“This wasn’t just plain terrible; this was fancy terrible. This was terrible with raisins in it.”
—Dorothy Parker, Women Know Everything!
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
It was a toss-up what made Quinn more nauseated: Aiden’s maniacal driving or the thought of her cousin in mortal danger. Every time she peeked out the car window, familiar scenery morphed into a long blur—tree-lined roads becoming streaks of green and brown, stretched out like pulled taffy.
It was a blessing her parents couldn’t see her now. The irony wasn’t lost on her—three years in places considered unsafe by the U.S. Department of State travel advisory, only to finally be at home—and headed straight for a suburban combat zone.
She gazed over at Aiden, whose jaw was locked, his tight-fisted grip on the steering wheel. Quinn knew him well enough to know he was already going through about a hundred different scenarios on how the scene at the abbey was going to go down. If only she had a clue.
“Please, Aiden, talk to me.” She swallowed, willing her voice to remain steady. If she sounded like she was going to crack, no way was he going to share anything with her.
He gave her a stern look. “You are here as a courtesy. Do you understand? Once we arrive at the scene, you are not to get out of the vehicle. You are not to call your family or anyone else. If there’s press on the grounds, you will not talk to them.”
“I get it, absolutely.” She tried reminding her lungs how to breathe.
“All right, before the funeral, at zero nine hundred hours, a Caucasian male came into the abbey’s receiving area, demanding to speak with Daria, threatening to hurt himself. Thank Christ, before she went down to talk to him, she called the station and alerted our desk captain, saying it could be a ten-fifty-six-a—”
“Again,” she interrupted, “English, please.”
“That’s a suicide attempt,” he told her. “Anyway, she talked to him for quite a while, trying to calm him down. His behavior presented as erratic—screaming one minute, crying the next. He was perseverating, repeating on a loop about how he lost the love of his life to some rich guy.”
They were in front of Guinefort House. Aiden stopped and parked the car, both of them taking off their seat belts. Quinn hit the button on the passenger-side door to roll down the window. After the drive through the seven circles of hell, Quinn needed some fresh air to stabilize her stomach.
Even before Aiden had his door all the way open, a couple of his police officers, along with a flurry of press, surrounded the car, pulling on the door so hard Quinn was amazed it didn’t rip off its hinges. Unfortunately, another swarm of press was headed for her too.
“Excuse me, miss. Who are you?”
“Detective Harrington! Is it true the shooter’s one of your own?”
“Is he holding hostages? Has he given a list of demands?”
“Miss, are you connected to the shooter or hostages inside?”
She had to push them out of her window with one hand while hitting the automatic button with the other. As soon as Aiden exited the vehicle and closed the door behind him, she locked the doors.
Like a swarm of moths following a light, the press trailed Aiden’s footsteps as he approached Guinefort House. When he was far enough away, Quinn didn’t hesitate to turn off the SUV and grab his keys.
She glanced over at RBG, who gave her a head tilt.
“I know what I said, but it’s Daria. I can’t just sit by and do nothing.”
She got out of the vehicle, and RBG bolted out after her.
“What are you doing? You could get hurt!”
RBG stopped, giving a quick shake of her head.
Quinn slammed the door. “Okay, fine. But be quiet. And stick by me.”
She wasn’t going to get too close because, in spite of her current actions, she actually didn’t have a death wish. But her cousin was in there. And if she was right, she had a pretty good idea who the shooter was. One of the journalists had asked Aiden if the culprit was “one of his own.” Could it be Officer Wyatt Reynolds?
Please, who else could it be?
Vienna and Fairfax County police officers had surrounded the perimeter of Guinefort House. There was a fire truck parked, and Quinn could hear the blare of an ambulance coming closer.
She might have promised, but if Officer Wyatt Reynolds was the shooter, Aiden needed to be informed of what she knew: the yearbook with notes from eighth grade, the vigilance he’d taken to keep in touch with Tricia through the years. Quinn could kick herself for not disclosing the information sooner, all because she hadn’t wanted to hear another patronizing speech.
She was thinking she still had some growing up to do after all.
Even surrounded by other cops in a tight huddle, Aiden wasn’t difficult to approach. He must’ve sensed movement nearby because he stopped mid-sentence when he realized she was there.
“What did I say?” His temples were visibly throbbing, even from a distance.
Both hands went up in surrender. “I know, I know! But if that’s Officer Reynolds in there with my cousin, I might have information about why he got so worked up in the first place.”
He blinked a couple of times.
“Do you know this bystander, Detective?” one of the other cops asked.
“Yeah, get into position. I’ll be right back.”
Aiden stomped off, making sure to grab Quinn by the hand, dragging her away from the scene. As soon as they were out of earshot of the others, he let go. RBG whined, pressing her body against Quinn’s.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t get one of my guys to throw you in the back of a squad car right now and take you home.”
Quinn took in a deep breath. “You have every right to be upset with me, but listen first.”
She then proceeded to tell him everything she had learned so far—about the yearbooks and the notes, and Trina saying Reynolds had been into her sister for years. She also told him about finding the posters and the receipt in Trina’s office. She showed him the photos she’d taken and shared the details of her conversation with Scott earlier.
Aiden rubbed two fingers across his forehead like he was trying to press his brain back into his skull. “You and I are going to have a long talk when this is over.”
She had expected that response.
“If your parents knew what you and your cousin have been up to, they’d lock you away for good.”
“If they find out.”
His nostrils flared. “Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He gazed skyward, mumbling “Deliver me” under his breath.
“You seem to say that a lot around me.”
His face ticked. “Is it any wonder?”
Her head dropped, staring down at her feet as she balanced on a protruding root of a nearby tree.
She heard him blow out an exasperated breath. “Anything else I need to know?”
Quinn met his eye. “Nope, that’s it.” She pantomimed an “X.” “Cross my heart.”
Hands resting on his hip, he nodded. “All right, wait here. I’ll update you when I can.” With those parting words, he jogged back over to his squad, who were still in a huddle.
While she felt better having told Aiden all she knew about the case, she realized the police on the scene barely knew the fine women of Guinefort House. They certainly didn’t know her cousin, which meant none of them had as much skin in the game as she did. They also didn’t have a clue about the house’s layout or the grounds-and some of its secrets.
But Quinn knew the area well. They could blindfold her and she would be able to find her way out.
At least this time, I didn’t promise.
Quinn made a shh sound to her dog baby, her forefinger to her lips, as she skirted around the gravel path to the soft grass along the edges. She wanted to—no, she had to—get close enough to hear their plan. Daria was too important. Since the day Quinn was born, her cousin had always been there. Maybe with a different name, but the same smart-mouthed, not-as-tough-as-she-seemed cousin. They were more than first cousins. They were even more than best friends. They were sisters.
The officers were in a tight circle, but Quinn knew this land because Daria had shown her. She shared the mysteries hidden in its soil and among the cherry blossoms and dogwoods. And one of those secrets was, if she stood on the eastern curve of the slope on a windy day, any conversation from the abbey’s lawn followed a natural drift and could be heard as clear as if she were standing right next to it. It had something to do with the density of the tree cover above, flanking the property left and right, forming a domed arch with its foliage and branches, so thick sound bounced off and around.
Once Quinn moved into position, she could hear everything they were saying. And, sure enough, it was Wyatt Reynolds inside with her cousin—and he was armed. The police were proceeding with caution so as not to escalate the situation.
Quinn crouched down next to her baby, petting her fur. “I hate thinking of Daria in there. There’s nothing worse than an idiot with a little power, in this case, power being a gun.”
She eyed the huddle below. Those guys were still talking. The Fairfax County officers wanted to wait for the hostage negotiator to arrive. Aiden and some of his colleagues wanted to proceed without them. Since Wyatt had been one of their own, they thought they could coax him to surrender his weapon without force.
“This is ridiculous,” she heard Aiden say. He broke away from the group, heading right for the abbey entrance. Just like that. No announcements on the bullhorn. No final call to either his or the Fairfax County squads.
What’s he doing?
Her heart was beating hard inside her chest. What if she lost them both?
In an instant, impatience turned to fear. She wanted to call her mom. She longed to crawl back into her sumptuous queen-sized bed with RBG and have a do-over on this day. She wished she could pull her cousin out of that abbey and never look back.
None of the other officers were following. They were calling out to Aiden, yelling back and forth, but nothing else. That’s when she decided she couldn’t let him go in alone.
She took off her heels, unclipped RBG’s leash, and proceeded around the property to the adjourning kennels. As she approached, the dogs inside were going crazy, feeling the tension in the air, most likely smelling whiffs of fear. For sure she thought her dog baby would join in, egged on by the other dogs, but RBG just gazed up at Quinn, her chocolate-brown eyes locked with hers, waiting for her signal.
“You are soooo getting a liverwurst cupcake when this is all done.”
In a loud whisper she heard, “What are you doing here?”
Quinn glanced over. It was the Reverend Mother, and she did not seem pleased.
“We need to cover the detective. He went in there by himself!”
The Reverend Mother’s gray eyebrows furrowed. “Young lady, that’s not your job. Let the police handle this!”
Her eyes homed in on the back doors to the abbey. “I don’t have time to argue. Let me have Rueger.”
Quinn had come to the kennel enough times to know many of their canine charges. Most became companion dogs; others were sent for further training for the blind or for police units.
Then there was Rueger. He had been one of those chosen for police training, but he was sent back—not because he wasn’t smart enough or didn’t know the commands. He mastered those in no time.
No, Rueger had a mind of his own. If the dog thought he had an opportunity at taking out a criminal, he took it, without regard for his own safety. He’d been shot at more times than any other rookie—human or canine.
And that’s why he was ultimately rejected by the Fairfax County Department’s K9 unit—and exactly why he was perfect for what Quinn needed him to do. Besides, he was her cousin’s favorite.
Sister Daria hadn’t even tried to fake being upset by the police department returning him. She loved that dog, calling him her “spirit animal.” Quinn still remembered what Daria had said: “I know what it’s like to not be able to handle authority figures. He and I will be just fine together.”
The Reverend Mother must’ve had a hunch of what Quinn was up to and, without another word, went back into the kennels and retrieved Rueger.
“Be careful with him,” she said. “Otherwise, you won’t have to answer to me. You’ll have to answer to that stubborn mule of a cousin of yours.”
Quinn nodded, not wasting any more time, gesturing for the dogs to follow her.
Without shoes on, it was much easier for Quinn to creep along the back way, through the grass and the nuns’ vegetable garden, to the sliding doors. Usually, they were unlocked. Peeking through them, Quinn could see Aiden talking with Officer Reynolds, who had her cousin in a headlock, with his gun out.
The situation had escalated to a hostage negotiation.
This is bad.
The problem was, if she slid the door, the sound might startle the idiot and make him accidentally shoot Daria—or Aiden—or one of the other sisters. Quinn had a direct line to him. She’d have to move fast to get her cousin clear, but Quinn knew she didn’t have the kind of training to make that work. She peered inside again, trying to figure out what to do.
Meanwhile, both dogs were pacing back and forth, Rueger growing more agitated, a rumbling growl vibrating through his strong body.
“I know, I know,” Quinn whispered. “I want to save her too.”
That’s when something else caught her eye—the back window in the kitchen. Wide open. No glass. No locks. No screen.
Rueger and Quinn locked eyes as something was communicated between them. She pointed over to the open window.
“Do you think you can make it?”
He woofed. RBG licked the side of his face, and Quinn swore Rueger smiled big for her.
Quinn scratched his head, then nodded. “Okay then … go get her!”
That’s all it took. Rueger ran back and around in a wide circle, gaining speed and momentum—and holy shitake, he jumped right through the window in one graceful leap! She heard dishes crash. Then some yelping and yelling. Quinn peeked through the glass doors just in time to witness Rueger barreling from the kitchen, right for Wyatt, who had twisted his body to see what was happening. Recognizing an opportunity, Aiden lunged forward and wrenched her cousin out of Wyatt’s grip, shoving her behind his body, a human shield. Meanwhile, Rueger leapt into the air and tackled Wyatt to the ground, his mouth wrapped around his throat.
“Omigosh, he did it!”
Quinn was still whispering.
She pulled at the door handle, but for the first time ever, the latch was locked, and she couldn’t get in. Good thing I didn’t try Plan A. I would’ve caused a ruckus and still wouldn’t have been able to get to Daria.
Without thinking, she and RBG ran around the abbey, back the way they had come, just in time to see the commotion carrying on in the front.
“All clear! All clear!”
Sure enough, there was Wyatt Reynolds, walking out of the building, head down, hands cuffed behind his back. He was wearing his uniform, but Quinn noticed he no longer carried his badge or his gun.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied her watching, and then his eyes locked with hers. She half-expected him to lunge her way, yell at full volume that he was going to make her pay. But instead, his eyes pleaded, looking wild and desperate. He skidded to a stop.
“I didn’t do it, Quinn. You’ve got to believe me.” He panted, unable to catch his breath, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. “Oh God, what have I done? What have I done!”
Aiden held him firm by the forearm. “Keep moving, Reynolds. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”
Reynolds held her eyes as Aiden guided him down the steps. Aiden could’ve gotten rough with Wyatt, yanked his arm clear out of the socket to get him where he needed him to be. No one would’ve uttered a peep, especially after one of Aiden’s own had threatened a bunch of nuns. But Aiden kept his emotions in check, remaining professional as he guided Wyatt straight into the back of one of the awaiting cop cars, still keeping him in handcuffs.
As soon as her brain registered what had happened, she didn’t even think: her legs bolted forward.
A bunch of people yelled at her.
“Hey!”
“Where ya goin’?”
“You can’t go in there!”
She went right inside, her eyes scanning the vestibule. If not for a small stack of Bibles on the console and the modest cross nailed to the wall, it would be the same as any other home in the area. But when she spotted a couple of bullet holes along the wall by the powder room, everything started feeling all too real.
To the right was the well-worn sitting area, filled with aging, donated furniture—including a couch from her parents—where several of the sisters sat together, holding hands and praying. She rushed past them into the kitchen, scanning for the face she knew almost as well as her own.
“Quinn! I’m here!” she heard from the other side of a small crowd. An EMT was treating a bad scrape across Daria’s neck, dabbing the wound with a soaked cotton swab.
Rueger was panting, smiling—if dogs actually did such things—and glued to the other side of her.
Grinning at Quinn, Daria patted his head, scratching the back of his neck. “My hero!”
Quinn sat in the empty chair next to her, clasping her cousin’s hands.
They gazed at each other, and she felt the tears pooling.
Her cousin patted the back of her hand. “I’m fine. I promise. It looks worse than it is.”
She had a long, angry, serrated scrape along the diagonal of her throat, still beading small drops of crimson. “How did that happen?”
The lady EMT reached for a sterilized bandage. “When Detective Harrington secured the hostage, Reynolds’s gun must’ve scraped her.”
“It’s not a bullet graze,” Daria told her.
Quinn gave her a look. “I wasn’t thinking it was a bullet graze.”
Daria let out a barking laugh. “You’re totally lying. I can tell by the way you’re studying the direction and texture of the wound, that’s exactly what you’re thinking.”
She wasn’t wrong. “Fine, I was. Happy now?”
The wearing on her from what had happened showed as Daria sighed heavily. “I’ll be happier after they finish this up and I can get my statement out of the way.”
The sound of footsteps came from behind them.
“It seems most of my time these days is spent escorting Caine women to and from my police station.”
Quinn sucked her top lip between her teeth. She definitely knew that voice.
Sister Daria gave a half wave. “Hey, Aiden, I’m almost done here.”
“Take your time,” he told her with a gentle smile. Quinn noticed all the women—and a couple of the men—swooned in their work boots. One of them might have even been another novitiate in Daria’s cohort. If Aiden noticed their reactions, he didn’t let on.
“I’ll wait for you outside and then drive you over to the station,” he told her.
Daria stared at Aiden, her eyes watering. “You saved my life. I owe you big time.”
“That’s my job,” he said, as if it were nothing, as if he had picked up a gallon of milk on the way home. “Besides, I had help.”
As if on cue, Rueger let out a happy bark, but then he must have spotted RBG and took off for her. They padded their way out the front door, as though they walked together every day.
Daria chortled. “I think we’ve made a match.”
Everyone around them joined in. Quinn did too, but that wasn’t her only reaction. Her hands were shaking, so she stuffed them in her pockets. Must be the adrenalin.
“Meantime, you”—Aiden pointed over to Quinn with his chin—“come with me.”
Everyone in the kitchen went ooohhh out loud, like they were back in grade school. She wanted to crawl under the stairs and make herself a Harry Potter home.
She followed Aiden out of the residence, with all eyes on them.
“Where are we going?”
Aiden grunted as he stomped. “Somewhere I can speak loud enough to get through that skull of yours.”
She stopped. “I don’t need another lecture or for you to pat my head or rumple my hair.”
He whirled around and got very close to her face. “Is it possible you can wait until we get into the SUV to talk?” She didn’t budge and he noticed. “Please.” he added.
She could do that. “Yes, I can grant you that courtesy, seeing as you saved my cousin’s life and all. You were like a superhero back there.”
His gaze heated, moving from her eyes to her mouth and back again.
In her nervousness, she babbled on. “Although I’m betting what you did violated ten different rules of police protocol. If I had to guess. I need to remind myself to look that one up when I get home.”
He took a deep breath. “In. The. Car.”
“Fine.”
They walked along the narrow gravel driveway. Spotting her heels, she scooped them up before hopping into his SUV, and even though it was obvious he was beyond ticked off, he still opened the car door for her.
He closed it the normal way, not in the passive-aggressive slamming-hard fashion she was half-expecting. He folded himself in on his side and shut the door.
He raised his hand. “Let me speak first.”
She closed her mouth.
“If you share what I’m about to say outside this car, not only will I deny it, but I will charge you with interfering with a felony investigation. Do we understand each other?”
With eyes as round as saucers, she nodded.
“You could’ve gotten yourself killed back there.”
“I know. But I didn’t.”
His gray eyes darkened. “You could’ve gotten your cousin hurt or killed.”
She shut her mouth.
“That scenario could have gone down a million and one ways, most of them bad enough I don’t even want to picture them.”
Quinn looked down at her hands.
“What you did was reckless and dangerous, and it scared the sh—” He stopped himself, running his hand up and down his face a bunch of times. “Just tell me you understand that?”
Quinn knew he was right, which was why she kept staring at her hands.
He wasn’t done. “It may also have been the bravest thing I’ve seen in my life. The dog wasn’t bad either.”
Wait. What?
She looked up. “Really?”
“You were magnificent.”
She sucked in some air, not realizing she had been holding her breath, something she did when she was nervous.
He had more to share. “Now, this bizarre situation aside, I could say over and over again for you not to continue investigating and asking questions, but I know you well enough to understand you won’t stop until we catch whoever did this. You may not have liked Tricia, but on some level you feel it’s on you to make this right. You’re wrong, by the way, but I understand the instinct. Are you with me so far?”
She tried to wet her lips, but her mouth had gone dry, so she nodded instead.
“Okay, well, after you found Tricia’s phone, we did a scan and found texts and emails from Wyatt. A lot of them. Trina was correct that he’s been obsessing over her for years. However, it wasn’t a stalking case because Tricia answered him—often—and not to blow him off. It’s obvious to anyone from the outside that she was leading him on, but I’m guessing Reynolds never got that memo.
“But it was worse than even her sister knew. He fixed her speeding tickets. He gave her tips on future zoning ordinances discussed inside the department—anything that could possibly help her business. As far as I was concerned, he was as good as fired, but we kept him on, thinking maybe he’d lead us to the killer.”
“You don’t think it was him?”
“We can’t rule anyone out, but he was on duty the night she died. I don’t know—maybe he slipped her something before then. Not all substances are caught by a tox screen. But it had to be something because someone doesn’t go from perfectly healthy to dying of liver and kidney failure, partially paralyzed, without something to help that along. We’re investigating that now. We had hoped Wyatt would lead us to the answer, but obviously the plan has changed with this whole mess.” He stopped to grab a water bottle from the center console, cracking open the cap seal and taking a long drink. Quinn couldn’t help but watch his throat work, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Everything about him was utterly masculine.
Note to self: You really need to get out of the house more.
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
Aiden scanned the scene out the window before answering. “Because, while I knew much of what you’ve already shared, you got pieces of evidence and some informal statements no one on my team could get—and that’s impressive.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not finished.” He put the water bottle back in the console, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Obviously Wyatt’s off the force and remains a person of interest in the case. Trina is also a person of interest. And as torn up as Scott is, we can’t rule him out because, unfortunately, most female murder victims knew their killer intimately. But the first two’s motives are sketchy. It’s speculation. We still don’t know what killed her.”
Quinn piped in. “Two healthy individuals dying of sudden-onset organ failure featuring partial paralysis. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“What? The Levine case?”
“Absolutely.”
His jaw shimmied back and forth. “You’re right, it’s odd, but there’s nothing tying them together. I can’t request a court order to exhume a body without something linking Doctor Levine to Tricia in some way. It’s a specious connection, at best.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn spotted her cousin leaving the abbey, a bandage on her neck, heading toward Aiden’s SUV. Rueger was trotting next to her and along with RBG.
Aiden noticed her cousin’s approach as well. “Hey, not a word about what we just talked about, even to your partner in crime over there.”
Quinn didn’t like the idea of keeping a secret from Daria. But then again, wasn’t her cousin keeping a few of her own? Like, what had really happened between her and Raj, and why the sudden interest in religious life as soon as Quinn left the country?
One has nothing to do with the other. You know better.
“Honestly, Daria’s been the one urging me to talk to you from the beginning, so maybe you don’t want to be so fast to leave her out of the loop.”
A shadow of disappointment flashed across his face. “May I ask why you didn’t?”
“Talk to you in the first place?”
“Yeah.”
She sighed, staring out the window. “Because I didn’t want you to mess up my hair yet again and tell me to go back to playing with dolls.”
He let out a laugh. “Quinn, every time someone gave you a doll, you chopped the hair off and threw it away.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t play dumb.”
His brows went north. “Play dumb? With you? Never.”
“Whatever,” she said retrieving her purse from the car floor and getting out a piece of gum. She had a sour taste in her mouth.
He eyed the book purse. “Nice choice by the way—the story of a man who loses his wife at the prime of her life. Fitting for the funeral today.”
That surprised her. She gazed down at her Love is a Mix Tape book purse. “You’ve read it?”
He gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah, Quinn, I’ve read it. Cops read, you know.”
Of course, he’d read this book, and of course he understood her silent tribute.
“Stop being so cool, Aiden. It’s hard to stay annoyed at you when you do that.”
“You’re wrong about one thing, though, smarty-pants,” he went on.
“What’s that?”
He brushed some stray hairs off her cheek. “I don’t see you as a kid. Not anymore.”
Holy—did he just say what I think he said?
Just as Quinn and Aiden were finally getting somewhere, Daria came barreling to the car and opened the door, letting Rueger and RBG hop in first.
“Make room for me, lovebirds,” Daria said.
She froze, ready to die all over again, until she realized her cousin was talking to the dogs. Quinn’s eyes scanned Aiden’s face, but he was back in cop mode.
The moment was gone.
As soon as Quinn buckled herself in, Daria shut the door, scooted over to the middle, and leaned over, her forearms resting on the backs of their seats.
“All right now—tell me what I missed.”