Page 55 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)

FORTY-FIVE

London, England

A peaceful winter night settled over London.

The sky was strewn with stars, and a crescent moon hung over the city, its points sharp as a sickle.

Gabe poured himself a drink and settled on the sofa.

It was late, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep, not yet.

The house was quiet around him, only the sounds of late-night traffic barely audible in the stillness of the night.

It’d taken Quinn hours to get to sleep. She’d been weepy and excited at the same time, overcome with worry about Jude and anxious about finally getting to meet Jo.

Gabe was genuinely sorry about Jude. He’d never been driven by a self-destructive impulse himself but wasn’t at all sure he’d be strong enough to resist a desperate need like Jude’s if he were.

It was easy to say, “Get clean” or “You have to stop using,” but so hard to do.

Jude was an addict, and even if he was lucky enough to ride out this crisis and regain control of his life, the desire and impulse would always be there, stalking him like prey, hounding his every waking hour.

Jude would need the support of his family if he recovered, and Gabe would have to set his own feelings aside and encourage Quinn to offer whatever assistance she could.

And then there was Jo. She was either really brave or spectacularly stupid to go traipsing through such a dangerous region with nothing but a teenage guide for company.

No photo, no matter how amazing, was worth losing one’s life over.

Had Jo been inspired by her desire to tell a story or driven by a need to glorify her own name in the photojournalism circles?

Gabe couldn’t rightly say without getting to know her, but if her twin were anything to go by, then Jo had probably only wanted to shine a light into the darkest corners of humanity’s lust for power.

Whether she’d been after photos of Taliban hideouts or looking for hidden stashes of opium, she would be showing the world once again how the cruelty and greed of a few destroyed the lives of many.

How much of the heroin Jude had ingested came from Afghanistan?

Probably a good bit. How would Jo feel when she learned of her brother’s addiction?

Gabe took a sip of Scotch and felt the fiery liquid slide down his throat, warming him from within.

He wished the alcohol would take the edge off and help him get to sleep, but he was wide awake, his mind not ready to set aside his troubled thoughts.

Would Quinn ever find inner peace? The meeting with Jo would go a long way toward helping her if it went well, but despite trying his best to be supportive, he was deeply worried.

His mind buzzed with speculation, persistent as ever despite a refill of Scotch.

What if Jo rejected Quinn and wanted nothing to do with her?

Or what if Jo welcomed Quinn into her life but turned out to be nothing like the sister Quinn hoped for?

Gabe genuinely liked Logan and was glad Quinn had a brother she loved, but, given her history with Brett and Jude, the situation with Jo could go either way.

Gabe drained the glass and eyed the bottle affectionately before screwing on the cap and putting it away in the kitchen cupboard.

Enough. He could control himself, and he would. Two drinks were his limit.

Gabe returned to the sofa and lay down, propping his head with a decorative pillow as his thoughts returned to Jo.

Which parent did Jo take after, Sylvia or Seth?

Those two were an unlikely pair if there ever was one.

Now that he’d got to know them both, he was glad Quinn was more like her father, direct and practical—well, to a point.

She did tend to get overly emotional and deeply involved, not only with the people in her life, but with the individuals whose lives she saw playing out in her mind day after day.

And he loved her for it. He loved that she cared, even though centuries had passed since those poor souls had walked the earth.

Quinn’s voice shook and her eyes blazed with indignation when she spoke of the injustices they’d had to endure and the unfair treatment of women in centuries past. Her heart broke when they suffered, and she mourned their deaths as if they had been her friends and not mere holograms she saw in her uniquely wired brain.

Quinn had been unusually tight-lipped about Mary Wilby, possibly because the state of Mary’s remains had affected her so deeply, or maybe because she couldn’t focus on Mary when Jo was constantly on her mind.

Gabe had tried to dissuade Quinn from ringing Sylvia, given her emotional state, but Quinn had felt she owed it to Sylvia to share the news about Jo and refused to wait.

She thought the knowledge that Jo was safe might ease Sylvia’s suffering as she waited for news of Jude.

Sylvia had sounded surprisingly calm on the phone.

Gabe had heard her side of the conversation since Quinn’s mobile was only inches from him when she spoke to her mother.

Sylvia had persuaded Logan to go home and get some rest while she kept vigil over her youngest child.

Quinn had waited until an appropriate moment presented itself to tell Sylvia about Jo, but Sylvia hadn’t asked too many questions or expressed an immediate interest in seeing her daughter. All her attention was focused on Jude.

A noise from the bedroom startled Gabe out of his reverie, and he looked up to find Quinn padding toward the sofa.

She looked tired and sad, her mouth turned down at the corners.

Her hair was mussed, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes.

Gabe sat up and opened his arms, and Quinn slid onto his lap and pressed herself against him, like a small child.

Gabe wrapped his arms around her and held her close, not saying anything.

After a while, Quinn’s lips found his and she slid her hand down his track pant bottoms, her fingers closing around him with obvious intent.

Gabe cupped her breast, but Quinn pushed his hand away and wiggled out of her knickers as she pulled him down on top of her.

“No foreplay. And do it hard,” she commanded.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Gabe asked, mystified by her mood.

“I want to feel something other than sorrow right now.”

Quinn wrapped her legs around Gabe as he drove into her, giving her what she’d asked for with single-minded determination.

He didn’t bother with kisses or endearments, and she slammed her hips against his with unexpected force.

He had to be hurting her, but she clawed at his back and ground against him, urging him not to pull back.

Gabe closed his eyes and allowed himself to let go, pummeling her until she arched her back, cried out, and went limp beneath him.

He pressed his forehead to hers, looking into her clouded gaze. “All right?”

Quinn nodded and pushed him off. She left as suddenly as she’d come, leaving him alone on the sofa with his troubled thoughts.