Page 23 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

TWENTY-ONE

The room was dark when Quinn let herself in.

Gabe must have fallen asleep, which was just as well, since she was in no mood to discuss the night’s events.

She kicked off her shoes, then took off the dress and threw it on a chair.

She didn’t think she’d want to wear it ever again.

It felt tainted, stained with deceit and shame.

Perhaps she’d give it to Jill and ask her to sell it in her vintage clothing shop.

Someone else might enjoy it, not knowing its brief, but unpleasant history.

Quinn pulled on Gabe’s T-shirt and inhaled its comforting smell.

It smelled of Gabe’s aftershave and his own unique scent and felt warm and soft against her skin.

Gabe’s arm instantly encircled her when she climbed into bed, his lips brushing her temple in the darkness.

“Go back to sleep,” Quinn said, but Gabe was suddenly wide awake, his eyes blazing with anger as he rolled her onto her back and loomed above her, his face bone-white in the moonlight streaming through the net curtains.

“What’s the matter?” Quinn asked, alarmed.

She instinctively pressed her hands against Gabe’s chest to push him off, realizing that this was the second time that night that she felt physically threatened by a man, and hating the feeling of helplessness.

She knew Gabe wouldn’t hurt her, but there was something in his eyes that scared her nonetheless.

“You reek of another man,” Gabe spat out. Quinn could see the fury building within him. He was jealous.

“Stop carrying on like some primal alpha male,” Quinn retorted. “Chatham tried to kiss me. I pushed him away. ”

“Really?” Gabe growled as he pulled down the T-shirt and lowered his head to her breasts. Quinn felt a twinge of panic, realizing that Chatham’s aftershave lingered on her skin. He’d been all over her, and she was as tainted as the dress she longed to be rid of.

Gabe looked up at her. His expression was one of incredulity and shock. Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but the pain in his eyes shut her up. He didn’t believe her. Quinn knew she should be angry, but she could hardly blame him. The physical evidence spoke for itself.

“Gabe, nothing happened. I couldn’t get a sample from him at the party, so I went up to his room to see if I could find something in the bathroom. He tried to get it on, but I pushed him off and left before things could get out of hand.”

“And he just allowed you to walk away?” Gabe asked. His eyes were narrowed in speculation. He doubted her explanation, and with good reason.

“Not exactly. I had to threaten him,” Quinn confessed.

“With what?” Gabe spat out.

“With the truth. I implied that I knew what he’d done to Sylvia, and that it wouldn’t go well for him if I leveled an accusation of assault against him. I threatened to expose him in front of his business associates.”

Gabe looked stunned. He got out of bed, pulled on his jeans, shirt, and shoes, and strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Quinn felt as if he’d slammed the door in her face.

She hadn’t betrayed him in any way. She explained what happened.

Why was he so angry? Quinn threw off the blanket and stormed into the bathroom.

She needed to wash the stink of Robert Chatham off her body.

She hoped the hot shower would help her calm down and get to sleep. She just wanted this day to end.

Two hours later, Quinn was still wide awake and alone.

She’d hoped that Gabe would go outside, walk until his anger cooled, and come back feeling penitent, but Gabe hadn’t returned.

She’d called him, but his mobile began to vibrate on the bedside table, rendering him unreachable.

Quinn turned on the bedside lamp and padded over to the closet.

Gabe’s keys were still in his coat pocket, so he couldn’t have gone far, not on foot, and not without a coat.

“It’s two in the morning, Gabe. Where are you?” Quinn moaned miserably as she attempted to beat her pillow into submission. “Come back.”

Quinn reached over to the nightstand and took Petra’s cross out of the plastic bag. Perhaps focusing on someone else’s troubles would make her own seem less significant. It was a callous thought, but Quinn was past caring.