Never Surrender Read online

  “What?”

  “Angry. Used. When I find out who’s working against me, they are going to pay.”

  “I’ve got your back, Maggie.” The alarm on his phone sounded. “I’m late.” He started the car and headed toward the city.

  Scenery flashed by the window in a blur. They were in suburbia, and Headquarters was only twenty kilometers farther down the freeway when Maggie asked, “How are you going to play it, Quinn?”

  “I’m going to the meeting. There was no mention of me being with you at that club last night.” His attention never wavered from the road. “I’ll listen to what’s being said. When it’s finished, I’ll come to James’s.”

  “Do you think they’re going to spring it on you?” Hysteria tinged her voice. “Should you go?”

  He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Who knows? While you’re with James, give him all the information he needs to find Angel. Wait for me. As soon as I can, I’ll come to you, and we’ll work something out.”

  “Promise.” Her voice held a soft pleading tone.

  He wrenched the car to the side of the road, shoved the gear stick to neutral, and turned to face her. “I don’t renege on my word, Maggie. But you being the key suspect in the night watchman’s murder has changed circumstances. You’re my priority, Maggie. Not Angel. You’ve asked me to find the kid, and I’m doing that by taking you to James. Then I’m going to catch whoever has it in for you. I think Roberts’s disappearance and the De’lisle blowing up, are somehow connected. Don’t ask me how; it’s just a feeling. That young girl being left in the gutter was a warning to you. You’re the catalyst. Angel escaped because they let her. It’s a setup. So, Maggie, are you ready to accept me as your partner in this case, or do you still believe you can do it by yourself?”

  Chapter Eight

  Maggie slammed the heavy door of the Pajero and watched Quinn accelerate away. How could he have thought she didn’t want to team with him? That she didn’t regard his input as viable? Why? Maybe because everything he suggested, she dismissed. She sighed. She’d asked for his help, because he was a seasoned professional. Stop being so damned stubborn, listen to his suggestions, and truly consider them. She didn’t have to do it alone. Trust him. She watched until the Pajero disappeared over the hill then turned and faced James’s house.

  Low-set, white brick. Large, screened veranda with tables and chairs scattered to encourage someone to take a load off their feet. What were you expecting? Heavy-duty surveillance? Still, she couldn’t help looking for cameras behind the bushes as she strode up the flagstone driveway.

  Maggie rapped against the panel on the closed security door. “Hello.”

  “Won’t be a minute.” A smooth voice replied.

  The music of U2 floated through the air, and a long hallway tiled with terra-cotta stretched into the gloom. Rapidly approaching footsteps caught her attention, and she held her breath. Why was she nervous? Maybe because in the six months she had been with Quinn, she hadn’t met James. He’d been away on some undercover assignment. But she’d heard about the marvelous James who could do no wrong. How could any mere mortal compete with that? She’d been as jealous as hell of Quinn’s relationship with his ex-partner when she and Quinn worked together. James and Quinn were partners for years before Quinn was transferred to vice. Their partnership had been dissolved, but their friendship stuck.

  It was ridiculous that she should still be jealous of this mythical creature, but with everything else in her life going to crap, old emotions, including resentments, just kept cropping up.

  “So you’re Maggie,” Mr. Perfection said through the screen door.

  James was equal to Quinn in height and breadth, but the similarities ended there. Quinn was solid muscle and looked as though smiling might kill him, whereas James should have looked like a huggable teddy bear but didn’t. Teddy bears have smiley expressions, and this guy’s was anything but. No warmth, not even a hint of a smile. He stood legs apart with arms crossed over his chest, and when she looked into his eyes, they were cold, expressionless. Why? Did he resent doing Quinn a favor? A bit unreasonable, given the circumstances.

  She squared her shoulders. “Yes.” Head held high, her chin jutted proudly, and her gaze clashed with his. Used to Quinn’s intimidating manner, she vowed to ignore James’s. They didn’t have to be friends; he just had to find Angel.

  “You’d better come in.” He turned the key and pulled the door open.

  Maggie stepped through, wondering what part of her life was going to fall apart next.

  “Quinn said you needed help.” It wasn’t a question. He turned on his heel and strode down the hallway and into his office, apparently under the assumption Maggie would follow.

  She did, but only because she was too tired and too worried about Angel to be bothered arguing.

  “Sit.” He indicated a chair and walked around the uncluttered, mahogany desk to settle into a well-worn, leather seat.

  A computer and printer sat to one side, and on the other side, next to the phone, stood a picture frame. Maggie wondered whose photo graced the frame.

  She eased back into the chair determined to ignore the discomfort gnawing at her insides. Quinn trusted this man. Maggie hoped she could, too. “So what has Quinn already told you?”

  “Only that you’re back. That you’re in trouble. Something about a missing witness and that you’d fill me in. I figured out for myself this means he’s in trouble, too.”

  Maggie bit back a retort at his implied criticism. Now wasn’t the time to get into a territorial battle over Quinn. “I need to find someone. A girl.”

  “Well that’s a surprise, since that’s what I do for a living.” He looked at her with eyes as dark as a midnight sky gilded with silver before reaching into a drawer beside him and pulling out a notepad. “I suggest you start with a few details.”

  Where to start? How to tell this man what she’d told Quinn. Would he judge her? Why in hell would she care anyway? Get back on track, Maggie. All she needed to do was give him the basics about Angel. Her looks, where she was last seen, and anything else he asked for. That was all.

  “Any time you’re ready.” He tapped the pen against the desk, impatience coming off him in waves.

  “Look, if you don’t want to do this…”

  “Why would you think that?” he almost drawled.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Your tone maybe?”

  His veil of politeness dropped. “Lady, the only reason I’m talking to you is because I’m doing a favor for my best mate.”

  “Good for you. Quinn arranged this. He didn’t consult me. Just told me you were good at what you do, and you’d willingly help find a young girl out on the streets. I accept you’re not doing it for me. I don’t care. I appreciate that you’ll at least listen to me. So grab your notebook and pen and take down the description, and I’ll get out of your hair.” Maggie stood so quickly the chair toppled backward.

  James stood as well. “I’ll do whatever I can to find the kid, but for Quinn’s sake, not yours.”

  “Why? What in hell have I ever done to you?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest again. “You nearly destroyed my best friend.”

  “Me? How?”

  “You left. And you took his soul with you. No word, no communication. Nothing. He nearly killed himself looking for you. I’m not sure I can put the pieces back together again when you piss off after you’ve got what you want this time.”

  “I was deep under cover.” She fisted her hands on her hips.

  “Exactly. And you left without a good-bye.”

  “And who says I’m leaving again?” Maggie leaned forward over the desk.

  “Him. You told him all you wanted was his expertise.” James jammed his fists onto the desk and leaned toward her, closing space between them to a small gap.

  Maggie flinched but didn’t back down. James was right. She had told Quinn she’d leave when it was all over. Whether she meant it or not wasn
’t important now.

  “Well, well.” A woman’s voice sounded from the doorway.

  Maggie jumped. She hadn’t realized someone else was in the house. She swung toward the voice and saw an attractive brunette on eye level with herself dressed in running gear with a baby on her hip.

  “Great to see the two most important people in Quinn’s life are really hitting it off.” The woman paused. “And I mean that literally.” She nodded toward James. “Glad you’re not intimidated by this pipsqueak.”

  Pipsqueak? Who was the woman kidding? James walked toward her. Was this the same bloke? He looked like a hungry dog going for a bone. He kissed the brunette on the side of the neck before taking the squirming baby from her.

  “Go put the kettle on,” the woman ordered and swatted his backside as he passed. “Hi, I’m Lydia, Pipsqueak’s wife.” She took Maggie’s hand and smiled. “You must be Maggie.”

  “Hi. Quinn never said James was a dad.”

  “Men. They never bother to tell anyone the really important stuff. I gather you’ve been gone a while.”

  “Feels like forever.”

  “Come to the kitchen,” Lydia insisted. “I’ll make the coffee, or James will probably poison us. His coffee’s always been lousy.”

  They sat at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee. James wasn’t friendly toward Maggie, but he was civil. Lydia kept the conversation going as best she could, but it was uncomfortable to say the least.

  “Okay. I think you’re both settled enough now for a serious discussion,” Lydia said. “Just remember this isn’t about personal likes and dislikes. It’s about helping find a young girl and bringing her home.”

  “Yes, wise one.” James dropped a kiss on the top of Lydia’s head and strode out of the room.

  Maggie remembered when Quinn used to look at her that way. Would he again? Do I want him to?

  “I’ll get another pot of coffee. Here.” Lydia passed the baby to Maggie. “Hold Oliver for a minute.”

  Maggie heard the buzz of Lydia’s voice but wasn’t concentrating. Her attention was focused solely on the bundle in her arms. And not dropping him. She’d never been a baby person, yet the peacefulness spreading through her had her wondering, what if?

  James reentered the kitchen, and Lydia set a plate of cookies beside the coffee warmer on the pine counter then whisked the baby from Maggie’s arms.

  “Time for my little man’s nap. I’ll leave you to it.”

  Quinn strode down the middle aisle. This wasn’t a conference room. It was hell with fluorescent lights. He took a seat near the front. He had a bad feeling about this meeting since they reported Maggie had been sighted at the club. Would they spring it on him that he was with her? Would he lie about it if they did? Shit. He wished he knew.

  Quinn ignored Inspector Zyker checking his watch and settled into one of the worn swivel chairs. His gaze roamed the room, his senses on alert. His scanning stopped on Felice Divine: the Barbie doll with the little-girl voice. She gave him the creeps. Curves in all the right places and a smile to melt the snow on Everest. But she was…he shook his head.

  From the minute they’d been introduced, he’d distrusted her. Nobody was that sweet, that good. He’d never understood the bond between Maggie and her.

  The inspector’s voice droned on. Quinn tried to focus, but his thoughts slipped to Maggie. Was she being honest with James? Quinn knew his friend could help. That irritated him no end. He wanted to be the one to help Maggie, but that was impossible within his job structure.

  He reported his findings to his superiors. That usually didn’t bother him. It was part of being a cop. But this time he knew he would take Maggie’s side. Why? He shoved the L word aside. He couldn’t forget the uselessness that ate at him while she was undercover. How no one would tell him anything. There were rules and regulations that all undercover operatives adhered to, but it seemed in Maggie’s case, they were ignored. By everyone. Including Maggie herself.

  He’d believed somehow she would get in touch with him, and when she didn’t, he’d believed she didn’t want him anymore.

  Zyker’s voice cut in on his thoughts. “Keller. Have you heard from Sinclair? You used to be pretty thick.”

  Quinn resented being questioned and gritted his teeth to prevent the answer he really wanted to give. “No, sir. I haven’t heard from Sinclair for twelve months.” The lie slid out easily. Too easily.

  “You know she’s wanted for questioning in the murder of the club caretaker. And for passing misleading information to Inspector Roberts.”

  Quinn squared his shoulders. “I doubt she could be responsible for either of those crimes, sir.”

  “The evidence implicates her.” Felice’s low whisper reached his ears, and he swung around to face her.

  “Margaret Sinclair was one of the most honest, reliable cops I’ve ever worked with. Undercover or not, you and I both know to kill anyone would be abhorrent to her.”

  Felice tapped her scarlet fingernails on the battered arm of the chair. “You’re awfully defensive of someone you haven’t seen for a while.”

  “And you’re quick to lay the boot into someone who’s supposed to be your friend.” He mimicked the baby-sweet voice before drawing a deep breath and refocusing his attention on the inspector. “I know her, knew her, well. She couldn’t have done it.”

  Felice was in his ear. Again. “She was seen at the De’lisle last night before it went kaboom.”

  Quinn clenched his fists. “Is your witness positive with the ID?” Too late Quinn realized he could be stepping into a trap, because he knew Maggie was in disguise and was unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t know her well.

  “Definite ID.”

  “That’s bull.” He almost bit off his tongue in the effort to keep back the rest of his words. Maggie’s suspicions had been confirmed. She was being set up. He clenched his fist, barely resisting the urge to go against his standing rule to never hit a woman when Felice smirked. He would find out who it was, and they would suffer.

  The rest of the meeting dragged. Quinn wanted out of there but didn’t want to draw any more attention. He settled back in his chair and stretched his long legs out beneath the chair in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and giving the impression of calm. Maggie was one of the good guys. He scanned the room, fighting to control the anger searing his insides. All he had to do was sort out who was rotten.

  When he picked Maggie up from James’s, that would be the first job on the list. He couldn’t go up the hierarchy. It was too late for that. Maggie was wanted for questioning. Didn’t matter that the evidence was circumstantial. If he brought her in, it could give those involved time to manufacture evidence to frame her. No, he was on his own. When he had the proof to clear her, he’d go to the brass. Not before. Until then, it was just Maggie and him. He would work within the parameters of the law to clear her name. And if that wasn’t possible, he’d do what had to be done.

  The inspector called the meeting to a close, and Quinn didn’t linger but instead stalked off down the corridor. It was as if the cases were considered open and shut. Inspector Roberts had disappeared, declared missing, and there was no bloody proof. He jabbed the button for the lift as viciously as if it were Inspector Zyker’s face. He almost smiled.

  He exited the lift at the fifth floor where the vice squad was housed. Roberts’s office happened to be on the way to his own, and outside Roberts’s door, Quinn paused. He reached out and twisted the knob. When it gave easily, he was through the door before he could talk himself out of it. Why wasn’t it locked?

  Last time he was in here, the desk had been invisible under the clutter. Now there was nothing but empty space.

  The computer beckoned. Quinn crossed to the desk. He wanted to fire it up, read its contents, but he knew that would be a mistake. They could track whomever logged on. Even if he used a fake password, suspicion could fall on Maggie first and him second. Not worth the risk. He completed an efficient search of the des
k and drawers in the space of a minute. No disks. No USBs. He searched the room, attuned to any noises outside.

  The bookcase was next. Book spines and file names were scrutinized. Zilch. He cursed silently in frustration. As much as he wanted to clear Maggie’s name, he wouldn’t find the evidence here.

  Footsteps halted outside the door. Quinn’s breath lodged in his throat. He strained to catch the conversation between muted voices. Nothing. The footsteps moved on. Quinn breathed again, counted to fifty, then slipped out into the hallway.

  In the security of his workspace, he settled at his desk and flipped through files. With his thoughts streaming in a million directions, he couldn’t focus on even that basic task, so he shoved them away. But then he reconsidered, the sooner he plowed through, the quicker he could leave. With a concentrated effort, he drew in a breath of recycled air, dragged the files back toward him, and set about the task at hand.

  When he finished, he dropped them into the administration assistant’s in-basket in the outer office for filing. With a smile to ward off the clerk’s chatter, he crossed to the whiteboard holding the rosters. He was off for the next two days. It wasn’t a lot of time, but he would use it well.

  In the locker room, he chatted idly with a few other detectives while he dumped clothes and CDs into his backpack. Was he coming back? Right now he couldn’t think past helping Maggie. If she was set up, if the guys in his own unit were crooked, he couldn’t—no, wouldn’t—stay on.

  Being a police officer, helping people who couldn’t help themselves, was important to him. He prided himself on the integrity of the service and expected fellow officers to be honest as he was. He’d realized from his second week in basic training that it was a pipe dream, but he had to try. Someone had to try.

  He slammed the locker shut and slung the backpack over his shoulder. On the way out, he picked up his mail from the mailbox. James had been at him to go into partnership. Maybe it was time. He rode the elevator to the ground floor and walked toward the parking station.

  He unlocked the Pajero, opened the door, threw his stuff on the passenger seat, and climbed in. Quinn looked out the windscreen and slammed his palm against the steering wheel as frustration ate at him. Something rotten was going on, and Maggie was smack in the middle of it. Was she one of the rotten apples? Or were they determined to implicate her to save themselves?