Deadly Secrets (3 page)

His daughter? Hell yes he would.

He opened his mouth, pissed, confused, and knew the words hot on his tongue were probably not the ones he needed to say. Instead he closed his eyes, took another deep breath and another and counted very slowly to ten. A hundred would probably be better but he didn’t have the patience for a hundred.

“Ella. Are you at home?”

“What? What has that—”

“Yes or no. That’s really all I can handle right now.”

A beat of silence. “Yes. I’m at home.”

“Good, stay there and don’t move until I get there.” He took another deep breath as he bit down. “Then you and I, dear wife, are going to have one long conversation about many things.”

“You’re coming?” she asked quietly. “You’re really coming?” Again her voice broke on the end and he heard her swallow.

“God, what kind of—” She was pregnant. Pregnant. The word kept rattling in his brain. Pregnant. He probably shouldn’t yell at her. Probably, but damn it.

Very carefully he said, “Ella, I’m heading to the airport now.” He checked his watch, calculated the time difference. “I’ll be there in about five hours, probably less. I need to call the airport and have them fuel up the jet. I’ll be landing in Taos and I’ll call you.”

“I can come pick you up.”

He nodded. “Okay. Now, is there anyone you can call to stay with you until I get there?” She was scared. Terrified, to be honest, he could tell that much. He raked a trembling hand through his hair.

He heard something in the background.

“Someone’s here,” she told him suddenly.

He frowned.

He heard her sigh. “Oh, it’s just a friend. I’ll see if she can stay. Or I’ll go stay with my neighbors the Richardsons after she leaves. Then you’ll be here and it’ll be okay.”

A friend. He set his briefcase in the elevator and then tossed his duffle bag inside. He bit down. “Mrs. Kinncaid . . .” He shook his head. They’d get into that all later after he made certain she was safe. “Stay put. I’ll be there soon.”

* * *

New Mexico, October, the present

Can’t die . . . can’t die . . .

The lights. Too bright. Too dim. Everything in contrast. Where was she? She blinked and tried to focus.

The street blurred before her. She saw the dark river of asphalt. The tall, wavering streetlights. Flickers of lights zoomed to and fro farther down the way.

Where was she?

She stopped, the road cold beneath her bare feet. Her foot hurt. Her ankle hurt.

She raised her hands and saw there was blood on them. Blood and scabs on her mangled wrists. Her shoulders hurt. Her head throbbed. Hell, her whole body seemed to pulse with pain, almost distant and dull, but not quite enough.

The cold wind blew against her legs and she looked down. Something shimmered, dark and glossy, along the bottoms of her legs. Why couldn’t she think?

Something important.

She put her hands on her stomach.

Important . . .

And remembered.

Her stomach.

The baby. The baby . . .
Her
baby.

The bump was different. Smaller, softer. She pressed her abdomen with her bloody hand splayed on her stomach.

No. No. No.

Images, disjointed and fractured, jumped in her brain.

A baby crying.

Red hair.

A room. A room where she’d been tied down.

They’d taken her baby. Taken it. Taken her sweet little girl.

No. No. No.

She stood there, shaking from cold, from shock. Ice in her veins.

“Ma’am?”

Bright. Too bright. Bright, bright lights.

“Ma’am?”

Slowly, she turned and blinked.

“Baby. My baby,” she whispered.

Someone walked toward her, the image dark against the bright lights. A hand reached for her. “Ma’am . . . I’m . . . help . . .”

A man’s voice, faded and loud, then silent against her eardrums.

“No, please,” she whimpered.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe.” The world tilted and she tried to make sense, but nothing did. Nothing solidified in her mind. Nothing congealed to a whole complete thought. Cold. So, so cold. Why was she so cold?

Quinlan. She wanted Quinlan. She’d called him. He was coming to help. Help her. Help them.

“Ma’am. Stay with me . . . stay . . .” A static of radio voices tunneled to her, swirling and merging, fading . . .

“Stay with me. Help is on the way,” shouted down at her. “ . . . name?”

The sky was dark, then bright. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Dark. The darkness grew . . .

She tried to pull away. Tried to go.
Have to find her. Have to find her.

“Ma’am, what’s your name? Your name?”

A dog barked somewhere and kept barking, jerking her back to here, to now, away from the darkness for a moment. She could feel the darkness getting closer though, whispering to her. Sirens screamed louder and louder.

“Ma’am, calm down. Calm down.” Hands held her and she blinked, finally focusing. A policeman. A cop.

She licked her lips. “Cop. Help. Please.”

“What’s your name?” he asked. Dark hair, dark eyes.

“Ella. Ella.” She grabbed his shirt. “Help me. They took . . .” She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest felt funny, tired. So damned tired. “Baby. They took my baby. My . . . my . . . Please, I need him. Please. They took her.”

“Him? . . . Ella! Stay with me! What’s his name? Stay with me!”

“Quin.” She licked her dry, cracked lips. Dry. So tired.
Have to find her. Have to find her baby . . .

“Ella! What’s his name?”

“Quinlan Kinncaid . . . D.C. . . . The baby. Took her. They took her. Please . . .” She wanted Quin. “He’s my . . . my . . .” She tried to swallow; the world unfocused again in bright blues and reds as sirens screamed in her ear. “Husband.”

She saw his lips move, knew he leaned over her, but the darkness grew, a terrible monster, and swallowed her whole.

Part I: Beginnings

Chapter 1

February, earlier that year

“Where the hell are we going?”

His brothers looked at him and no one answered.

Quinlan Kinncaid took another deep breath of recirculated air and stared out the jet’s window. Wherever they were headed, it was south of the Washington, D.C., area. He shifted in the leather seat of the Gulfstream V and figured this was just another WTF moment in a long line of similar situations over the last few months.

He’d chosen not to say anything. It was pointless, he’d learned that years ago as the youngest of five boys. No one ever listened to him anyway. And the last few months of his recovery? Well, his older brothers did what they did best, bullied the hell out of him when he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. He’d heard too many times that he needed to take it easy and rest more, take a breather, don’t push so hard. Or to get off his ass, get out more, do this, do that. The lists were endless.

He was tired of them all, it just took too damned much energy to fight off four older siblings than it did to go along and bide his time.

However, he couldn’t really blame them. Hell, he’d be the same way if the roles were reversed.

Kinncaids protected. Kinncaids stuck together. Kinncaids kicked anyone’s ass who messed with one of their own. And if one of the asses happened to be a Kinncaid’s, so be it.

His brothers were worried. They had given him a choice. Not only were they worried about him, they were worried about his parents, who were also worrying about him. Guilt trips worked. So it was either go along willingly or Ian, the meanest of them all, would
knock his ass out and he’d wake up where they wanted him to.

Sibling love at its finest.

“You know, you could say this is an intervention,” Gavin said, shifting in his seat and motioning with his tumbler of whiskey.

“An intervention?” Quinlan just looked at them all. An intervention of what? He didn’t drink anymore, half the time didn’t take the pain pills he was supposed to take, and God knew his leg hurt like a freaking bitch half the time. He didn’t gamble. The last time he’d gotten laid had almost killed him, so sex had been a no go for some time as well. He didn’t do much of anything. Hell, he’d even cut back on his hours at the family hotel in D.C.

Gavin, one of his twin brothers, nodded. “Yeah, an intervention, and I have to say I think it’s a freaking great idea. I was really needing to get away.”

Brayden, the other twin, sighed. “You might have been, but I wasn’t. I didn’t want to leave Christian for this long.”

The two were identical, built like linebackers and with the inherited Kinncaid dark hair and cobalt eyes. Gavin had always been the jokester, Brayden the more serious.

Gavin waved his hand. “All the women are staying at the hotel doing the spa thing with Mom, and Dad’s got Ryan to keep him busy with golf. Grandkids, grandparents and women. She’ll be fine. Trust me, I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re not my wife’s doctor,” Brayden said, taking a sip of his own drink. Vodka, if he went with habit.

“Well, no, that would just be weird, Bray. I deliver babies, and if I had to I’d deliver my niece or nephew, but I’d rather enjoy familial births rather than be the one delivering them if it’s all the same to you. Your doc is Strong, right? Good ob-gyn.”

Quinlan rolled his eyes and let the two talk babies and wives and birthing plans—whatever the hell those were. All his brothers were married. All had kids. All were living that
happy family picket fence Little League
bullshit.

Okay, maybe his brothers’ lives weren’t exactly bullshit. They were happy and he was happy for them and he loved all his nieces and nephews. Really, he did. But he’d always figured that life wasn’t for him. He’d never actually thought it was for him, even if his mother was forever complaining that she just might not live to see the day he married, let alone gave her a grandbaby.

Now, even if he did think the picket fence, big diamond ring, home every night was for him, who would he trust with that? That thought was too damned deep for now and he was more concerned with what his brothers had planned than whether he might get married. Ever.

“Dad will probably write us all out of his will for leaving him with them all,” Aiden, the oldest, volunteered as he sprawled in his chair, tucking his cell phone back into his pocket.

“Nah, he’ll love every minute of it,” Gavin added.

“So again, why are we all on the plane heading south?” Quinlan asked.

Ian, the second oldest and often most silent of the family, tossed him a water bottle. “We are all here because I told them we were going. I didn’t take no from them any more than I took it from you.”

“You mean I’m not the only one lucky enough to be threatened to come along?”

“Threaten is such a dirty word,” Ian said, grinning and leaning back. “I prefer persuaded.”

Quinlan looked at each of his older brothers. “Waterboarding is frowned upon, you know.”

“Personally,” Ian continued, “I found it generally got me the results I wanted, if the time allowed.”

“You know, we could just be happy we’re taking a small break. Away from the kids, the women and the grandparents—Lord love them all,” Gavin muttered.

“You’re the one that moved closer to home,” Ian told his brother.

Gavin shrugged. “And you didn’t?”

“Not that close.” Ian shifted and sighed. “Besides, how long has it been since we’ve done this?”

No one said anything for a long time.

“Never,” Quinlan said, looking at each of his brothers. He chuckled. “I was still in school when you went AWOL.”

“I didn’t go AWOL. I was exploring my options.” Ian frowned at him.

“Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.” He leaned over and punched Ian in the arm. “So thanks.”

Aiden grinned. “Bet that hurt.”

“Not as much as I thought it might. So again,” he said, “where are we going for our overly extended time of brotherly bonding?”

No one said anything for a moment. Then Brayden looked at him. “You know, I don’t remember you being such a smart-ass before.”

“Side effect of the meds I take.”

Several of his brothers laughed. He only smiled.

“Well, I for one am damned glad,” Brody Kinncaid said.

They had a few cousins. Brody and Conner were the only two they’d claim. Brody came, but Conner was in Taiwan.

“Were you also threatened?”

“Hell, no,” Brody said, plopping down beside him. “I figured it would be like those summer trips we were forced to take as kids when our parents met at the Vineyard.” He sighed. “Miss those times, truth be told. Now we work all the time.”