“Yeah, but ... why show me the photo?” That’s what Rowan couldn’t wrap her head around. “She clearly wanted me to know she was watching.”
“Or she wanted to push you to the edge and see if you would crack. I mean, well, you didn’t act like a normal person in that particular situation.”
Rowan bristled at the comment. “And how would a normal person have reacted?”
“Just off the top of my head, a normal person would’ve questioned why she was taking photos of you at all.”
“She said she was practicing taking photos because she’s interested in the process.”
“Do you believe her?”
Rowan wasn’t sure how to answer. The fact that the omen showed up in a photo Darcy took meant that she had a similar gift ... and wanted Rowan to see the omen. Was she warning her? Was she trying to tip her off? Was it an attempt to frighten her? If so, it worked. Rowan couldn’t remember ever being so terrified.
“I don’t know what to believe,” Rowan replied finally, swallowing hard. “I was simply caught off guard. I know I didn’t react well but ... she threw me. It was an overt act. I’m sorry.”
“It was definitely an overt act,” Fred agreed. “It’s weird that she would show you a photograph. I mean ... I get her wanting to pretend that she’s a photography enthusiast to bond with you. They clearly want to talk to you, which is why Spencer arranged for the dinner. This, though, this is something different.”
“What do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to have a sit down with Quinn, though, so we can discuss it.”
“Quinn is working a murder.”
“Of someone who looks a lot like you. He’s going to want to know about this.”
Rowan let loose a heavy sigh. “Fine. Don’t freak him out, though. It’s not fair when there’s nothing he can do.”
“I’ll do my best to keep him from freaking out. Where are you going?”
“Back to my room. I need to regroup and then I’ll be back on the deck.”
“Okay. Just stay out in the open and try not to let them rattle you.” Fred gave her an appreciative shoulder squeeze. “Seriously, they can’t hurt you. We won’t let them.”
Rowan thought of the omen in the photo. She wasn’t so sure that was true. “I’m sorry I screwed things up. I’ll do better.”
“You didn’t screw things up. Just ... chill out. We’re going to get through this.”
Rowan appreciated the sentiment, but she was riddled with doubt. “I’ll see you later.”
“You definitely will.”
QUINN WAS IN HIS OFFICE WHEN Fred tracked him down.
“What’s up?” The security chief was having a crappy day and he was actually happy for the interruption. He’d just spent the last hour wading through divorce documents and he felt ridiculously dirty ... and tired.
“You’re not going to like it,” Fred offered as he slid into the chair across from his friend’s desk.
“Then don’t tell me. No, seriously. I can’t take more bad news.”
“I don’t know that it’s bad news,” Fred hedged. “It’s certainly interesting news. Bad is in the eye of the beholder, though.”
Quinn frowned. “I’m going to need more information than that.”
Fred informed his friend of Rowan’s run-in on the deck with Darcy. When he was finished, Quinn was on his feet and pacing. He prowled the back of his office like a caged animal.
“Why would she do that?” he exploded after muttering to himself for a full two minutes. “I mean ... what benefit is there to terrorizing Rowan that way?”
“I think the answer is in the question,” Fred replied dryly. “They want to knock her off her game. I’m not sure how she came off in the interaction. She was obviously shaken. I mean ... she didn’t start yelling or demanding to know why the woman was skulking around and taking photos of the two of you in the middle of the night, but she very abruptly ended the conversation and took off.”
“Where did she go?”
“Back to her room. I talked to her before she headed down the secured hallway — and, yes, I made sure she reached the other side of the door so you don’t have to get worked up — and she seemed a little shaky. She clearly wants to be alone, though.”
“She wanted to be away from you,” Quinn corrected. “She might need me.”
“Or you could make things worse.”
“How?”
“She felt bad,” Fred replied, unruffled by Quinn’s steely-eyed glare. “She knew she screwed up and you could see the guilt practically rolling off her. There’s nothing to be done about it, though. She can’t go back in time and fix it. She simply has to move forward. Give her a bit of time to decompress and then we’ll attack it from a different angle.”
“Or I could take a break and check on her. There’s nothing in the rules that says I can’t do that.”
“Except common sense. When a woman is upset, you need to give her space. Everyone knows that.”
Quinn’s stare was withering. “When have you ever been in a relationship long enough to test that theory?”
“Um ... numerous times. Like ... ten.”
“And how long after you gave them space did these women break up with you?”
Fred’s lips tipped down. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Quinn’s frustration bubbled up. “Women are different from men. They don’t want space when they’re upset. They want to be coddled and taken care of.”
Fred was incredulous. “Um ... I think you just want to coddle her. She didn’t act like she wanted to be coddled.”
“Not by you. I’m different. I’m her boyfriend. Women always want to be coddled by their boyfriends. Men are the ones who want space.”
Fred worked his jaw. “Do you want to know what I think?” he asked finally.
“Not even a little.”
“Good, because I’m going to tell you. I think we’re both right. I think there are times women want to be coddled but this is not the time. She felt legitimately bad. If you go running to her now, she’s going to assume it’s because you’re upset about how she handled things. You need to give her time to put the conversation behind her.”
“I don’t happen to agree.”
“You have work to do,” Fred added, adopting a different tactic. “You have a murder to solve. It would really help if you discovered the Phoenix Society people had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to that woman.”
On that topic, Quinn could readily agree. “The only thing we have going for us is that she’d just gone through a tempestuous divorce. It’s always possible the ex-husband, furious because he lost half the money he brought into the marriage — and he was reportedly furious about that — sent someone to kill her.”
“What about the cameras?”
“Well, that’s another problem.” Quinn turned his laptop at an angle so they could both watch the screen. “This is the area where Deborah was killed about an hour before it happened. Tell me what you see.”
Fred knit his eyebrows and leaned forward, squinting as he made out the action on the deck. “It’s not the best footage.”
“Because of the darkness, we’re limited by technology. We do the best we can, but the farther away from the cameras you are, the harder it is to make out any details.”
“Yeah.” Fred continued staring. “Still, that looks like Spencer right there.” He pointed at the screen.
“It does,” Quinn agreed. “He’s out there with Darcy and Julia.”
“Are they drinking?”
“They have drinks. I obviously can’t tell what’s inside of them. They’re not acting tipsy, though.”
Fred pursed his lips. “They look like they’re having a serious conversation.”
“They do. There’s no audio. The wind on the deck makes it impossible to make anything out so I didn’t see the need of including sound equipment when I set up the system.”
“I bet you�
�re kicking yourself for that now.”
“I’m ... feeling a decent amount of regret.”
“Which is why you really want to find Rowan. You want to make both of you feel better.”
“I just love her.” Quinn was earnest. “If something happens to her, I’m never going to get over it. I mean ... she’s it for me.”
Fred studied his friend for an extended beat. “You’re going to propose, aren’t you?”
Quinn nodded without hesitation. There was no point in playing coy. “As soon as this is over with.”
“Are you going to ask her father’s permission?”
“I don’t need that man’s permission after he left her the way he did, but I’ve already asked. Things aren’t perfect between Paul and me. We’re having a bit of a power struggle. Still, we both realize that Rowan is the important one. She needs strong relationships with both of us. We’re willing to work together to make sure she’s not torn in two by us.”
“That’s probably smart.” Fred honestly didn’t know what else to say. “Well, I think that’s great. I’m a little sad I won’t be able to drag you to the bar to act as my wingman any longer, but it’s still great. If you need help picking out a ring, I’m there for you. I know some guys.”
Quinn’s smile disappeared. “You know some guys? I’m not buying a hot ring. Besides, I already picked out her ring. In fact, it’s already been sized and everything.”
Fred worked his jaw. “How did you know her size?”
“I measured while she was asleep. Thankfully, she sleeps like the dead. She didn’t even notice.”
“Well ... great. Did you get a big one?”
Quinn smirked. “What do you think?”
“I think you got her an iceberg-sized rock.”
“I got her a beautiful ring. The goal is for her to be wearing it the rest of her life. I’m not going to skimp on it.”
“No, you’re not the type to skimp on anything like that.” Fred couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “I think that’s great. I guess that means we need to end the Phoenix Society threat so you can make a big show of it and get down on one knee.”
“The second we’re past this — I mean the absolute second — I’m asking her to marry me.”
“Well, then let’s figure this out.” Fred gestured toward the computer. “Fast forward to the time of the attack so we can check that out.”
Quinn’s smile faded. “That’s the thing. Watch this.” He moved his finger to the fast-forward button and pressed it. Fred watched the screen with obvious interest, a few stray people speeding past the screen until everything became eerily silent. Then, out of nowhere, the feed ended.
“What was that?” Fred sat up straighter. “What happened to the footage?”
“Well, believe it or not, the camera failed right before Deborah’s time of death. We’re talking within minutes of when the doctor claims she died.”
“Well, that can’t be a coincidence.” Fred’s mind was working a mile a minute. “What about the other cameras? Can we track movement between portions of the ship to try to isolate who was out there?”
“In theory. It’s not always easy in practice.”
“We still have to try.”
ROWAN STARED AT THE IMAGE ON HER camera for a long time and then let loose a shaky breath. There was no doubt. She’d snapped eight different selfies of herself, and each one featured the omen.
There was some question about who was in danger when Darcy first showed her the image. After all, both she and Quinn were in the photo. He could’ve been the one marked for death. It was her, though. Oddly enough, she felt better about that. She didn’t want to die, of course. It wasn’t something she was keen to do. Still, knowing Quinn would still be alive was a great comfort to her.
Sure, she had dreams and plans for their future. She thought, eventually, they would get engaged and then married. It probably wouldn’t happen until they were finishing up their contracts on The Bounding Storm. Then he had plans to go into private practice with Fred and she would ... well, she didn’t know what her future held. She would do something. Now, that picture of happiness — one that involved children and the beach house Nick had earmarked for them — was all but lost.
She felt sick to her stomach but resolute.
She flipped through the selfies again, unsure what she should do. The first task on her list was taking a photo of Quinn so she could check it to make sure. Rowan was reasonably assured she was the one who would die. That didn’t mean he wasn’t in danger, too. She had to be absolutely sure so she could warn Fred to watch him.
After that, though, she had no idea how to proceed. She was genuinely torn if she should tell Quinn about the omen. There was a chance he could save her if he knew. Although, there was also a chance he would put himself in danger to do it and might end up hurt in the process.
On the flip side, there was a possibility he could do nothing. Rowan had always felt there was an inevitability about death. She’d managed to reverse several omens, save people in the process. More often than not, however, she failed in her rescue attempts. There was no science to the omens that she was aware of.
If Quinn knew about the omen, he would do everything in his power to protect her. He would put his life on the line, station guards outside her room, and do everything else he could short of wrapping her in bubble wrap. If she really did have limited time left, she didn’t want to spend it with him being manic. She wanted to enjoy him.
Tears pricked the back of her eyes as she made up her mind. She grabbed a notebook and pen from the table in the corner of her room and carried it to her bed. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She wanted to be prepared, though. That meant writing down everything she had to say in letter form. She would make sure Quinn and her father never doubted how she felt about them. After that, she would think about the omen and make a decision.
Quinn would feel absolute rage if he found out she knew about her imminent death and never told him. She had to explain herself just in case ... and she needed to clear her mind. She was hopeful that unburdening her heart would aid with the clarity.
She honestly didn’t know, though.
Rowan let out a long breath and clicked the ink pen so she could write. She would start with her father. It would be easier to express her feelings where he was concerned. With Quinn, there was so much to say that she wasn’t sure she could get it all out.
She did, though. It took her two hours. By the time she was finished with Quinn’s letter, she was bawling. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, and she was certain she’d never be able to shed another tear. Once the letters were finished and sealed into envelopes, which she promptly hid in her dresser, she crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.
She felt lost and despondent. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed. She always thought she would be strong in the face of death.
Apparently she was wrong.
8
Eight
Unsettled and with an hour to burn after her nap, Rowan escaped from the room long enough to track Quinn down. She didn’t approach him, though. Instead, she snapped a photo of him from afar, one only he was in, and then returned to her room.
She’d checked every photo she had of him, some taken in moments of fancy when they had days on the beach, and they were all clear. She wanted to be absolutely sure, though. She couldn’t shake the feeling of dread threatening to take her over.
The photo was clean. She deleted it so he wouldn’t accidentally see it and wonder why she was snapping photos of him from afar and then decided to shower for dinner. It was rare she cleaned up twice in one day, but the minimal makeup she’d thrown on after her first shower was streaked and runny and her eyes were red and puffy. She needed to calm down and get it together.
She didn’t know if keeping the information from Quinn was the right move. The sick feeling in her stomach told her it was wrong and yet she had no idea how to broach the subject. How could she te
ll the man she loved, whom she was planning to spend the rest of her life with, that she didn’t have long to live? Sure, they might be able to stop it somehow. What if they didn’t, though? It would ruin the little time they had left together and that’s the last thing she wanted.
She dressed in one of Quinn’s favorite dresses, a simple summer frock that set off her eyes, and when she heard him enter the bedroom she took a long, measured look in the mirror before exhaling a pent-up breath. This was it. She at least wanted to get through dinner before telling him, if that was her ultimate decision. She was still waffling back and forth, her stomach a mass of jittery nerves.
Quinn was changing his shirt when she exited the bathroom, his lean muscles on display. He was built, but not so jacked up he looked like he belonged on a gym poster. She loved to watch him move, especially when they took a full day and hit one of their favorite — and private — beach spots. He had a smooth way of walking, of shifting his hands. Oh, and he had the best smile. It was on her now when he turned.
“Hello, sweetie.” He grinned at her ... and then immediately sobered. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Apparently she hadn’t done as good a job as she anticipated when it came to covering up her crying jag.
“I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, crossing to him. “It’s just been a long day.”
Quinn forgot about his shirt and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “You’re still upset that Darcy was sneaking around taking photos of us. I don’t blame you, but she obviously didn’t get close enough to hear anything. It’s okay.” He kissed the top of her head to soothe her.
“How did you ... ?” Rowan trailed off, rolling her eyes. “Fred told you.”
“He did. I’m a little upset that you didn’t tell me yourself.”
“I was going to. It’s just ... .” What? She had no excuse. From where Quinn was sitting, he’d been left out of the loop. She’d promised the opposite of that when this entire thing started. “I’m sorry.”
Raging Seas (A Rowan Gray Mystery Book 9) Page 7
