Quinn had merely shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other, but since they were going to need a bed, Lily had told West that yes, they’d be delighted to use the guest wing.
West wasn’t staying — he wanted to get back to Rose — so Lily followed Quinn out of the helicopter, ducking down under the spinning rotors and moving quickly along the path that led from the helipad toward the house. A man who appeared to be one of the house staff greeted them, assuring them that yes, they’d received word from their employer that the guest wing was to be opened.
Lily silently thanked West’s friend both for being so accommodating and being away so they didn’t have to explain as she followed Quinn and the staff member along another private path that led to the guest wing.
A cool wind came from the sea, carrying with it the unfamiliar scent of salt and dry earth from the mountains around them. The path was beautifully lit in the darkness, the sounds of the city distant, giving the illusion of peace at least. But Lily didn’t feel peaceful. Watching Quinn’s broad back as he strode along in front of her, she had a horrible feeling that something awful was going to happen, and it was going to involve Quinn.
Something had hardened in him since leaving Austin, that distance between them growing wider, and she didn’t know what it was, but it felt like he’d made a decision about something and that it was a decision she wasn’t going to like. At all.
The guest wing was almost like an entirely self-contained home all on its own, with three bedrooms, each with their own bathrooms, a luxuriously appointed kitchen and a massive living area with huge glass windows and views toward the ocean.
The staff member showed them around, then pointed to the phone where they could dial zero for anything they might need, day or night. All Quinn asked for was the wifi password and then he stalked off down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
Lily thanked the man and then, once he’d gone, followed Quinn.
He was in the main bedroom, putting down the bag he was carrying then straightening up and dragging his phone from his pocket. “Nothing from the others yet,” he said.
“No.” She leaned against the doorframe. “I wouldn’t have thought there would be. Not at two in the morning.”
“Which room do you want?” Quinn asked brusquely. “We should get some sleep.”
Her heart tightened. So this was happening was it? Separate rooms? She hadn’t thought she’d be bothered, but that was before Quinn had touched her so carefully, so gently. Before he’d told her about his son, about his failures with his brothers.
She didn’t want distance from him. Not anymore. “I can’t sleep with you?” she asked.
He moved over to the windows, great glass panes that looked over the desolate mountain tops. The sky outside was black, the light from the city obscuring any kind of starlight. “I need to think about my son right now.”
“I’m not talking about sex, Quinn. I’m talking about lying in bed next to you.”
He didn’t move, his massive form as still as the mountains outside and just as hard, just as obdurate. “The reasons I kept Jack away are the same reasons you shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”
A tight band gathered around her heart.
“Oh?” She tried to stay calm and measured. “And what are those?”
“We’re a dysfunctional fucking family. I told you that before. No one needs to get close to us.”
“That didn’t seem to bother Rush and Zane. They seem perfectly happy and so do Ava and Iris.”
“Things are different for them. Rush and Zane can leave it behind, but I can’t.”
Lily’s throat constricted, the sense of impending doom getting stronger and stronger. “Why?” she asked, even as a part of her didn’t want to know. “What makes them different?”
Quinn’s wide shoulders were tense, his hands thrust in the pockets of his jeans and she very much wanted to go to him the way she had in the shower earlier that evening — and it was that evening wasn’t it? Though it felt like an eon had passed already — but she stayed where she was instead. Because sometimes people needed space in order to talk and she needed to hear this.
“I mentioned it before,” Quinn said after a long minute. “Dad always told me I was the most like him. Told me that I had his temper, his capacity for trouble. His need to fight. He told me it was a good thing, that I needed it to stay sharp. ” Abruptly Quinn swung around, his gaze sharp as shards of green glass. “He wasn’t wrong, old Joe fucking Redmond. I did have the Redmond temper and you saw that back in Austin. I fucking lost it.”
“But you didn’t hurt anyone,” Lily said. “You didn’t—”
“That’s not the point,” he cut her off. “The point is that I lost control. And I haven’t done that for years, Lily. Not for fucking years.”
She didn’t understand where he was going with this or what this had to do with him not wanting to sleep with her. “What are you trying to say?”
Quinn’s eyes glittered. “I already told you. You get under my skin, Lily Hammond. And that’s dangerous. You’re testing me and my control, and I can’t have that. I just can’t. I wasn’t there for my son before, but I can be now and I can’t have anything that undermines that.”
Lily could feel an unexpected pain threading through her, spreading small barbed tendrils through her heart. “Right,” she said, her voice thicker than she would have liked. “So I undermine you now? That this is somehow my fault?”
“No. The fault is mine. Because of who I am. I can’t escape being a Redmond, it’s in my blood. And I told myself I could handle it, but it’s clear that I can’t.” His jaw went tight. “You told me that you felt safe with me, but you do a better job of keeping yourself safe than I ever could.”
The pain was growing, the barbed tendrils pulling inside her, cutting her. Jagged fractures running through her heart.
Just a few hours ago, she’d realized that he was special to her. She just hadn’t understood how much.
Oh sure you didn’t. You’re in love with him and have been for weeks.
But she refused to acknowledge that. Just like she refused to let the things he’d said hurt. Instead, she cut out all the barbed tendrils, glued back the jagged edges, froze the pain dead in its tracks.
“Well,” she said coolly, pleased that she sounded like her old self and not at all as if something inside her was broken, something that perhaps couldn’t ever be fixed. “Thanks for that little spiel. You’re probably not wrong, protecting myself is something I do very well. But thanks for the sex. That was good.” She paused for a minute, a thousand arguments coursing through her head, about what a coward he was being right now and couldn’t he see that? But what would be the point? Whatever it was they’d had, it looked like it was over now and that was probably for the best.
She didn’t know what she wanted from him anyway.
So she only looked at him and said, “I guess we’ll reassess this situation in the morning, then. Goodnight, Quinn.”
And she turned on her heel and left.
Fifteen
Quinn slept for shit and woke at first light, the harsh LA sun streaming through the bedroom that had walls made of nothing but fucking glass. It was a good thing, though. He had to get up, see what the situation with Jack was.
At least he’d dealt with the situation with Lily, so that was one less thing he had to handle.
Something in the region of his chest shrieked with pain at the memory of her pale face, her blue eyes going dark, but he ignored it.
He’d had to do it. Had to put her at a distance. And not only because she undermined his control, but because she wanted to be safe and the safest place for her was away from him.
Sounds like a good excuse.
It wasn’t an excuse. It was the truth. He couldn’t have her near him, not anymore. It was best for both of them this way.
His phone went off abruptly on the nightstand.
Rolling over in bed, Quinn reached for it, looking dow
n at the caller ID. Zane.
He sat up, hitting the answer button. “What?”
“I think I know who this fucking Ryan Smith guy might be,” Zane said without preamble. “Rose is confirming it now, but I had a call from an old army buddy. He heard we were looking for intel on anyone who might have links to us and might be wanting some payback, and he said he had a friend who’d just gotten out of jail and who’d once shared a cell with Wayne Jones.”
The name wasn’t familiar.
Quinn scowled. “Wayne Jones? Am I supposed to know who the fuck that is?”’
“You should,” Zane said flatly. “He’s Charlie’s brother. The skip we were supposed to pick up the day Charlie died.”
Everything in Quinn went still. “What?”
“He got out of jail about eighteen months ago and his cellmate told my friend that he talked a lot about his sister. About how he wanted payback for her death and revenge against the bail bond agents responsible for killing her. He had a real grudge against all agencies, but he hated us in particular. Apparently he talked a lot about you by name and how he was going to get his own back. His cellmate didn’t think anything of it because by the time Jones got out, he seemed to have put all that behind him.”
Quinn gripped his phone hard, the edges sharp against his palm. “So what makes you think Jones took Ryan Smith’s identity?”
“He got out and then a month later, Ryan Smith turns up. Rose found some records of his name appearing on the rental agreement for Deborah’s address in LA. He also appears on some bills, plus a hire purchase agreement for a TV, all with the same address. These are from months ago so he’s been with her a while.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s Jones,” Quinn growled, trying to ignore the clench inside him that said it was indeed fucking Jones.
“We found some images of Smith. A couple from a school newsletter that we matched with Jones’s arrest pic. He’s tried to change his appearance, but we’re fairly certain it’s him.”
Fuck. Charlie’s brother.
You always knew that was going to come back to haunt you.
Quinn shut his eyes, trying to force away the rage that was threatening to swamp him. Rage at himself and his own failures. At his own lack of self control that had made him fire a gun when he wasn’t supposed to and the ricochet that had killed Charlie. At how he hadn’t fought for Rush when he should have. At how Jack had been taken away from him, and how he hadn’t lifted even one finger to stop that from happening, or gone to visit him since, because he’d thought it was the right thing to do.
Remember what she told you: you can’t change the past, but you can fix the future.
Yeah, he could. With a little, old fashioned justice. Redmond justice.
Something savage unfurled inside him, a familiar kind of feeling. The need to grab this fucking asshole, take the fight to him. Because there was only one person responsible for this whole, entire mess and that wasn’t Charlie’s goddamn brother.
It was himself. He was the one who’d pulled the trigger and killed Charlie. And if her brother wanted vengeance, he could come to Quinn and take it.
He’d spent years fighting his temper, fighting the violent side of his nature, but now perhaps it was time to stop. Perhaps it was time to embrace who he truly was.
“Quinn?” Zane was still speaking, but Quinn was done with the conversation.
He hit disconnect, set the phone to mute all calls, then he quickly pulled on some clothes. It was still very early and after he’d prepared himself, he checked to see where Lily was. She’d taken the bedroom next door and appeared to be still asleep. Good. She shouldn’t have come anyway. He didn’t want her anywhere near him.
He ordered himself a cab then walked down the long drive to the heavy gate that guarded the entrance to the house. He didn’t want anyone knowing he’d gone and they certainly would if the house staff had to be called to open the gate.
He didn’t have to wait long, the cab arriving within a couple of minutes. LA traffic was its usual fucking hideous self, but he spent the time they sat on the freeway trying out different tactics in his head. He wasn’t going to confront this asshole in front of his son. In fact, he was going to make sure Jack didn’t see any part of the confrontation, since he knew how that ended, he knew all too well.
Reflexively, he checked the Colt he had in the holster in the small of his back. Yeah, it was all good. He might not be able to right all the wrongs, but he could certainly fix the wrongs that were happening right now.
The cab pulled up outside Jack’s address an hour later, but Quinn shoved some cash at the driver and got him to wait. He wanted to watch Smith leave the house and maybe corner the guy on his way to wherever it was that he worked.
Fifteen minutes later, the door opened, a tall, teenaged boy with a shock of black hair walking down the steps, followed by a stocky, broad-shouldered older man with a shaved head.
Quinn’s chest tightened as he watched the boy, his jaw aching as he gritted his teeth against the rush of emotion that filled him. His son wasn’t little anymore. He’d grown tall and gangly, but he’d fill out soon enough, turning from gangly into muscular the way Quinn himself had. The way all the Redmonds had.
Quinn had to physically force himself to take his attention off Jack and assess the other man as he pulled open the door of a car that sat in the short driveway while the Jack got in the passenger side.
Was that Wayne Jones? Charlie’s brother? The shaved head and build didn’t ring any bells, the guy’s features too indistinct to seem familiar.
The man got into the car along with Jack then pulled out of the driveway.
“Follow them,” Quinn ordered the cab driver roughly.
The traffic was heavy but kudos to the driver, he managed to keep a couple of cars between them and Jack and Wayne the whole way to Jack’s high school, because that’s where they ended up, Wayne pulling up outside to let Jack out.
Quinn got the cab driver to stop and before the guy had even pulled the car to a halt, Quinn had gotten out. He pulled out his phone, dialed Rose’s number. She answered almost immediately. “Quinn, where are you—”
“You got Wayne Smith’s cell?”
“Uh, yes, but—”
“Give it to me now.”
Rose hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Okay, I texted it to you. But can you—”
Quinn disconnected the call then put through another call to the number Rose had given him, all the while watching as Jack to out of the car. The boy said something to the man inside then laughed and Quinn caught a flash of green eyes like his own, before the boy turned away, hoisting a backpack over his shoulder.
Pain caught inside him, a barb straight to his heart, but he shoved that aside, concentrating instead on the phone in his hand, the sound that indicated it was ringing.
Then, abruptly, a slightly nasal voice said, “Yeah?”
“Is this Ryan Smith?” Quinn immediately started for the car that was still pulled up to the curb.
“Yeah. What do you want?”
“I’d like a little chat, if you don’t mind.” Quinn reached the car and pulled open the passenger door, his free hand pulling his gun from the small of his back. Then he slid into the passenger seat. “Now would be good.”
Jones still held his phone, his blunt features screwed up in puzzlement. He glanced at Quinn, then away. Then did an almost comical double-take as he realized that Quinn was not only holding a phone but a gun too.
Quinn grinned, shoving his phone away and pulling shut the door as he kept the gun pointed at Jones. “I hear you’ve been wanting to get in touch with me. Well, surprise, asshole.”
The puzzlement slowly slid off the other man’s face, a number of other emotions flickering across it. “What do you want?” he asked after a second. “I don’t have any money.”
“Nice try.” Quinn cocked his head. “It’s not money you want, motherfucker, and we both know it. Now, let’s not do this outside a school. I d
on’t want to see any kids potentially watching me blow your head off.”
It was obvious that Jones didn’t want to do anything Quinn said, but he didn’t protest, putting the car in drive and pulling away.
Quinn chose a street for him to turn down at random, and then a couple more, moving them away from the school until Quinn spotted what he wanted — a dank looking alleyway next to a couple of rundown looking stores.
“Pull over,” he ordered flatly.
Jones did and Quinn reached over, turned off the engine, pulled out the keys and tucked them away in his pocket. “Get out,” he said. “And do it slowly.”
“Look, man,” Jones began. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“Yes, you do. You know exactly. Now get the fuck out of the car before I do something we’ll both regret.”
An expression of fear twisted Jones’s features, but Quinn saw straight through it to the rage burning in the other man’s dark eyes.
Oh yeah, this guy was well aware that Quinn was onto him, no matter what he said to the contrary. And he knew who was holding the gun, too.
Jones got out of the car slowly and Quinn circled around behind him. “Into the alley, motherfucker. This little chat can happen in private. Oh, and if you call for help, your spine might have some difficulty lifting your body after I blow a chunk out of it.”
Jones did as he was told, walking towards the alleyway. Quinn kept all his attention on him, watching the almost imperceptible tightening of his muscles as they got near the alley. Jones was preparing himself to do something violent, counting on the fact that the gun in Quinn’s hand would have made him complacent.
Unluckily for Jones, Quinn was not complacent in the slightest.
Just before they disappeared into the alley, Quinn lunged forward, hooked his arm around Jones’s neck before the other man could move, then shoved him face-first against the rough brick of the alley’s wall.
Black Sheep Bounty Hunter Page 27
