Chapter 7

Quinn went back to her room and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

In the haze between waking and under, she thought she felt someone tending to her back — the cool sting of antiseptic, careful hands. A voice, weary and resigned: "Noah said himself he'd figured out how to escape on his own. If he hadn't managed it, he might have starved down there. You deserved what you got."

A pause.

"But you're right that I've wronged you. And wronged Noah too, in my own way. I'll find a way to get Serena and Noah out of the country."

"After that — it'll just be the two of us. Like it should have been."

When she woke properly, the room was empty.

A dream, probably.

Holden would never give up Serena. Not for real.

Quinn sat up slowly, letting the bitter thought settle, and reached for her phone.

A call from Serena.

"Mrs. Blackwood." The voice was light, almost cheerful. "If I were you, I'd go check on Abby's grave."

What?

A cold unease moved through Quinn. She ignored the protests of every bruised muscle and got up.

Outside, it was raining — the kind of heavy, relentless downpour that swallows the world. She drove with her face set, hands steady on the wheel.

When she reached Elmwood Cemetery, there was already a small crowd gathered at Abby's grave.

Holden stood at the center of it, holding a black umbrella. He turned as she approached, and surprise moved briefly across his face. "Quinn. What are you doing here?"

The guards had shovels. They were opening Abby's grave.

Quinn's body moved before her mind caught up. She lunged forward, and Holden caught her, pinning her arms.

"Don't make a scene." His voice was carefully patient. "Serena's been having nightmares. Noah keeps running fevers. I brought someone in to look at it, and they said Abby's spirit has been lingering and causing—"

"Once Serena and Noah are better, I'll have the most beautiful memorial built for Abby. I promise."

Quinn couldn't process the words. She stood there, blank with horror, and watched his men lift the urn from the earth.

"No — no, stop—"

"Leave Abby alone. She didn't do anything wrong. Come after me if you want someone to come after—"

She was fighting, screaming, and Holden had his arms locked around her. A look passed between him and one of the guards.

The guard opened the urn. Tipped it.

The ashes rose in the rain and were gone.

Quinn broke free with a force she didn't know she had. She threw herself forward, useless, too late, crashing to her knees in the wet earth.

Her daughter's remains dissolved in the puddles around her.

"It's Mama's fault. Mama couldn't protect you. Mama failed—"

She clawed at the mud with her bleeding hands, not feeling anything except the hollow where Abby had been.

"Don't leave Mama. Mama can't—"

Holden sighed and held the umbrella over her. "I'm still here. We'll have another child. Everything—"

Quinn looked up at him.

"Get away from me." Each word came out level and separate. "Holden. I never want to see you again."

"Don't be like that. You belong to me—"

"You belong to me, and I will never let you walk away."

He grabbed her and hauled her upright. She fought him with everything she had — teeth, nails, her whole body — until the darkness rushed in from the edges of her vision and she stopped feeling anything at all.

Quinn dreamed.

In the dream, a small girl stood in a princess dress — the pink one with the enormous bow she'd always loved. Her face was bloody. Her eyes were confused, and frightened, and very young.

She spoke in a small, trembling voice. "Mama. Why didn't you save me?"

"It hurts so much. It really hurts."

I did. I tried. I was coming—

Quinn reached forward, desperate, wanting nothing more than to hold the daughter she hadn't touched in three years. But the little girl recoiled with a shriek.

"You helped them. You're why I died. I hate you."

"I'll never forgive you. Not ever."

No—

Quinn came awake gasping.

Holden was there instantly. "Hey. Just a dream. I'm here—"

He stopped.

She was looking at him, and whatever was in her face cut off whatever he'd been about to say. There was nothing warm left in her eyes. Not a trace.

He swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, more careful. "I sent them away. Serena and Noah — they're gone. What happened to Abby was the last thing I'll ever do for them."

"Come back to me. Love me again. Please."

Quinn said one word: "Leave."

Holden flinched as if she'd struck him. He told himself it was grief, that she'd come around, that he just needed to give her time. He spent the next several days hovering, trying to coax some reaction out of her — a smile, an argument, anything.

She gave him nothing.

He was sitting with his frustration when his assistant called.

"Sir — Serena and Noah never boarded the plane."

Holden sat up sharply.

Before he could respond, his phone seemed to possess itself. A video loaded unbidden on the screen. A man in a mask — one of Holden's old enemies, face obscured but voice familiar — with a bomb strapped to Serena's chest. He was running his hands over her, smiling.

"Holden Blackwood. That your woman? I've been wanting to meet her for a while."

Holden's face went cold. "Stop. Tell me what you want."

The man rubbed his jaw, theatrically considering. "Didn't you used to have a wife? Bomb disposal specialist? Heard she pulled your son out of danger a few years back?"

"Bring her to me. I won't kill her — I just want to see the best in the business work up close."