I wanted to shout for him, but I knew it would distract him. “Do something,” I begged Ramsay as Pollock swiped the dagger toward Quinn. He stumbled back, one foot sliding toward the edge of the peninsula where it fell down a slope toward the water. I squashed a cry as Quinn righted himself and maneuvered away from Pollock.
“Finally.” Ramsay gripped my biceps. “Promise you’ll stay right here. If you get in the way, Quinn could get seriously hurt.”
Confused, I nodded.
Then Ramsay ran off. I whirled around in shock, but it was quickly replaced by hope as I saw Tierney arrive in her SUV. The sounds of sirens in the near distance followed her. She hopped out of the car and raced to Ramsay, handing him something.
He bolted back toward us, his face a mask of cold calculation as he stopped by my side and aimed a gun, cupping it with his free hand, like a professional would. His army training.
Ramsay’s first bullet hit dead center on Pollock’s knife hand. And then the arsehole’s entire body jerked as Ramsay hit him in the shoulder.
Quinn rushed to kick the dagger toward us as Ramsay strode to Pollock.
“Stay down,” he demanded, keeping his gun trained on my prone attacker.
Then Quinn was touching me, his hands roaming my body, my face, his lips on my cheeks, his breathing as ragged as mine. That’s when my legs finally gave out and I slumped to the ground.
“Mo luaidh!” His tone was frantic.
“Just … a bit shaky,” I assured him.
“Why?” Quinn cupped my face, anger flashing in his eyes as they met mine. I didn’t quite understand what he meant. “Why did you bring him here? Why didn’t you just take him to the pocket watch?”
Oh.
My tears spilled over. “Laird has it at his home. I … I couldn’t … I couldn’t lead him there.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Taran.” Suddenly I found myself hauled against him. I reached for him, fumbling for purchase, and Quinn’s body jerked as he released a pained hiss.
“He stabbed you!” I jerked back, searching for the wound in a panic.
Quinn winced and lifted his shirt. There was a weeping slash just under his right pec. “Just a scratch.”
Before I could protest, there were yells from the police as they approached.
It took them long enough.
The next few hours were a blur of blue lights, questions, confusion, exhaustion, and a thumping sore head.
However, it ended with Pollock arrested and airlifted to hospital. Tierney took London home and Quinn escorted me to his place, since my house was now a crime scene. Edward White was in critical condition after most of his blood soaked into my mother’s living room carpet.
Forde dressed Quinn’s wound, and I had a concussion. I was not to be left unattended for the next twenty-four hours, which was fine by Quinn because I had a feeling he wasn’t going to let me out of his sight for a lot longer than that.
He woke me up every hour to make sure I hadn’t lost consciousness. We’d talk for a few minutes about what had happened. Then he’d let me sleep again. Then rinse and repeat.
Suffice it to say I was still exhausted when we woke the next morning.
I was sleeping on Quinn’s left side so I didn’t hurt his wound.
“Laird called again twenty minutes ago,” he murmured, caressing my arm as I slowly came around to the world.
My head throbbed. I groaned. “Is he all right?”
“He just wants to make sure you are.”
“Strange day,” I murmured dryly.
Quinn shook against me with quiet laughter. “Aye, it’s not every day you survive a demented crack dealer’s attempt to steal a family heirloom.”
