The Truth Seeker

  She reached the landing, choosing her steps with care. The beam illuminated the animal at the end of the hall, its golden eyes gleaming back at her. She could sense the poor thing’s terror and the panic it must feel with the burned smell all around. How was she going to get it out of this house? She couldn’t leave it here.

  It darted toward the bedroom, and she moved to close the other doors in the hallway, eliminating other places it could run. She was aware her foot was on something soft an instant before the world moved.

  The wood gave an explosive break, and she was falling into darkness.

  It was pitch black. Her flashlight was gone. She was lying on her back, and she had landed on something sharp.

  Lisa struggled to breathe, could feel the shock swallowing her, couldn’t stop the narrowing of her vision.

  She was impaled on something; it was a horrific realization. It hadn’t punctured a lung, but she could feel the agonizing pain ballooning through her chest.

  “Lisa! Where are you?”

  The voice was edged with panic. It echoed through the clouds of billowing, choking ash settling on the remains of the collapsed stairs and flooring, settling on her face and clogging her breath, smothering her. All the annoying things she had ever thought of him she silently apologized for.

  “Quinn.”

  He had to have exquisite hearing to catch her faint whisper; as soon as she said his name, his light moved toward her. The beam pierced the cloudy ash and struck her face, and then he was scrambling over beams and through rubble toward her. He jammed the flashlight into a crevice and pushed aside the remains of shattered flooring and part of a stair step.

  In the wavering light she saw him flinch, and she tried to offer a reassuring smile. He yanked off his shirt, the buttons flying. “Hold on.”

  She couldn’t get enough air; she had to know. “What . . . land on?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  It must be bad.

  She shivered and felt a warm flood rush across her hand as her vision went black.

  Four

  “Quinn, quit fussing.”

  “I’ll fuss as long as I like. Get used to it,” he retorted, his voice abrupt but not his hands. He was trying to figure out how to get Lisa out of the car without touching something that would cause her more pain, and it was proving to be an impossible problem to solve. Eight days in the hospital and about the only thing on this last Monday in October that hadn’t changed was her irritation with him.

  Finally accepting that there was no pain-free way to do this, he turned her legs toward the street and slid his hands under her arms. “Here we go.” He eased her to her feet, holding his breath as her mouth went thin and taut. She was too stubborn to admit how bad it hurt, but her forearms rested against his chest and he braced to take her weight.

  Her head bowed as she fought the pain off. He didn’t catch the words she said, but he got the drift. He ran a soothing hand across her hair, silently giving her time.

  “Don’t you dare let the other O’Malleys see this.”

  “I won’t.”

  They had a little conspiracy forming as they stood there and the other two cars pulled into her driveway behind them. A shift of his body shielded the distress she was in from her family. The ride to her home had been hard; there was no way around that. She had insisted the doctors release her today, and she was paying for it.

  She wouldn’t be walking anywhere very fast, anytime soon. The joist rebar had done more damage than a bullet. Two inches to the left and it would have paralyzed her, two inches higher, killed her outright. As it was she had suffered through four days in intensive care and four days on the general ward to deal with the trauma, surgery, and massive amount of blood loss. Displaced ribs were slow to heal.

  The other O’Malleys saw, but they silently pretended not to.

  “Okay. I can make it.”

  He kept a firm grip under her forearms as she straightened. Only after he was sure she was steady did he reach back into the car for her things. He handed her the cane she’d been ordered to use for the next few days.

  “I am so glad to be home.”

  He set her suitcase on the drive. She was trying to close her left hand with its broken index finger around the cane. Watching her cautious movements made him hurt; he shifted the cane to her other hand and moved her injured hand to rest on his forearm. “Let’s get you inside.” One of the others would bring in the suitcase.

  “Who’s been taking care of my animals?”

  “Kate or I have been by every day.”

  All of the O’Malleys with the exception of Jennifer were here, and it had taken a concerted effort from the others to get Jennifer to stay in Baltimore. She had been prepared to be on the first plane out, chemotherapy or not.

  Quinn had never met a family more united than this one. The seven of them were related not by blood, but by choice. At the orphanage—Trevor House—they had made the decision to become their own family, had as adults legally changed their last names to O’Malley. Two decades later this group remained incredibly tight.

  And they’d made him part of it.

  He’d felt the change in the last week. They’d always made him feel welcome, but it was different now. When it came time to move Lisa home and get her settled, they had passed that assignment to him without even asking.

  He was under no illusions of why. Lisa’s accident and his part in it had hit this family hard. Their group reaction had come in stages. It would have been fascinating to watch if he hadn’t been in the middle of it. As it was, he was simply trying to survive it.

  Stage one had been direct. Jack had slugged him. A fast right cross had caught him on the jaw line and come close to rounding what had always been a rather square jaw. Quinn had found himself flat on his back in the hospital parking lot, looking up at the sky, feeling like a truck had hit him. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Quinn had shaken off the stars to find Stephen, the paramedic in the family, standing over him, yelling at Jack. Quinn had moved to touch his jaw, and Stephen had looked down and given him a blistering order not to move or he would finish what Jack had started. The dynamic duo of brothers had been mad at him for letting Lisa get hurt; they’d just differed on how to most effectively make their point.

  Marcus had arrived in the middle of the exchange. The man had flown back from Baltimore and arrived to find his sister still in surgery. Quinn had stayed on the ground precisely because he was the man’s partner. Marcus was the oldest O’Malley and guardian of the group, and he took Lisa’s welfare personally. Marcus wouldn’t just make his jaw ache, he’d break it. It wouldn’t be the Christian thing for Marcus to do, but it would be the older brother thing to do. Quinn wasn’t willing to find out which would win out.

  They were worried; therefore, they were mad. And in the simple equation of guys looked after girls, he was responsible. They’d made their point.

  Jack had cooled off first, had offered him a hand up. Quinn had warily accepted. Frankly, getting hit had helped. He’d deserved it for letting Lisa get hurt.

  The brothers had accepted his apology, and the four of them had ended up pacing as a group while they struggled to wait for Lisa to get out of surgery.

  Stage two had been the sisters. Jennifer, Kate, and Rachel had insisted on hearing the details of what had happened.

  He’d spent over an hour on the phone with Jennifer. As a doctor she had wanted to know everything he could remember about Lisa’s injuries. Kate had asked for details because as a cop she wanted to find something that would implicate someone as responsible.

  Rachel had been the toughest to deal with. A trauma psychologist, she had worked her way under the ‘I’m fine’ cloak of words to the truth. She had pulled out what it had been like from the first sound of wood collapsing, through the realization of how bad Lisa was hurt, to the desperate realization Lisa might not make it to the hospital. By the time Rachel was through with him, he’d been taken apart and put bac
k together. Effective, but incredibly draining.

  Stage three was to give him a chance to make it up to Lisa. It was the hardest to accomplish because it was self-driven. Until Lisa was back on her feet and no longer dealing with the aftereffects of the injuries, he was going to feel responsible. She’d been hurt on his watch. He should have protected her. He’d failed. He didn’t need her brothers to point that fact out, or conversely, her sisters to tell him it had been an accident.

  He felt responsible.

  Quinn hoped getting Lisa home would turn the corner. He wanted this behind them even more than the other O’Malleys did.

  While the others began to unload the flowers that had packed Lisa’s hospital room, Quinn walked her slowly to the front door. He and Lisa were passed several times as they walked, Jack and Stephen joking with her about what her ferret Sidney was likely to do with the florist shop she was bringing home. Lisa joked back, but her comebacks were at a fraction of their normal speed.

  Rachel held the screen door for them.

  “Couch or chair?” Quinn asked Lisa quietly.

  “Couch.”

  The strain in Lisa’s single word bit. The car ride had jarred the injury and this walk was capping it off. Her back muscles were going to spasm if she didn’t relax.

  He grasped her elbows and eased her down.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Thanks.”

  Afraid she’d started to cry, he brushed back her hair and raised her chin, knowing she was going to tense on him but more petrified of the possible tears. He read the pain clouding her eyes. “What do you need?”

  He’d startled her. He waited for it to pass, not moving away, and was rewarded as her eyes softened with humor for the first time in days. “New ribs. But I’ll settle for something to make me forget the ones I have.”

  “This will do it.” Rachel joined them carrying a prescription bottle. “Jennifer said this muscle relaxant would take down an elephant.”

  Quinn reluctantly eased back, leaving her to the care of the family descending on her. Kate came into the room bringing Sidney. The guys turned toward the kitchen debating over what to fix for dinner.

  “I want a steak,” Lisa interjected into the conversation.

  “Not for another week, doctor’s orders,” Stephen called back.

  “Stephen.”

  “Live with it. We’re having fish.”

  Lisa made a face even as she laughed.

  Quinn got himself a soft drink, took a seat across from Lisa out of the way, and settled in to just watch her. Marcus had once described Lisa as the one they had simply chosen to envelop. Having watched her family interact long enough, he now understood it.

  Abandoned at birth, in seven foster homes before Trevor House, Lisa had never felt like she fit in. She’d arrived at Trevor House independent to a fault, a lizard peeking out of her backpack. The group had simply enveloped her then and they were doing it again now.

  This last week he’d watched them override what was her instinct for space with a smothering presence of love. Even if she tended not to reach for it, she drew her strength from it. He was gaining a rapid education in how to deal with her that he wasn’t going to forget.

  She’d never been alone; Marcus had tried to make himself comfortable in the hospital chair late at night, Jack and Kate through the days, Rachel and Stephen in the evenings. Quinn had taken the predawn hours when the dreams tended to haunt her, when he didn’t have to hide what he felt from the others.

  She’d been hurt while with him and the guilt was heavy.

  He listened to Lisa laugh as she played with Sidney, saw the strain in her face ease as the muscle relaxant kicked in, and for the first time in a week his heart settled back into a normal rhythm. He never wanted to come so close to losing her again.

  He had to go all the way back to the time surrounding his father’s murder to find a week more draining than this one. Physically exhausted from lack of sleep. Emotionally drained by how long and hard the battle had gone on before Lisa was out of danger. Spiritually . . . turmoil was a good word.

  Three of the seven O’Malleys were new Christians—Jennifer, Marcus, and Kate—and their expectations for what Jesus would do to heal Lisa . . . their expectations were so high.

  At two in the morning he’d been sitting with Kate and Marcus in the hospital cafeteria privy to a strategy session on how to get Lisa to listen to the truth. It had been uncomfortable. Quinn agreed with their objective, and at the same time felt like he was betraying Lisa by talking about her behind her back.

  Kate thought it would be better to push the subject of God while Lisa was still dealing with the turmoil of almost dying and there might be a window of opportunity available. Marcus had been a little more cautious but had agreed with Kate. Quinn had tried to urge Jennifer’s approach that had been so effective in reaching the two of them: a steady one that didn’t push to hard.

  Now Quinn was praying for wisdom. Marcus and Kate . . . he wouldn’t want the two of them focused on him, and he was afraid that would be Lisa’s initial reaction.

  “You look down,” Kate said softly, settling on the arm of his chair.

  Trust her to get to the point. “I’m okay.”

  Kate borrowed his soft drink. “Your heart’s been on your sleeve for a week, you might want to tuck it inside again before she realizes it,” she whispered.

  Quinn leaned his head back to look up at her. The lady he had dated for a few months and come to consider one of his most important friends knew him very well. He would be lying to say his emotions weren’t involved; eight long days focused on Lisa had intensified everything he felt. But Kate was seeing what she wanted to see. He laughed softly and didn’t have the heart to break her bubble. She was happy; she wanted Lisa to be happy. “It’s noticeable?”

  “But very cute.”

  “She’s on my case for fussing.”

  Kate grinned. “And you do it so well. You can fuss over me if you like.”

  “She’s already talking about when she goes back to work.”

  “I know. It’s crazy to be going back to work so soon, but she needs it. It’s a distraction.”

  “She’s going to be hurting for months.”

  “Yes.” She squeezed the back of his neck. “She’ll recover. Did you hear from Lincoln?”

  The investigation into Amy Ireland Nugan had been forced to the sidelines by circumstances, and it took a moment for him to refocus. Kate knew the history. “Lincoln got word from his contact in Canada last night. They confirmed Amy was born in Quebec, eventually moved to New York, then here. It was a different Amy Ireland.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” There was no way to put into words what it felt like to lose another promising thread. Giving up hope of finding the man who killed his father took something of his spirit with it, and it was happening as each promising lead failed.

  “It won’t stay unsolved forever, Quinn. Nothing does.”

  He appreciated the thought. It wasn’t in him to give up, but eventually he was going to have to. He had sought the truth for so long, but the deadline he had set for himself long ago was approaching. He’d have to get on with his life without the justice he needed. It was a terrible thought. He nodded toward Lisa and changed the subject. “Are you staying here tonight?”

  “Yes. Craig’s covering my pager.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Dave’s coming over when he gets off work. You want to stay around and keep Lisa company while Dave and I go for a walk?”

  “You just want to go flirt with your boyfriend.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’m glad you found him.” He felt more than a minor protective interest in who Kate had in her life. Their friendship had happened more by accident than planning. The first few meals had been informal and spur of the moment—sharing a sandwich while she sat through a day-long negotiation, buying her a hot dog at a ball game, helping her haul a new couch into her apartment and sitti
ng on the living room floor sharing a pizza before they returned the moving truck.

  Quinn had found Kate to be a great friend. He’d started worrying about her like her brother Marcus did, wondering what risks she was taking in her job. It had taken only a few months of spending time with her to know it mattered to him that she eventually find the right guy to share her life with.

  He’d been relieved when Dave came on the scene. The FBI agent was a guy who had already proven he’d do what it took to protect her.

  “He’s a good man.” She ruffled the back of his hair. “Something like you.”

  “I’ll stick around.”

  She glanced at her sister. “Lisa could do worse.”

  He took back his glass, found Kate had left him the ice, and smiled. “Don’t you start. She can make up her own mind.” He wanted another chance with Lisa. He was determined to get past the last eight days and back on plan. He still owed her dinner and he was determined to get an opportunity to deliver on it.

  Five

  “Quinn, you don’t need to stay.”

  “Quit protesting; I’m not going anywhere.” He turned on a table lamp and then reached back and killed the overhead light, having seen Lisa rub her forehead more than once, a telltale sign that she had a growing headache. The rest of the O’Malleys had left a short time ago; Kate and Dave were catching a private moment together watching the moon come up.

  “Even if I said I was tired and I want you to go back to the hotel?”

  “You’ve had two naps today, you’re hurting because the painkiller is wearing off, and you’re feeling sorry for yourself. So which do you want first? Something for the pain or a distraction?”

  She frowned over at him. “I’m home; I’m fine. And you don’t listen.”

  She wanted a fight; he smiled slightly and refused to give her one. “No, I don’t.”

  “I wish you’d quit feeling sorry for me . . . or guilty.”

  He got to his feet. “Give me a break. You nearly got yourself killed a few feet away from me. I’m allowed.” He stopped in front of her and held out both hands. “Come on. You’ve been sitting for an hour. If you don’t get up and move, your back will lock up.”