Forty minutes later, she was still in her date clothes, stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts bobbing atop an endless whirlpool. A knock so soft she almost missed it sounded. Archer’s raised head confirmed what she’d heard, and she got up and opened the door. There stood Quinn, straight and sober. She almost shook her head—to clear the cobwebs—because she wasn’t used to the short-haired, serious look on him.
“Can I come in?”
Shit. He was being serious and polite. She swept her arm to the side. “Of course.”
His hand—that masculine hand that had heated her skin—smoothed the back of his head. “You okay?”
She blinked. “I’m fine. How about you? What did you find?”
He let out a big gust of air. “The glass was broken out of one of the French doors.”
“How?”
His eyes drilled hers. “A big-ass rock was launched through it.”
A chill ran up her spine. “Kids?”
“I don’t think so. Listen, can we talk?”
Another chill, and she began rubbing her arms. “Yes. Should I be sitting?”
He closed the door and motioned toward the seating area. “Let’s both sit.”
“You’re being awfully cryptic, Sparky.” She curled up in one of the armchairs, tucking her legs beneath her, while he took the other seat.
He leaned forward, his elbows on his tree-trunk thighs. The T-shirt stretched over his broad back, displaying his sculpted shoulders and biceps. As his hands dangled between his knees, his thick wrists rotated and his forearms flexed. Veins corded with enough definition to be sexy, but not ridiculous, crisscrossed their surfaces, hinting at the power contained there. He reminded her of a big cat, every muscle taut, ready to spring. God, he was a sight, with layers and ridges and planes that called to her.
She needed to get herself under control. “So what’s on your mind?”
He cleared his throat. “You remember the blond that you, uh, overheard in the bathroom? Dory?”
“Yeah?” She couldn’t muster any snark about Dory—only bewilderment edged with dread. The blond’s words rolled around in Sarah’s head, along with an image of her taking Quinn in her mouth while he fondled her double Ds.
Bile rose in Sarah’s throat.
His next words weren’t what she’d expected, and they erased the awful vision. “Well, I might have a little problem of the ‘I’m your favorite fan’ variety.”
“I don’t understand.”
He dragged a hand over his face. “While you were sick, I was out walking Archer in the neighborhood, and she came out of nowhere, pretending she was running, but I think it was—I’m not trying to sound conceited here—but I think she set it up to run into me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“From the, ah, outfit, her makeup, and how she didn’t look like she’d been running … like she’d been lying in wait instead. Anyway, she kind of lost of her shit in front of some people, and I got a really bad feeling—like I might be dealing with someone who’s a taco shy of a combo plate. I called Paige to see about getting the security system fired up, but that hasn’t happened yet.” He offered a weak smile.
Sarah swallowed, her throat sticky. “How many times were you with her? Dory, not Paige.”
Another huge breath moved through his lungs. “Look, I’m not proud—this is not how I want you to see me—but besides the night in my truck, I brought her back here the night of the team dinner.”
Sarah’s heart caved. “Oh.”
She could feel Quinn’s eyes on her, intent, searching, but she felt sick. This wasn’t like finding out about Wolf’s marriage. She and Quinn … there was nothing romantic between them. They didn’t really know one another. Hell, she’d done her best to avoid getting to know him. And yet she realized with exquisite clarity that had all shifted.
“Sarah,” he said gently, “this is uncomfortable as hell for me to talk about. Nevertheless, I’m not going to hide anything from you. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, and if it means you hate my guts, I get it. This … incident … is one blaring example of why I’m not man enough for you. But I want you to know as much as possible about her in case … Well, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Not man enough? What the hell is he talking about? She shoved the thought aside and latched on to another. “Why would she hurt me?”
He leaned toward her and held out his hand. Sarah looked at it and hugged herself instead of taking it. He let it dangle in the space between them. “I don’t know that she could, but if she’s crazy …”
“Did you call the police? About the rock?”
He straightened. “I did. They didn’t sound too concerned. ‘Oh, you think a woman you slept with hurled a rock through your window? You realize we’ve had gusts up to sixty miles an hour tonight, don’t you, Mr. Hadley? Board up the window. Have a nice night.’” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “This may sound unreal coming from someone like me, but it tears me up to think I might’ve brought a problem home to you and Mom. Especially when it was well within my control.”
She stole a glance at him. Fatigue and remorse were carved in his chiseled features, and they tugged her heartstrings. “Do you think she did it?”
“I don’t know. Ask me if I think she’s capable, and my answer is yes. I hope I’m just being paranoid.” He leveled a hard gaze at her. “I want you to be alert, don’t go out, and keep Archer with you and my mom at all times.”
The hair prickled along Sarah’s neck and arms. “Planning on going somewhere?”
“No, but this is a big place. Without a working security system. And if you want to … if you want to go back
