She couldn't seem to draw a deep breath past the pain beneath her ribs, but the ache wasn't coming from Maddox. It was her own pain, raw and deep. She felt as if losing her connection to him had ripped a piece of her out and left her bleeding. She closed her eyes, a toxic cocktail of surprise and regret filling the hole Maddox had left inside her with his withdrawal. 'Are you going home?'
He didn't turn to look at her. 'What's it to you?'
He opened the bathroom door and walked out into the bedroom.
Quinn looked up. 'Finished with your heart-to-heart?'
Maddox didn't answer, continuing toward the door. He opened it and walked out, never looking back. Iris walked stiffly to the chair she'd vacated earlier and sat gingerly, the ache in her chest growing stronger.
'I take it he won't be bothering us anymore.' Quinn said.
She met his curious gaze. 'Right.'
Quinn leaned toward her, his expression sympathetic. But she didn't feel an ounce of compassion coming from him. He was all business on the inside. 'It's for the best. He'd get in the way of what you have to do.'
'I know.'
He stood up, 'We have fifteen minutes before the afternoon session starts at the St. George. I'll drive you over and tell you what I have in mind on the way.'
Maddox revved the Harley's motor and started up the twisting mountain road at full throttle. The motorcycle bucked beneath him like an enraged animal as it took on the uneven terrain, but he held on and kept going, adrenaline fueling his determination. His anger-at himself, at Quinn, at her-whipped through him like the wind on his face, fierce and unrestrained.
The bike hit a skid and he struggled to bring it back under control. After a heart-pounding moment, the Harley pulled out of the skid and back onto the solid track. Maddox slowed down and settled into a smoother, less hair- raising ride. He'd lost his mind, letting someone he barely knew get to him this way.
Soon he reached the spot he was looking for, a scenic overlook that few besides locals knew about. From that spot on the western face of Mount Stanley he could see most of the western side of the island, from Camelot Beach in the north to Sebastian's hustle and bustle in the south.
The Hotel St.George was a speck of pale pink on the backdrop of sparkling Caribbean blue. It was almost one o'clock. Time for the Cassandra Society's afternoon session.
He gripped the handle bars of his bike, his jaw tightening.
His cell phone rang, vibrating against his hip. He considered ignoring it, but finally gave in, digging it out of the pocket of his jeans.
'Yeah?'
'Hello, Maddox.' Darcy's clipped tone was unmistakable.
'What do you want?'
'It's not what I want. It's what you'll want.'
Unease rippled down Maddox's neck. 'What is it?'
'I spoke to one of my contacts in the Sebastian Police Department. They discovered sophisticated sabotage in the St. George's video surveillance equipment.'
'Inside job?'
'Quite likely. I'm going to be meeting with the head of hotel security for a late lunch. I thought you might want to be in attendance.'
Maddox frowned. 'You want me there?'
'I thought it would be of particular interest to you.'
It was, but that sort of consideration from Darcy was about the last thing Maddox had expected. It made him uneasy.
Still, he couldn't turn down the opportunity to find out what was going on at the St. George. 'What time?'
'Two o'clock at Poseidon's Courtyard.'
'I'll be there.'Maddox rang off and cranked at the Harley.
So Nicholas Darcy suddenly wanted to play nice with him, bring him in on the Celia Shore murder investigation? Bull. Darcy was up to something. But what?
Chapter Fourteen
The maddening blankness coming from Alexander Quinn did nothing to soothe the fluttering in Iris's belly. He sat behind the wheel of the cab, his sandy hair covered by a brightly colored knit cap that made him look like an island native.
'You're a cold piece of work, aren't you?' she said aloud.
Quinn's green eyes met hers in the rear view minor. 'Yes.'
'Guess that's necessary for the job you do.'
The corners of his eyes crinkled. 'Some of the warmest, most personable people you'd ever want to meet work in the CIA. You've probably met several of them and didn't even know it.'
'So you're the exception, then.'
He didn't answer, but his gaze shifted a moment, and she felt a twinge of regret before it disappeared into the void she'd come to recognize as Alexander Quinn's soul.
They'd gone over the plan twice already on the way to the St. George. Quinn would create a diversion with one of the rolling carts the hotel staff used to move food in and out of the conference room. Someone would be slightly injured. Iris's cue to take charge and use her gift to ease the victim's pain. It wasn't a perfect plan-what if another empath beat her to it?-but it had the advantage of simplicity.
Quinn pulled the cab into the hotel entrance and stopped by the curb. 'I'm going to dump the cab and come back on foot. Get settled in. I'll be there in time for the afternoon break.'
Iris stepped from the cab and headed toward the hotel entrance, tamping down a feeling of apprehension purely her own. She managed to smile at the doorman and entered the lobby, shivering as cool air washed over her.
Sharon Phelps was at the reception table again when Iris entered the conference hall. She greeted Iris with a sad smile. 'I guess you know about what happened to Celia Shore. We're just all so sad. I think Dr.Grinkov himself is going to be here for the late session to say something about it.' Sharon's brown eyes sparkled with excitement. 'It's a shame it's taken such a sad occasion to lure him out of his lab. But I'm really looking forward to hearing what he has to say.'
'Have you ever met him?' Iris asked curiously.
'Just once, at the national conference a couple of years ago in Dallas.' Sharon's cheeks went pink. 'He made a point to talk to all the volunteers. He's so kind that way.'
Poor Sharon. Iris thought as she found a seat near the center of the conference hall. Worst case of hero worship she'd seen in some time.
She half expected Maddox Heller to slide into the seat beside her, but it remained empty for a long time while the other conference goers settled in for the early afternoon session. Iris slipped her cell phone from her purse and sent a text message to Quinn. 'Grinkov here after four.'
A minute later came the response. 'Okay.'
'I wasn't sure you would be here.'
Iris looked up at the sound of Tahir Mahmoud's low accent. 'Why wouldn't I be here?' she countered as she slipped her phone back in her purse.
He sat next to her. 'I missed you at the afternoon session yesterday. I thought perhaps you had lost interest.'
She shook her head. 'I had an appointment in the afternoon. I couldn't make the sessions. And, of course, this morning…' She let her words trail off, pushing aside the hum of emotions filtering in from the conference goers around her to concentrate on what Tahir Mahmoud was feeling.
