Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  When his rented Chevy came into view, Trevor pressed the remote key lock. Good thing he hadn’t parked near the hospital. He hadn’t spent years working as a paid assassin for nothing.

  He thought of his bumbling counterpart, Uri Jankovic, and wondered if the Pacific Ocean had yet to give up his body to the land. Probably not, he decided, as he slid neatly behind the wheel of his car, quickly threw the vehicle in gear and took off down the quiet, residential side street.

  As he drove toward the 101, he contemplated his next move.

  He could simply leave L.A. now, wad up his list, discard it in the nearest trash can at LAX, and be on the next flight to Buenos Aires. He could find the first available warm body and spend the next two months fucking anything with a heartbeat.

  Or, he could finish what he’d started. He still had two more names on his to-do list. Certain Cade and Collin Boyd weren’t yet finished, he anticipated another attempt. He just wasn’t sure where or when.

  He pressed the accelerator, shot into the lane to access the 101 and made his decision.

  Ending the evil, once and for all, was the only thing that made any sense.

  Noah Parker wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

  Two months into her first year of residency, Quinn Tyler realized chaos was about to erupt inside the ER. Having just finished stitching up a thirteen-year-old skateboarder’s mouth-meet-sidewalk mishap, she quickly shed her pair of latex gloves and stepped back out into the common area some twenty feet away from the front doors.

  She caught the last bit of conversation between one of the triage nurses who kept up a dialogue with the EMTs. They were bringing in a white male in his late thirties.

  From the call Quinn learned that the victim was in distress because someone had slit the man’s throat. He’d been found bleeding out on the fifth floor of the hospital parking garage.

  Quinn heard the overhead pager repeat the same alert several times. “Code Trauma Now!” The litany brought every available shift resident on the first floor running, along with a respiratory nurse along with any attending physicians not working on another patient. That included Harold Mendenhall, chief of emergency surgery.

  They all hovered near the ER entrance—anticipating the arrival of the EMTs.

  A minute later the doors whooshed open and technicians wheeled in a gurney with the injured man. Quinn grabbed a gown, slipped it on, a pair of glasses, another pair of gloves, and prepared to go to work.

  It wasn’t until the man had been transferred from the stretcher to the table that Quinn recognized Connor Boyd.

  But he didn’t look anything like the dark, brooding man she remembered from her youth. This man lay white as the sheets around him. And dark blood already congealed around the six-inch-long slice to his neck.

  As the paramedic reported on his vitals and what, up to now, they had done for him, Quinn listened, keenly aware the man looked more dead than alive.

  “He had a faint pulse when we first got to him but loading him up…it got fainter.” The EMT shook his head. “But I think we lost him on the way inside.”

  Dr. Mendenhall went to work, sizing up the man’s condition and snapped out orders, “Ms. Tyler, don’t just stand there. Cut these clothes off. Lopez, get me a blood workup. Stat! He’s not breathing. Sullivan, intubate him. Once she has the tube in, somebody try to put pressure on that gaping wound and get the bleeding stopped. Jesus, this man’s carotid artery has been severed. It looks like he’s lost too much blood. But…who knows…? We might perform a miracle.”

  As the resident with the least amount of experience, Quinn went to work cutting off Connor’s shirt and removing what was left of his clothing.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched with a certain amount of envy as Angie Sullivan, third-year resident and Mendenhall’s favorite underling, manually intubated Connor trying to get him to breathe.

  It wasn’t every day they saw a patient with his throat sliced open, let alone actually got to see the tricky procedure of intubating him with a fiber-optic laryngoscope firsthand. Quinn eagle-eyed Mendenhall in fascination, then watched Angie and Lopez while they worked together to get the airbag compressing air into Connor’s lungs, trying to get him to breathe.

  While they did their job, Quinn began to apply pressure to the wound. But there was no sign of life, no pulse and no heartbeat. After an eternal thirty minutes of trying, despite the fact that Mendenhall, Sullivan, Lopez, and Quinn worked frantically to save the man’s life, even a brand new resident knew it was too late. He’d lost too much blood.

  Connor Boyd was gone.

  He had more than likely bled out in a matter of minutes. Whoever had done this to him had known what they were doing, at least in Quinn’s mind they had. After another several long minutes, Mendenhall simply shook his head. “I’m calling time of death at…” He glanced up at the clock. “seven-twenty-five even though it was more like on the way in. By any chance, is there any next of kin around here?”

  “You’re goddamned right there is. Don’t you dare stop working on him! Do something! You can’t let him die!”

  Quinn whirled around at the sound of Cade Boyd’s voice and saw a disheveled man, standing holding the curtain that separated the attending rooms. He gripped the fabric like a drowning sailor held onto a life raft.

  Unlike his brother, Cade wasn’t pale but instead stood defiant and red-faced.

  A pair of glassy, black, stormy eyes met hers.

  The man looked very much like the last time Quinn had seen him—livid and arrogant.

  He pointed an accusing finger directly at Quinn and screamed for all it was worth. “This is your fucking fault. What the hell did you do to my brother? Get away from him. Get out of here. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t know shit about being a doctor anyway. What you know about medicine is nothing more than a fucking nurse knows. And you hate my family.”

  He turned to the bank of police officers standing around and yelled, “Ask her. Tell them, Quinn, tell them all how you hate my family. Now, get away from him, get away from my brother. I’ll sue your ass. I’ll sue this entire fucking hospital. I’ll own this fucking place before I’m done.”

  He began to sob uncontrollably as he finally took in the whole scene: Connor’s face a whitish gray, all the blood, and the fact that his brother lay still, unmoving. Dead.

  Dr. Mendenhall raised his voice an octave and demanded, “Get this man out of my trauma room!”

  A rage built inside Cade, along with a sickening hard knot in his stomach. Acceptance brought another string of obscenities until he finally screamed and pointed at Quinn, “You fucking bitch, you killed my brother!”

  He lunged for her then. A uniformed cop barely managed to peel him off her right before his fists could meet flesh.

  Reese Brennan strolled through the hospital doors that led to the ER and past a waiting area filled with people on his way to check up on Baylee’s terminally ill father upstairs. As of two days ago, William Scott had become his client.

  He’d been hoping to catch a brief glimpse of Quinn on his way, maybe exchange a couple of sparring words to tide her over until the end of her shift. But when he heard a man’s voice that he recognized as Cade Boyd’s coming from one of the trauma rooms, he hurried past the waiting area.

  Even from this distance, the man sounded pissed.

  After spending all day on the sprawling grounds of The Enclave, which was owned by the Boyds, Reese was exhausted. He’d been riding on adrenaline for the past twelve hours watching a team of forensic anthropologists scrape away enough dirt to bring up three human skulls buried under the cabana house near the reflecting pool, the exact location where William Scott had directed the police to look.

  The cops suspected one skull belonged to Baylee’s mother, Sarah Moreland, the other to her friend, the tennis player Luc Delaine. But at this point, they had no idea who the third one could possibly be; in fact, it was anyone’s guess.

  Reese had stopped by the
hospital hoping William Scott might wake from his coma enough to talk more about how the bodies came to be entombed on Boyd property. Jessica Boyd and Alana Stevens had more than likely put them in the ground. But if those two held the answers as to why, the why would likely remain a mystery.

  Right now, Reese just wanted five minutes with Quinn, preferably alone. Five minutes was usually all it took before they found something they could argue about—in spades.

  The woman hated his profession. But in spite of that, she had a feisty side which for some reason he found appealing. Her sarcastic wit aside, though, it was more than likely her deep, chocolate brown eyes that drew him in. Or the fact that he wouldn’t mind getting his hands in her hair, maybe slip that band from around her ponytail and let it drape down free.

  And if he kept thinking like that he’d need a cold shower.

  But before he laid eyes on Quinn, it became clear Cade’s rant was beginning to take on an incoherent, crazy rambling. Knowing Quinn was somewhere around the ER, knowing what Cade was capable of doing, Reese followed the man’s voice as it filled the air with a string of nasty threats.

  At that point, Reese even considered the fact that Cade might have crossed the line entirely and brought a weapon with him into the hospital. He let his imagination run wild with that possibility, deciding Cade could easily be holding everyone hostage. The man was that irrational.

  By the time Reese took in the scene, two uniformed cops were restraining a still-ranting Cade Boyd. But then he noted the look of sheer terror on Quinn’s face as each cop held Cade back from going after her. It seemed they were trying to get him out into the hallway without much success.

  Even Reese could tell the exotic-looking Quinn tried for a stoic expression but failed miserably. And the Quinn Tyler he had known over the past two months rarely failed at anything.

  To Reese, her usual toffee skin looked a little on the pale side probably because Cade kept resisting the officers and trying to break away. But not before he let go another string of obscenities aimed at her.

  “Goddamn it, I’m coming for you, Quinn. You and your fucking friends think you can get away with this but…I’ll be there when you least expect it. I know people,” he shouted as the cops fought to remove him from the area. “Let go of me, you bastards. Don’t I get a chance to be with my brother before you take him away?”

  Reese threw an anxious look at LAPD detective Max St. John, who had just appeared from the other side of the corridor where he was deep in discussion with his partner Dan Holloway.

  Reese raised his voice and said, “Can’t you get him out of here? Arrest him for threats like that for chrissakes.”

  Max sighed. “He needs to give me a valid reason, Brennan. And as a defense attorney you should know that. He’s upset about his brother. Connor died on the table in there. You have any idea what Boyd was doing with Baylee Scott’s baby?”

  “No idea,” Reese retorted, without feeling guilt for the lie. If Max wasn’t going to arrest Cade on the spot, he’d be damned if he helped out the obstinate detective.

  Max shrugged. “Well, if I were you, I’d watch the doctor’s back,” he cautioned before turning back to Holloway.

  Reese intended to do just that. But first he had to get her attention.

  Like a beacon in a blustery storm at sea, Quinn spotted Reese through the bedlam and started moving his way. Unlike other times when she’d been around him, today she was almost glad to see him. She attributed her change of heart to Cade’s tirade. After all, a friendly face always trumped a pissed-off rant from the next of kin.

  Any time you lost a patient there was bound to be the chance a relative might go off on the staff, the same staff that had fought to save the loved one and failed. But Cade’s furious outburst surpassed any she’d experienced, mainly because he’d aimed it solely at her.

  Leave it to a Boyd, she decided, to embarrass her in front of every co-worker within earshot who would likely gossip about it for days, maybe even weeks.

  She had to believe it was Reese’s cool demeanor that pulled at her now and not the tall good-looking guy with penetrating soft, gray eyes flecked deep with bursts of golden brilliance. According to Kit Griffin, her best bud, the man had graduated law school at Berkeley at the top of his class.

  Quinn had always been attracted to intellect and had to believe that’s why Reese Brennan got her fired up in a way few men had over the years. She didn’t want to be attracted to a lawyer though. But not even the doctors she rubbed elbows with on a daily basis got her juices flowing quite like the cocky attorney did.

  And she wasn’t happy about it.

  She pulled out of the reverie and realized she must be more upset than she thought. She had to remind herself this particular man had a tendency to rub her the wrong way and usually it took no more than five minutes.

  That had to be a huge red flag. And one she didn’t dare ignore.

  The fact that he made his living writing briefs and petitioning the court with arguments that surely affected the wellbeing of others gave her reason to push him away. She detested having to deal with anyone who held that kind of power. She’d been forced to rely on his kind most of her life, at least as far back as she could remember. In her experience, lawyers seemed to take control over anyone who had the money to hire them.

  None had ever turned out to be in her corner, either.

  So, why was she drawn to this particular man?

  Eyeing the curious gazes from her co-workers, all of a sudden she wanted to be somewhere else. Unfortunately, she still had almost ninety minutes to go on her shift. Of course, that was if nothing else major happened.

  Right now, all she wanted was to get out of there, away from Cade Boyd and get home to a hot bath and a bed.

  She sidled up to Reese. Maybe basking for a few minutes in the serenity he always seemed to emit might give her the goose she needed to get through her shift. The man had a calmness she envied. She supposed all attorneys were like that. At least the ones she’d crossed paths with sported their frosty demeanor like heartless drones. Not only that, they were proud of it.

  Okay, maybe she wasn’t being entirely fair. Reese had helped Kit out of a jam when detective Max St. John had been ready to arrest her for killing Alana Stevens. And Reese was the longtime buddy of Jake and Dylan, two guys she had come to respect a great deal over the past two months.

  The fact that Reese had a really nice ass gave him a few extra points in his favor, though. At the moment, he was in the middle of making a case to that same detective about why Cade Boyd should be locked up.

  How could she turn a blind eye to that?

  Lawyer or not, loyalty was high on Quinn’s list. And she had to give him major points for looking out for her welfare.

  So what if the man had an exceptionally fine set of abs to go with the ass? Why would she not take the time to appreciate such a lanky frame, or those sexy gray eyes that gave off enough bedroom vibes to make her mouth water? No wonder she felt that pull in the belly every time they crossed swords.

  After his face-to-face with St. John, it took Reese a few seconds to realize Quinn was standing right next to him. He had to take a second look before their eyes locked and held.

  No one else seemed to matter. Those usual energetic eyes told him she’d reached her limit.

  She asked wearily, “What are you doing here?”

  “Dylan called, told me Connor had kidnapped the baby. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “I was about to stitch up a kid when Baylee called to let me know Connor had taken the baby. I could barely understand her because he busted her lip, Reese. I haven’t even had the time to make sure she’s all right. Have you seen her yet?”

  Reese winced at the idea that petite little Baylee had taken a punch. He shook his head. “I haven’t been upstairs yet but I talked to Dylan not twenty minutes ago as I pulled into the parking lot. Now that Sarah’s back, Baylee’s fine. Battered and bruised, but Sarah’s back with her moth
er and that’s all Baylee cares about at the moment.”

  Quinn let out a breath. “You know we lost Connor. He was gone by the time he got here.”

  “Yeah, I figured. And I heard Cade pitching a fit from the front door. Not sure I can gut out any sympathy for Connor after what he did to Baylee.”

  “How bad is she? I need to go see for myself that she’s okay. Things happened so fast down here, I never made it upstairs. Sarah’s okay though, right? Dylan got her back and she’s okay? They got a doctor to check her out, right?”

  “I believe so.” He didn’t see any need to mention that Dylan had described Baylee as beaten up with bruises already starting to turn purple and black. Nor did he see any reason to mention that Sarah had been wrapped in a bloody shirt.

  Why upset Quinn any more than Cade already had with his outburst?

  Plus, Reese noted that the usual bouncing-off-the-walls Quinn looked done in. As he watched her, his heart did that little two-step it so often did whenever she came within ten feet. Those long legs, those Native American almond-shaped eyes, that creamy toffee skin, her high cheekbones, had captured his attention the moment she’d walked into Kit’s hospital room several weeks back.

  He hadn’t been able to bank his lust ever since.

  Quinn nodded toward St. John and his partner Dan Holloway as the two detectives headed for the elevators. “Do they know…? Do they have any idea who did that―to Connor?”

  “Dylan says it has to be Mr. X.”

  “Mr. X?”

  “Hey, leave it to Dylan to come up with a clever way to describe our mystery man. The way he figures it, Mr. X must’ve followed Connor to the parking garage, cut his throat, and grabbed Sarah before Connor could take off with her in his Hummer, coming to the rescue again just in the nick of time.”

  “It’s been a zoo down here. But I’ll tell you what I know from the cops. They found Connor not ten feet from his vehicle, bleeding out. They found Sarah in one of the elevators that services the parking garage. She was wrapped in a bloody shirt.”