Secret
Page 88
“No.” She wet her lips. “I don’t.” She paused. “But you kept hurting them. You kept going after them. You went after Becca!
You kept—”
“Because I had to!” he exploded. “Because that’s what everyone expected! Don’t you get it? They killed my sister. Everyone thought they killed Seth’s parents. I had to hate them.”
“Or else everyone would have hated you.”
A cool wind whipped through the parking lot, reminding her of Nick. Tyler’s breathing was heavy.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
She couldn’t reconcile this in her head. The sweet things he’d whispered to her this morning, the way he’d helped her with her own insane family, the way he’d gotten in her face and made her confront her own fears about herself.
And then this . . . this hate borne of nothing but selfish fear.
“You could stop it,” she said. “You could just . . . stop.”
“I can’t. Quinn, you don’t—”
“Didn’t you pin me against your bathroom wall and tell me to stop pushing people away? That people would help me if I’d give them the chance? The sad, sorry truth is that the Merricks would probably help you if you weren’t so determined to be an ass**le.”
“I don’t want their help, Quinn.”
“So you’re just going to keep on being ignorant . . . why, exactly?”
The sarcasm was out before she could stop it. Tyler’s face shut down, chasing away any emotion. “You don’t understand.
This isn’t me being ignorant. This is me trying to stay alive.”
“Just like they are.”
“I can’t argue this with you, Quinn.” His breathing staggered. “Not now. Not—not now.”
She took a step back. “Then go.”
He stared down at her.
Then he turned and climbed into his vehicle. He started the engine, but didn’t shut the door. He inhaled like he was going to ask her for another chance.
She took another step back. “Go. I’m not coming with you. Go.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Quinn looked away.
She expected him to beg her to climb in with him, to make more excuses, to apologize, to break down and give in.
He didn’t.
“Fine,” he said.
Tyler slammed the door and backed out of his parking place, spraying gravel when he turned onto the main road.
Quinn was still standing there, watching the dust settle, when a dark-haired man climbed out of the black sedan and approached her. He was young, mid to late twenties, maybe, with dark eyes and very average features. He wore a sport coat and khakis. If she saw him on the street, she probably wouldn’t give him a second glance. He looked like every other daddy of a three-year-old in a tutu.
Maybe he’d seen their argument and he wanted to make sure she was all right.
He said, “Quinn Briscoe?”
She frowned. “Yes?”
Then she kicked herself. What if this guy was a social worker? Or a cop? Wasn’t this how it happened? They cornered you somewhere and made you give your name—
“I was wondering if you could help me for a moment,” he said.
Sure. Maybe he was legit, or maybe he was a crazy ra**st who would take her back to his commune.
But at least that didn’t sound like the way a social worker would lead off. “Yeah, what kind of help do you need?”
“My name is Gareth.” He pulled out a gun and put it right in her face. “And you’re going to help me kill Nick Merrick.”
Nick felt Quinn’s flare of panic in the air like a bright star-burst in his senses, amplified when the door to the studio swung open, sending the chimes ringing through the near empty space.
He grabbed Adam’s arm and dragged him to the opposite side of the risers.
Adam inhaled to speak, but Nick got an arm around his neck and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Be still,” Nick said, his mouth right against Adam’s ear.
“Please. Be still.”
Adam went still.
Nick hadn’t had time to tell him much about his family, and he definitely hadn’t gotten to the part where someone might be trying to kill them.
Quinn was silent, but her fear was a beacon, her shaking breath giving him information with every passing second. Footsteps approached, slow and steady on the wooden floors.
He could also feel whoever was frightening her. Even breaths, pure confidence. There had to be a weapon of some sort, for Quinn to be this pliant.
“See?” she said loudly. “They’re gone already.”
Please, Quinn, Nick thought. Please don’t be stupid. He tried not to think of Michael’s stories of what Silver had done to Hunter’s girlfriend Kate. The torture, the final bullet to the head.
Was this Silver? Had he escaped from prison?
He begged the air for answers, stretching his senses far.
“They’re here,” said a male voice.
Adam went very still. He held his breath.
“Come on out,” said the man. No British accent. Not Silver.
But definitely a Guide.
Nick didn’t move. There had to be a way out of this.
Had to be.
He tried not to think of his brothers. Had this guy gone after them first? Were his brothers dead and he didn’t know it?
Not likely, if they were all together.
Then he remembered his conversation with Michael. They were scattered. That could mean anything.
You kept—”
“Because I had to!” he exploded. “Because that’s what everyone expected! Don’t you get it? They killed my sister. Everyone thought they killed Seth’s parents. I had to hate them.”
“Or else everyone would have hated you.”
A cool wind whipped through the parking lot, reminding her of Nick. Tyler’s breathing was heavy.
“Yeah,” he finally said.
She couldn’t reconcile this in her head. The sweet things he’d whispered to her this morning, the way he’d helped her with her own insane family, the way he’d gotten in her face and made her confront her own fears about herself.
And then this . . . this hate borne of nothing but selfish fear.
“You could stop it,” she said. “You could just . . . stop.”
“I can’t. Quinn, you don’t—”
“Didn’t you pin me against your bathroom wall and tell me to stop pushing people away? That people would help me if I’d give them the chance? The sad, sorry truth is that the Merricks would probably help you if you weren’t so determined to be an ass**le.”
“I don’t want their help, Quinn.”
“So you’re just going to keep on being ignorant . . . why, exactly?”
The sarcasm was out before she could stop it. Tyler’s face shut down, chasing away any emotion. “You don’t understand.
This isn’t me being ignorant. This is me trying to stay alive.”
“Just like they are.”
“I can’t argue this with you, Quinn.” His breathing staggered. “Not now. Not—not now.”
She took a step back. “Then go.”
He stared down at her.
Then he turned and climbed into his vehicle. He started the engine, but didn’t shut the door. He inhaled like he was going to ask her for another chance.
She took another step back. “Go. I’m not coming with you. Go.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Quinn looked away.
She expected him to beg her to climb in with him, to make more excuses, to apologize, to break down and give in.
He didn’t.
“Fine,” he said.
Tyler slammed the door and backed out of his parking place, spraying gravel when he turned onto the main road.
Quinn was still standing there, watching the dust settle, when a dark-haired man climbed out of the black sedan and approached her. He was young, mid to late twenties, maybe, with dark eyes and very average features. He wore a sport coat and khakis. If she saw him on the street, she probably wouldn’t give him a second glance. He looked like every other daddy of a three-year-old in a tutu.
Maybe he’d seen their argument and he wanted to make sure she was all right.
He said, “Quinn Briscoe?”
She frowned. “Yes?”
Then she kicked herself. What if this guy was a social worker? Or a cop? Wasn’t this how it happened? They cornered you somewhere and made you give your name—
“I was wondering if you could help me for a moment,” he said.
Sure. Maybe he was legit, or maybe he was a crazy ra**st who would take her back to his commune.
But at least that didn’t sound like the way a social worker would lead off. “Yeah, what kind of help do you need?”
“My name is Gareth.” He pulled out a gun and put it right in her face. “And you’re going to help me kill Nick Merrick.”
Nick felt Quinn’s flare of panic in the air like a bright star-burst in his senses, amplified when the door to the studio swung open, sending the chimes ringing through the near empty space.
He grabbed Adam’s arm and dragged him to the opposite side of the risers.
Adam inhaled to speak, but Nick got an arm around his neck and slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Be still,” Nick said, his mouth right against Adam’s ear.
“Please. Be still.”
Adam went still.
Nick hadn’t had time to tell him much about his family, and he definitely hadn’t gotten to the part where someone might be trying to kill them.
Quinn was silent, but her fear was a beacon, her shaking breath giving him information with every passing second. Footsteps approached, slow and steady on the wooden floors.
He could also feel whoever was frightening her. Even breaths, pure confidence. There had to be a weapon of some sort, for Quinn to be this pliant.
“See?” she said loudly. “They’re gone already.”
Please, Quinn, Nick thought. Please don’t be stupid. He tried not to think of Michael’s stories of what Silver had done to Hunter’s girlfriend Kate. The torture, the final bullet to the head.
Was this Silver? Had he escaped from prison?
He begged the air for answers, stretching his senses far.
“They’re here,” said a male voice.
Adam went very still. He held his breath.
“Come on out,” said the man. No British accent. Not Silver.
But definitely a Guide.
Nick didn’t move. There had to be a way out of this.
Had to be.
He tried not to think of his brothers. Had this guy gone after them first? Were his brothers dead and he didn’t know it?
Not likely, if they were all together.
Then he remembered his conversation with Michael. They were scattered. That could mean anything.
