Broken (32 page)

Why did she have one of his shirts?

The whisper of her voice danced through his mind. She’d told him, repeatedly, that she couldn’t stay, that she couldn’t explain. Maybe . . .

“Fuck.” He came to a stop in front of the dresser and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was doing it again, trying to make up excuses, trying to explain away what she’d done, how she hadn’t told him the truth, reasons for misleading him. He was so desperate to believe there was something else going on, even though she’d yet to give him a reason to believe otherwise.

He wanted to trust her again—to believe in her. Wanted to pin his hopes on the fact that she had one of his T-shirts stowed in her bag, to believe something other than the obvious, all because he
thought
he saw unhappiness in her eyes.

“Stupid, so fucking stupid,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. He never should have trusted her in the first place and here he was, desperate for her to give him a reason to do it again. To trust her. To believe in her.

From the corner of his eye, his reflection caught his attention. Slowly, he turned his head, studied the man he saw in the mirror. He looked much like he always had, lean face, hair that needed cutting, an unsmiling mouth.

Cold eyes.

Angry eyes.

He didn’t like the man he saw, he realized abruptly. Not right now.

He didn’t like how pissed off he was, how angry, feeling like he shouldn’t trust Sarah, that he was right for not doing it. He didn’t like any of it. Dragging his eyes away from the mirror, he dropped down in the chair in front of the desk, staring at the gleaming wood surface without seeing it.

He wanted to trust her. Part of him needed to try.

Why was it such a bitch for him? Why now? Why was it so fucking important for him to believe her? She’d already proven to him that he
couldn’t
trust her, but here he was miserable because he didn’t want to let that go.

Abruptly, he shoved out of the chair and stormed to the door. Out in the hall, he pulled his phone out and dialed up Luke.

“Be home, man,” he muttered under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Devon answered on the third ring, and Quinn managed to keep from swearing. Just barely.

“Sorry, Quinn.” A yawn interrupted her words and he glanced at his watch, wincing as he realized he’d probably gotten her out of bed. It was close to midnight in Kentucky.

“Luke’s working tonight . . . try calling his cell. He’s usually got it on, so unless he’s in the middle of something, you can probably get through,” Devon said.

“No.” He shoved off the wall. “I’ll just talk to him later.”

“Are you okay? You sound kind of . . . well, more pissed off than normal.”

Quinn laughed and the sound was so bitter, it all but choked him. “You’ve got good ears. I
am
more pissed off than normal.”

Her voice was hesitant as she asked, “Is there anything I can help with?”

“No.” He went to disconnect. Then stopped. Cleared his throat. “I dunno. Maybe.”

“What is it?”

He blew out a breath and focused on the door in front of him. He couldn’t hear the shower from here, didn’t know if she was done—the phone. Fuck . . . “Hold on.” He pulled his key card out and swiped it, pushed the door open just enough to glance inside. He could hear the shower. From where he stood, he could see the hotel phone. Careful. Had to be more careful than that.

What if Sarah got ahold of whoever was trying to call her? What if whoever it was tried to help her slip away? Not that Quinn planned on letting her out of his sight—not until he had answers.

Answers—fuck the money, he wanted answers.

“Quinn?”

Devon’s voice jerked him out of his thoughts. Leaning against the doorjamb, keeping the door propped open with his foot, he half listened to the sound of water coming from the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he said into the phone.

“It’s okay. How can I help with . . . well, whatever is going on?”

He felt like a fool, standing there trying to figure out how to ask what he needed to know. But he wasn’t sure
what
he needed to know, so how could he ask?

A memory flashed through his mind. Months earlier, after Devon had left the hospital, he’d gone by the house where she lived with Luke. The scars on her arms—her childhood had been even more screwed up than Quinn’s had. Not that she’d explained much about it, and Luke hadn’t, either. But Quinn knew—somehow, he just knew.

Quinn and Devon, both of them were broken, battered souls. Two of a kind. Or at least Devon
had
been . . . until Luke.

“You have a hard time trusting people, Devon?” he asked.

“Do I have a hard time trusting people?” she echoed. Then she snorted. “In a word, yes. In three words—oh, hell, yes.”

“Do you trust Luke?”

“Luke . . . ?” She paused and then asked, “You want to know if I trust Luke?”

He could all but hear the confusion in her voice. Blood rushed to his cheeks.
Hate this
—hated, hated, hated. “Yeah. I want to know if you trust Luke.”

“Quinn, if I didn’t trust Luke, I wouldn’t have married him.”

The water in the shower turned off. His heart skipped a beat and he stared at the bathroom door. “How did you know you could trust him? How did you know you
should
?”

“There wasn’t ever much of a question. Part of me trusted him pretty much from the beginning. Otherwise . . .” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Look, this is complicated, and very personal, but I never consciously made a decision to trust him. I just did. I just knew I could. I knew I should.”

“Never had doubts?”

Devon laughed. “Oh, I had plenty of doubts . . . but the voice in my heart managed to be louder than the doubts in the long run.”

Seconds ticked away and Devon finally broke the silence. “You still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

“Are you okay? Ahhh . . . well, maybe this isn’t my business, but Luke mentioned you’d met a lady. Is—well, is this about her?”

“Yeah. No. Shit.” Still staring at the bathroom door, he tried to focus on the conversation, tried to think past the blood roaring in his head. “Beats the hell out of me. I don’t know what in the fu—hell. I don’t know what’s going on inside my head.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Look, I’m a lousy person to offer any kind of advice, but you know people, Quinn. You may not like a lot of them, but you know them. Whatever the problem is now, I’d say just try to stick to what your heart tells you. What your gut says. Instincts are usually pretty reliable.”

The door started to open. His hand clenched on the phone.
Reliable
—how could the bloody, bruised mess of his heart be anything he could rely on?

“I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice gritty. Without waiting for Devon to say anything else, he hung up.

Putting the phone away, he stared as Sarah opened the door and came out. A rush of steam followed her. He slipped all the way into the room and nudged the door closed with his foot.

Leaning against the wall, he gazed at her, tried to find some sense in the chaos of his mind. She ignored him, moving about the room as though she was the only one in there. She placed her bags on the bed and reorganized them, neatly folding the shirts, the jeans, even her panties.

“I’ve got your money,” he said. He angled his chin toward the belt he’d draped over the back of the desk chair. There was also money on the desk, the five thousand he’d taken from her at the bus station, along with the money he’d found hidden inside her clothes while she slept. Her jeans had inner pockets sewn inside, and there had been another thousand in each of the pockets, as well as tucked inside her shoes. She was a money bag on legs.

Sarah gave him a withering look. “Yes, I figured that much out.”

She didn’t ask him to return it. Didn’t so much as glance at her belt or the cash on the desk. She just kept on folding her clothes until the bags were once more nice and tidy. She’d slipped his shirt in there, too. Nice and subtle, with no change in her expression as she did it.

Why
—

The question leaped to his lips but he bit it back. He wasn’t going to ask her. Not right now. Not until he figured out if he could trust anything she said. Not until he figured out if he
wanted
to try trusting anything she said.

After she finished with her bags, she zipped them closed. He went to take one from her, but she had both of them in hand before he managed to get within two feet of the bed. Cutting a wide berth around him, she dumped them by the door and then retreated deeper into the room.

She didn’t go to the bed, though. She went to the closet and rose on her toes, grabbing one of the pillows and blankets stashed on the top shelf. Without looking at him, she took them to the couch and settled down.

Quinn frowned. “Take the bed. I’m not going to sleep much.” “I’m fine,” she said, her voice cool. And she still didn’t so much as glance his way.

“Take the bed,” he repeated.

Finally, she turned her head. Her brown eyes flashed as she glared at him. “I don’t want to take the damn bed.” Then she settled down on the couch, turned her back to him, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.

Scowling at her, he stormed to the bed and grabbed a blanket and pillow. He was tired as hell, but he doubted he’d sleep. He might have tried lying down on the other side of the king-sized bed after she fell asleep, because if she moved around any, he’d wake up.

What if she tried to slip away . . . ? Something inside him wanted to scream at the thought.

He ignored it. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he could ignore that screaming, and the pain that kept slicing through him.

He threw the pillow on the ground, dropped the blanket on top of it. Then he braced his back against the door and slid down. Stretching his legs out in front of him, he stared at Sarah’s back.

“I’M done.”

Gritty-eyed, Quinn looked up as Sarah slipped out of the bathroom. She stared at him, her face a cool, empty mask. Her eyes met his briefly and then picked a point over his shoulder.

Done.
They could go.

Make the drive to Chicago, where he would turn her over to her husband and then he’d never see her again. Fuck—his hands flexed, itching to grab her and pull her against him. Cradle her close. Never let go.

A muscle jerked in his jaw. If he listened to what his heart was telling him, then he would do just that. Never let her go. The part of him that refused to let her go wasn’t worried about the damage she’d done to his pride. It wasn’t worried about the fact that she was already taken. It wasn’t worried about the lies or anything other than the unbearable thought that he had to let her go.

“Are you going to get up so we can leave or just sit there all day?” Sarah asked.

Stick to what your heart tells you.
How in the hell could he trust his heart, though?

Time. He needed a little more time. Just a little more to make sense of everything roaring inside him.

“I want breakfast,” he said flatly, shoving off the wall. He dropped back into the chair in front of the desk and flipped open the pseudo-leather binder that held the hotel information, blank letterhead, and menus. He wasn’t hungry, but it would kill another hour if they ate something before heading out. Maybe he could use some of that time to smooth out a bit of the chaos.

“What do you want?” he asked after he’d skimmed the menu. He watched her in the mirror as she stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Coffee.”

Quinn frowned. “Anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”

He ran his tongue along his teeth and spun around in the chair, staring at her. “There’s a gym here. You want to do your run?”

Pushing up on one elbow, she looked at him as a smile curled her lips—it was a rather satisfied-looking smile. Actually, it was more like a smirk than a real smile, he decided.

“No. I don’t want to go for a run.” Another one of those odd, indescribable looks flashed through her eyes as she lay back down.

“No more. No more running. No more stupid exercising. I’m done.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her hands moving. Fingers flexing, then curling into tight fists.

“You ever going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked quietly.

Sarah closed her eyes. “You’ve already decided you
know
what’s going on. Why should I waste my breath? Order your breakfast, Quinn. Order my coffee. Then let’s get this show on the road.”

Sighing, he turned back to the desk and reached for the menu that didn’t have anything on it that he really wanted. He placed the order and then hunkered down over the desk and started trying to unravel some of the knots in his soul.