Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (43 page)

“Sit up or I’ll tie you to the chair.”

Since that would greatly hinder her escape, Samantha complied and once again suffered
his hands brushing and smoothing her hair. She waited for several more seconds, trying
to regulate her rapid breathing. If he suspected anything, he would tie her up and
she might never get this chance again.

“I love your hair.” He buried his face against the back
of her neck and breathed in deeply. “It smells good, too.”

Swallowing bile, she waited until he pulled away. Then, surging to her feet, she whirled
and slammed the rock into the side of his head. He went down, but she wasted no time
checking to see what kind of damage she’d done. As if her feet had wings, she took
off like a wild animal, undeterred by the darkness or the lack of shoes to protect
her feet. Better to die of exposure than let the bastard get the chance to kill her
or Quinn.

Without light, Samantha had to rely on other senses besides sight. Mist floated all
around, saturating the thin dress she wore. Being barefooted was probably her biggest
worry. If she injured her feet, getting away would be even more difficult.

Running noiselessly was almost impossible. The ground was soggy but covered with broken
twigs and leaves. Every step she took sounded like a blast of dynamite to her ears.
Her breath wheezed through her lungs and the wound in her back throbbed. The warmth
streaming down her back told her she was bleeding again. Since there was nothing she
could do about it, she forced herself to focus on one thing only—getting as far away
from the lunatic as she could.

She ran with her arms stretched out to avoid slamming into a tree, and barely grimaced
as a blob of something slippery smacked her in the face. Moss most likely. Her fingers
touched a broad tree and she took a moment to lean against it to catch her breath
and listen. Nothing but the sound of her own breathing, the distant hoot of an owl,
and wind whistling through the trees.

Had she knocked him out cold? Maybe even killed him? If so, the nightmare was over.
If not, she would—

An inhuman scream sounded in the distance. He had apparently just woken and realized
what had happened.
She could rest no longer. Drawing in a shaky breath for courage and strength, she
took off again.

“Samantha! Where aaaare yooouuuuu?”

His voice echoed eerily through the trees. It was impossible to tell how far away
he was.
Keep running … keep running … keep running
became a mantra in her mind, matching the rhythm of her thudding heartbeat.

A flood of light in the distance gave her the first sight of where she was. Headlights … from
a car. Quinn was here. She had to get to him, stop him before he faced the maniac
alone.

Renewed optimism gave her a burst of energy. Quinn was here and everything was going
to be okay. Samantha took a giant leap toward light and safety. Cruel, brutal hands
grabbed her arms and jerked her backward. She screamed and something soft but noxious
covered her mouth and nose. Trying not to breathe, she fought with all her strength;
kicking backward, she connected with his shin and heard a slight grunt.

Her mind whirled and her muffled cry of defeat was drowned out by the sound of triumphant
laughter that followed her into darkness.

Quinn pulled to a stop a few yards from the GPS location of Sam’s phone. He was armed
and ready, a Glock 22 in his pocket, a Kel-Tec P-32 in an ankle holster, and a Ka-Bar
knife hidden in the lining of his fleece jacket. He was also armed with knowledge
and information.

An hour ago, he had been stupidly ignorant. Now vile, dirty family secrets had been
revealed. He had called his parents and learned more about the filth he’d come from
than he’d ever wanted to know. The rage, pain, and disgust would have to wait. Compartmentalizing
had saved his ass in the army. And now it would save Sam. He had no choice in the
matter. He cared
about nothing else but getting her to safety. If that entailed killing his brother
to do it, so be it. If that also included losing his own life, then that’s the way
it would have to be. Nothing mattered but saving the woman he loved.

And yes, he did love Sam. His stupid, idiotic need to control every aspect of his
life, including his heart, had kept him from admitting the truth. But there was no
doubt in his mind that he loved this beautiful, gentle-hearted, and courageous woman.
He just prayed that he got the chance to prove it to her and make it up to her.

Quinn opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out. In the distance, he saw two dim
lights and assumed they were from a car. He heard no voices or sounds other than the
normal noises of a quiet, eerie night in a swamp. Not hearing anything gave him hope.
Dalton would correctly assume that he was armed. And he would probably realize that
there were a couple of people behind Quinn who would step up and help. There was no
way he would know that he was surrounded by at least a dozen of the best hunters in
Midnight. They knew how to be silent and how to wait for the right time to take the
shot. And their mission was clear—save Sam.

Zach, both of his deputies, and his friend Brody James were among the crowd, along
with many others Quinn didn’t know. One of their own had been taken, and if there
was one thing the citizens of Midnight didn’t take kindly to, it was that.

The lights went dark and a voice called out, “Stop right there.”

Quinn jerked to a stop. He couldn’t see anyone but it sounded as if Dalton was about
fifteen feet in front of him.

“Using your left hand, take the gun out of your right pocket.”

Quinn had known he’d have to lose that one. Slowly,
carefully, he complied and dropped the Glock on the ground.

“Come closer.”

Taking slow, measured steps, Quinn moved forward. Clouds that had obscured the moon
moved away, giving him some semblance of light. As he got closer, dark shapes began
to materialize. Two people, one sitting, one standing. He released a quiet, relieved
sigh. The one sitting was smaller, slighter—Sam. Just the knowledge that she was within
touching distance gave him a certain kind of peace.

“That’s far enough.”

Again Quinn stopped and waited for further instructions.

“Long time no see … brother,” Dalton sneered.

“Hello, Dalton.”

“You knew?” His voice had the disappointed sound of a petulant child who had been
deprived of a favorite dessert.

There was little need to lie about this. “Yes, but not until a few minutes ago.”

“Ah … I’ll bet you talked to our dear mother. How is the old hag?”

“Worried … about you.”

“But of course she is. I’m her only son.”

The image of Dalton’s headstone came to his mind, and like before, something clicked.
Holy hell, had his entire life been a lie?

Apparently taking Quinn’s silence as shock, Dalton laughed. That sound was familiar
and Quinn wished he had heard him laugh before tonight. If he had, he would have recognized
the distinctive sound.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

Already suspecting, Quinn gave Dalton the opportunity to spring the truth on him.

“You’re adopted. You’re the son of some knocked-up
teenager Mommy Dearest hired one summer. She didn’t think she could get pregnant,
so she purchased a kid. But then I surprised her. She found out she was pregnant with
me when you were about a year old. Too bad she didn’t get rid of you then. Life would
have been much simpler.”

“How do you know all this?”

“She was trying to convince me how much she loved me.” His voice was confident, smug.
“All the things I had to give up, all the indignities I had to suffer, because of
you. She wanted me to know I was her only son. Blood of her blood.”

“What is it you want, Dalton?”

“That should be pretty obvious, don’t you think? You took my life away from me. You
had to pay. Because of you, I had to change everything. My face, my career. You took
it all and left me nothing.”

Knowing it was useless, Quinn said anyway, “You tried to kill a woman.”

“Nobody had to know about that.” His tone turned sly. “Did you get the message? Thirteen
stabs—thirteen years?”

If he’d had any idea Dalton was alive, yeah, he would’ve gotten the message. Dalton
was thirteen years old when he was put away.

When Quinn didn’t answer, Dalton went on. “I admit it was a bit self-serving, but
a guy’s gotta have a little fun.”

Refusing to contribute to his smugness, Quinn went on to something that he couldn’t
get his head wrapped around. “Why wait so long to come after me? You had to know where
I was.”

“The fucking medications they forced down my throat. They kept me from thinking clearly.
Every single day I had to take the things. I was like a zombie. Went to work, came
home. I had no life.

“Then one day I was driving down the road, minding my own business, and some bitch
cut me off in traffic. And that delicious anger returned. Damn, it felt good. I followed
her home and took care of her. I’d forgotten that incredible feeling of power. I left
town the next day and knew exactly where I needed to go and what I needed to do. It
took me a while to set it all up. But finally, my mind was clear and I was thinking
straight again. And I knew it was time for you to see the consequences of your actions.”

“Why not just come after me? Why did you have to kill Charlene and Lindsay?”

“Because you needed to suffer. If I’d just killed you, then it would have been over.
And because they were so damn fun.”

“I have suffered.”

Dalton gave a loud snort of disgust. “Not nearly enough.”

“You’ve taken what was most important to me—my reputation and my career.”

“Really?” Dalton paused and suddenly a lantern flickered on.

Quinn knew if he survived this night, the image before him would haunt his nightmares
for years to come. Sam sat slumped in the chair. Her eyes were closed, indicating
she was either unconscious or dead. He detected no life. The light was too dim for
him to see if she was breathing. The only thing that gave him hope was that she had
tape over her mouth. Why would Dalton need to gag her if she was dead?

“I think killing this little lady might hurt you the most of all.”

Quinn shook his head and forced his mouth into an amused smile. “Now, why would you
think that?”

“You bought a house here to be close to her. I saw you kissing her. And remember,
I was there at the Thanksgiving
dinner. You were looking at her like there was no one else in the room.”

His shoulders were so stiff with tension, he barely managed a slight shrug. “That’s
called lust, dear brother. Surely you know all about that. She’s a sweet piece of
meat, nothing more.”

“Then why’d you buy a house here?”

That was harder to explain but he did his best. “Because I like to fuck in private.
If I hadn’t bought a place, the gossips would be watching my every move. I got a place
that’s far enough away from town so I can do to her what I damn well please.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then wake Samantha up and ask her. She’ll tell you what I told her.”

“How do you know she’s not already dead?”

Quinn stopped breathing and his heart screamed a denial. Then sanity returned. Dalton
wanted to torture him. If he intended to kill Sam, then he would want to do it in
front of Quinn.

“I saw her breathing,” he lied.

Sam’s head jerked back—Dalton must’ve pulled her hair. Though her eyes were closed,
he did finally detect signs of life. He saw the rapid movement of her chest, indicating
she was alive and was most likely awake. Had she heard him deny his feelings? He couldn’t
let that matter now. Once this was over, he would do anything and everything he could
to make up for all of this, including the lies he’d had to tell his brother.

“Wake up, Sammie, and say goodbye to your lover.”

Her eyes flickered and then finally opened. She stared at him and he wondered if she
was in a daze. Brody had found an empty hypodermic needle on the floor of the kitchen,
and Quinn figured that was how she was taken.

Dalton leaned down and whispered loudly in her ear,
“My brother here is telling me tales about your relationship.”

“We have no relationship. We sleep together … that’s all.”

Her voice was cold and hard, devoid of emotion. Quinn hoped like hell she was lying
and wasn’t saying the words because she believed them.

“No, that can’t be true. You’re just saying that.”

Quinn held a hand up. “Scout’s honor. She’s no different from any of the other women
I’ve slept with. Hell, you really think after being married to that slut Charlene,
I’d want to tie myself down to any woman ever again?”

“It’s true,” Sam whispered. “That’s what he told me.”

Dalton shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it.” He jerked Sam up and kicked the chair
to the side. Holding her as a shield in front of him, he snarled, “Then if you don’t
care about her, you won’t mind if I do this.”

Quinn shouted, “No!” and dove for the knife in Dalton’s hand. An instant before he
reached him, he knew he was too late. The knife sank deep into Sam’s stomach.

Fury and fear coalesced into a driving need to destroy. Using every bit of force he
could muster, Quinn slammed his fist into his brother’s face. The crunching sound
of breaking bone and cartilage barely penetrated his consciousness.

Quinn caught Sam in his arms and placed her gently on the ground. His hand firmly
over her wound, he said sharply, urgently, “Sam, can you hear me? Wake up. Look at
me.”

Her eyes blinked slightly and she mumbled something. Quinn leaned closer.

A gleeful laugh came from several feet away. Quinn glanced up briefly. Dalton, his
entire face a bloody mess,
stood swaying as if he could barely stand. And he was smiling.

Quinn returned his attention to Samantha. “Sam, you’re going to be fine. I—”

The sound of a rifle shot registered. Quinn jerked his head up in time to see Dalton
waver unsteadily right above him, the knife clutched in his hand, ready to strike.
Then, as if in slow motion, he crumpled slowly to the ground.