“How’s that possible?”
Carter shrugged as much as his weakened shoulder would allow. “Money and handlers have a way of making things go away. It might seem like everything a celebrity does goes public, but you’d be surprised what still manages to get swept under the rug.” At the possibility of Medero getting rough with Quinn, anger laced through him.
“The question is,” Mark said, “how do we stop something like this from happening again? How can we protect her?”
Carter had kept his apartment in Manhattan after relocating to LA. “We can send her to my place in New York. She can stay there as long as she wants.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Carter looked up to see Quinn on the upstairs landing, having obviously overheard. She came down the stairs with Samantha following. When Quinn reached the main floor, her still-bleary eyes met Carter’s.
“Not unless you want me to. I’m talking about the job, I mean. I would certainly understand if you don’t want this kind of situation.”
“That’s not it, Quinn.” He slowly stood. “I just thought you’d be safer if you’re somewhere Medero can’t find you.”
She still appeared vulnerable, but her distress seemed to be giving way to anger. “I’ve already left California because of him. I won’t give him any more power. Besides, Jake made his point tonight. I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon. He’s in the playoffs, and he’ll be tied up even longer if the Breakers go to the Super Bowl.”
“The playoffs didn’t stop him from coming here last weekend,” Carter reminded. “Or sending someone after you tonight.”
Quinn released a breath, appearing at a loss for words. Then, “I’ll be better prepared. I’ll carry pepper spray or a stun gun. And if Jake shows up in town again, I will ask for a restraining order, even without the voice-mail messages.”
“If you’re staying because of me—”
“You can fire me. But I’m not leaving Rarity Cove.”
Despite Quinn’s need to stand her ground, her gaze was questioning, even pleading, as she looked at Carter. Mark touched Samantha’s shoulder and guided her to the kitchen, apparently sensing the conversation had taken a private turn.
“I want to keep working with you, Quinn,” Carter told her once they were alone. “If it comes to it, we’ll both go somewhere else.”
She shook her head. “You should be here with your family. You need their support—it’s why you came back home. Rarity Cove is my home, too. My hometown. If I can’t feel safe here, I’ll never feel safe anywhere again.”
A short time later, Carter entered the kitchen with Quinn. Mark leaned against the counter as Samantha fed Doug small bites of leftover chicken she had taken from the refrigerator. He sat obediently, his tail sweeping the tile floor as he awaited the next morsel.
“Quinn’s staying for now,” Carter said. “I’m having another car delivered for her use tomorrow.”
“It’s the low season, so we’re slower right now. Why not have the St. Clair limo take her anywhere she needs to go?” Mark suggested. “I’m sure we can arrange a schedule between guest pickups and drop-offs at the airport in Charleston.”
“Carter suggested that, but I don’t want to interrupt business,” Quinn interjected. “Or lose my independence.”
The men shared a look, and Carter knew his brother was fighting the urge to insist she be locked away in an ivory tower somewhere. But Carter was reluctantly with her on this. He understood her need for defiance in the face of Medero’s stunt. But understanding it didn’t erase his unease.
“We’ll try it like this for a while,” Carter said. “If we sense any kind of threat, we’ll ask for your help.”
* * *
“You could stay here, you know,” Carter offered quietly to Quinn once they’d all returned to the main living area. Mark was helping Samantha into her coat on the other side of the room. “This place is a compound. It’d be the simplest solution.”
Biting her lip, Quinn looked up at him. Tired, Carter now used his cane. “Like you said before, we’re both adults. You can have your pick of bedrooms.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Her voice was halting.
It had been an impulsive thought. “The offer stands if you change your mind.”
She nodded, and he saw gratitude, as well as pain, in her eyes. She briefly touched the medic alert pendant that lay against his chest. He’d nearly forgotten its presence.
“Get some rest,” she said softly. “Tomorrow’s business as usual.”
“Ready?” Mark asked. He and Samantha were going to take Quinn to the twenty-four-hour urgent care facility in town to be checked out, then drop her off at her mother’s. The St. Clair limo would pick Quinn up tomorrow, since she was temporarily without transportation.
Carrying her purse and duffel, Quinn trailed them to the foyer, then stopped, a strain entering her voice. “I forgot. I have a dinner date with Emily tomorrow night. I don’t want to disappoint her, but after what’s happened, I’d never risk putting her in harm’s way.”
Carter spoke up. “We’ll work something out. Right, Mark?”
He gave a nod. “Absolutely.”
As Mark opened the door for the women, Quinn looked back at Carter. She appeared fragile to him, her russet hair disheveled and the small cuts visible on her cheek. He swallowed. For the second time that night, protectiveness rose up inside him, her desire for independence be damned. But he also felt a helplessness in his current state.
Leaning on the cane, he watched as the door closed behind them.
Chapter Fifteen
Yesterday’s cortisone injection had provided some relief, at least enough that Quinn could begin Carter on some light stretches for his shoulder. They had done across-the-body stretches and side reaches—avoiding resistance exercises and weights until more of the inflammation had subsided.
“Don’t force it,” she reminded as he completed the last set of overhead reaches, a move that required him to face the wall and repeatedly slide his hands up it as far as he could. “Hold the last rep for ten seconds.”
Eyes on her wristwatch, she touched his T-shirt-clad back to let him know when the time had elapsed. Carter lowered his arms and stepped back from the wall, his brow drawn tight by the morning’s exertion. Prior to stretches, he had also used the upper-body ergometer—or arm bike—for several minutes, making slow rotations. Other than a muttered curse or two, he hadn’t complained or asked for a break, but Quinn could see he was nearing his limit.
“We’re done for now. How’re you doing?”
“You warned me about the shoulder work,” he said, sounding a bit breathless. He rubbed his right shoulder. “Things just got real.”
She indicated the massage table, where he sat so she could once again take his vitals. Quinn remained physically aware of him, but over the past week, she had gotten fairly used to touching him, to their being in intimate proximity to each other. She laid two fingers against the carotid artery in his neck and silently counted the beats as she looked again at her watch. While elevated from the exercise, his pulse was steady and strong.
“You don’t look like you got much sleep,” he noted a short time later as Quinn removed the pulse oximeter from his left index finger. Since her arrival a couple of hours ago via the St. Clair limousine, they hadn’t talked much about what had happened last night. She had meant what she said about keeping things business as usual—she didn’t want her problems to interfere with his therapy.
“I suppose I didn’t.” Stepping to the credenza, she entered his vitals into her iPad.
“Did you tell Nora what happened?”
There hadn’t been much choice. Her mother had seen her being dropped off by Mark and Samantha last night, carless. She had also noticed the small cuts on Quinn’s cheek. “I played it down. I didn’t want to upset her.”
Carter frowned. “So, you didn’t tell her Medero set the whole thing up?”
“No,” she sa
id, still typing. The wreck had caused Nora to fixate on the accident that had killed Shelley, and she’d gotten emotional. Quinn had told her as little as possible—assuring her she hadn’t been seriously hurt and relaying only that the other driver had been at fault and left the scene. “Mom hasn’t changed. You know how high-strung she is. The less she knows, the better.”
Carter said nothing, but as she went about her tasks, she was aware of his scrutiny. Thankfully, the wall intercom buzzed, signaling that someone had arrived at the front gate. Quinn went to the console and asked who it was, finding out it was a representative from the car dealership in Charleston, delivering the replacement vehicle. She buzzed him in, as well as the driver of a second car who would take the representative back once the delivery was completed.
Another silver Mercedes, identical to the first, appeared in the rear drive, where she had told the man to bring the vehicle. When she looked at Carter, he merely gave a tight-lipped smile.
“My own act of defiance—everything stays the same. Medero can kiss my ass.”
Quinn looked away, not wanting him to know how deeply his support affected her.
“Why don’t you go out and sign for the car?” He stood from the table and reached for his cane. Doug, who had been lying on the floor nearby, got up, as well. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
* * *
Ending the latest call on his cell phone, Carter returned to the kitchen where Quinn was cleaning up after lunch. She had rearranged her schedule around the car’s delivery, moving her errands to midday.
“Your phone’s been blowing up,” she noted over her shoulder as she rinsed dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.
“Yeah.” Elliott had called again about the spec script, letting him know two major studios were interested, but only under the condition that Carter was attached to the project. He had also heard from Ariel Carrington, his publicist, who had been fielding calls from the media, asking for an update on his recuperation. Ariel had been calling every few days, in fact. His last call had been from the Rarity Cove Police. Carter watched as Quinn moved around the kitchen, gracefully sidestepping Doug, who was underfoot.
Except for when her work necessitated conversation, she had been quiet since she had arrived at the house, even distracted. He couldn’t blame her. Carter reflected on what he knew. He didn’t get it. Medero had come here last weekend to try to win Quinn back, and when he had failed, he had countered with violence? He thought about the stories of exes who developed an if I can’t have her, no one can mentality.
“You don’t have to run errands today,” he offered as she placed leftovers in the fridge. “Samantha can pick up my prescriptions.”
“No, I’m going as soon as I clean up here.”
“I’ll go with you, then. I’ll wait in the car while you go inside.”
Quinn wiped the granite counter with a damp dishtowel, not looking at him. “I gave you quite a workout this morning. You should stay here and recharge. When I get back, we’ll go to the beach for our walk. The same place we went yesterday. We’ll take Doug—”
“Quinn.”
The firm tone of his voice caught her attention. She turned to face him, and for a moment, the façade of normalcy she had been holding on to slipped. Carter could see it in the tightening around her eyes.
“I need to do this. Alone,” she said, insistent. “It’s just a simple drive in full light of day. I need to rip off the bandage. And like I said last night, I believe the danger’s gone.”
Carter stared briefly at the counter stool, where he’d left his cane after they had come upstairs. Then he looked at Quinn again. “One of the phone calls was from the police. They took prints off the car’s door handle. The guy who hit you is in the national crime database—drug trafficking, assault, among other things. And you were right. He’s a member of a gang called The Mayans. They started in Sacramento, but now have bases around the country, including in Atlanta, which is probably where he came from. Regardless, the local police have an all-points bulletin out for him.”
The information seemed to upset her. She swallowed, then rubbed the back of her neck.
“You’re sore from the crash. You should’ve told me.”
“The doctor said I’m fine, just a little banged up. I still managed to get in my yoga practice this morning.” At her words, her face clouded, and she slowly shook her head. “You must think I’m full of it. All my talk about yoga, meditation, breathwork—none of it’s working.”
“I just think you’re overwhelmed,” he said with honesty.
Her discomfort nearly palpable, he felt compelled to move to another topic. “Mark called, too. About tonight. I know it won’t be the same as taking Emily into Charleston, but he said he could put something special together at the St. Clair.”
Quinn nodded her agreement. He knew she understood that if there was even the slightest risk to Emily’s safety, it had to be avoided. She looked up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “Would you like to have dinner with us?” she asked tentatively. “I invited my mother, but she isn’t coming. Emily’s wild about you, and I’m not myself right now. I could use some help in keeping her entertained.”
“Well, I am her favorite uncle.”
“You’re her only uncle.” She smiled for the first time that day. It faded quickly, however. “I know you’re trying to keep your presence low-profile, so if you’d rather not—”
“I’ll talk to Mark. I’m sure we can keep things on the down-low.”
Their eyes held, and Carter felt it again—that delicate thread that seemed to have formed between them over these last few days. He admired Quinn for her keen intelligence, her compassion and how centered she seemed. Medero’s stunt last night had rattled her badly, though.
“Take this when you go. Just in case.” He picked up his cell phone from the counter where he’d left it. When she tried to refuse, he said, “The house has a landline, and I have the medic alert pendant. And you’ll be doing me a favor. I’m tired of hearing the damn thing ring.”
She hesitated, then accepted the phone.
“While you’re out, use the credit card I gave you to get a new phone. There’s a Verizon store in the same plaza as Café Bella.”
“I’ll pay for it myself, but thank you.”
She went back to her cleanup, but Carter touched her shoulder, needing her to understand how serious he was. “I also want you to find somewhere that sells pepper spray or a stun gun. You said last night you’d start carrying self-protection. I’m holding you to it. If I had it my way, you’d start packing a gun.”
Unspoken pain appeared in her eyes. “You’re being incredibly kind and understanding.”
“I’m being human. Believe it or not, I am capable.”
The tension on her face eased as she touched his shirtfront, then went back to what she was doing.
Once she left the house, Carter laid his head against the sofa cushions. The pain medication dulled the soreness in his shoulder, aggravated by the workout that morning. Except for the noise Doug made as he trotted back from the door Quinn had departed through, the house was quiet.
He didn’t like her being out there alone, but she was strong-willed, and it wasn’t like he could stop her.
He wondered again what the full story was behind Quinn and Medero. Their short-lived marriage now seemed more insidious with the knowledge of his threats and violent behavior.
Regardless, Carter’s gut told him this was far from over. Whether she saw it as such, Quinn had a stalker of her own, a dangerous one, in the form of her soon-to-be ex-husband.
Chapter Sixteen
“This is lovely,” Quinn said, looking around as Mark led them onto the covered loggia with its stone columns and outdoor fireplace. Holding Emily’s hand, she matched her pace to Carter’s, who had needed his cane for the rather long walk through the hotel.
“We had to do some reconstruction after Hurricane Gina, so we added this at the same time.” Mark walked ahead o
f them, the crisp ocean air that entered through the arched breezeways ruffling his hair.
Tables with cushioned seating were situated around the dramatic space, although only one had been set for dining. It was located in front of the crackling fire in the stone hearth while, below them, the Atlantic spread out in a dark plane. A bar was located against one exposed-brick wall, but it was unlit and unused that evening. A sign, in fact, had been placed outside the loggia’s double doors, stating it was closed for a private event.
“They’re called fairy lights. It’s like there’s a thousand fairies around us,” Emily exclaimed as she looked up at the high ceiling. Tiny white lights on strands—a sea of them—hung down from it. A large antique mirror over the bar magnified the effect. Releasing Quinn’s hand, Emily twirled under the lights, her blond hair swirling around her coat collar. “This is my favorite place in the whole hotel!”
“I can see that,” Quinn commented with a smile.
“Which is why you’re having dinner out here. At night, in January,” Mark deadpanned to Quinn and Carter. “Are you warm enough? I had them start the fire and outdoor heaters an hour ago.”
“I’m good.” Carter wore a navy pea coat over a sweater and gray slacks.
“Me, too.” Quinn’s fingers smoothed the beautiful pashmina shawl wrapped around her shoulders. After much of her clothing had been destroyed in San Francisco, she had purchased only a few basic items outside of active wear. She wore a simple midcalf skirt and turtleneck, garments she had picked up at the B&B when she had gone out to run errands. But Samantha had suggested she borrow the wrap, just in case, when Quinn and Carter arrived to pick up Emily. Mark had still been at work and was awaiting them here.
“Emily, stop turning circles,” he admonished. “You’re going to get dizzy and fall.”
“And then I’ll barf?” she asked with a grin.
Carter chuckled. “And then you’ll kick off a chain reaction. I’m a sympathy hurler.”
Low Tide: Rarity Cove Book Two Page 12
