Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series (9 page)

“Well, Dr. Braddock,” Parker said, “looks like this time it’s well and truly over.”

Yeah, with the exception of finding the murderer. But that wasn’t something his attorney
was concerned about. Parker had done what he was hired to do. Now it was up to the
police to go after the real killer. And while he appreciated that the charges had
been dropped, he hoped to hell the real murderer could be caught. Until he was, that
cloud of suspicion would continue to hover.

With an odd sense of déjà vu, Quinn once again shook Parker’s hand and walked out
the door. Halfway across
the crowded room, he stopped. Stupid, but he wanted to see Sam’s face when she learned
that he wasn’t guilty. Would she be surprised? Why the hell should he care? Still,
he couldn’t help himself.

He stopped at the large reception desk. “Is Detective Wilde in?”

Not bothering to look up from the report he was reading, an officer answered, “She’s
on vacation this week.”

The news deflated any good feeling. So Samantha had gone out of town while he’d been
fighting for his freedom. If that didn’t show him where her mind and heart were, nothing
would.

Quinn stalked out the door. To hell with her.

Standing before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, Samantha ignored the terror
in her eyes as she forced her frozen lips upward into some semblance of a confident
smile. A small, still voice inside her said that this was the wrong way to go. That
Quinn needed her remorse and love, not a sexy siren. Perhaps if she were more confident
of him, she might consider just showing up at his door like normal and asking his
forgiveness. But as unsure as she was of Quinn’s feelings, how could she not arrive
dressed for battle?

She was going in with full armor. The body-hugging sleeveless black dress stopped
several inches above her knees, its plunging neckline only a fraction above indecent,
the next-to-nothing back showing more bare skin than some swimsuits. Black stilettos
adorned her slender feet, making her already long legs look even longer and sleeker.
Her hair, which she knew Quinn loved, flowed over her shoulders to the middle of her
back in a smooth stream of golden silkiness.

For the first time in a long time, she was using her looks to influence someone. The
person in the mirror wasn’t Samantha anymore, and this outfit was certainly not something
she felt comfortable wearing. This woman resembled the old Samantha Wilde. Looking
beautiful every moment of every day was what she had once strived
for with single-minded focus. She didn’t miss those days of being more concerned about
her looks than she was about her studies or the world around her. That kind of narcissistic
self-containment had seen her through high school. In college, away from the stifling
image she had created for herself, Samantha had come into her own.

She had entered the University of Georgia a naïve and self-centered young woman with
no real clue of what she wanted to do with her life. For the first couple of months,
she had maintained the same type of lifestyle and attitude she’d had in Midnight.
With little effort, she had been instantly popular, gathering friends around her like
always.

And then she’d met Simon Endicott. At first Samantha had thought of him as a stereotypical
shy and awkward young man who was afraid to ask her out. It had never been in her
nature to rebuff or look down on anyone, and though it took some time, she’d managed
to draw Simon out of his shell. She was soon glad she had. Simon became a good friend.
With his sweetness and his razor-sharp wit, he could always make her day brighter.

Then came the day that he didn’t come to class and a dozen of her phone calls and
texts went unanswered. Days later, Simon’s lifeless body was found about twenty miles
from campus in the Oconee River.

Samantha had been devastated. Memories of her parents’ deaths were never far from
her mind. With Simon’s passing, her nightmares returned full force.

At first the police had ruled it an accidental drowning. Samantha’s instincts told
her something else. His relationship with his stepfather had been volatile. Simon
hadn’t talked about him much, but she’d seen the fear and disdain in his eyes when
the man’s name came up.

It had been beyond frustrating when she had gone to the police with her suspicions.
Being treated like a beautiful,
clueless ditz had never sat well with her. She might concentrate on her looks more
than she should, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have intelligence and depth. Finally
she found a female homicide detective who listened to her. And eventually, though
it took much longer than it should have, Simon’s stepfather was arrested and then
convicted.

Simon’s death changed Samantha. She grieved for her friend and missed him daily, but
it also gave her a focus she had never possessed before. From then on, she had known
she wanted to help bring murderers to justice. She had changed her major from fashion
merchandising to criminal justice, toned down her looks to reveal her serious side,
and never looked back.

Tonight she was putting all of that aside. If her looks and sex appeal could sway
Quinn and get him to listen to her, then she would use them.

Quinn had never seen her like this. Whenever they’d gone out, to elegant parties or
a nice restaurant, she had dressed femininely but conservatively. She loved beautiful
clothes and still wanted to look attractive, but she no longer felt the need to use
her looks to deflect attention from what was going on inside her. Tonight that was
different. Remorse, self-contempt, and more than a little fear swirled like a violent
whirlpool inside her. If Quinn didn’t forgive her poor judgment and lack of faith
in him, what would she do?

She turned away from the mirror and the vulnerability she saw in her eyes. She couldn’t
let that show when she saw Quinn. He would see remorse and love but she couldn’t let
him know how much she was hurting, too.

Hiding behind a beautiful façade had been her best defense when she was growing up,
and while she knew Quinn wasn’t going to forgive her just because she looked sexy,
if she could just get him to soften at all, then hopefully he would listen to what
she had to say.

Refusing to glance in the mirror again to see if she’d managed to veil the vulnerable
look, Samantha grabbed her purse and car keys and walked out of her apartment. Optimism
had seen her through some tough times; this would be no different.

Quinn would forgive her—she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Quinn was on his third scotch before he began to feel the slightest easing of his
muscles. Running had always been his outlet for his troubles in the past. For the
first time in his memory, physical exercise held no appeal. Getting drunk seemed to
be just the thing to get over the hell he’d lived for the past week.

Sprawled in his oversized recliner, he downed half the contents of his glass in one
long swallow. The alcohol dimmed the memory of the last time he’d been in this chair.
Sam had been with him and they’d watched a sappy old movie. At the admittedly sad
and depressing ending, he’d asked her if she enjoyed the movie. Instead of answering,
she had buried her face against his chest and cried buckets. Quinn had held her, soothing
her with words and caresses. After she had calmed, she had kissed him. Her lips had
been lusciously soft and slightly salty from her tears. He remembered thinking it
was the sweetest kiss he’d ever had.

The hurt he felt at her defection had diminished. Some of the relief was alcohol related
but a small, still-sober part of him knew he’d retreated to the place he went when
it all became too much. Compartmentalizing and locking away the pain was how he’d
learned to deal. Didn’t matter that this time it was more difficult than any other
time. He would get there … eventually.

He hadn’t seen Sam since she’d left his apartment that night. The night he’d learned
that the woman he had
intended to ask to move in with him thought he was a murderer. Of course, he had canceled
the special dinner he’d had planned for Friday—she hadn’t even known about it anyway.
Instead, he’d taken a long run through the city. With every mile, his resolve had
grown firmer. He was done with making mistakes. After his divorce, he’d sworn he would
never let his guard down again. And then what the hell had he done? He’d fallen for
a woman who thought he was capable of murder.

The ringing of the doorbell was an easily ignored irritant. The incessant pounding
on his door just as easy to disregard. Whoever it was would go away eventually. He
didn’t want to see or talk to anyone for the foreseeable future. In a day or two,
when he’d regained some perspective, he’d go back to caring about the living. For
right now, he didn’t give a damn about anyone.

The jiggle of the doorknob was barely a warning before the door was shoved open, and
in seconds Samantha stood before him.

He glared up at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to apologize.”

A grin stretched his mouth but he figured it looked more like a snarl. “Oh yeah? Nice
of you.”

Her hands clutched her purse in front of her as if she were nervous. When her eyes
flickered over the drink in his hand, he knew the reason for her unease. She didn’t
like people to drink too much. Said it showed a lack of character. Hell, since she’d
thought he was a murderer, he wouldn’t have figured she could think less of him.

He raised his glass. “Want a drink?”

“No. I want to tell you how sorry I am for not believing in you.”

“Guess that means you heard the news.”

“Yes, I heard. I found out by—”

He abruptly surged to his feet and released a humorless bark of laughter when she
jumped away. “So you know I’m not a murderer but you’re still afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Quinn. You startled me … that’s all.”

He didn’t hear her words. For the first time, he noticed what she was wearing. Or
holy shit, what she wasn’t wearing. She looked like a wet dream on Viagra. Silky blond
hair reached down toward her delectable ass, the sexy, skintight dress showed every
luscious curve of her beautiful body to its best advantage, and the fuck-me shoes
had him hard in an instant. He wrapped his hand around a soft, slender wrist. “Show
me how sorry you are.”

“What?”

“Show me just how much you regret thinking I’m a murderer.”

“Quinn, going to bed with you isn’t the reason I came over here.”

“Really? Is that why you’re dressed like a porn star?”

Instead of acting insulted or angry, she froze, and a vulnerable, childlike expression
flickered across her face. The look was so fleeting, he almost thought he imagined
it. That didn’t lessen his regret. Hell, he wasn’t usually such a prick, even with
people who’d stomped on him like he was dog shit.

“Sorry, Sam.” He backed away and dropped down into the chair again. “You’d better
leave. I’m not fit company.”

“Let me make us something to eat and then we can talk.”

She looked so hopeful and eager to please, Quinn couldn’t have resisted if he’d tried.
“Yeah … food sounds good. You fix something and I’ll just sit here and relax.”

Though her gaze dropped to the bottle sitting beside his chair, she didn’t try to
take it from him. A good thing, since he wasn’t about to give it up. This was the
best he’d felt in days.

“You want anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “Make whatever you like.” And because he figured he was letting
her off too easy, he added, “I don’t give a damn.”

Her legs decidedly shaky, Samantha turned away and headed to the kitchen. She guessed
it could have gone worse. At least he hadn’t thrown her out of the house. She needed
to get some food in him, sober him up. He knew that being around people who drank
too much made her nervous, she had just never told him why. She had planned to at
some point, but there never seemed to be the right time. The confession “Oh, by the
way, my drunken father murdered my mother and then committed suicide” wasn’t something
you just casually mentioned.

Since she figured he needed to get some food into his system as soon as possible,
she didn’t go for anything elaborate or time consuming. Grilled cheese and tomato
soup had been a favorite of hers when she’d been under the weather as a kid. And though
Quinn wasn’t physically sick, she’d seen enough pain in his eyes to convince her he
was sick at heart. To know that she was a big part of his pain hurt her in ways she
had never felt before.

As she prepared the meal, she came to a decision. She needed to come clean about everything.
Explaining she hadn’t trusted him because of her father’s horrible betrayal might
seem like a lame excuse; nevertheless, it was the truth. She should have trusted Quinn.
Her love hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to the suspicion. But now, having come
full circle, she would never doubt him again.

Samantha prepared a tray, figuring Quinn wouldn’t be steady enough to come into the
kitchen to eat. As she finished the preparations, she wondered if it would be possible
for him to open up to her, too. They might have been as intimate as two people could
be, but there were so many things they still didn’t know about each other. She hadn’t
pressed for anything because of her own dark past. Had he done the same? Other than
an unfaithful wife, who else had hurt Quinn?

Carrying the tray on which she’d placed a bowl of soup, two sandwiches, and a cold
glass of milk, she headed to the living room. She stopped at the door and took in
the scene. Quinn was passed out in the chair, snoring. Should she try to wake him?
Since she avoided people who overdrank, she had little experience with drunken people.
Though she’d seen her share of drunks as a cop, she didn’t usually try to sober them
up—she arrested them.

She placed the tray on the table beside the chair and shook his shoulders gently.
“Quinn, can you wake up and eat something?”