Page 21 of Salem's Fall
“Thanks,” I say. “For this. For everything.”
Quinn smiles, the kind of smile that feels like it’s just for me.
“Anytime.”
I take a deep breath, letting the sweetness of the moment seep in. Savoring it. But then something starts to shift deep down in my gut—resolve. I glance back up at Quinn, knowing he’ll probably be annoyed that I can’t just enjoy this time together and unwind, but I can’t stop myself.
“I think I found something important in Mark’s case files,” I say, meeting his eyes. “He was researching the symbols found at the murder scene. Apparently, they’re connected to something called the Order of the Veil. Seems like it’s some rumored cult or shadow organization.” My voice grows firmer as I speak, more confident. “According to his notes, there may be ties to a series of ritual murders in Salem’s Fall—possiblydating back to the witch trials in the 1600s. It’s vague, but definitely disturbing.”
“Yes, I’m aware of Mark’s research,” he says. “He was on his way to Salem’s Fall yesterday when he was killed. He was planning to meet with an occult expert there to discuss his findings.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
We’re supposed to be a team, and teams are supposed to share everything. Does Quinn still not trust me? Even after all the hard work I’ve already put into this case?
It hurts, and not just because I feel excluded, but because of how much I care about Quinn and his approval. It matters to me probably more than it should.
“I was planning to. Mark was going to share with the whole team once he returned from the witness interview in Salem’s Fall. And you were busy with the security tapes, remember?” He grins, a pleased look of approval on his face. “And doing a stellar job, by the way.”
“They both had technical malfunctions. The tapes were worthless!”
“Not true,” he says, shaking his head. “You did good work getting them so fast, and at least the Gala tapes give us a starting point on alibi. Even if we don’t have a perfect timeline, the prosecution’s copy will be blurred like ours is. They can’t use the tapes as hard evidence against Blackhollow.”
“Okay, well, who’s going now?”
He puts down his espresso, confused. “Who’s going where?”
“To Salem’s Fall,” I say, a bit impatiently. “Now that Mark is… um… well… someone still needs to go, right?”
He shakes his head. “After what happened to Mark, the firm has decided against it,” he says. “It was a long shot anyway, and we have more important work to do here.”
“You’re just going to ignore a lead?”
“Salem’s Fall is a dead end,” Quinn says. “We have to focus on building Blackhollow’s legal defense here, in Boston, not chasing after crazy conspiracy theories. If we start looking desperate, it could ruin the firm’s reputation.”
“Mark didn’t think it was desperate,” I say, feeling a surge of alarm rising in my chest. I don’t know why, but I feel certain blowing off Salem’s Fall is a mistake. “He’s done a lot of research. It’s at least worth checking out.”
I look down at my coffee, mentally preparing myself because I know I need to tell Quinn about the threatening email from last night. It’s important—critical, even—and not just to our case, but to Mark and his family as well. They deserve to know the truth about his death, that it was something more than just a tragic accident.
But the second Quinn learns about the email, everything will change. If Quinn knows, he’s likely to pull me from the case. For my own protection, of course. It’s a logical step for him to take, especially since I know how much he cares about me. I can’t allow that to happen. I need to see this case through. I’m too invested now.
“Quinn, I—I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice trembling. “I don’t think Mark’s death was an accident.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After your call last night, I got an email. Someone sent me a photo of Mark’s body; they were there, taking pictures.” I shiver, disgust running through me. “It wasawful, Quinn. Whoever killed Mark could be coming for me next. This isn’t just about Damien. We have to find out who’s behind this before someone else is hurt.”
“What?”Quinn blanches, his expression shifting from shock to something harder. “Forward me the email.” His voice is sharp now, urgent. “Right now.”
I pull out my phone, hitting send.
Quinn reaches across the table, his grip firm around my wrist. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner?” he asks, fingers tightening, his frustration bleeding through.
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
A tiny white lie. The truth is, I wasn’t nearly as concerned with Quinn’s feelings as I was about jeopardizing my place on the trial team.
Quinn exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Damn it, James. It’s my job to protect you,” he says, his voice rough. “I can’t do that if you keep me in the dark.”
