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“I know it’s early,” he said. “Sorry. Couldn’t call earlier—uh, yesterday—so I thought I should do it today. Kids all right?”
“Oh, we’re fine here,” she said. “Cookie-baking on schedule. How are you? You sound tired.”
“It’s been a bit of an … eventful day.”
“You want to tell me about it?” she asked. “Or just talk to the kids?”
Oh, bloody hell. He hadn’t even thought of this. She was Quinn’s mum. He should have called her parents hours ago. “We won’t be, uh …” he began. “Back in time for Christmas. We had an … an incident this morning.”
Bam’s voice changed. He knew that change. The change where your body told you that the worst had happened, even though nobody had said it yet. “Quinn? Is she—”
“She’s going to be OK,” he said, and heard her exhalation. Heard Cash, too, saying something in the background, then more loudly, saying, “You’re on speaker. What the hell happened?”
“Quinn’s going to be all right,” he said again. “She got, uh, attacked, trying to sort out what happened to my wife. She’s in hospital, in fact. I’m here with her. But she’s going to be all right.”
Bam exclaiming, something soft and incoherent. Cash, his voice vibrating down the line, saying, “How the hell did you let that happen?”
“You have every right to ask me that,” Beckett said. “I’m asking it of myself.”
“Cash.” That was Bam again. “I’m guessing that whatever it was, Quinn insisted on doing it.”
“How do you know that?” Cash’s voice.
“I don’t,” she said. “I’m guessing. Why don’t we let Beckett tell us?”
He did, as briefly as he could. “It was close,” he admitted, and knew by the clutching in his chest how true it was. “But we got there. The cops and I.”
“Did you hit her?” Cash asked.
“Yeah. Samantha. Hit her in the face. I’ve never hit a woman before. Never come close. I don’t feel the least bit bad about it.”
“Surprised Quinn didn’t do it,” Cash said.
“She did heaps,” Beckett said. Was this the strangest, most uncomfortable conversation ever? Yes, it was. “Fought her off long enough for us to get in. She’s a lion.”
“Yeah,” Cash said. “That’s my girl.”
He cleared his throat, and Bam said, “Go get a Kleenex and stop trying to pretend you’re not crying.”
Cash blowing his nose, then saying, “Can we talk to her?”
“She’s asleep,” Beckett said. “Pretty shattered, and not talking well yet.”
“You’d tell us, though,” Bam said. “If we should—” An indrawn breath. “If we need to come.”
“Yeah,” Beckett said. “I would. I promise, she’s OK. Doesn’t look OK, necessarily, so don’t be too shocked when you see her. The doctor says her face will heal fine.”
“Her face …” Bam trailed off.
Janey’s voice, then. “What’s going on? Is that my dad?”
Beckett said, “If you have more questions, tell Janey to wait. Or if you want me to take the phone into the room so you can see Quinn sleeping.”
“No,” Bam said. “I don’t want to wake her if she’s resting. If you say she’s OK, that’s good enough. You said ‘observation,’ right?”
“Yeah,” Beckett said. “Because of her throat. But they said, just a precaution.”
Janey’s voice again, and Bam said, “Call us back when she wakes up in the morning, will you? No matter what time it is there.”
