Chapter 13

"Extensive lacerations, multiple infected wounds across the back and shoulders."

"Evidence of physical assault."

"What in God's name did this woman go through?"

Julian stood in the corridor while the doctor — a man in his sixties who had seen more than most — dabbed at his eyes and tried to compose himself.

Julian's chest had gone very tight.

He'd designed the fake-death plan himself. It was careful. It was clean. There was no reason she should have come to him looking like this. So where had these injuries come from?

When he came back into the room, the composed warmth he usually managed had slipped entirely. What was left was just cold.

Quinn saw his expression and misread it. She shifted on the bed, already apologetic. "Are you still upset about the slap? You can hit me back if you want. It's only fair—"

"Don't." His voice had gone rough. "You were right to do it."

Quinn blinked.

"I was late. Again." He looked at her steadily. "I should have been there earlier. Both times — three years ago, and now. Every time Holden Blackwood has the chance to hurt you, I'm not there to stop it."

It's always one step too late, he didn't say. One step too late and Holden was already there.

The directness of his gaze was difficult to meet.

Quinn had known for years what Julian felt. She wasn't naive. But the years with Holden had done something to her — had worn down whatever part of her had once been able to open toward someone. She was tired. She didn't trust feelings anymore. And she had never been able to work out why a man like Julian Wyndham — with everything he had — would set his sights so precisely on her.

A rescued stranger. A broken marriage. A woman who hit people who startled her.

She looked away. "It's not your fault. You've already done more for me than you owed."

"My enemies are only two people. Holden. And Serena Thorne."

Julian heard the pivot and let her take it, gently. "Do you want to go after them?"

Quinn looked up. "What?"

"Do you want to go after them?" he said again, patient. "Put Serena Thorne in a courtroom. Make her answer for what she planned."

"I can help you do that."

Later that afternoon, the first snow of the year drifted down over Boston. Fine and dry, it settled on Julian's overcoat and dissolved almost immediately.

Quinn sat in the hospital room and thought.

She hated Holden. She wanted him to suffer. But legally — he had made terrible choices, but none of them were technically crimes. He'd never ordered Abby's murder. He hadn't known about the explosion.

Serena was different.

Quinn had heard her that day at the cemetery, clear as daylight: she'd reached out to Holden's old enemy herself. She had arranged the kidnapping. She had arranged for Abby to be on that bridge.

Everything that followed — three years of it — had flowed from that one decision Serena Thorne had made.

The door opened. Julian came in carrying a thermos, and sat across from her without making a production of it.

He cooked. That was the other thing about him — he was extraordinary at it, and he almost never let anyone find out. When Quinn had first arrived in Boston, nothing would stay down. The city disagreed with her; the nights were full of Abby. Julian had eventually run out of restaurant suggestions and simply brought her to his house and made her dinner himself.

She'd been too stunned to be polite about it. She'd stared at the first bite, looked up at him, and eaten everything on the plate.

The smell hit her now before he'd even unscrewed the lid, and her eyes stung unexpectedly.

"Thank you," she managed.

"What are you thanking me for?" He was pouring without looking at her. "We're past that."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, with more directness than she usually allowed herself: "I saved your life. But you paid that debt back a long time ago. You keep helping me anyway. So I have to ask — what is it you want?"

Julian glanced at her. A trace of something like surprise.

He set the thermos down. "Nothing you'd owe me."

"I don't believe that." Nothing is free. I learned that a long time ago.

She tried a different approach. "You want to use me against Holden. You're looking to expand into New York and you need someone who can—"

"No." Julian's eyes met hers directly. A pause. "I want you."

"Marry me. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you."

He said it without theatrics — quiet and clear, like a man who had been waiting to say it for a long time and had finally decided there was no good reason to wait anymore.

Quinn stared at him.

"Have you heard of a marriage of convenience?" he asked.