Evil Secrets Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  She was about to press on the gas to pull forward, to go inside the garage a short ten feet away, when an explosion belched out debris onto the front windshield. The blast was so fierce it rocked her car.

  This was no earthquake. Frantic, she threw the gear into Reverse and hit the gas.

  About that time, she heard another boom that sent more fragments flying through the air. Fire and smoke engulfed the underground parking area and what was left of her beautiful old building.

  Still shaking, she parked the car at the curb and threw open the door. Reese came running toward her. They met in the middle of the street and stood there watching orange flames climb into the night sky. At least they did for a stunned minute. Mesmerized by the fiery scene, they stood rooted to the spot as approaching sirens wailed in the distance.

  But then, both Reese and Quinn, along with several neighbors who ran up to help, began to approach the inferno for any entrance into the burning apartments. As they got closer, though, another blast knocked them back.

  Reluctantly, they had to give ground. Getting inside now would be a death trap.

  Reese spotted a few stragglers, a few tenants, coughing and hacking their way through the wall of smoke and rubble. He grabbed Quinn’s arm and pointed.

  She let out a whoop of delight. “That’s Mrs. Channing who lives on the first floor. She’s got her three cats in her arms.”

  Reese and Quinn got to her about the time Mrs. Channing dropped to the ground, collapsing in a heap.

  A fleeting look at her sixty-year-old neighbor had her instincts kicking in. Quinn went into doctor mode. By that time, the first ladder truck roared up. Firemen jumped off, swinging into action, grabbing and unrolling hoses to get water flowing onto the orange blaze. But in a matter of minutes the flames had already reached a staggering sixty feet in height.

  Reese heard them radio for more units. And no wonder, he thought as he surveyed the damage. What had been a quiet tree-lined, residential neighborhood just minutes earlier, now looked like a bomb had detonated there.

  With borrowed first aid supplies from the EMTs, Reese became Quinn’s field assistant. They waded into the chaos like warriors on a mission. Whenever she said lift, Reese lifted. When she snapped out instructions about slings or compresses, Reese did his best to comply.

  If Quinn had thought she’d seen everything in the ER, this was carnage beyond her comprehension. The street, the yard, any level surface became a triage.

  Lawyer and first-year resident worked as a team, along with a dozen or so good-hearted bystanders, as they aided the paramedics with diagnoses and sorted out the severely injured and burned from the walking wounded.

  For the next several hours, Quinn applied antiseptic cream to burned arms and legs, wrapped them in bandages, applied compresses, even treated head wounds and gaping cuts on arms and legs. She gave comfort to anyone who needed it. It didn’t take long to realize neighbor children she’d watched grow up from toddlers to preschoolers were dealing with a combination of injuries from burns to broken limbs. Some of her neighbors were in shock at realizing they were now homeless.

  Hours later, firefighters finally managed to get the fire to die down to a smoldering black searing mass. But the body count had risen: five verified dead so far, and investigators were still digging through the rubble.

  Around four-fifteen, Reese took one final look around, surveyed the ruins of the building, the chaos in the street, and realized they had done all they could do.

  Most of the seriously injured had long been transported to the hospital hours earlier. Those that remained had been bandaged at the scene and were now off to stay with relatives or friends. For those that didn’t have anyone to stay with, the Red Cross had already shown up and provided them with hotel vouchers.

  At the first good break, Reese tugged Quinn toward his car and announced, “You’re done, exhausted. You need sleep. Come with me.”

  She didn’t argue as he opened the car door and she all but fell into the passenger seat. “I should probably move my car.”

  “Done already.”

  She cocked her head his way and declared, “You know, Reese, you aren’t nearly as obnoxious as most attorneys.”

  “Well, gosh, thanks. I’m moved.”

  She shot him a weary smile. “Do you think I could get sued for treating those people back there after getting suspended? It seemed like days ago Mendenhall gave me the boot.”

  “Nah, I think you’re safe.”

  “Damn it, I really had my heart on getting you out of your clothes tonight.”

  “Now you tell me. Wait, I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m saying. Getting you out of your clothes was supposed to be my mission for the night.”

  At this time of morning there wasn’t much traffic and the drive to Westlake Village took no more than twenty minutes. The entire trip, though, Reese kept a vigil eye in the rear view mirror, wondering if Cade might be out there somewhere following them.

  Not one to jump to conclusions, he’d already decided the person responsible for all the suffering he’d witnessed firsthand was Cade Boyd. Somehow the man had found a way to blow up that building and take five lives, maybe even more, in the process. And the realization that the woman sitting next to him could have been one of the dead had his gut tightening.

  About halfway en route to his house, Quinn nodded off.

  When he made the turn onto the street where he lived, he did two passes just in case they’d been followed. Deciding the coast was clear, he finally pulled the car into his garage. She didn’t wake up when he shut off the engine, or when he picked her up and carried her inside to his bedroom. Her hair and clothes smelled like smoke. She had soot and grease and grime on her face and arms. But to him as he stared down at Quinn Tyler, the woman was still stunning.

  The minute he put her down on the bed, she stirred a little and tried to sit up.

  “You want a shower or sleep? Your choice.”

  Barely audible, she replied, “A shower would be great, but I’m so tired, Reese.”

  “Sleep it is then. But you need to get out of your clothes. They reek.”

  “’Kay.” Without further prodding, she simply yanked off her shirt, leaving him to stare at the simple white cotton bra and all that smooth, creamy skin beneath. She unzipped her pants and Reese offered, “Let me take your shoes off first.”

  “’Kay.”

  He knelt down at her feet, slipped off simple, once-white Keds that were now filthy with remnants of ash residue. Without her shoes, she leaned back on the bed and shimmied out of her chinos. He pulled them off and tried not to stare at the stingy band of red silk underwear left, realizing these few articles of clothing might be the only ones she owned at the moment.

  They’d have to do something about that, he thought, as he went into the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth out of the linen cabinet, and soaked it in warm water.

  When he got back to the bedroom she was sprawled diagonally across the bed on her back, eyes closed. He took the washcloth and began to wipe dirt and grime from her face and arms as best he could.

  She put up no resistance whatsoever as he slowly rubbed away the film of dirt from her skin. When he’d finished, he pulled the sheets down invitingly around her. Leaving on the bra and panties, he gently picked up her limp body and slipped it between the bedding, tucking her in.

  Without another word between them, in a matter of minutes, she snored softly in slumber. Opening her handbag, Reese pulled out her cell phone, turned the thing off, put it back inside the purse, and backed out of the room, quietly shutting the door.

  He headed into the shower in the guest room. He was pretty sure she was down for the count, but he didn’t want to take the chance the running water might disturb her sleep.

  By six a.m. Trevor realized the Boyd brothers weren’t coming back to their hotel room. And he desperately needed sleep. Even though he dozed in the car, he needed to get back to his own bed, back to his laptop, and find out where
the hell the two brothers had decided to hide out.

  He’d heard the news about an explosion over his police scanner. He’d looked up the address on his iPhone.

  Quinn Tyler’s building had been destroyed. There had been kids in that building.

  He needed to find Collin and Cade Boyd and he needed to do it before they had a chance to hurt anyone else.

  CHAPTER 5 Book 3

  It was her first memory.

  One of those scenes from a normal childhood that had a tall, lanky man with kind brown eyes and shaggy blonde hair taking her small hand in his bigger one and showing her around his land, a farm with rolling green hills and plenty of fresh air filled with earthy smells of hay and horses.

  That day, Quinn’s perfect day, the sun had been warm on her hair and her face. The big man had given her a huge lime green stuffed frog with big purple spots on it and black and white buggy-eyes. She’d hugged it to her chest while he had played tour guide and showed her all the barn animals.

  She remembered a bunch of fat lazy cows, along with a couple of beautiful, spirited horses that kept sneezing and braying for apples. At least that’s what the leggy man had told her when he cut up several slices from a basket and fed the fruit to a big, black stallion that seemed happy to see him.

  She peered into another stall where a giant mother pig lay on straw. The mommy pig had been surrounded by several hungry little piglets wedged into her side.

  She’d held her first real cat that day, a black-and -white calico that had six lively babies trailing behind. Kittens. The tall man had given her one of her very own, a solid white one to pet and hold and cuddle. The furry little thing had purred when she held it up to rub her chin into its soft fur.

  She’d called it Snowball.

  After they’d spent time in the barn, the tall man had taken her into the house and given her tea and biscuits, which turned out to be homemade sugar cookies with pink frosting.

  Quinn remembered a grandmother-type who talked funny, so much so she could hardly understand a word the woman said. The man had let her pour tea from a bright blue teapot and hadn’t even yelled at her when she’d spilled some. The tea had looked strong and yucky but had tasted sweet and delicious because the man had poured enough milk in it to make it almost creamy-looking.

  She had wanted to stay, to live in this clean, perfect house with these caring and generous people. She had wanted to keep the kitten and take it with her on the plane. But as soon as the car pulled up, as soon as she had spotted Ella getting out, she knew. The adults made her let go of the kitten. The moment she relinquished it to the giant of a man, she knew the adults would make her get in the car. She remembered crying because she had to leave with Ella.

  Her perfect day gone, like so many other things she didn’t understand.

  Remembering that picture-perfect scene as it pulled away and faded to black, Quinn began to mumble in her sleep, trying to keep the memory from disappearing entirely.

  She reached out and tried to grab at the tall man as Ella forced her to get into the backseat of the car. She called out, she screamed to keep from leaving the tall man behind and the beautiful farm.

  But all her yelling and screaming did no good at all. As it always happened, the tall man grew fainter until soon he was gone from her vision completely.

  Reese heard Quinn cry out, or at least he thought he did. He rolled over in bed, tried to shake off the dregs of sleep. Something moved next to him. He saw her body toss and turn. Once again, he heard her mumble in her sleep.

  Half asleep himself and exhausted, it took him several minutes to differentiate the moaning from actual words. More awake now, he made out Quinn thrashing about on the other side of the mattress.

  Obviously in distress, she seemed to be calling out to someone. Either she was saying goodbye, leaving something or someone she didn’t want to leave. And Quinn didn’t like it one bit.

  Moving closer, he studied in fascination as she carried on a conversation as if she were a small child of about three or four years old. She wasn’t even awake. And yet, she was clearly upset about something.

  He leaned over. In the dark he saw her lips moving, made out the sadness in her voice. Talking in her sleep was one thing, but when he saw the tears spill out and trickle down her cheeks, it grabbed at his heart.

  He picked up several strands of raven hair off her face, ran the silky texture through his fingers. “Oh, baby, what is it that causes you so much pain even when you sleep?”

  But the tears dried on her face as she slept on, leaving him wondering what, or rather who had haunted her dreams enough to make her cry.

  It wasn’t until later that morning Reese learned the casualty count. Three more people had succumbed to their injuries and died at the hospital. Eight innocent people had lost their lives in the blast. Dozens more had been injured, including children.

  This wasn’t just a news story on the local news. He’d seen the pain on the faces of the kids and the heartache in the eyes of adults who realized everything they owned no longer existed.

  And for what?

  Because a pissed off, misguided rich boy didn’t get his way, thought Reese bitterly.

  Even though the television stations were reporting the fire department suspected a gas leak, he knew better. And when Kit called around ten, she reminded him what he already had been mulling over. “I think Cade did this.”

  “Yeah,” had been Reese’s weak response.

  Ten minutes after he hung up the phone with Kit, he had virtually an identical conversation with Baylee. “Cade did this. I just know he did.”

  Okay, so it wasn’t his paranoia fueling this gut feeling.

  Logic be damned, it seemed to be a consensus. After all, Kit and Baylee knew the Boyd brothers much better than he did. But as a lawyer even in a city the size of L.A., he’d been well aware of the Boyd reputation long before he’d ever even heard about Kit Griffin.

  It was widely known the founding partners were ruthless in court. Now it seemed their offspring had turned into merciless, cold-blooded killers.

  Would the police be able to do anything about it though? That was the nagging question.

  While Reese sat at his dining room table amid briefs and paperwork, his laptop open, waiting for Quinn to wake up, he realized he couldn’t argue with recent history. It made sense to blame Cade because he’d heard the man with his own ears threaten Quinn.

  Hell, the man had threatened all of them.

  This morning, he’d already had another conversation with Max St. John about his suspicions. He could only hope the detective had taken him seriously. After all, Max had been right there in the ER when Cade had gone postal. That had to count for something.

  His mind kept drifting back to last night. What if he hadn’t asked her to dinner? What if Quinn had gone straight home from the hospital? The timeframe would have put her inside the condo. What if she had been there to confront Cade? What if she had been killed or injured?

  He sucked in a breath and ran a hand over his face. It wouldn’t do to dwell on the what-if scenarios. Better to concentrate on keeping her out of Cade’s reach.

  Funny how he’d thought the last couple of months Jake had acted a bit melodramatic trying to keep Kit safe. And Dylan tended to go over the top when it came to Baylee and Sarah. He’d misjudged his friends, he thought now. Hell, he had misjudged the entire situation from the beginning. No more, though.

  Better to overcompensate and make sure Quinn stayed safe rather than ignore his gut feeling and have her suffer the consequences later.

  When his cell phone buzzed, it brought him out of a daze. Caller ID told him it was Jake.

  “Reese here.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s Quinn who doesn’t have a place to live.”

  Jake chuckled. His friend sounded like he’d already taken the fall. “Don’t I know it? Look, Kit and I are down the street. Kit brought Quinn some clothes, some personal items she’ll nee
d for the immediate future.”

  “She isn’t up yet.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll just drop off the stuff and let her sleep. But when Quinn wakes up, plan on heading over to Crandall House. We’re meeting up there, all of us. And pack a bag, Reese, the dynamics have changed. This’ll take some planning and sorting out.”

  “Strategy session?”

  “For lack of a better description, yeah. And it’s better if we’re all in one place anyway. We need to think about the next forty-eight hours and come up with a viable plan of action.”

  Gradually, Quinn came awake. Light filtered through the curtains. Every muscle in her body burned. She stared at the bedside clock. It read one-fifty-six. She’d slept the day away. Then suddenly she remembered last night.

  It all came back to her in crystal clarity. She’d lost everything she owned. Her apartment was gone. The only real home she’d known, the one she’d fixed up with thrift store finds and garage sale treasures since moving there at sixteen. Her life felt as if it were in ruins.

  Her neighbors, people she’d known for almost ten years, were either dead or injured or homeless.

  Well, she’d been down to nothing before hadn’t she? When she’d moved out at sixteen, she’d started from scratch. But then so had Kit and Baylee.

  She scrubbed both hands over her face. She could come back from this. At least she was alive.

  Quinn crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom to take a shower, even though she didn’t have a clue what she’d use for clothes afterward. Glancing at the rumpled bed, she decided to grab one of the blankets to use for a robe.

  Reese waited until the shower shut off, waited for several long minutes before knocking on his own bedroom door. When it flew open, Quinn stood there wrapped in nothing but a towel.

  He cocked his head. That caramel-colored skin looked damp and moist and good enough to eat. She held another towel in her hand trying to dry that long, silky black mane of hers. He managed to control the primal urge to taste and nibble. “Nice.”