Kelley Armstrong - Made to Be Broken

"I didn't use anything. I meant I screwed up by coming here. Look, can I just talk to Nadia – Dee -?"

"Here it's Nadia," I said. "This is my home."

His chin dipped. "I know, and I'm sorry. I thought – well, I guess I wasn't thinking – " He looked at Jack. "Can you give us a minute -?"

"No."

Quinn paused, as if struggling not to be drawn into a fight. He sidestepped toward the front of the car, closer to me. I stayed where I was, tucked in the open doorway of the truck.

"This is what I wanted to tell you in Toronto," Quinn said. "That I know."

"How?" Jack said.

A brief glower at the interruption. Then Quinn continued. "A couple months ago, some of us were talking in the office about a case in Tennessee. A detective shot a dealer point-blank. I guess he'd had a few run-ins with the guy, and nothing would stick, so he just… had enough. Anyway, we were talking about that, and what makes cops snap, and one of the guys said it's always men, that you never see a woman doing that."

The hairs on my neck rose.

"Then someone says no, he remembers this case in Toronto with a woman cop, and the other guy says bullshit, and he says come here and I'll look it up. He Googles it and…"

"Finds me."

Quinn nodded. "He called us over to read the article. I saw the name, the particulars, but it didn't mean anything until he scrolled down and there was a picture."

He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down. "I didn't know what to do, Dee… Nadia. I thought maybe I should act like I'd never seen it. But what if, later, you found out I knew all along? You'd never forgive me and I wouldn't blame you. I knew I had to tell you. I started with the ski trip idea, then thought, great, I treat you to a nice getaway and hit you with that. No way. Then the Toronto job came along. Professional setting, close to home if you wanted to walk away. But then…"

"You got called back."

"And I couldn't just drop that bomb and leave. But all week, it's been driving me nuts, so when I had to be in Montreal tomorrow, I decided to take an early flight, make the drive… And when I got there, I realized it was my worst idea yet."

"So you left."

He nodded.

"That's your story?" Jack said.

A muscle in Quinn's cheek twitched as he pivoted Jack's way. "Yes, Jack, that's my story"'

I headed toward them. "Jack…"

"Can you prove it?" he said.

"No, Jack, I can't fucking prove it and you know that. You want to hook me up to a polygraph? Or better yet, put a gun to my head and see if I'll crack." Quinn…

At least he acknowledged me, glancing over and nodding, then rolling his shoulders and smoothing his tone as he said to Jack, "It would be nice if you could look at our history and agree that I've never been anything but honest and fair. But that's obviously out of the question, so at least give me credit for having a healthy sense of self-preservation. You don't like me. You don't like what I am. It makes you nervous. And seeing me getting close to your protégée really makes you nervous. But whatever ethical code you play by, it says you need an excuse to kill me. So do you honestly think I'd give you one?"

Jack snorted, but said nothing. Quinn fished the keys from his pocket.

"I'll take off now, and give you guys time to think it over and decide… whatever you're going to decide." He opened the door. "I'll e-mail you in a week or so, Nadia, and – " He stopped, fingers drumming against the window frame. "Or, I guess, I should wait for you to get in touch with me."

"I will."

He nodded, trying for a smile, but not finding it. He pulled the door wider. Jack's hand shot out and slapped it shut.

Quinn wheeled. "Oh, for God's sake, Jack. You won't even let me make a graceful exit, will you?"

"You owe her."

"Owe -?" He ripped a wallet from his pocket, yanked out his driver's license, and waved it. "You mean this? Tit for tat? Do you think I wasn't going to tell her who I am? Maybe I just wanted to do it in private, but if that's too much to ask for…" He held the license out, the edge falling from his voice. "Here, Nadia."

I shook my head. "I don't need that. Jack, please, just let him – "

"He owes you. Not information." He plucked the license from Quinn's hand and tossed it through the open window. "She needs help. Working on something. Needs to dig up old cases. Compare – "

"No. He doesn't need to – "

"I will. I'd be glad to," Quinn said. "Anytime you need my contacts or my research, you only have to ask, like I've said. Why don't we find someplace to grab a coffee – "

"Can't," Jack said. "She's got guests coming. Re spon si bil i ties." He glanced at me. "After dinner?"

I nodded and we arranged the meeting.

I had trouble getting away. One couple who'd booked a twilight canoe ride decided over dinner that they'd love to tour the range first. They weren't pushy or demanding, but it's hard to say no without a good excuse.

Jack came to my rescue, saying he knew I wanted to check out a downed fence section, so he'd give the range tour. After dinner, I gathered my fence-mending tools and headed out.

I'd told Quinn to meet me at the service lane near the back of the property. I could have driven there, but it was a warm evening and I needed the walk. When I got to the spot almost ten minutes early, he was already there.

He sat on a log with his back to me. He'd changed into a T-shirt and jeans, the shirt tight over broad shoulders, muscles tense. He stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles, then pulled them in. One hand drummed the log. The other peeled bark from an old birch. His legs went out again. Back in. As nervous as a twelve-year-old waiting in the woods, not sure his "date" will show.

"Trying to kill my trees?" I asked.

He turned so fast he slid backward, awkwardly catching himself before tumbling to the dirt. A sheepish laugh as he stood, brushing the earth from his hands.

"I thought you'd be coming that way," he said, pointing at the path he'd been watching. "Which is probably the opposite direction to your place, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Lousy sense of direction."

Silence fell, then hung there, awkward. He made a show of looking behind me.

"No chaperone?"

"Not tonight."

"I'm not sure if that's a good sign or bad." He peered into the woods. "If you see a little red dot of light on my forehead…?"

"I'll let you know."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Man, Jack was pissed. Not that he didn't have a right to be, if I'd done what he thought I did, hunting you down."

I leaned against the tree he'd been picking at. "Re mem ber when we first met? Accidentally bumping into you and Felix when Jack had been deliberately keeping me away from you guys? Well, he wasn't just being his usual… overcautious – "

"Paranoid."

I smiled. "Paranoid self. He hadn't wanted us meeting because of my background and your job. He was afraid…"

"Of exactly what happened. That somehow I'd figure out who you were."

"After that run-in, Jack decided keeping me hidden would only raise more questions. There wasn't much chance you'd heard about my case, much less would remember me even if you had. But, now, he feels respon sible."

"I can see that."

I sat on the log. As Quinn lowered himself beside me, he pulled his ID card from his pocket, upside-down.

"If you really don't want to see this, I understand. But I'd like you to."

I took the license and read it: home address, date of birth, and his real name.

" Quincy?"

"Don't laugh."

"I'm not."

"If you try any harder not to, you'll give yourself an aneurysm."