Page 15

“Right. Thank you for dinner. I appreciate it very much.”

“It’s the least I can do.” She studied him for a moment, studied the bruises on his face. “If you need anything, you know where I am.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Dubonnet.”

He watched her cautiously trundle back down the narrow wooden staircase, returning her final brief wave when she safely reached the ground, before he ducked back inside the apartment.

By then he was so tired, he felt too wired to sleep. The best remedy for that was physical exertion, so he decided he might as well deal with the crime-scene mess.

Once he was downstairs, staring at the dried pool of his uncle’s blood, he was less certain about that decision. But as disturbing as the sight of bloodshed was, it wasn’t really extreme enough to justify the expense of calling a crime-scene cleanup team.

He rounded up a bucket, a couple of stiff brushes, a soap container, and set about scrubbing out the ink blot of brownish red stain. At first, he was simply focused on getting things back in order for Uncle C.’s safe return, but as he worked from the flaking brown edges inward, he discovered the blood was not completely dry. The soapy water in the bucket began to turnpink, and the scent of soap, chemicals, and blood made his stomach churn.

He closed his eyes, tried to swallow that rise of sickness…

Nope. Not going to happen.

Andy hopped up and rushed to the front door. His hands shook a little as he turned the geriatric locks and threw the door open. He reeled outside, leaning against the doorframe, gulping in fresh, cold air.

Cumulative effect. He was not particularly squeamish. This was just the culmination of everything. Hell, just the thought of Marcus was enough to make him want to throw up. No wonder—

“You okay?” The voice interrupting his thoughts was deep, concerned, and yes, familiar.

Andy opened his eyes in horror.

Quinn Rafferty gazed back at him.

Chapter Five

Presumably, Quinn was gazing at him. Who knew what was going on behind those protective shades?

Andy laughed. Laughed, looked skyward, and said, “Seriously?”

But really. Honest to God. What the hellnext?

Quinn, in his aviators and leather jacket, looked both tough and together in a way his juvenile delinquent self could have only dreamed of. He drawled, “Yeah, awkward, I know.”

Echoing Andy’s exact earlier thought.

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Andy just didn’t have his normal diplomatic dexterity. He replied, “Nah. You know what was awkward? Me, sixteen years ago, accusing your grandfather of murder. They’re still laughing about that down at the police station.”

He was surprised when Quinn flushed. Once upon a time Andy had found that revealing wash of color endearing. A blushing bad boy? Quinn pulled off his shades, and his bright green gaze seemed to lock onto Andy’s.

“I heard. And I’m sorry. I had no idea. It never occurred to me—” He sounded sincere, even contrite. Granted, Quinn had always been a skilled liar.

“Oh hey. No problem. What are friends for?” Andy folded his arms, leaned back against the doorframe he had previously been clutching for support. “So. How’ve you been?”

Quinn frowned. “Andy, I reallyamsorry. About…all of it. I didn’t realize.”

Clearly. Which actually didn’t help. If anything, it was more painful to belatedly understand that what had meant so much to his teenaged self had been instantly forgettable to Quinn. Not worth a goodbye kiss. Or even a goodbye.

But Andy had also learned to hide his feelings—he could thank Marcus for that life lesson. He smiled. “Ancient history. In all honesty, I hadn’t thought of you in years. It’s just being back here again.” He shrugged likeain’t no big deal.

But of course it had been a very big deal.

Quinn didn’t move, but something about him seemed to withdraw. He straightened his shoulders, offered a hint of his old cocky smile. “That’s okay, then. No harm done.” Yet his gaze, uncharacteristically dark, even somber, was at odds with the smirk.

“Apparently not. Whatdidhappen to you? Why’d you take off like that?”