Never Surrender Read online

  A tapping sound lodged her heart in her throat. She tried to stand, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. Get up. How did they find me? I’ve gotta get out of here. Be calm. Breathe. The blinking green light indicating the security system was armed became her focus. You’re safe. The tapping drew her attention back to the window behind the closed curtains. It’s probably a tree branch. Nobody’s out there.

  She rested her head back on the couch and hummed her favorite Alicia Keys ballad. Calmness returned along with her ability to breathe normally.

  With a sigh, she stood, stumbled to the window, and inched open the curtain. The branch still tapped the glass. These panic attacks came way too often. She sagged against the wall. She needed to close this case, get out, and get her life back.

  She dropped the curtain back into place, switched on a light, then moved around the room. He’d ripped up the carpet and polished the floorboards to a soft patina. The photo of Maggie and Quinn on top of the huge entertainment center grabbed her attention, and she picked it up. They looked good together. He had that half-smile, half-pensive expression he wore whenever she made some inane comment she expected him to take seriously. Her expression was pure happiness. Maggie shook her head. She traced the curve of his mouth through the glass. When she got her real life back, maybe, just maybe, they could resurrect what they’d had. Yeah right. She’d seen the look of disgust on Quinn’s face when she told him she’d screwed Conrad. She set the frame down.

  For now, she needed to focus on finding Angel and closing this damned case.

  Passing Quinn’s bedroom, she peeked inside. He lay sprawled on the bed, dead to the world, one arm across his eyes, the other flung across the pillow. She continued along the hall to the bathroom.

  He’d renovated. All the old cabinets had gone, and in their place stood two floor-to-ceiling cupboards. The new claw-footed bath, big enough for two, drew her attention.

  Ignoring the temptation, she stripped off her clothes, left them in a heap on the white tiles, and stepped into the frosted-glass shower recess. Maggie turned the taps on full blast, and as hot water pelted her, she ripped her wig off and threw it on the floor. It was associated with that club, and she’d never wear it again. She grabbed shampoo from the shelf and squeezed the plastic tube, the scent of citrus soothing her as she lathered her hair.

  A few minutes later, wearing a towel sarong, she stood in front of the mirror and peeled off the false eyelashes.

  The face reflected back looked like the Maggie of old. Finger combing her hair out of her eyes, she whispered, “Looking like her is a darned sight different to feeling like her.”

  She’d make do with some of Quinn’s clothes, because there was no way she was putting her own back on. But that meant going into his room. Get on with it. She opened his door and peeked in again to find him still asleep, so she pushed the door open farther and crept in, bare feet making no sound against the polished boards. Don’t look at him, just get something to wear.

  Tiptoeing past the foot of the bed, she couldn’t resist one quick look. His broad, naked chest compelled her eyes to feast. She couldn’t drag her gaze from him.

  Heat bubbled through her as she stared down at him. Just for a minute, she’d pretend nothing had changed, and the past year hadn’t happened. For a mere sixty seconds she’d allow herself to feel like Maggie again.

  She ached to be in his king-sized bed with him wrapped around her, to feel his embrace tighten as he drew her closer, while her hand splayed in his chest hair, exploring the muscle sculpted beneath.

  In the pit of her belly, she desired the familiar nuzzling of his lips against her neck and the passion it evoked. She wanted to trail her fingers up his chest to the column of his throat, to hear his moan as she bit him and his growl when she lapped his skin. She could taste him still: strong and addictive like the bourbon he favored.

  Focusing on his mouth, the urge to run her tongue along that damned sexy bottom lip of his rocked her. Memories of deep, passionate kisses that curled her toes resurrected a longing she’d thought buried. Again she focused on his mouth, so made for sharing kisses, whether long, drugging kisses that left her gasping for more or little, peppered kisses that fired her blood. She wanted to kiss his whole body from top to bottom and every single inch in between.

  She clenched her hands to keep from reaching out to skim her fingers across his thick, vibrant hair. She preferred him with hair. Damn, I still want him. Then reality bit into her. Hard. It couldn’t happen. Not with Angel missing. How could she stand here, lusting after him, when the young woman she promised to protect was missing? How could she have forgotten Angel, even for a second?

  Easy. You’re with Quinn.

  She tightened the towel and forced herself to step away from the bed and the temptation within.

  The alarm clock on the bedside table buzzed. Maggie watched as Quinn dragged himself from sleep, reached out and patted the bedside table until he found the clock, and hit the off button.

  “Morning.” She spoke softly to keep from startling him.

  He looked at her, his gaze burning. Maggie clutched the towel tighter as if were a barrier that would stop the heat that flared between them from scorching her. She wished she’d found something to wear rather than stand fantasizing over him for the last few minutes.

  Quinn turned away and rolled to sit on the side of the bed, stepping into his jeans in one fluid motion. “Some of your clothes are still in the bottom drawer.” He checked the safety on his gun before slipping it into his waistband.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. I just didn’t get a chance to throw them away.” His gaze slid up her bare legs before skimming her body.

  She sucked in a breath as her nipples tightened beneath his hot gaze. What would he do if I dropped the towel?

  He strolled to the door, then turned to face her. “I’ll make coffee.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Maggie stared after him. Why did he keep my stuff? She opened the drawer and found her clothes: bra, knickers, jeans, shirt, and jumper. She picked them up and walked to his en-suite. After sluicing her face with cold water and once again combing her hair back from her eyes with her fingers, Maggie used Quinn’s toothbrush and cleaned her teeth.

  She stepped into the now-too-big jeans. Does he still feel something for me? She pushed the thought away. As good as it made her feel, it wasn’t the time to reflect on the ifs or maybes. There were more important issues to sort. She gnawed her lip and stared at her troubled reflection. To get through this, she had to toughen up. No more emotions. No more wanting. No more weakness. Bit by bit, she shoved old Maggie back in her cage.

  Now she was ready to fight.

  Chapter Seven

  Maggie paused in the doorway of the tidy, bright kitchen and observed Quinn on the other side of the room staring out the window and seemingly lost in thought. “Coffee ready?” She walked to the breakfast bar.

  “In the pot. Good and strong. I made toast.”

  She wasn’t sure what to expect from him. After all, when he awoke, she was staring down at him wearing nothing but a towel. He probably thinks I’m weird. “Want another coffee?”

  When he turned to face her, his eyes were shadow filled, distant. “Yeah.” He nudged the cup toward her.

  Maggie refilled his, poured one for herself, then placed the pot back onto the warmer. He avoided touching her as he grabbed the cup.

  “So.” She pulled out a wooden chair and sat. “Where to from here?”

  He met her gaze, but she couldn’t read him. Not good.

  Quinn looked right through her as he placed a plate of hot, buttered toast in front of her and reached for the writing pad he’d obviously been making notes on earlier. “I want to arrange a meeting between you and Inspector Zyker.”

  “Not going to happen. No way.” She rested her palms against the laminate counter. “My priority is finding Angel. She’s out on the street, possibly running for her life. She needs my help.” S
eeing he was about to interrupt, she reached across and clasped his hand. “I’m not worried about me now that I’m out of that club.”

  “You should be.” He flexed his shoulders.

  Maggie found it almost impossible to drag her gaze from the play of muscles.

  “We need to find Roberts. We have to—”

  “Quinn, although Roberts is”—she made quotations signs with her fingers—“‘missing,’ I don’t have time to worry over him.” Maggie stood, picked up her coffee, and went to stand by the window.

  “Not even if you’re being accused of passing on false information to your superior?”

  She raised her brow. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “That’s what this morning’s meeting’s about.” Quinn picked up his mug and sipped the hot brew.

  “And you found that out when?”

  “As you were going into the club last night.” He met her gaze from across the room.

  “Why in hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “When? Before or after the De’lisle exploded?” He raised his brows.

  She put her mug down on the window ledge. It was either that or sling it at him. “Why did you keep that information to yourself?”

  “I didn’t want you to bolt.”

  Maggie pushed her fingers through her hair. Could this get any worse? “You should have told me.”

  Silence.

  When he stood and walked away, she followed him out the back door onto the veranda where he leaned on the rail, his spine rigid. Maggie stopped beside him. This close, she noticed the kink in his hair and curled her fingers to prevent herself touching it. His five o’clock shadow was more like midnight. A deep breath calmed her and hardened her resolve. “We need to talk.”

  “No, we don’t. You’ll just state your wants. Conversation finished. Remember, Maggie, you asked me for help. I didn’t come to you. Yet everything I suggest, you dismiss.” He turned his head, his golden gaze pinning her. “I don’t understand why you won’t consider talking to Zyker.”

  “You just finished telling me I’m under suspicion and wonder why I won’t talk to a high-ranking copper. C’mon, Quinn, get real. Accept that finding Angel is my number one priority.”

  “And keeping you safe is mine.”

  She gnawed her lip. Damn. How could she make this right? She reached out to touch him but pulled back before making contact. “I asked you for your help with the case, not to keep me safe. Until I know for sure that police aren’t involved, I can’t—won’t—ask them for help.”

  “So we’re back to square one?” His huge hand covered hers.

  She eased hers away. Concentration was impossible when he touched her.

  “Maggie.” Edginess stamped her name into the air.

  The shrill ring of the phone stalled their conversation. Quinn went back inside, and even from this distance, she heard the impatience in his voice as he barked, “Keller.”

  She paced back and forth along the deck. How could she convince him Angel had to be their main focus? It wasn’t that Maggie didn’t want to find out why her operation had gone belly-up. She did. Desperately. Because if nothing else, it would prove she wasn’t going crazy.

  “There’s been another development. The meeting’s been moved forward. I’ll get ready, and then we’ll have to leave.” His voice startled her, as she hadn’t heard him come back outside. The width of the veranda separated them, yet his gaze spiked the very fiber of her being. Her heart thudded harder.

  “Tell me what you want, Maggie.” His whiskey-rough voice tiptoed up her spine.

  “You.” Escaped on a whisper. When he didn’t respond, Maggie sighed, grateful he hadn’t heard. Be professional. Images of him on the bed earlier mocked her intentions. “To find Angel. When she’s safe, then I’ll worry about me. Okay?”

  “Your call.” He turned and stalked back inside.

  She heard the plumbing shudder and realized he was in the shower. She bolted inside to do something, anything, to rid the vision of him wrapped in her arms, wet and sleek. How in hell am I going to keep my response to him professional, when all I want to do is lose myself in him?

  “Ready.”

  Maggie’s mouth dried, and she almost dropped the cup she was wiping. Quinn stood before her, dressed for work and looking every inch the detective. Snug-fitted, navy trousers emphasized the power of his thighs. The pinstriped business shirt enhanced the width of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest. He’d brushed his hair, still damp from the shower, back off his forehead. His sheer magnetism drew her. He’s so damned hot. She clenched her teeth. Professional, remember?

  “Maggie?”

  “Mm?”

  “We have to go.”

  She dragged herself from his hypnotic gaze.

  “I’ll drop you at James’s on the way.”

  “Your old partner?”

  James Ferguson, the other half of the Dynamic Duo. He and Quinn had worked together in witness protection.

  Maggie knew Quinn trusted him, and that was good enough for her. “When did you arrange this?”

  “When I got out of the shower.”

  She shoved the picture of him naked and wet, sitting on the edge of the bed, out of her mind. “He left the service a few years back, didn’t he?”

  Quinn nodded. “He runs his own PI business now. He’ll be able to find Angel for you. There’s no red tape to cut through or rules to abide by.” His lips twisted. “Except Lydia’s.”

  “Lydia?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way. I’ll get your coat.”

  He was back in a minute with the coat over his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Maggie took it from him and struggled to get her arms in the sleeves. “Quinn, I…want you to keep this safe.” She reached into her pocket and handed him the USB.

  “I’ll make a copy and give the original to a lawyer friend of mine to lock in his safe.”

  “Listen to it first. I want…” She made the mistake of looking into his golden eyes and sighed. It was a constant battle fighting her attraction to him. Even after twelve months separation, all she wanted to do was turn into his arms and push the rest of the world away.

  She licked her dry lips. “I need you to hear the voices of those girls. I need you to know that it’s not my imagination nor my stubbornness making me follow this to the end.” She shoved her hand into the coat pockets to prevent reaching out to touch him. “Promise you’ll listen to it. Then maybe you’ll understand why finding Angel is vital.”

  He nodded and reached out to stroke her jaw. His fingers were strong, yet his touch a caress. Again, she marveled how such a giant of a man could be nothing but tender. “Thank you.”

  “No worries. Let’s move.” With his hand on her arm, he directed her toward the front door.

  Maggie climbed into the Pajero and watched Quinn vault into his seat. No sooner had he started the car than his cell rang. He dragged it from his pocket. “Keller.”

  Trying not to listen to his hushed conversation, she focused on the vista beyond the windscreen. Winter was not that far gone, and spring was settling in. Magpies’ songs filled the air, and the bush teemed with life, yet suburbia lay only a few kilometers away. She understood why he chose to live out here; it was soothing.

  “Damn it.” Quinn dropped the phone into the center console and strummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He sucked in a deep breath and turned to face her.

  “What now?” She steeled herself for more bad news.

  Quinn laid his hand on her arm and spoke. “That explosion at the De’lisle last night? I’m sorry, Maggie. They found the night watchman’s body.”

  “Where?” Her heart dropped to her toes.

  “The emergency exit.”

  “Poor George.”

  “There’s more.” He took her hand in his and ran his thumb across hers.

  She closed her eyes for a heartbeat.

  “He’d been shot in the head.”

  She nodded
and turned away. For a few seconds she sat motionless. Her body trembled. Do. Not. Lose. It. She wrapped her arms around her middle and eased back into the chair.

  Quinn watched and waited for a response. For a few seconds she sat motionless, arms wrapped around herself, then her slim shoulders began to tremble. Grief or anger?

  When she faced him, it was obvious. Her mouth was a grim line, and her beautiful, blue eyes looked more like night than day. “We should have gone back. I can’t believe we walked away.”

  “It was the right decision, the only decision to make.” If she hadn’t run out of that club… Don’t go there.

  “Is that what the phone call was about?” Maggie asked.

  “Partly.” Her unwavering look pulled the thread of tension in his gut tighter. It was like barbed wire. Could she feel it? If he didn’t know her better, he’d believe she was totally in control. Emotionless. But the pulse hammering furiously in her neck was a dead giveaway.

  “Spill it.” Her voice was no longer honey smooth. It sounded like cracking ice.

  “You’re the number one suspect,” Quinn said.

  “Yeah right.” She laughed humorlessly. “You are joking.”

  Quinn focused on her. Before, she looked as though she’d been kicked hard in the stomach. Now, with her ashen complexion and colorless lips, she looked mortally wounded. He reached for her, but she pulled back.

  He shook his head. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

  “I feel like it. How did they come up with that brilliant deduction?”

  “You were seen at the club after closing hours last night.”

  “How?”

  “An anonymous tip.”

  “No way would anyone have recognized me. No way.” Maggie stared out the side window, clenched her fist, and pounded it against the glass.

  “Maggie?” No response, so he gave her a few moments to gather her composure and spoke again. “Are you okay?”

  She turned toward him and dragged in another breath. “I’m fine. I just feel…”