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She nodded, and a chill skated down her spine. “Good thing.”
For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the buzz of the medical machines. Quinn’s arms tightened around her ever so slightly.
Lacing her fingers with his, she leaned into him—his warmth, his comfort, his strength. Then she recounted the terrifying events of the night before. When she was done, Quinn ran his hands over her arms, soothing away her goosebumps. His gentle touch was a sharp contrast to the curses he muttered under his breath.
Joe shot Quinn an impatient look. After a moment, Quinn’s muttering subsided, though the tension in his arms remained.
“Alex, we believe the intruder entered through the kitchen’s back door, and that’s where he grabbed the knife.”
The memory of Preston doing the same flashed in her mind. She shivered. “Who is he? Did you catch him?”
Joe nodded. “His name was Jason Fulton—”
“Was?” Her stomach clenched. “Does that mean—”
“He didn’t make it, Alex.”
She gasped, and all the blood rushed from her head. “Ikilledhim?”
“It was self-defense, sweetheart,” Quinn said.
“He’s right.” Joe nodded. “It looks like the fall was what caused his death. But know that you’re not going to be charged with anything. What happened was a clear case of self-defense.”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“We’ve been able to trace Fulton’s steps. We believe he was the one who placed those calls to you and ordered the flowers.”
She shook her head. That didn’t add up. “I’ve never seen that man before in my life. How could he have possibly known about the song and the flowers and the note?” Outside her therapist, no one did.
The two men exchanged a look she didn’t understand.
Her brow crinkled in confusion. “What am I missing?”
Joe cleared his throat, rose from the chair, and paced the small hospital room. “Fulton was released from jail a week ago. The same place Woodsworth is in. They were in different cell blocks, so we’re still trying to piece together how exactly they had contact, but we’re certain that’s the connection.”
“But how did either of them know where I was staying? Where I was working?” She shook her head again. None of it made sense. “And the flowers were addressed to me—Alex. Not Natalie. How could Fulton—or even Preston—have figured that out?”
“The divorce papers?” Quinn asked.
She frowned. “No, I filed those in Boston. I didn’t even know Hudson Island existed then.”
* * *
Quinn’s eyes narrowed when he saw a flicker of guilt cross Joe’s face again.
Son of a motherfucking bitch.
He carefully unwrapped himself from Alex and stood, making sure not to jar her. He rounded the bed and approached Joe. Fury tinged his vision red. The picture of what had happened was now clear in his mind.
“Quinn?” Alex’s voice was filled with worry, but he didn’t take his eyes off Joe. “What are you—”
“Back off, O’Conner,” Joe muttered. Wariness crawled over his face.
For good fucking reason.
Quinn’s fist flew and landed squarely on Joe’s jaw. “You motherfucker!”
“Quinn!” Alex screamed, scrambling out of the hospital bed. When her feet hit the floor, she cried out and crumpled to the ground.
