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A chill swept up Rick’s spine, making the fine hairs on his neck stand up. “You mean a murder/suicide? And Quinn, right?”
Neither man said a word as Rick flicked his gaze back and forth between them. “You think he’ll come back to kill her. That’s what you’re saying?” Distressed, Rick balled up a piece of paper from his file, squeezing it in his hand.
“It’s the most likely scenario, and you know it, Rick,” Clint said. “She escaped from his abuse, then slipped out of his grasp again. He wants revenge, and it’s clear who he blames for his unhappiness.”
“He blames Quinn for his unhappiness!” Rick shoved his chair back, shouting in disbelief. “The man kept her prisoner in her own home for two years! She was raped and beaten on a regular basis—by her husband! And he fucking blames her?”
“Calm down, Rick.” Mack’s sharp tone made Rick snap his head in his boss’s direction.
Rick slapped his hands on the table top, glaring at his boss— more than a boss. Mack was a friend, and a good one. “I’ll fucking calm down when he’s dead and buried, preferably by my hand.”
“Maybe you’ll get your chance, Ricochet,” Clint said as he stood to leave the room. “We can only hope.”
Rick watched the big man exit and turned back to Mack, who was scratching the grey stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “I want to speak to Tucker about what he’s found so far. Is he in Mission Control today?”
“No. We don’t have any active ops right now, so he’s working remotely only as needed.” Mack continued to rub his beard. Rick got the impression that the man was doing some hard thinking.
“In that case, I’m going to head in there and do a few searches. That alright with you, chief?” Rick was eager to get into Mission Control without Tucker hanging over his shoulder.
Mack didn’t respond.
“Chief?”
Finally, the older man dismissed Rick with a wave of his hand, never looking his way. “Go ahead.” Rick’s brow wrinkled up at Mack’s inattention.
“Alright then,” he whispered to himself as he punched in the code to open up the secure door.
Rick settled himself down in Tucker’s big comfy chair, logging into the system with his password. He began his virtual hunt for Travis Hardy, his fingers tapping on the keyboard. “Where are you, you sick mother fucker?”
As he typed, he imagined putting a bullet between the man’s eyes and smiled.
Quinn put the empty glass of water in her sink and braced her hands on the countertop, gently rolling her head back and forth. Her neck cracked loudly. The constant tension in her muscles was beginning to give her a pounding headache.
She spied the bottle of painkillers the doctor gave her when she left the hospital, but decided she could go without for now. Pain pills weren’t the answer. What she needed was to know that Travis was behind bars. Until then, Quinn was positive that she wouldn’t ever be able to fully relax.
It took another minute for Quinn to grab a paperback off of her nightstand and hurry back to the door. She didn’t want to show up without it after using it as her excuse to leave the gym.
Can’t let them know I came up here to freak out.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped out.
Bright sunshine made Quinn squint as sh
e made her way down the stairs to the parking lot of Sanctum. It was still early in the morning, but already very warm out. She sighed, another boiling hot day in Atlanta.
Traffic was thick on the main road in front of the gym, morning rush hour in full swing. Already perspiring along her hairline, Quinn wasn’t sure if she was sweating from the heat or from her constant case of nerves. Double-timing it, she hurried around the building towards the front, already craving sitting in the air-conditioned break room with her book.
She paid no attention to the car that pulled into the lot until it stopped right in front of her, blocking her path to the front of the gym. The driver’s side door flew open and a man jumped out, reaching for her.
It happened fast, yet each image that flashed by seemed to make time slow down. Quinn wasn’t sure if she was imagining the scene or if it was real life. What she was sure of was that the man lunging for her, a murderous look in his eyes so chilling that she felt it to her bones, was her husband.
As his hands gripped her waist, he snarled in anger. Reacting without thinking, Quinn grabbed his shoulders and yanked down, raising her knee at the same time. The impact knocked the wind out of him with a loud whoosh of air from his lungs. Before he could recover, she landed a sharp kick to his groin.
A strangled sound came from Travis’ throat. He managed to gather just enough strength to swing his arm, knocking her feet out from under her. Quinn hit the pavement hard and began to scramble to her feet, desperate to reach the safety of the gym… and Rick.
As she lifted herself to a standing position, a hand clamped around her ankle and began dragging her towards the car, pulling her back to the ground.
She screamed, scratching and clawing at the asphalt, her nails and fingers becoming scraped and bloody.
