Page 38 of The Lovers
“Lord Asher is sending me to oversee his estate in Suffolk. I don’t know how long I’m meant to stay.”
Their eyes met for a long moment. Neither one said anything, but they both understood. There was no need for James to go to Suffolk. He’d done his bit, and now Edward wanted him out of the way where he could do no harm. Elise and James were both young, attractive, and had already crossed the forbidden line with his blessing. What was to stop them from continuing to fornicate, especially when Edward could not lie with his wife himself? He feared that Elise might have developed a fondness for the act and would invite James into her bed just for pleasure.
“Go with God, James,” Elise said.
“Be well.”
TWENTY-FIVE
NOVEMBER 2013
Surrey, England
Quinn collected her bags and locked the car before heading for her front door. Seeing Jill had been a real treat. They went to the pub after Jill locked up the shop and stayed longer than either of them expected, enjoying a few glasses of wine and chatting about everything from family to their less-than-satisfying love lives. It’d been a long while since Quinn spent time with a good friend. There was always a sense of camaraderie on a dig, but being around like-minded people didn’t change the fact that they were more colleagues than friends who often dropped off the radar once they returned home. Quinn never lacked for company, but she rarely got too personal with anyone, especially about her love life. She’d spent several nights crying into her pillow after Luke broke things off with her but came to work in the morning exuding a false sense of cheer. She didn’t care to be the object of pity or gossip, which was always rampant on a dig. Aside from Gabe, Jill was the first person Quinn had confided in, and she felt a cathartic sense of release. Jill had a way of putting things in perspective and following it up with much-needed retail therapy.
Quinn hadn’t bought anything new in months and felt like a kid in a candy shop when she perused some of Jill’s merchandise while Jill was busy helping customers. Quinn chose two pairs of jeans, a peasant blouse in a gorgeous shade of green, and a wraparound dress in a pattern of mauve and gray. It was very smart and could be worn to either a business meeting or a social occasion with high-heeled shoes or a pair of boots. A pale-pink mother-of-pearl vintage necklace completed the outfit. Quinn added it to the pile without even glancing at the price tag. She loved it, and since Jill’s new business was still struggling, she wanted to give her cousin a helping hand.
Quinn inserted the key into the lock and froze in shock when the heavy oak door gave way and opened on its own, swinging back soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. Had she installed a security light above the door, as her mother always said she should, she would have noticed that the lock had been broken and there were scratches on the door jamb. The wise thing to do would have been to return to the car, drive away, and call the police, but Quinn wasn’t thinking rationally, her veins pulsing with a heady mix of adrenaline and fury. Someone had dared violate her home, and she’d be damned if she ran away like a frightened child.
The front room was flooded by pale moonlight streaming through the stained-glass windows set high in the walls. The light was feeble but just enough to illuminate the destruction within. The place was a mess: books on the floor, files strewn across her desk, and every drawer pulled out and emptied. One wall had a circle of crumbling plaster, as if someone thought there might be something behind it and took a hammer to it. Quinn was turning toward the light switch when she was struck on the side of her head. Pain exploded in her skull as she crumpled to the floor, her mouth open in disbelief. She’d foolishly assumed that the intruder had gone, but she realized her mistake when she saw a dark shadow out of the corner of her eye, and then another.
Whoever hit her ran out the door and shut it behind them with a bang, leaving her in near darkness. Quinn felt a wave of nausea brought on by the pounding in her head. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing deeply through her nose to get a handle on her rising sense of panic. What had she been thinking just barging in like that? She could have been killed or seriously hurt. Had the intruders been armed, they might have fired at herwhen taken by surprise. And what if they came back? Quinn had a splitting headache, but at least she hadn’t been knocked unconscious, which was a blessing. She tried to sit up but was assaulted by such strong vertigo that she had to lie back down and close her eyes again until the world stopped spinning like a top. Once she thought herself able to try again, Quinn felt for her bag and fumbled inside, searching for her mobile. She called the police, then let the phone drop to the floor as a comforting blackness enveloped her.
Quinn’s limbs felt heavy when she came round, and the pain in her head seemed to radiate in all directions. She lifted her hand and carefully touched her temple. Her fingers came away sticky with blood.Bugger, she thought angrily. She hoped she wouldn’t need to go to the hospital, but perhaps she ought, just to be on the safe side. The pain became worse, making her head feel as if her skull was about to burst. Her head was throbbing, and her vision, which had become accustomed to the darkness, seemed to blur, the muted shades of the stained-glass windows turning into fuzzy smudges of color. The door opened and a dark presence filled the archway. Quinn squeaked in fear before realizing that she was looking at a police officer. The man knelt before her, his voice kind and soothing.
“Ms. Allenby, I am Detective Inspector Keane, and that’s Detective Constable Hardy behind me. Now, you just remain where you are. The ambulance is on its way. Are you up to answering a few questions?” Quinn wanted to help the police but suddenly felt terribly sleepy. Her eyelids seemed to be weighted with lead, and the words no longer made sense, but the policeman kept talking to her.
“Stay with me. Don’t go to sleep.”
Quinn barely registered the other policeman who was already looking about the ransacked room. He didn’t turn on thelight but used his torch to assess the damage. He picked up an ebony statue Quinn had gotten as a Valentine’s Day gift from Luke a few years back. It was a modern piece meant to represent mother and child. The figures flowed together and intertwined in a way that suggested that neither one could survive without the other. The statue was about two feet tall and made of solid wood.
“There’s blood on this, sir,” the constable said. “I think it was used to assault Ms. Allenby.”
“Bag it and get it to Forensics. Maybe we can get some prints off it.”
“Is there anyone I can call?” DI Keane asked as he bent over Quinn, his cool fingers on her wrist, checking her pulse. Somewhere in the distance Quinn could hear the wail of an ambulance, but it was muted, as if coming from underwater.
“Gabe,” Quinn murmured. “In my phone.” She hadn’t spoken to Gabe since their ill-fated dinner, but at this moment, there was no one she’d rather have by her side. She had a few friends in the village, but she didn’t want them fussing over her or blathering nonstop. Gabe was always good in a crisis—calm and in control.
“Right.” DI Keane found Quinn’s mobile and located Gabe’s number. She heard him talking but barely registered the words. Her head felt as if someone had just taken an axe to it. A moment later, paramedics were hovering above her, taking her blood pressure and shining a light into her eyes. Quinn felt disoriented and confused. She hardly noticed when the two young men lifted her onto a gurney and wheeled her outside toward the waiting ambulance.
“You’ll be all right, love,” one of the paramedics said as he settled in next to her in the back of the ambulance. “It doesn’t look too bad, but you’ll still need a CAT scan to make sure there’s nointernal bleeding, and you can hardly stay in the house alone after what happened.” He was an earnest young man with a thatch of ginger hair and clear blue eyes. He took her hand and held it as a gesture of comfort, which Quinn found oddly endearing. She hadn’t realized it, but there were tears sliding down her cheeks, and the young man gently wiped them away with a crumpled tissue.
“My house,” Quinn whispered, her voice watery with tears.
“Don’t you worry. The police will secure your house. Everything will be all right. And your friend is on his way.”
Quinn had tried valiantly to stay alert, but the swaying of the ambulance lulled her to sleep, and she finally gave up the fight. She closed her eyes and felt herself drifting away. It felt so liberating to just be and not worry about anything. There was still a nagging pain in her head, but it seemed to recede as she fell deeper asleep despite the paramedic’s pleas to stay awake.
Quinn was startled by the bright lights of Casualty when she was wheeled in. She didn’t want to go there; she only wanted to be left alone to sleep. She felt better, but now her head was pounding again, and her eyes teared up from the harsh fluorescent light. She shut them tight and remained that way until she was wheeled into a curtained-off alcove, where a nurse was ready to take charge.
Quinn endured what seemed like hours of poking, prodding, questions, and tests before being pronounced severely concussed. She’d grown agitated, and a mild sedative was administered, finally allowing her to sink into a deep sleep.
TWENTY-SIX
It was hard to tell what time it was since the only light came from a bedside lamp. There were voices and sounds of activity, but they seemed muted, far away. Quinn’s head ached and her limbs felt leaden, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked out of her. A bandage covered the wound inflicted by the statue, and an IV line snaked off the bed and toward the bag hanging off a metal stand. Quinn felt groggy and disoriented.
“Quinn? Are you awake?” A soft voice came from somewhere to her left. She turned her head a fraction and smiled despite the throbbing in her head. Gabe sat in a stiff plastic hospital chair, his disheveled appearance a testament to the fact that he took off as soon as he got the call. His shirt looked rumpled, and his jaw was shadowed by a day’s growth of stubble. He looked tired and must have dozed off for a bit, but now he was leaning forward, watching her with a searching expression.
