by Davis, Jo
His friend merely looked amused as he did the same. “I was right behind you. Said your name twice.”
“Oh. Sorry.” He finished and zipped up, hoping he sounded apologetic. “It’s been a hectic day.”
“Sure. So . . .” Kyle lowered his voice, but it still echoed off the tiles, way too loud for comfort. “How’s it going, burning the candle at both ends? Has Olivia thrown your ass out yet?”
Alex smiled and shook his head, turning on the faucet to wash his hands. “You just don’t quit, do you?”
“Of course not! You’ve got a story, and your bored, undersexed friend wants to hear it. Come on, have mercy.” Kyle waggled his brows. “Hey, I know a good divorce lawyer.”
“So do I, but I don’t need one,” he said, drying his hands. “And I won’t, either.” He tossed his paper towel into the waste-basket, and his dubious friend followed suit. Rather than ending the matter, his cryptic claim only stoked Kyle’s curiosity.
“Oh, right. You won’t need a lawyer because she’ll kill your sorry butt when she finds out.”
“Not if she already knows.”
Kyle’s mouth fell open and he leaned against the wall. “Okay, now you have to explain. If you don’t, I’m going to be your frickin’ shadow all afternoon until you tell.”
Kyle would, too. Annoying shit.
“Listen, it’s not that big a deal.” Liar. “Liv and I reached a crisis point and we, uh . . . agreed to an open marriage.”
Kyle whistled between his teeth, eyes wide. “Damn, boy. What a deal. You’re either the luckiest or the dumbest bastard I know.”
“That remains to be—”
“I think you’re the sickest bastard I know,” Ken sneered, stepping from a stall. “And I bet it will only take me one guess as to who you’re screwing around with.”
Alex swore and wished he’d kept his fucking mouth shut. Of all the rotten goddamned timing. Ken stopped next to Alex, giving him a look of disgust, voice filled with anger.
“Despite our differences, I never imagined you’d let your dick rule your brain where business is concerned. Now I know what it takes to get ahead in the firm, huh? Your daddy must be rolling in his grave, man.”
He stormed out, yanking the door so hard it slammed against the wall and chipped the paint.
Kyle clapped him on the shoulder. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I had no idea he was in here.”
“Not your fault.”
Yes, he owned this one. In spades.
Much later, around eight, Alex closed his office with a sigh of gratitude. He rode the elevator down to the parking garage, thankful for the time alone. Jenna had left a couple of hours ago, but not before attempting to lure him into “working” at her place tonight. He’d put her off for the honest reason of being dog tired. She’d pouted prettily, and he’d promised a rendezvous tomorrow night.
Soul willing, body drained. Or something along those lines.
Stepping off the elevator, he fretted over the Boardman case. He knew he could get the man acquitted, with little effort, due to lack of evidence.
The problem was, his client wasn’t cooperating. Was Henry Boardman the boss daddy of the sex-slave ring, or were there more players in this game than he knew?
Alex wasn’t sure.
His footsteps echoed in the near-empty parking garage. The underground area seemed cooler than normal, the atmosphere menacing. He walked quicker, his flesh prickling. The Jag crouched alone in a darkened corner about forty yards away, a safe haven waiting to carry him home.
Fishing in his pants, he brought out his key ring and punched the unlock button. The lights flashed, and the car emitted a cheery double blip. Moving his thumb, he depressed the button he’d encoded to automatically start the engine.
An odd click, click sounded from the vehicle. Two seconds of hesitation as he closed the distance, the starter failing to catch.
“Well, shi—”
The Jag erupted in a fiery ball, the deafening explosion lifting him off his feet. Blowing him backward with the force of a runaway jet. Through the air, his body twisting like a rag doll.
His flight ended abruptly as he slammed into unforgiving concrete, his skull striking the surface like a bullet shot from a gun. His vision shattered, went white.
He rolled to a stop, vaguely aware of the roar of fire, heat licking over his skin. Acute, agonizing pain, a serrated knife stabbing deep. Obliterating all else.
He struggled to hold on to consciousness, and lost.
Amid shouts, the crackle and heat of flame, his world went black.
Six
Olivia ran into the lobby of the emergency room and skidded to a halt at the check-in counter, slapping a hand on the pristine surface and startling the receptionist who was seated behind it, talking on the phone.
“I need to see my husband! He was—”
The lady held up a finger and took another thirty maddening seconds to conclude her business. Endless seconds, while Alex was hurt. Needing her. He could be dying. Unless he’d already—Oh, please, no!
“How may I help you?” the lady asked, hanging up the phone.
“A police officer phoned and said my husband had been brought in,” Olivia said, panting in fear. God, her heart was about to hammer through her sternum. She couldn’t breathe.
The receptionist’s face softened in sympathy. “Your husband’s name, honey?”
“Alexander Quinn. Do you know how he’s doing? Can I see him?”
The woman nodded. “Through those double doors and down on your right. He’s in room number six, and I believe the police are still in there with him. The doctor will fill you in on his condition.”
“Th-thank you.”
Liv hurried past the desk, mind whirling. In an ER cubby, not in surgery. That had to be a good sign, right?
Sweet heaven, not forty minutes ago she and Jason had been snuggled on her sofa, sharing a glass of wine and anticipating their first real stolen evening. Her head had been resting on his shoulder, hand exploring his flat belly, when the phone rang. She almost hadn’t answered.
He’d insisted on driving and had dropped her off at the ER entrance before going to park the car. She hadn’t wanted to impose, but was extraordinarily glad to have him along, however selfish that might be.
The ER didn’t appear too busy tonight, but the quiet murmurs of nurses and doctors, the sterile environment and antiseptic odor, got to her all the same. Alex didn’t belong in this place. In all their years together, he’d never been seriously ill or injured.
Pausing in the doorway to room six, she gaped at the sight of three police officers standing around Alex’s bed. Two were in uniform, one in plain clothes with his badge and gun clipped to his belt. A detective? What in God’s name . . .
Then her gaze found Alex. Her breath hitched and her hand went over her mouth.
The right side of his face was scraped and bruised, the eye swollen and blackening. His right arm was in a sling, preventing her from seeing its condition, but the left was scraped raw like his face. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. The officers were speaking in low voices, faces solemn.
She stepped inside and three pairs of eyes swung to her, curious. “I-I’m Olivia Quinn. Alex is my husband.”
“Mrs. Quinn, I’m Detective Steve Lambert,” the plainclothes officer said, extending his hand. He was a small, skinny man with dark salt-and-pepper hair and friendly blue eyes that crinkled in the corners.
The hammering in Liv’s chest calmed, but only a little.
“Detective Lambert.” She shook his hand, and got right to the point. “Tell me what happened to my husband.”
Lambert, the obvious spokesman of the group, studied her carefully. “Ma’am, there’s no easy way to tell you something like this, but there was an explosion. Your husband took the brunt of it, but the good news is he’s going to be fine. Banged up and sore as hell, but fine.”
“An . . . explosion? Did you say explosion?” She stared at the three pol
icemen, trying to assimilate the word. “How? Where?”
Now she saw it. Alex’s reddened, slightly blistered skin. The ends of his blond hair singed. Oh, God!
“According to your husband, he closed his office and left work around eight this evening. As he approached his car, he used the automatic unlock and starter on his key ring. The engine glitched, but when it took hold, the vehicle blew.”
In that moment, the entire universe stopped. Reversed. Tilted on its axis.
“C-cars don’t just blow up for no reason.”
“No, ma’am.” Lambert waited for her to put the pieces in place.
“If Alex had been inside, h-he’d be dead.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Someone rigged Alex’s car to blow up?” Inconceivable. Liv started to tremble. All over. As if the mechanism in her brain that controlled her nerves had shorted out.
“I’m afraid that’s the reality we’re facing. Our experts are going over the vehicle now, but what we expect based on your husband’s account is a simple device attached to the starter.”
On watery legs, Liv moved close to Alex’s side and closed her fingers around his good hand. Took comfort in the fact that he was warm and alive. “Who would do this to him? Why?”
“Your husband lost consciousness again before we got that far. We’re hoping you might be able to shed some light on a motive for us. Mr. Quinn is a highly visible presence in the city, both professionally and socially. In his position, I’m sure he’s stepped on a few toes. Has he received any threats lately? Phone calls, e-mails or letters?”
“This is so unreal.” She tried to think straight, but the shock was too great. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“What about the trial he’s working on at the present? There’s something in the newspaper about the case almost daily.”
She thought. “No, nothing.”
“Disgruntled employee?”
“I . . . ”
And everyone is okay with this?
Other than Ken, who’s ready to punch my lights out?
“Mrs. Quinn?”
Shaking herself, she met the detective’s gaze squarely. She wasn’t about to open that Pandora’s box without speaking to Alex first. “No, I can’t think of anyone.”
“All right,” he said slowly, as though he sensed her hesitation on the last question and perhaps didn’t quite believe her answer. “Let me give you my card. I’ll be in touch tomorrow to speak with your husband again about the incident, when he’s feeling a bit better.”
The incident. What a clinical word for attempted murder.
“Thank you, Detective. Gentlemen,” she said, including the other two officers. She took the card he offered, shoving it in her purse. Her attention was already on Alex as they filed out.
Pulling up a chair, she sat by his side, stroking his soft hair. She watched his chest rise and fall, thanking the angel who’d been sitting on his shoulder tonight.
Someone tried to kill my Alex.
Her soul mate.
By lying to the police to protect their reputations, she might have placed him in even greater danger.
Liv bent her head and let the tears fall.
With awareness came the pain.
Every single molecule in his body throbbed like a son of a bitch. Especially his head. Deep in his brain, Agony Central pulsed fiery shit to every limb. Lucky to be alive, a paramedic had commented as Alex was rushed into the ER.
Well, strike up the band and let’s throw a fucking party.
Then he heard the sniffles. And a low, masculine voice speaking in a soothing tone.
“. . . be all right, Olivia. You heard the doctor.”
“I know, it’s just . . . a car bomb? My God, Jase, what if they try again?”
Car bomb.
The two words floated in his head, disconnected from reality. For about five seconds.
Until he remembered the Jag blowing up in his face.
With effort, he pried open his eyes—crap, make that one eye—and squinted. His vision was gritty and blurry, but he could just make out Liv and Jason parked at his bedside. Their neighbor had come with her? Huh. He didn’t have the energy to sort through what that meant.
Liv leaned forward, and though he couldn’t focus on her features, he heard the tremulous smile in her voice. “Hello, sweetie. You’re going to be all right. Do you remember what happened, or talking to the police?”
He nodded, managing a croak. “Yeah. Car . . . blew up.”
“Someone meant to kill you, Alex. Why?” she whispered, tears threatening.
“Don’t know, baby.” And that was the truth. He was a defender, not a prosecutor. He worked to keep people out of jail, not incarcerate them. So what enemies could he possibly have?
“Hey, man.” Jason scooted closer, trying to sound upbeat. “They’re going to spring you soon. I’ll help Olivia get you home and settled in.”
“Thanks, Jason.”
“No prob.”
“So . . . it’s not bad?” Alex tried to tilt his chin down to examine his injuries, but succeeded only in making himself dizzy.
Liv squeezed his hand. “The doctor came in while you were sleeping. You’ve got quite a goose egg on the back of your head, but just a mild concussion.”
“This is mild? Jesus.” He focused on his wife, relieved when some of the fuzziness cleared. Thank God he wasn’t blind.
Her expressive blue eyes warmed with love and concern, but he read the underlying terror in their depths, as well. The very real knowledge that whoever was responsible for the explosion meant business—and wouldn’t quit.
“I know you’re hurting. Your head, shoulder and wrist took the brunt of the impact,” she told him. “Your shoulder is wrenched and the wrist is sprained, but nothing’s broken. The doctor is sending you home with a prescription for a good painkiller. It’ll help you sleep later.”
Sounded good to him. Let’s hear it for drugs.
“I want to go home. Now.”
“Honey—”
“I’ll go see if I can hurry them along,” Jason offered with a smile. He stood and left the room.
Alex stared after him, thinking he ought to feel odd sharing such an intimate, horrible ordeal with his wife’s lover, and wondering why he didn’t. Sharing wine and trading innuendo by the pool was one thing, but this?
He liked Jason, plain and simple. Enjoyed having him around.
Really enjoyed imagining the young stud pleasuring his Liv.
And just like that, his cock hardened enough to cut glass. Despite his aching body. Despite everything.
He shifted, hoping the sheet provided sufficient cover for his problem. But he couldn’t hide his reaction from Liv. Spying his discomfort, one corner of her luscious mouth lifted, the shadows temporarily banished.
“Beautiful, isn’t he? I remember when you used to have the same reaction from looking at me.”
“I still do,” he said firmly. “Don’t ever suggest otherwise. I was imagining the two of you together, and see where it got me? In a fix I can’t do anything about.”
“At the moment.”
“God, I love you.”
“And I love you back.” Leaning over, she kissed his unmarred cheek. “We’re going to be fine, and so will you. The police are going to find out who did this.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
He wasn’t sure he believed the last part. But for Liv, he’d try.
Jason returned, and within fifteen minutes Alex was lectured, released, dressed and wheeled out to the curb. As Jason pulled up in a Jeep Wrangler, Alex wondered what the younger man said to get him sprung in record time. Whatever; he was damned grateful.
Jason helped ease him into the vehicle, then drove them straight home. The pharmacy wasn’t open this late, but the doctor had given him a couple of pills to hold him over until morning. He wanted one of those and his bed, in that order.
He must’ve dozed off, because it seemed only a minute later
someone was tugging gently on his arm.
“Alex? Sweetie, we’re here. Come on, let’s get you inside and into bed.”
“Hang on a sec,” Jason said. “Olivia, give me your house keys and I’ll check things out first.”
Alex peered at the two of them with his good eye, his alarm matching Liv’s.
“A precaution,” Jason added, face grim.
Everything had happened so fast, he hadn’t even considered being attacked in his own home. Or, God forbid, Liv. She’d been spending so many hours of her day at home . . . Christ, what if his would-be killer tried to get to her?
More than his injuries, that possibility made him sick as they waited for Jason to return with the all clear. He’d rather die than let anyone harm his wife.
He could very well get his wish.
And on the heels of that thought, it occurred to him to mull over what a young, slender guy like Jason thought he could do against a professional assassin. He’d get his ass kicked.
Yet he’d taken charge, here and at the hospital, like a man who knew what he was doing.
Jason trotted out the front door, giving them a thumbs-up. Alex slid from the Jeep with a groan, trying not to lean too hard on Liv. He felt like an elderly man shuffling up the walk, just the way he’d dreamed of feeling next to Studly Do-Right.
Ditto being tucked into bed like a drooling infant, which was exactly the way it played out. Jason hovered, ready to jump in as Liv stripped him to his boxer briefs and helped him lie down, then smoothed the covers over his chest. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t in so goddamned much pain.
Liv sat at his side, stroking his hair. Nice. The younger man disappeared into the bathroom, then came back holding a glass of water.
“Why don’t you two rest? I’ll take the sofa downstairs,” he said, holding out the glass to Liv and dropping a pill into her palm.
Liv looked up at him in surprise. “You’re staying?”
“Yes. Alex is going to be passed out, and I’d feel better keeping an eye on your house.” He paused, raking a hand through his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. “I doubt there will be another attempt tonight, but still.”
