Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  "That’s good. Now picture a special place in your mind, somewhere that feels safe and soothing. Take yourself there, letting each breath fill you, expanding the light until there are no more dark corners." He followed suit for a moment.

  Until he realized it only drew him to her more. That he was feeling a connection, a dangerously strong pull.

  But she was his brother's girl.

  Just then a noise outside in the hallway jolted her back to the world. Her eyes popped open, unguarded and sweet.

  They hovered there in one moment that felt disturbingly like longing.

  He'd only just met her. He was never impulsive. Quinn tore his gaze away. Nothing could happen. Nothing would.

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  QUINN HELPED LORIE into the taxi, settling on the seat beside her and giving Josh’s address in SoHo. When they pulled out into the traffic, he glanced over to see her staring out the window, chin on her fist, lost in thought.

  Just as well. He could use some distance.

  Not in his wildest dreams had he imagined a woman affecting him this way, as though somehow they meshed. As if he'd slid smoothly into a pure, cleansing pool, a comforting antidote to the darkness he battled.

  But the woman belonged to his brother.

  Helping her was okay, as long as it ended there. There was nothing wrong with putting to use hard-won skills he’d acquired to help him cope with his altered reality. He’d delved into an eclectic mix, from martial arts to yoga and meditation in his search for some kind of balance.

  When he’d trained so hard to hone his self-defense skills, had he realized how crucial the mental mastery would become? In the dark months, going within for strength and calm had helped him survive through all the guilt, through those damned visions.

  His great-aunt had told him to quit fighting them. "It’s your heritage," she’d said. He thought of the black dream he’d had before leaving for New York. His grandmother's sister had known it, somehow. She'd come to him at dawn.

  "Mijo, tell me what troubles you."

  He’d shaken his head. "Something dark and… suffocating…" And too much like what had happened the night his sister had been murdered. The power of his visions scared the hell out of him.

  She'd remained with him, and however much he'd been reluctant to share, there was no question that her simple presence, as always, comforted him.

  He’d reached out to cover her hand with his, meeting her gaze. "I’ll be fine, Tía."

  "You will never find peace as long as you fight what you are, Quinn Emilio Marshall." Her eyes had been eagle fierce. "I know you think these visions are only a result of the coma because that is all that the doctors can understand, but you must accept that this power has always been within you. Do you not recall how, as a small boy, you used to wake up in the night with knowledge that has no explanation? It is in your blood and your heart, a legacy of your ancestors, and you do not have the right to refuse it."

  "I don't remember that. It's only been since Clarissa…"

  "Is it Clarissa you dream of now?" she had asked gently.

  Quinn had looked away, unwilling to discuss his sister. "It was…different this time. A young boy with dark hair. A boy…in great danger." His hand still trembled when he thought of the blonde woman, of the evil souring in his gut as he saw again the altar, the glove.

  The knife.

  Tía had stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Quinn, you must quit fighting your true nature. You have my father’s power within you." She had sighed, patting him gently. "I know you do not welcome this, but you must learn to wield it. Do not fight it, mijo. You can do much good with such power."

  "I don’t want it!" he’d roared, his voice reflecting the anguish he still felt. "I couldn’t save Clarissa—what good is it?"

  "OKAY, BUDDY, HERE we are. "

  Quinn jolted at the cabbie’s announcement. He glanced over and saw Lorie blink and straighten. He helped her from the cab but kept distance between them as she rang for the old freight elevator Josh used to reach his loft.

  Before he could knock on Josh's door, his brother shouted, "Come on in. It’s unlocked!"

  Inside, noise assaulted them—Josh's sound system blasting, and even over the sound of that, a boy’s giggles and Josh’s laughter soared.

  "Mom, look!" the boy squealed from atop Josh’s shoulders, his back to them as he focused on the goal about fifteen feet away. "I can dunk!" He quivered with excitement as he held on tight to Josh’s neck with his legs. Josh’s head served as a platform to balance the ball.

  Josh shuffled a dance and bounced the boy, sending the child into peals of laughter.

  "Jo-o-osh, be still!" he admonished. "Concentrate, okay?"

  Josh turned toward them and winked, "Well, sport, I’m just a little nervous, see—"

  Lorie spoke up. "Grant, come here, please. I want you to meet someone."

  "Aw…can I show you first?"

  "No, you can remember your manners first."

  "Yes, ma'am." The boy sighed but clambered down from Josh’s shoulders, then ran across the floor. Quinn pushed away from the door and approached them.

  "Quinn, this is my son, Grant Chandler. Grant, this is Mr. Marshall."

  "Hey, it's you!" Grant looked up and his mouth formed a big round O. At last he spoke. "You're really big. You're a real cowboy, aren't you?"

  The boy was a dead ringer for the one in his dream. The smears on the photograph in Lorie’s dressing room had hidden many details, but here in the flesh, there could be no doubt.

  Dread suffused him, and he scrambled to respond. "I guess you could say so. I raise horses and I live on a ranch."

  "Could I meet your horses?"

  "You could, but they're back in Texas."

  "I wish we could go there. I dreamed about you."

  "What?" He fought a wave of nausea while Grant held his hand steadily, calmly. Quinn looked up to see stunned looks on both Josh’s and Lorie’s faces.

  Josh recovered first. "Nightmares, you mean, right, Grant?" he teased. He stepped forward and lifted the child to his shoulders.

  "Nuh-uh," Grant replied blithely. "My cowboy hero was big just like him." He looked up at Quinn again. "I dreamed you would protect us."

  Not him, only someone his size. Quinn could breathe again.

  Josh did a little run in place. "Ready, sport? Count with me."

  Grant giggled, then grasped the ball as Josh lifted the boy to re-settle him on his shoulders, his hands behind the boy's back, balancing the child against the back of his head.

  They began the countdown. "One…two...watching, Mom?" Grant's cheeks were flushed with excitement.

  "Yes, I’m watching," she replied, smiling as the two shouted "Three!" loudly and sprinted toward the basket.

  When the ball went in, the child's arms shot into the air and pandemonium erupted as he and Josh raced around the space, shouting with glee at their success.

  Quinn couldn't help grinning at the foolishness.

  Lorie excused herself to go to the kitchen area and make them something cool to drink. Josh followed her exit with his gaze, then set Grant on the floor. "Why don’t you go see if your mom needs some help while I show Quinn where to put his stuff?"

  "Okey dokey, Josh." Grant paused in front of Quinn, then suddenly leaned into Quinn and hugged him, skipping away before Quinn could react.

  Josh’s astonishment was written all over his face. "I’ve never seen him do anything like that before. He’s a great kid, but he’s usually hesitant around new people. Lorie says he wasn’t that way so much before his dad died." He narrowed his eyes. "You okay? You turned white as a sheet when he said that."

  Quinn shook his head. "I'm fine." His heart might have stopped for a second, but he wasn't touching the topic of dreams with a ten-foot pole.

  "I think that's debatable. After they leave, we’re talking." Josh's gaze bored into Quinn’s. "I’m feeling like I walked in on the middle of a story. Tía is e
vasive when I ask about you, and you don’t call me like you used to… I’m not your baby brother anymore, damn it. I know something's wrong with you, and I want to help."

  Quinn sighed, then shook his head. "There’s just—it's complicated, Josh."

  "Well, hell, life is complicated, but I’m your brother, damn it. Besides Tía, we’re all that’s left. Don’t shut me out, Quinn. I’m not a child."

  Lorie stepped around the corner of the kitchen, eyebrows lifted.

  Josh lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I’ll let it go now, but I won’t be put off forever. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. You have people who care about you." His gruff tone did little to mask his emotion.

  His words touched a powerful chord within Quinn. Treating Josh like a kid brother was a hard habit to break. He didn’t want to destroy his brother’s image of him as a man in control, but maybe there were some things he could share.

  How he wished for the simplicity of something like chopping firewood right about now. He could use an outlet for the turmoil inside him. He eyed the basketball goal, sizing up Josh as he did so. Maybe a little one-on-one to clear the cobwebs. "Show me where I’m bunking, Josh. Then let’s shoot some hoops. "

  ***

  LORIE HAD NEVER attempted a part as difficult as this, smiling and laughing with Grant while Josh and Quinn thumped the basketball up and down the floor, when what she really wanted to do was pack up and run away with her son—somewhere, anywhere she could protect him.

  Her skin prickled with nerves. Her mind raced, seeking a solution. Her work was here, she had to stay; Tom had left them nothing. They had thought they had all the time in the world to take care of such mundane details as savings and insurance. They’d both been thrilled to be doing the work they loved and making good money at it. In the euphoria of not being starving young actors anymore, they’d indulged too much. She’d spent the past year teetering on the edge of financial ruin and regaining solid footing hadn’t been easy.

  "Mom! Mom, look!" Grant squealed.

  Lorie lifted her eyes from her needlework. She kept a project going at all times; the work soothed her. Right now, she was working on a needlepoint Dallas Cowboys logo for a pillow to put on Grant’s bed. Josh was a Cowboys fan and he thought Josh hung the moon, so whatever Josh liked, he was crazy about.

  The grunts and groans of the two big men echoed throughout the loft. Grant’s eyes sparkled with excitement. He bounced up and down on the sofa beside her.

  Josh noticed. "Hey, Grant, come here—we need a ref." Grant scooted off the sofa in a flash.

  Lorie didn’t have to look up to know where Quinn was. She seemed to feel without looking. Rattled to think that she even noticed, she concentrated on the needle. In and out. Down and back through. Breathe deeply—the words brought back to her Quinn’s gentle guidance. He’d helped her regain her composure when she had panicked. He’d interceded for her with the detective.

  He both calmed and disturbed her. A simple touch from him had electrified her. Had given her the strangest sense of matching, of…completion.

  Get a grip, girl . Her imagination had always been far too vivid. He’d behaved like a cop most of the time. Remote, detached, controlling. The rest was merely her mind playing games.

  But the pain she’d seen in him for that one flickering second…she’d wanted badly to touch, to heal.

  Nonsense. It had been too long since she'd felt the touch of a man, that was all. Josh was like a brother, and she and Grant spent much of their free time with him—at least, when he wasn't out on the town with one cupcake or another.

  No question that Quinn Marshall was all man and engendered not one sisterly thought. She glanced up, enjoying the sight. Despite his size, his movements were controlled and oddly graceful. She had a sense of enormous power, carefully restrained. He’d removed his shirt, changed from jeans and boots to shorts and athletic shoes. His black hair was caught at the nape, bronzed muscles flexed, gleaming with sweat. A pang of pure lust speared through her.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts, Quinn glanced up. The glowing amber eyes made her shiver, yet she felt oddly comforted.

  The ball whizzed past his hands, and he yanked his attention back to the game.

  Like a cold shower, thoughts of the day’s events crowded back in to sober her. Lorie grappled again with the need to take Grant and run.

  "Whew!" Josh groaned. "I’ve had it. How about something to drink, guys?" He picked up Grant, clapping Quinn on the shoulder. The three adjourned to the kitchen.

  Lorie sat on the sofa, wrestling with conflicting urges to linger and to escape. With a sigh, she laid down her needlepoint and went to join them.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Quinn and Grant's heads leaning together as Grant concentrated on pouring liquid into their glasses.

  "How long will you stay, Quinn?" Lorie bit her lip, shocked that she’d asked out loud.

  Quinn threw her a startled glance. "I guess I’m here for ten days, if Josh can stand it."

  Josh grinned. "If you can stand it, you mean."

  Ten days. Lorie wasn't sure if she was more tantalized or appalled.

  Then it hit her. "Josh! He could be here for the daytime Emmys, couldn’t he? That’s only a few days away." She clapped her hands in honest delight. "How wonderful for him to see you win!"

  "If I win," Josh reminded her.

  Grant chimed in. "Sure you’re gonna win. You and Mom both. All the playgroup moms watch you. They say you’re a baby." He turned from his stirring to wrinkle his forehead as he looked at Josh. "Doesn’t that make you mad to be called a baby? I’d punch anybody who called me that."

  Quinn chuckled, then glanced at her to share the joke. She was stunned yet again by how his smile transformed him.

  Josh laughed. "Baby, huh?"

  Lorie sought to explain. "Grant, they don’t mean Josh’s a baby. They’re calling him a babe—that mean he’s a hottie." At Grant’s uncomprehending stare, she continued. "You know, like he’s very handsome and the women love him. "

  Grant turned once again to his stirring, shrugging his shoulders. In a world-weary voice, he sighed. "Girls are so dumb. I’ll never understand them. That’s a stupid thing to call him. He’s not handsome, he’s Josh."

  Quinn’s chuckle escalated into a full-grown laugh. A rush of pleasure lifted her heart.

  Josh walked over and clapped his hands around Grant’s shoulders. "I’m with you, sport. I don’t understand them either, but I’m here to tell you, I love ‘em all."

  Grant's expression was pure disgust. "Yuck. You can have them."

  ***

  A FEW HOURS later, Lorie closed the door of her apartment behind Josh and Quinn. They’d insisted on escorting her home, Quinn carrying the sleeping child. She locked the deadbolt and turned to check on Grant one more time. As she quietly opened the door to his room, tenderness overwhelmed her. He sprawled across the mattress of his sports car bed, clutching his baseball glove.

  She pressed her fingers against damp eyes, drained and so weary. Today had been far too emotional. Too frightening, but she was hoping with all her might that she was imagining things, that the two notes weren't connected. Once again she thought about chucking it all and running away, however impossible that notion was.

  No more thinking. Go to bed for now. You're too tired to make decisions .

  Inside her purse in the next room came the chime for a voicemail. She considered ignoring it, but maybe the detective had news or the studio was trying to get in touch about tomorrow's schedule.

  She tucked Grant’s outstretched foot back under the covers and kissed him gently, whispering a silent prayer. "Please…help me keep him safe."

  Quinn's solid presence leaped to her mind immediately, how safe he'd made her feel, how calmly he'd taken control when she was falling apart.

  He's only here ten days. You're Grant's mother forever .

  And with that, she put away foolish thoughts of knights in shi
ning armor.

  She retraced her steps to the living room where she'd dropped her purse on the sofa and retrieved her phone, seeing that she had five voicemails. She paused for a second, then chided herself for her foolishness.

  One was from Marie, an old friend from drama school days. Marie had designed her gown for the Emmys and wanted one last fitting before the show.

  One was a number she didn't recognize, with only silence.

  The same number again, a longer silence.

  The third time she heard breathing.

  She nearly didn't try the fourth, then chided herself, even as her skin prickled with fear.

  This time, a chilling whisper. "Pretty Lorie…my only love…" A long sigh.

  Then disconnected.

  She threw the phone on the sofa and wrapped her arms around her middle, sickened and terrified and shaking.

  The same phrase. Who was it? Why was he doing this?

  And what was she going to do about him?

  Her first thought was not the police but Quinn.

  She couldn't be thinking that way. This was her problem. Whatever it took, this sicko would not get Grant. Whatever she had to do, her child would be safe.

  Chapter Four

  * * *

  HIS BACK HIT the corner of the dark stairwell. He expelled a low grunt of pain. Scanning the dimness, his hearing strained to pinpoint their location.

  His service revolver arced to follow his eyes. He rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet to stay loose. He waited to see who would find him first, the one below with the Uzi or the man above with a .45.

  He cursed himself for not calling his partner, but after the black dream had awoken him, then Clarissa had made her panicked call…

  The slow squeak of basketball shoes sounded on the staircase above. He twisted toward the steps leading down and hit a slick spot. Falling…falling…

  Slipping into the lake of Clarissa’s blood, he scrambled backward, stunned by her vacant eyes, the grisly wounds…sliding…falling...