Page 92 of The Unforgiven
Brett’s words came out in a torrent, as fears he’d been harboring for years came to a head.
“Brett, I don’t want your father’s money. I only wanted to know where I came from. Look, I won’t tell anyone about Madeline. I’ll erase the photos and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’ll call my boss and tell him he can’t use the story.”
“It’s too late, Quinn. I gave you an out. I was willing to forgo half my inheritance to save your life, but you made your choice. You chose some half-breed over me, and now you’ll spend what’s left of your life with her. Goodbye, Quinn. I hope it doesn’t take you too long to die.”
“Brett!” Quinn shrieked, but no reply came. He was gone.
FORTY-SEVEN
“Brett!” Quinn cried again as she put a shoulder to the door. The wood was old, but the doors were thick and, as Brett had pointed out, built to last. She tried several more times before giving up. Her shoulder throbbed, her breath came in ragged gasps, and her heartbeat grew more erratic as her panic escalated.
“Calm down and think rationally,” Quinn told herself as she leaned against the door for support. She took several deep breaths and waited for her heart rate to slow down before formulating a plan.
She would find her phone and call for help. She’d have some explaining to do, but she’d much rather get into trouble with the law for breaking into a tomb than wait for Brett to come to his senses and return for her. He would come back; she was sure of that. He might be angry and misguided, but he wasn’t a murderer. He’d meant to teach her a lesson, and he had. She should have taken his feelings more seriously, even if she didn’t agree with his way of thinking, and she would tell him that as soon as she got the opportunity. If he felt this strongly about Quinn sharing Madeline’s story, then she would give him her word that the episode would never air. Rhys wouldn’t be happy, but he’d respect her wishes. After all, he had offered her the option to back out only a few days ago.
Quinn crouched down and searched for her mobile. She’d dropped it when Brett locked the door, but it had to be nearby. She just had to make sure not to step on it. She breathed a sigh of relief when her hand closed around the cool metal case of her iPhone. She was one step closer to getting out. She pressed the button and stared at the screen. The phone was almost fully charged, which was a blessing. Quinn decided to try Seth first. He’d be angry, but he’d probably want to avoid involving the police. She selected his number and waited for the call to connect.
Call Failed, the screen read. She tried again with the same result.
She swallowed back her panic and decided to try calling the police. Sometimes emergency numbers went through, even when the phone had very little charge left or there wasn’t a good signal. She began to tap in the numbers 999 but remembered the number for the police in the U.S. was different, and called 911 instead. She held her breath as she prayed for an operator to answer.
Call Failed
Quinn tried again and again. She pressed herself to the doors in the hope that she might get even a weak signal from the outside, but call after call failed to connect.
She was trapped inside a stone box, and her only mode of communication could only be used to illuminate her surroundings for an hour or so before the battery died. Quinn sat down against the wall closest to the door, wrapped her arms about her legs, and rested her head on her knees. She tried to remain calm, but the panic was rising and bubbling to the surface like lava in a volcano.
Quinn sat up straighter, so as not to put any pressure on her diaphragm, and tried to breathe deeply and slowly. She managed to calm down a fraction, but the dust they’d disturbed had permeated the air and she doubled over in a fit of coughing. Tears ran down her face and she felt lightheaded and nauseated.
The coughing finally subsided and Quinn calmed down enough to check the time on her mobile. It was just past 2 p.m., hours until the cemetery closed. Perhaps if she screamed for help someone would hear her, but it was a long shot. There had been few people in the cemetery when she’d arrived with Brett—was it really only a half hour ago? —and they’d all been milling about the main avenue, taking photos and reading the names on the vaults. There were guided tours of the cemetery, but the Talbot tomb was too far removed from anything of interest, such as the tomb of voodoo priestess Marie Laveau, a major draw for tourists, or the pyramid-shaped vault that Nicholas Cage had purchased for himself a few years back, planning to make New Orleans the site of his final resting place. There were other attractions, such as the tomb of the pirate Barthelemy Lafon, and the grave of PaulMorphy, a world chess champion, but they were on the other side of the cemetery. The path to the Talbot vault was so derelict that it was clear no one had ventured that far in a long time.
Quinn turned off the phone to conserve the battery and leaned her head against the cool stone wall. Would anyone even look for her? How long would it take for someone to realize she was missing? If Brett had told Seth she’d gone home, Seth would try to call her and maybe wait a few days for her to ring him back before trying again. Gabe would call; he rang every day but would leave a message and wait for her to get back to him. He’d have no reason to suspect anything was wrong and she wasn’t just spending time with Seth and Brett. Jason Womack wanted to go over the footage they’d shot in the bayou, but he would hardly come looking for her. He might even go back home and send her a video file in an email to be viewed when she had time.
Quinn’s panic mounted as she analyzed her situation. Even if someone realized she was missing, no one would think to look for her in an ancient tomb. She would die here, and so would her baby.
Almost as if it had heard her thoughts, she felt a light kick. Quinn’s hand went to her belly.
“Is that you?” she asked.
Another kick. It was feeble, but it was there, a sign of life.
“I’m so sorry I got you into this,” Quinn sobbed. “I was such a naïve fool.”
She looked at the phone again. It was now nearly three in the afternoon. What if Brett didn’t come back? What if he really meant to leave her here? Quinn’s thoughts tumbled and tripped over each other, the panic returning in full force as the reality of her situation finally sank in. Would Brett really leave her to die? Would her child never be born? Would Gabe never find out what happened to her and spend the rest of his life wondering and blaming himself for not coming to New Orleans with her? Oh, she should have listened to him. Why had she been so stubborn, sodriven? They could have come to New Orleans together after the wedding. During the summer maybe, when Emma had summer holidays. They could have even visited Disney World. The TV advert had said it was the happiest place on Earth, Quinn remembered, as manic laughter bubbled inside her, but came out as a desperate sob.
She probably wouldn’t even be lucky enough for some archeologist to discover her remains. Who would look in here, and why? She’d rot here for eternity, with Madeline for company. Two foolish, naïve women who had met their end when they least expected it because they underestimated the depth of their adversaries’ fear and hatred.
You must remain calm, Quinn told herself as her pulse raced and she fought to catch her breath. She clasped her hands in front of her and began to pray. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d asked God for anything, but this wasn’t for her, this was for her baby. Quinn prayed that Brett would come back and let her out, since that was her only realistic hope of rescue. Surely he’d cooled off by now and begun to comprehend the ramifications of what he’d done—or did he feel safe, thinking he’d never get caught?
“Please, God,” Quinn prayed. “Help me. Soon,” she added as a wave of dizziness washed over her. “I’m not feeling very well.”
When her prayer wasn’t immediately answered, Quinn wrapped her arms about her legs and rested her head on her knees again. For some reason, sitting in that position brought her comfort.
The minutes ticked by and turned into hours. Her mobile showed it was almost seven o’clock. The cemetery would be closed by now, so there was no chance of anyone finding her until the following day, if they found her at all. The prospect of spending the night in the tomb terrified her, but there was nothing to do but try to rest. Quinn was starving and thirsty. She usually took a bottle of water with her to keep hydrated but had forgottenthe bottle in her hotel room in her excitement. There was nothing in her purse, not even a stick of gum or a mint.
As more hours passed, the air in the tomb grew cold, and the floor was hard and damp. Quinn wished she could lie down, but if she stretched out on the stone floor wearing only her thin T-shirt, she’d get even colder. Her mouth was dry, and her stomach growled with hunger. She tried not to give in to despair, but tears slid unbidden down her cheeks and into her mouth. They tasted salty, and for some reason, that made her cry harder. She’d never been so scared in her life. Eventually, she exhausted herself, curled into a ball, and slept.
FORTY-EIGHT
