“They took her, Connie. Or maybe Quinn left of her own accord. I don’t know,” I confess. “And she wasn’t just a friend. I thought she was so much more.”
After more soothing, I pull away from Connie’s embrace. Dropping Quinn’s purse on the counter, I push the heels of my hands against my eye sockets to stem the flow of tears. I need to get my shit together. I should go and check on Maddie and Lily. Mace is right to blame me for putting them in danger.
“I can’t believe she lied to me.”
“You’re in shock. And it’s going to take time to process everything,” she says. She narrows her eyes on the dried blood around my nose. “Let’s get you cleaned up before we do anything else.”
While Connie fetches a cloth, I press a hand against my chest to steady my thumping heart.
I’m immediately reminded of Quinn standing in the coffee shop with Mikhail’s arm tight around her throat. She’d rested a hand over her heart and tapped once. If that was some kind of message, I don’t understand it.
Connie hands me a warm, damp cloth. “Does it hurt?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
She knows I’m not talking about my injured nose.
“I’ll get you a stiff drink.”
Once I’ve wiped the blood from my face, I turn my attention to Quinn’s purse. Had she left it in the car by mistake? I suspect not. Every single one of her moves had been planned meticulously.
When I open her purse, I find three phones. One is her regular phone, but the others are ones I haven’t seen before. Each of the new phones is wrapped in a piece of hotel stationery, secured with a hair tie. A strand of Quinn’s hair is caught in the elastic of one, and the sight steals my breath. The first time we met, I’d acquired a strand of her hair, never imagining that Quinn would be the woman to not only steal my heart, but to break it too.
Before I can unwrap the phones, Simon and Levi arrive.
“The others are gathering in Ash’s study,” Connie tells them as she sets down a glass of Griffin label whiskey in front of me.
“Yeah, we heard them arguing,” says Simon. He’s a regular in Connie’s kitchen and doesn’t ask permission before he starts opening cupboard doors. “I’ll check in with them in a minute. I just need a glass or a container.”
Simon’s a colossus of a man, but he flinches when Connie swipes at him. “Get your dirty mitts out of my cupboards,” she says, glaring at his hands. She gasps when she realizes it’s not dirt, but blood. “Who’s injured?”
“I’m fine,” Simon says gruffly.
“He was shot,” explains Levi. “I’ve patched him up, but the doc’s on his way.”
“He’ll need to check over Lily and Maddiefirst,” Simon insists. “Although I heard Lily yelling at Mace, so I’m guessing they’re good?”
“They’re right as rain,” Connie assures him. “You’re the one with a bullet in you.”
Simon winces as he reaches up to grab two glasses from a shelf while Connie’s distracted by his injury. “The bullet went straight through my arm. It’s a scratch, that’s all.”
“It had better be,” Connie says. “You promised to help me dig over my vegetable patch.”
“I could do that with one hand tied behind my back. Stop fussing,” he says as our housekeeper attempts to pull his jacket off to check his wound. “I’m working, Connie. If you want to make yourself useful, find me a couple of straws.”
Connie mutters, but she leaves Simon in peace long enough for him to take three Ziplock bags from his pocket. One holds a small vial, and the other two contain clear pink liquid. He decants the liquids into the glasses.
“It’s the rosé Maddie and Lily were drinking,” Levi explains for my benefit. “Simon spotted Quinn with the vial.”
“When you’ve worked in clubs as long as I have,” Simon explains, “you can’t look at a drink without wondering if it’s been spiked. Especially when one member of the party refuses to drink and acts decidedly uncomfortable.” That would be Quinn then.
Simon takes a couple of testing strips from his wallet, because of course the former bouncer carries drug tests around with him, and sets them down on the counter. He uses the straws Connie gives him as droppers so he can place samples of the girls’ drinks onto the two strips.
“How long will it take?” I ask.
Simon puts a timer on his watch. “Ninety seconds.” Hepicks up the last bag containing the vial, scrutinizing it without taking it out. “My guess is it’s GHB, but I don’t think the girls drank enough to cause significant harm. I spotted the vial on the table just in time.”
My stomach twists with dread as we wait, even though the results are a forgone conclusion. I must still be in denial. “Why would Quinn put the vial on the table where you could see it?”
