Page 77 of Parker

Rough, uneven cinder blocks pushed through her knitted tank, scratching the skin below. But she ignored it, her frightened, wary gaze locked on that opening door.

Licking her lips, she had to physically work to control her rapid breaths. Her chest hurt from the racing heartbeat pounding wildly inside, and her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a giant rock. But other than that…

I’m fine. This is fine. It’s all going to be just fine.

A hysterical bubble of laughter nearly escaped, but Quinn covered her mouth to keep it at bay.

Damn it, Quinn. Focus!

With a few forceful blinks and a shake of her head, Quinn struggled to clear her wandering thoughts. Not an easy task given the headache, nausea, and struggles to keep her mind on a clear and present path.

Hey, wait a minute. That sounds an awful lot like a concussion…

Another flashbang of a memory chose that moment to make its presence known. The sensation of flying through the air. Asher’s screams for the woman he was building a future with.

Fire. Smoke. Pain. And then…

Well, shit. Maybe she really did have a concussion. It would explain the sixteen-person drumline performing a massive cadence between her ears. And the violent churning in her gut.

But Quinn didn’t have time to think about any of that now. Not when that door came fully open and the man behind her abduction appeared.

Wearing baggy jeans, a black hoodie, and worn sneakers, Justin Reynolds stood in the doorway with a calculating sneer.

The urge to vomit increased as her long-standing theory was confirmed. Even after being convinced her ex was the one behind everything, there’d still been a very real part of her that hoped she was wrong.

Right up until the moment Justin Reynolds walked through that door.

“Hey babe.” A smug sneer curled his spiteful mouth.

Once an asshole, always an asshole.

Pushing away her mother’s crackhead—albeit correct—voice, Quinn stared at a man she once thought she loved. Gone was the boyish charm and youthful smile, both erased by a system that was anything but kind.

With creases in the corners of his eyes, skin that looked uneven and pale, and a few sprigs of silver in his otherwise dark scruff, the man she’d once dreamed about looked as if he’d aged a dozen years in only half that time.

“Miss me?”

With a voice much stronger and steadier than she felt, Quinn shot a glare in the prick’s direction. “Not even a little bit.”

The man she never really knew feigned laughter as he moved further into the room. Strolling toward her, the soles of his shoes scraped against the decrepit room’s crumbling floor as he slowly covered the distance between them.

“You’re not supposed to get out for another six months.” She stated the obvious. “In fact, as of this morning, your inmate status was still showing active.”

“Still is.” A cocky grin. “I learned a few things while I was away. Of course, I had to bide my time. Wait for the right guard to come along. When she did, I charmed my way into her pants…and one of the staff computers.”

Her nausea grew. “How did you find me?” she demanded.

“Which time?”

“The first time.”You pompous ass.

“Ah, yes. That was much easier than I thought.” He smirked. “You ever hear of a guy named Victor McMahon?”

She nodded.

Of course, she’d heard of him. Her old team had helped take the man down. It was before her time as a full-time federal employee, but still. The story of that particular arrest lived on well past the initial news cycle and fanfare.

A former financial advisor and securities broker to several large companies in the Chicago area, McMahon made national headlines two years ago when he was arrested for tax evasion and insider trading.

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