Wounded Heroes Boxed Set

by Judith Arnold

  The scene switched to a long table, lit by candles…a blonde strapped down, her eyes terrified…

  A knife. The altar knife…

  #

  QUINN TWISTED IN agony, the sheets damp from his sweat. His heartbeat raced, his eyelids fluttered, opening slowly, fixed on nothing…on too much.

  He jackknifed to sitting, digging his fingers into his scalp, trying to drive out the images. The smell of candle smoke filled his nostrils. He flinched from the evil choking him.

  "God, no, not again…" His head sank to his chest, despair flooding through him. He bolted from the bed and yanked on his jeans. Making his way barefoot through the loft to a window, he stepped into a shaft of moonlight. He gazed up at the big silvery orb, filling his lungs with deep, purifying breaths.

  He braced himself, arms outstretched against the window frame, and began the process of clearing his mind of the shame, the hate, the pain. The guilt…that was harder. The best he’d managed was to lock it away in its own compartment.

  The chill of the night never registered as he sought deep within for that place he had learned to go in the long months he’d sought healing. He turned and walked into the darkened main area, settling on a rug in the center, assuming the lotus position. He ignored the ache in his right shoulder, where the scars sometimes prickled and burned. He began a series of deep, cleansing breaths, letting them expand through his limbs and the furthest reaches of his mind. Gratefully, he entered the downward spiral to the table rock on the edge of his canyon. Let himself feel the ever-present wind, the vastness of the sky…

  He let himself float free in a space of such clear, pure light that he felt his torn spirit mend along a few more jagged edges. Bit by bit, piece by infinitesimal piece, Quinn let calm seep into the dark, tortured corners of his soul. For a few precious moments, he gave up his guilt, his pain, his soul-weariness.

  And for a rare few moments, Quinn Marshall was at peace.

  ***

  He stirred some time later, aware that his brother stood nearby. He opened his eyes.

  "Quinn?" Josh’s voice crept softly through the room, as though afraid to disturb him. "What’s wrong?"

  Quinn curved his mouth upward in a slight smile to reassure his brother. Josh’s tousled hair reminded Quinn of the boy who had worshipped him. A pang of regret for his own lost faith stole through him. Hard to imagine what a hotshot he’d once been, so cocksure that he had all the answers, that his armor was bullet-proof.

  He owed Josh some answers. Josh was right; except for their great-aunt, they only had one another. Time to remember that this was a man standing before him, not a boy. A man whose green eyes held questions Quinn wasn’t certain he could answer.

  He’d have to try. He’d never been able to tell Josh just how badly he’d failed their sister.

  It was time.

  "Josh, I have these…dreams." How to describe the horror, the blanketing sense of evil, without sounding melodramatic?

  Josh crouched on the floor, not saying a word, eyes focused on Quinn. His forehead wrinkled, but he remained silent.

  "They started the night Clarissa died, and…" Quinn shook his head. "I know it sounds crazy. It feels crazy."

  Josh didn't say anything, but he nodded as if encouraging Quinn to continue.

  He didn't want to, but he had to.

  "The doctors have no explanation for that first one. If it had happened after the head injury, they could blame it on that. They say the after-effects of a head injury are all over the map. But this…Tía says—" Now it was Quinn shaking his head. "She says this used to happen when I was young, that I've just forgotten." He blew out a breath. Talking about this was hard. "She says her father had visions, too." He glanced over, but Josh wasn't scoffing. "Visions…I'm a cop—was a cop. All I could figure was that I'd lost my freaking mind."

  "You're the most sane person I know," Josh said.

  "I don't feel very sane." He stared at the floor for a moment, wishing he didn't have to finish the story, not ready to see how all this would affect the man who’d once been a boy who admired him.

  But he did have to finish. Josh deserved an explanation. "The night that Clarissa was murdered, I woke up in a cold sweat. I'd been dreaming of blood, rivers of it. Of a sense of menace so strong…" He shook his head. "And…a rope. A blade, a big one."

  He glanced over at Josh. "When the phone rang, it all felt surreal, hearing her say someone was in her house. She’d managed to lock herself in the extra bedroom with the phone. I could hear the door shattering—then nothing else from her but screams. I called in a unit and got there myself as fast as I could, but…it was too late." He ground the heels of his palms in his eyes. "Damn it, Josh—why didn’t she tell me someone had been after her? I could have…I would have—"

  Coulda woulda shoulda …Clarissa was still dead, and he couldn't look his brother in the eye. "Why couldn’t I save her? He—the things he did to her… " He gripped his hair in his fists, pulling the strands as though he could yank the horror from his brain.

  He felt Josh’s hand on his shoulder and shook it off, jumping up and striding across the room, not ready to accept comfort from anyone. "Lorie has to be careful. She can’t let this get out of hand. I’ve seen…" He didn't want to put what he'd seen into words.

  "You’ve seen what?"

  "I don't—" Hands on hips, he stared at the floor. "I can't make sense of it, but before I ever left on this trip, I was dreaming of a dark-haired boy…" He met his brother's gaze. "And when I saw that picture of Grant…"

  "You dreamed about Grant? Seriously?"

  "Lorie, too. An altar with photos and clippings, a knife…"

  "This was before you got here? We have to tell the cops."

  "Oh yeah, that'll help. They already think she's grasping at straws. Colello listens to me only because he thinks I'm one of them."

  "You are."

  "If I tell them I'm having visions? Get real, Josh."

  "You can't hold back," Josh insisted.

  "Look, maybe I'm just losing it. Maybe that head injury screwed me up for life, whatever Tía says. I don’t understand any of this, and I don’t want to think about it anymore, all right?" He turned to leave the room, but Josh’s hand on his arm jerked him around.

  "Quinn, if you know anything that will protect Lorie, goddammit, you have to tell me. She’s…she’s been through a lot. She’s strong and smart, not just beautiful, but what she’s endured would have crushed a weaker spirit. Damn you, don’t you just stand there and say you don’t want to think about it!" Josh’s eyes glittered with strong emotion. His grip on Quinn’s arm did not relax.

  Quinn smothered a sharp ache of regret that Josh’s reaction confirmed what he’d feared. This woman who aroused such longing in him would never be his. He’d never put himself in a position to hurt his brother.

  Still, though she was out of bounds to him, he’d do what he could to protect her, for Josh’s sake as well as her own.

  But what if he failed her like he’d failed Clarissa? His fear erupted in a rage born of guilt and shame.

  "Josh, you have to make sure she doesn’t keep anything from Colello, okay? She’s got to let him help her. She has to keep him informed, understand?" As I wish to God Clarissa had.

  "She doesn’t want to think this is really a stalker."

  "I don't blame her, but she can't afford to gamble. Colello tried to tell Lorie not to underestimate how important it is to build a pattern. These guys are smart. He will plan to the most minute degree. He’s obsessed with the object of his love—that's what he thinks it is."

  "Why do you say ‘he’, Quinn? Could it be a woman?" Josh asked.

  "Usually it's a man when there's a stranger stalking a woman. Generally that type is ritualistic and adopts a pattern. The only time the pattern is upset is generally if the victim crosses him. And, Josh—" He grasped his brother’s shoulders, staring intently. "One of the most common traits is that the stalker will remove anyone he thinks stan
ds between himself and the object of his obsession. That’s not just Grant—you're vulnerable, too."

  Josh’s eyes widened. Clearly that thought had never occurred to him. "It's hard to grasp that this guy really might have killed Tom."

  "Don't count it out. She has to be careful, and she can't be ignoring any more notes."

  Josh jumped to her defense. "Look, if you could see all the screwy mail we get—how do you know which one’s just kooky and which one spells real danger?"

  "You start by letting me go through your mail and Lorie’s from now on."

  "No. You’re here for a visit, not to work. You’re not a cop anymore, remember?"

  Quinn flinched inwardly. He stared at Josh, willing the pain not to show. "This isn’t a time for fun and games. You could be in danger, too. I’m not making visits to the zoo while you’re out there, exposed."

  "Tía will have my head on a pike if you—"

  "If I, what? I don’t need coddling. I’m not an invalid. I don’t need a mother, either." His gaze clashed with Josh’s, but he knew he was in the wrong. "I’m sorry. I have no excuse for snapping your head off. It’s just that—damn it, I want this to be over. I want to be the Quinn Marshall I knew. I want my old life back." He ran a hand through his hair. "You have to work in a very few hours. Let’s call it a night."

  "Quinn…"

  "Josh, please…"

  Josh hesitated, then nodded. "All right. I'll let it go for now, but for what it's worth, I don't for a second think you're crazy, and that scares me to death for Lorie and Grant. I'm on your side, brother. Promise you'll let me help however I can, okay?"

  "I appreciate it." Though he had no intention of involving his brother.

  "I mean it, Quinn. I'm not a kid anymore." Josh captured his gaze until Quinn acquiesced. "Thank you." He clapped Quinn on the shoulder. "Good night, brother. Sleep well."

  Quinn watched him go, realizing that he'd underestimated his brother. And surprised that he did feel a little better having shared some of what he'd been carrying around.

  Sleep well …

  Yeah, right. But it would be a nice change.

  ***

  Lorie sat down on Grant’s bed and stroked his arm, speaking softly. "Grant…wake up, sweetie."

  He rolled over toward her and opened his eyes, a quiet smile curving his lips before he closed his eyes again. Morning was not his best time, but he remained sweet-tempered, even so.

  "I have a surprise for you."

  Eyes popped open more quickly this time.

  "Interested?"

  A nod, accompanied by a widening smile.

  "How would you like to come to work with me today?" She wanted him close, after the events of yesterday, but he loved his playgroup.

  "Will Josh be there?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

  "He sure will."

  He appeared to be thinking hard. "How about Quinn?"

  "Hmm, I don’t know. I guess he might be."

  "Jeremy wanted to play Star Wars again, Mom." He was clearly worried about where his loyalties should lie.

  Lorie did not want to have to force Grant to go with her, but her fear for him overrode any hesitation she might have. She tried an intermediate step. "Maybe we could call and find out if Quinn would come," she suggested.

  "Yesss!" A fist-pump, then he sat up in bed, eyes bright and alive now.

  She smiled when Grant threw his arms around her. Josh would be devastated to know that Quinn had supplanted his position in Grant’s hierarchy of favorites.

  Just as quickly sobering, she wondered yet again at the instant rapport between Quinn and Grant. Even stranger was that statement that Grant had made last night.

  "Grant?"

  He leaned back from her face, finished with his morning hug. "What?"

  "What did you mean when you told Quinn you dreamed he would protect us? Are you worried about something, honey? Because you know I'll keep you safe, right?"

  "Yeah, I know." Nonchalantly he clambered out of his bed and began rooting around in his bureau for clothes to wear. "But you get tired sometimes."

  "I'm never too tired to take care of you." When he didn't say anything else, she dug a little deeper. "Sweetie, are you frightened of something?"

  Grant paused in his efforts to pull on the navy Cowboys t-shirt that was his pride and joy. He had almost outgrown it, but refused to give it up. When he stretched the neck opening almost to its limits, suddenly his head popped through. "Sometimes I have scary dreams, and Super Cowboy just puts me on his horse and wraps me up and makes me feel safe." He looked up at her shyly. "Do you think that sounds silly?"

  Lorie lifted his chin and smiled at him. "I think that’s a good name for someone who would take away your scary dreams, but you know you can always call for me."

  He shrugged. "Mostly I do, but sometimes I don't want to make you sad again."

  Her heart actually hurt at the thought that her son was trying to protect her.

  "Do you think Quinn would think the name is babyish?"

  Talking logic with a five-year-old could be complicated. She was sure that he hadn't dreamed of the actual Quinn but instead of the only person he'd heard of who could be called a cowboy. "I bet Quinn would like it."

  Seeming relieved, Grant turned to pull out a pair of jeans, then crawled behind his bed, looking for his shoes.

  Lorie rose to fix breakfast, and Grant peered out from his search. "Mom, are you gonna call Quinn now to see if he’ll come?" The hopeful note in his voice left her no option.

  "Sure, sweetie, I’ll ask him. It’d be nice to have a Super Cowboy around, wouldn’t it?"

  Grant grinned. "Yes!" He returned to his search.

  Lorie headed for the phone in the kitchen. She dialed the number at Josh's, rolling her head from side to side, trying to ease the ache in her neck. As she waited for an answer, her right hand massaged the muscles. Sure sign I need to relax. Her neck always acted up when she got too tense.

  She was ready to give up, assuming voicemail would pick up on the next ring, when Quinn's actual, live voice brought her to complete attention.

  Wow. His phone voice was both sexy and soothing.

  "Hello…anyone there?"

  She snapped out of her trance. "Quinn?"

  "Lorie?" He sounded strange. "Is that you?"

  "Um, yes, it’s—it's me." Could she sound just a little more like a flustered teenager?

  "Are you all right?" His concern was a caress through the line.

  "Lorie, do you need help?" his voice demanded.

  Probably not the kind you think . Despite her worries, she had to grin. "Um, yes, I’m okay—that is, well…"

  "What is it?"

  "Quinn, Grant wants to know if—this is going to sound strange…"

  "Try me."

  "Well, I really don’t want Grant going to playgroup today and—"

  "He’s contacted you again. "

  How could he know that? "I don’t—"

  "Lorie, you’ve got to be straight with me on this. It’s important. You have to report every single thing that happens," he ordered. "Now tell me exactly what happened after you got home last night." His tone chilled her. He sounded remote, detached—a cop again.

  "I don’t have to tell you anything. Maybe we should talk later." She didn’t like being ordered around. Her finger aimed for the disconnect button.

  "Don't you hang up—" he snapped. Then more gently. "I’m sorry. I don’t mean to order you around. It’s just that—" She heard a swift exhalation of regret. "You don’t know what happened to our sister, do you?"

  "I know she died, and I'm sorry for that."

  "Do you know how she died?"

  "No."

  He fell silent. Sensing it was important, she waited.

  "She was murdered by a stalker."

  She was sure he could hear her gasp. She sagged against the counter.

  "Are you okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn't have just dropped that on you. Are you all right?"


  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. "I…of course. Look, I'm sorry. It happened before Josh started on the show, so I only knew she died. He never spoke of her much."

  "Are you sure you're okay. Do you want me to come over?"

  She wanted to say yes too badly. She hadn’t wanted anyone since Tom died, but she found something in Quinn…something more than simple desire, though God knows the man could make a nun salivate.

  This was not like her. She hardly knew him. The pressure must be getting to her. "No—don't come. I’ll be okay. I have to get to the studio, and I haven’t fed Grant yet." Belatedly she remembered the purpose of her call. "But, Quinn?"

  "Yes?"

  "Grant wants to go to playgroup, and I don’t want to have to force him to come with me. He’s glad that Josh will be there, but what he really wants is you." She writhed with embarrassment at what she was asking.

  A long pause ensued. "Grant wants me to come play, is that about it?" She thought she heard the ghost of a smile.

  She couldn’t help smiling back. He’d hit the nail on the head. "Yes, that’s about it." She wondered what he thought. "You don’t have to…I know this is your vacation. Just forget it. I’ll tell Grant—" She realized he was talking. "What did you say?"

  "I said that would be great. I’d be happy to be Grant’s playmate for the day."

  "You would? Truly?"

  "Yeah, truly." The smile came through loud and clear now.

  "I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you. I feel so foolish asking you, but you already mean so much to Grant. Did you know he calls you Super Cowboy?"

  Quinn broke into a full-throated laugh. "Well, I’ve sure been called worse."

  She laughed, too, savoring his amusement. She’d like to be looking at that smile while he laughed.

  The clock caught her eye. "Oh, no! I have to go. I’m running late."

  "Okay, I’ll see you at the studio. And Lorie?"

  "Yes?"

  "You still have to tell me what happened."

  She sobered immediately. "I know. I will, okay? Later."

  "But not much later. Goodbye." Then he was gone.

  "Goodbye, Quinn," she whispered.

  And like a starry-eyed teenager, she held onto the phone just a little longer.