ll be here around eight-thirty. We’ll talk a bit, catch up, then we’ll go. It’s fine.”
“Okay. Want to have lunch together?”
Corrie mock frowned up toward Quint. “You’ve taken off for lunch every day of the last week. Aren’t you going to get in trouble?”
She felt his hand smooth over her head and tuck her hair behind her ear. “No. We are allowed to eat while on shift you know.”
“Okay then, yes. I’d love to have lunch. I’d never turn down spending time with you.”
Quint leaned into her and brushed his lips over Corrie’s forehead. “As much as I’d rather crawl back into bed with you, I gotta get going.”
Corrie brought her hand up to the back of Quint’s neck and pulled him down to her mouth. She kissed him long and hard before pulling back. “Okay, go on then. I’ll see you later.”
“Jesus, sweetheart. Now I have to go to work with a hard-on.”
Corrie giggled. “You’ll live. Now go. I’ll see you at lunch.”
“Maybe if I play my cards right I can get a lunchtime quickie,” he teased playfully. He kissed her one more time quickly and backed away. “I’ll set the alarm and lock up as I leave. Stay in bed, enjoy your lazy morning.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Bye, sweetheart. See you later.”
“Bye, Quint.”
Corrie smiled and snuggled deeper into bed as she listened to Quint walk through the house, fiddle around in the kitchen, and walk out the door. God, she loved him.
Wait. What?
Corrie thought about it. Yup. It hadn’t been that long, but she could admit it, to herself at least. She loved him.
He’d shown her in a million ways how much she meant to him…from putting all his clothes in the guest-room closet—and then arranging all her stuff in the master closet so it was exactly as it had been at her own house—to putting some of his furniture in storage so there would be more room to walk around and less chance of her hurting herself.
They’d also painstakingly rearranged the kitchen together, making sure she could reach all the plates and cups and cooking utensils. He’d added a shelf to one of the cabinets so all of her cooking spices could go there in the same order they’d been in at her own apartment.
And not once—not one single time—had she tripped over something he’d accidentally left out. He was super conscientious about putting his things away. Everything had its place, and so far he’d stuck to it. Corrie knew it couldn’t last forever; it was inevitable that he’d forget something, but with as much effort as he’d been putting into trying to make sure he didn’t leave anything out of place, Corrie knew it would devastate him when it did eventually happen.
Quint was attentive to all her needs in bed, he was sexy as all get out, and he was trying so hard to learn Braille, it almost made her heart hurt. Even her parents hadn’t tried this hard to be able to read and write the way she did. They’d made a halfhearted attempt when she was younger, but with the escalation of technology, and the ability for her to “read” the computer and emails, they’d given up.
Corrie thought back to the day before when Quint had shyly handed her a note he’d meticulously used her Braille label maker to write. It was awkward, and he’d mixed both Grade 1 and 2 Braille, but she was able to read it. It’d said: You make me happy. The luckiest day of my life was when you ran into that busboy.
It was the first time she’d cried in front of him, and Corrie thought he was going to lose it. He’d been horrified that he’d made her cry, until she went down to her knees and had taken him in her mouth as a thank you.
She grinned at the memory. God, she loved how he smelled…and tasted. Corrie turned on her side and pushed a button on her specialty clock.
Alarm set for seven-thirty, the monotone computerized voice said.
Corrie snuggled back down into the blankets, satisfied that she had another hour and a half to sleep. She fell asleep immediately, dreaming of Quint.
* * *
Corrie woke up with a start. Someone was ringing the doorbell to Quint’s house. The loud ding-dong echoed around the room, then faded. She reached over and pushed the button on the clock.
Seven-thirteen a.m., the mechanized voice announced.
Corrie threw her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her T-shirt as the doorbell pealed again. She threw the shirt over her head and hurried to the closet. She went to the shelf and felt for her sweatpants. She didn’t bother looking for the Braille tag that would tell her what color they were, but simply pulled the first pair she touched up her legs. She kneeled down and felt for her shoes, and grabbed the pair of flip-flops that was on the end of the row.
“Coming!” Corrie called out as the doorbell rang again. Maybe Emily was early. It wasn’t like her to be early for anything though. Typically she was right on time. Corrie had made fun of her more times than she could remember for having an annoying habit of being right where she was supposed to be at the exact time she was supposed to be there.
Corrie stopped at the front door. “Who is it?” she remembered to ask before simply
opening the door.
“It’s Bethany.”
Corrie frowned. What the hell was Bethany doing there?
Oh Lord—Emily or Ethan. Something had to be wrong!
Corrie turned to the alarm panel next to the front door and punched in the numbers to disarm it. She unlocked and opened the door. “Bethany? Where’s Emily? And Ethan? Are they okay?”
Corrie heard Bethany whisper, “I’m so sorry,” before the strike to her head rendered her unconscious.
* * *
Quint sat across the desk from his friend Calder Stonewall, the medical examiner who’d been responsible for the autopsy on Shaun’s body. San Antonio wasn’t a huge city and they’d crossed paths so much in the past, they’d become close. They had a law enforcement clique of sorts, with five others in various law enforcement agencies.
“Talk to me, Calder. What sort of sick fuck are we dealing with?”
“You’re not going to like it, Quint.”
“I know I’m not. Sock it to me.”
“I don’t have the hands to be able to tell, but based on the fact that each of his toes were cut off, I’d bet they did the same to his fingers before cutting off his hands altogether.”
“Christ. Go on.”
“Lots of typical shit. Cigarette burns, broken ribs, bruises, and petechial hemorrhaging.”
“They strangled him?”
“Probably repeatedly. They most likely cut off his air until he passed out, then waited until he wasn’t unconscious anymore to do it again.”
“Fuck.”
“What did they want, Quint? This isn’t normal shit. This is highly sadistic behavior and not the sort of thing criminals around here are usually into. If the man didn’t have any money, what would torturing him do? It’s unlikely he was hiding money from them, he was legitimately broke. Whoever did this is unstable and enjoys what he’s doing, and does it extremely well. I’d expect to see this sort of thing with the mob or something, not here in San Antonio.”
“Detective Algood wasn’t able to find out a lot, but after we called in Cruz and the FBI, they were able to piece together some of what Shaun had gotten himself into.”
Calder nodded for Quint to continue.
“Since Shaun’s son had his accident, they were hemorrhaging money. It costs a fuck of a lot of money to keep that kid alive. First the hospital bills on the day of the accident, then the medical bills to keep him alive and functioning. Catheters, breathing machines, feeding tubes, mechanical beds, prescriptions, round-the-clock medical care…you name it, that kid needs it. There’s no way a normal family can afford all that shit.”
“He made a deal with the devil then?” Calder asked.
“Yup. Specifically, a Mr. Dimitri Prandini.”
“Holy shit, he had a death wish, didn’t he?”
“I’m assuming he had no idea what he was getting into.” Quint and Calder both knew Dimitri because he was a local loan shark…one who wasn’t known for his touchy-feely ways. “Apparently he borrowed more than a hundred thousand dollars and when Dimitri wanted to collect, with interest, Shaun couldn’t pay. He sent his henchman, Isaac Sampson, after him to collect.”
“How does a man with only one employee get to be such a success?”
Quint grimaced and nodded in agreement. “I know. By all accounts, the other sharks around here should’ve gobbled him up by now. But Dimitri is especially vicious. I heard from Cruz, the FBI has been keeping their eye on him, and would love to arrest him, but they don’t have enough hard evidence yet. When he first started in the business he had about a dozen ‘helpers.’ They’d troll the city looking for schmucks who were stupid enough to gamble away money they didn’t have. Dimitri also ordered hits on the other loan sharks for no fucking reason. His henchmen would just ambush them and kill them outright.”
“But, Quint, that doesn’t make any sense. Didn’t the other sharks band together against him or something?”
“Yeah,” Quint agreed grimly. “They did. And Dimitri changed tactics from ambushing the sharks, to ambushing their women.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Dimitri has no soul. None. He ordered his men to kidnap, rape and torture the wives and girlfriends of anyone who publically spoke out against him. There were still some rumblings of the sharks ganging up and putting an end to Dimitri’s reign once and for all, until he went after an entire family.”
Calder didn’t say anything, just growled.
“Needless to say, it wasn’t pretty. The man had three daughters…ages three to twelve. Dimitri’s thugs started with the oldest daughter and worked their way down. Then they started on his wife, and finally killed the guy. After that, no one has dared to go against him.”
“And his posse of henchmen?”
“No one knows for sure, but rumor has it Dimitri’s paranoid and decided one day that they were all out to get him, and he disposed of them all.”
“Jesus fucking Christ. And this guy ordered the hit on Shaun at the chiropractor office?”
“Yeah.”
“And he’s now gunning for your woman.”
Quint hadn’t told any of his friends how serious he was about Corrie, but apparently he didn’t have to. It was obvious enough. “Yeah.”
“But how does your Corrie fit into all this?”
Quint couldn’t deny the words “your Corrie” settled right into his soul as if they belonged there. “They’re trying to tie up loose ends. Dimitri isn’t the smartest tool in the shed, and Isaac isn’t much better. He’s the last of his henchmen, and known to be the most sadistic. I’m assuming they think if they can get to Corrie and shut her up, they’ll get away with the murder of both Shaun and all those people from her clinic, scot-free.”
“Dumbasses.”
“Yeah.”
Before Quint could say anything else, the phone on his desk rang. He leaned over and picked it up.
“Axton here. What? Yeah, she knew. She was planning on getting there around nine. Are you sure? Okay, I’ll give her a call. She might have overslept. Thanks, Dr. Garza.”
Quint hung up the phone and swore.
“Everything all right?” Calder had picked up on the urgency in Quint’s tone.
“Not sure. That was Corrie’s partner. She was supposed to be at work at nine, but Dr. Garza just heard from Lori, their new admin, and she hasn’t shown up yet.” Quint looked at his watch. Nine forty-five.
He dialed Corrie’s number and waited. She didn’t pick up. He dialed it again, and once again it went to voice mail after four rings. The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up and goose bumps sprung up all over his arms. “Fuck. Calder, I gotta go. Let me know if you find anything else out.”
“Want me to call Cruz and the others?”
Quint didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Something’s wrong. I feel it.”
“On it. Go.”
Quint didn’t wait, thankful he could rely on Calder to get him some backup. He strode from his desk straight to his deputy chief’s office. He had to get SAPD rolling. He didn’t have an extra second to spare. Corrie might not have that extra second. He had a bad fucking feeling about this, and it didn’t help that he’d just recounted what horrible human beings Isaac and Dimitri were. Calder’s description of what Shaun had gone through raced through his mind on repeat.
Fucking hell.
Quint raced through his neighborhood with his lights and sirens blaring. He didn’t know how he knew this was bad, he just did. Two other patrol cars followed behind him with their lights on, but no sirens. Cruz was meeting them at his house as soon as he could get there.
All looked quiet at the house as Quint screeched to a halt, skidding up onto his lawn as he fought to control his car. Without bothering to take the keys with him, although he did flip off the siren, Quint crouched and ran, gun drawn, toward his front door.
The door was closed—but Quint could hear the screaming of an infant clearly though the thick oak.
What the holy fuck?
<
br /> He noticed with detachment that his hands were shaking as he pulled out his house keys and put them in the lock. It was stealthier to open the door with the keys than to kick it in. And if anyone was in the house, he didn’t want to give them a head’s up he was inside.
The door swung open and Quint looked at the alarm panel.
Off. Fuck.
The wail of the baby crying was louder now that they were inside the house. The infant was clearly in distress. It wasn’t a “give me food, I’m hungry” cry, it was a “if I don’t get attention immediately, I might die,” kind of screaming.
As they’d been trained, the officers ignored the distressed cries coming from the back of the house as they concentrated on making sure the area was safe. In an active-shooter scenario, the scene had to be cleared before any wounded victims could be taken care of. It was one of the hardest things to have to do…ignoring the pleading and cries from any injured persons begging for help, and to step over them, if necessary, to make sure the scene was safe for the first responders and the rest of the potential victims.
Quint gestured one officer to the right and the other to the left, to take his back. They methodically went through the kitchen and the living room. Both were empty. The baby’s screams were coming from down the hall. They cleared both guestrooms and the bathroom.
The last room was the master bedroom.
The door was shut. Quint put his hand on the knob and looked to both the officers. They nodded at him, indicating they were ready, and he twisted the door handle and brought his hand back up to his pistol. Quint had no idea what they’d find, but he prayed harder than he ever had in his life that it wouldn’t be Corrie, bleeding and possibly dead.
They surged into the room—and Quint’s stomach dropped to his toes.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Bethany was on his bed.
