Page 69 of The Unseen (Echoes from the Past #5)

FIFTY-SIX

London, England

Rhys turned in surprise when Quinn entered his hospital room.

He was already dressed in his own clothes, ready to be discharged.

He still looked pale and sick, but there was no longer any reason to keep him.

Mrs. Kent had informed Quinn that she’d brought him some clothes and shoes, since he could hardly go home barefoot, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but she couldn’t visit him today since she had a doctor’s appointment.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys asked. He tried to sound nonchalant, but Quinn could see he was pleased to see her.

“I’m taking you home.”

“I’m all right, really.”

“I know, but I am still taking you home. I will make you dinner and keep you company until it’s time for bed.”

“Will you read me a bedtime story?” Rhys asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I feel like a toddler.”

“Can’t you just graciously accept?”

“I’m not very good at accepting sympathy.”

“Don’t I know it. How about accepting company?”

“That I can do. Can we have some wine with dinner?” Rhys asked, blessing her with a wry smile.

“Absolutely not. You can have something starchy to soak up the bile in your stomach and a cup of sweet black tea. ”

“So no sticky toffee pudding then?”

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Nope. Aren’t you off to Berwick on Saturday?” Rhys asked as he followed Quinn out the door, carrying the plastic bag filled with his possessions.

“Yes, we’re leaving first thing Saturday morning.”

“Quinn, really, go home. You have much to do, and I’ll be all right on my own. I’ll have some tea and toast and put myself to bed.”

“Keep walking, mister,” Quinn said. She hailed a cab and held the door open for Rhys. He tried to pretend he was well, but he was still weak and unsteady on his feet.

“Please don’t tell Mrs. Kent I’ve been released. Not yet,” Rhys pleaded as they alighted from the taxi in front of his house. “If the pills and booze don’t kill me, she will.”

“Don’t be uncharitable. She worries about you.”

“I know, but I already have a mother, and she gave me such an earful, I kind of wish I’d died.”

Mrs. Kent poked her head out the door. “Rhys, how are you, love? I’ve been looking out for you since I came back from the doctor. Shall I come up? I made some soup.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kent. Perhaps tomorrow,” Rhys replied, pasting on a fake smile. “Dr. Allenby has a fun-filled evening planned for me.”

Mrs. Kent threw Quinn a suspicious look but got the message and retreated back to her flat.

Rhys tossed his coat on a chair and sat heavily on the sofa, leaning his head against the back and closing his eyes. Despite putting on a brave face, he still looked like death warmed over .

“Toast and egg or pasta?”

“Can’t I have some meat?” Rhys complained. “I’ve had nothing but broth and mashed potatoes for two days.”

“No, you can’t. You’ve just had your stomach pumped.”

“Fine. Toast and egg then. Will you make me some soldiers?” Rhys asked, clearly trying to annoy her since she wouldn’t relent.

“Only if you really want me to.”

Quinn put on the kettle, and went to work on Rhys’s bland supper. He came into the kitchen, sat down at the table, and propped his head with his hands. He looked miserable.

Quinn placed a mug of tea before him. “When are you off to Wales?”

“I’ll leave tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you feel up to it?”

“I’ll be all right. I just need to get out of London for a few days. My mum will feed and coddle me until I’m ready to scream. Coming back will be a treat.”

Quinn placed a plate in front of Rhys and took a seat across from him. She wrapped her hands around her own mug of tea. “Eat.”

Rhys nodded, but didn’t pick up his fork. He paled when he looked at the egg. “I don’t think I can.”

“Have a bit of toast then.”

Rhys picked up a piece of toast and bit into it experimentally. He washed it down with a gulp of tea. “It’s too sweet. I don’t usually take sugar.”

“Sweet tea is good for settling the stomach. ”

He took another sip, his expression pained. “Want some?” he asked as he pushed his plate toward Quinn.

She accepted a piece of toast and munched on it silently.

She wasn’t at all sure what to say to him.

Rhys didn’t want her pity. He’d carry the scars of what had happened for the rest of his life, but no one would ever see the cracks in the facade.

He would return to work after Christmas, refreshed, restored, and brusque as ever.

Haley would become a thing of the past, as would the baby he’d so longed for.

Quinn’s mobile rang, and she pulled it out, thinking it might be Gabe, but it was Drew Camden.

“Hi, Drew,” she said warily. She no longer held out any hope that Drew would find Quentin. He seemed to have exhausted all his resources, both personal and professional, since his mates on the force couldn’t do anything more for him. “Any news?”

There was a sigh on the other end. “No, but I do have a Christmas treat for you.”

“Oh?”

“I received a packet from Jesse Holt today. He sent me some photos he found. I thought you might like to see what your sister looked like.”

Quinn’s breath caught in her throat. She still had no idea what Quentin looked like. “Text me a photo. Right now.”

“You got it. I’ll drop the rest by your flat after Christmas.”

“Yes. Thanks, Drew. Happy Christmas.”

“You too, Quinn. And don’t despair. 2015 is the year we find Quentin.”

Quinn ended the call and stared at her phone, drumming her fingers on the table in her impatience.

The phone buzzed when a new text popped up.

With shaking hands, Quinn picked up the mobile and opened the image Drew had forwarded.

There she was—Quentin. She looked to be about twenty in the photo.

She had dark wavy hair and large dark eyes, so like Seth’s.

She was smiling shyly, looking as if she’d been deep in thought when someone called her name.

Quinn’s vision blurred as she gently touched the screen with her finger. “Hey there, sister.”

“Let me see,” Rhys said. “Does she look like you?”

“A bit. She looks more like Seth, I think. I look like Sylvia.”

Rhys held out his hand for the phone and stared at the image, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Quinn, I know her.”

“What?”

“I know her. I’ve met her several times, in fact. She’s a photographer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am. She’s a bit thinner now, and has shorter hair, but it’s definitely the same woman.”

“Name! Give me a name,” Quinn cried. Now that she was so close to finding her sister, she couldn’t wait another second.

“Jo Turing.”

“What? Like Alan Turing?”

“Yes. I thought she might have been distantly related, since he was gay and never had children of his own. Her company is called Enigma Enterprises.”

“Jesse Holt said she was mad for history. Of course she would take a name that’d mean something to her. She called herself after the man who changed the course of the war when he invented the Enigma machine. My God, Rhys, couldn’t you have said something sooner? ”

Rhys gaped at her. “How could I have known Jo Turing was Quentin Crawford? There is a resemblance between you two, but not enough to make your relationship obvious. She’s very different from you.”

“In what way?”

“She’s all sharp angles, where you’re gentle curves.”

Quinn gave Rhys the gimlet stare. “Rhys?”

“No. I didn’t sleep with her, if that’s what you’re asking. We chatted several times and butted heads, but that’s all.”

“So what was she like?”

“Intelligent, funny, sarcastic,” he added with a smirk. “Sounds just like someone else I know.”

“Oh God, Rhys. I must speak to her. Now. Today.”

“My computer is in my study. There’s no password. Go to it.”

Quinn raced up the stairs and turned on the computer.

It seemed to take forever to boot up. At last, the home screen came up and she googled Jo Turing.

Hundreds of entries popped up. Jo had taken several award-winning photos, and there were snaps from various parties and press events.

One photo in particular caught Quinn’s eye.

It was of Quentin, just staring into the camera, much as she had when she was twenty, her gaze earnest, a small smile playing about her lips.

She held a professional-looking Nikon in her hands as if she’d just taken a photo and lowered the camera.

Quinn looked into her sister’s face and felt as if she’d known her all her life.

“Aha, Enigma Enterprises,” Quinn muttered under her breath as she clicked on the website.

There was no phone number for Quentin—or Jo, as she had to think of her now—only an email address, a Facebook page, and a Twitter account.

Quinn had no desire to send a message and be left in limbo to await a response.

She wanted to contact Jo directly, and there was a telephone number for her agent.

Quinn grabbed the phone and dialed. It was after five p.m. on a Thursday before Christmas.

There’d probably be no answer, but she had to try.

A man answered on the third ring. “Charles Sutcliffe.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe, my name is Quinn Russell. You might know me as Dr. Quinn Allenby,” she added. The man was in the entertainment industry, so he might have heard of her, and that would give her credibility in his eyes.

“The archeologist?” His tone warmed considerably. “I’m a fan of your new program.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe, I’m looking for Quent—Jo Turing. I must speak to her urgently.”

“Do you know Jo?”

“No, but I will. I must. I’m her twin sister. I’ve only just recently found out,” Quinn prattled on. She was so nervous, her hands were shaking. She was so close. So close.

“Dr. Allenby, I haven’t heard from Jo in several months. She’s been off the grid.”

“What do you mean, ‘off the grid’?”

“Jo goes to dangerous places. She’s not someone who takes snaps of flowers and puppies, or adorable children. She goes into war zones and photographs human tragedy—life, death, and suffering. She takes risks.”

“Where was she the last time you heard from her? And when was it?”

“Kabul. September.”

Quinn sank into Rhys’s chair. There had been two deadly suicide bombings in Kabul just that month. “Oh God,” she moaned .

“Look, there’s no reason to suspect the worst. She’s done this before. She just goes off sometimes. She always comes back.”

“Has she ever been gone this long without checking in?”

“No,” Charles Sutcliffe admitted. “The longest was two months.”

“So she’s been out there for three months without contacting anyone?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Have you alerted the authorities?”

“I’ve spoken to someone at the British Embassy in Kabul. They’re keeping an eye out for her.”

“An eye?” Quinn exclaimed.

“Look, Dr. Allenby, there’s no reason to panic. She’ll turn up. She always does.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sutcliff. Happy Christmas,” Quinn said and hung up.

“Well?” Rhys asked when she came back into the kitchen.

“She hasn’t been heard from in three months. Her last known location was Kabul,” Quinn replied as she slid back into her chair. Standing was too much of an effort when her legs felt like jelly.

“Right.”

“Rhys, I think she’s missing.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She hasn’t been in contact in months. No wonder she never responded to my letter. She probably never received it. Rhys, who, in today’s day and age, goes silent for three months? ”

“Perhaps she has no access to the internet or a telephone.”

“Exactly.”

Rhys stared at her. “Quinn, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that something has happened to her. I can feel it. It’s like there’s a void in my gut that’s telling me something’s wrong.”

“Quinn, Jo Turing is a professional. She knows what she’s doing, and I’m sure that if anything happened to her, we’d have heard about it by now. There are reporters from all over the world stationed in the Middle East. Her disappearance would have made headlines.”

“What if no one’s realized?”

“Someone would have. Stop fretting. She will return, and then you two will have a long-overdue reunion. I know you’re desperate to finally meet her, but you must be patient. It will happen.”

Quinn nodded. “I know. I just feel so helpless.”

“Quinn, you now know who she is and how to contact her. That’s tremendous progress. And I’m sure her agent will tell her you rang as soon as Jo checks in with him. Go to Berwick and have a wonderful Christmas with your family. You will meet Jo in the New Year. It’s a certainty.”

“I have to tell Logan. And Seth.”

“Go on, then. Honestly, I’m ready for bed anyway. I’m exhausted.”

“You’ve barely eaten.”

“I’ll be all right. I promise. I just need a little time to grieve my loss. ”

Quinn walked around the table, put her arms around Rhys, and pressed her cheek to his temple. Rhys leaned against her. There was no need to say any more.