She tried to offer support, touching a hand to his arm, the contact electric as always. “They might still catch him.”
“We’ll escort you to the police station now,” said a voice from Quinn’s phone.
“Och, hell.” He ended the call. “Thisis why you dinnae call the police. It’s goin’ to be a long night.”
They followed the other police car to the station, the bright lights making Elizabeth blink. A woman who introduced herself as PC Patel took contact information and a statement from each of them. She also asked to see Elizabeth’s passport. Then she showed them where the coffee was and asked them to wait.
Quinn poured them each a cup, anger and frustration making his features hard. “They’re no’ goin’ to catch that bastard.”
“You don’t have much confidence in the police.”
He met her gaze, and his expression softened, his lips curving in a lopsided grin that sent a trill of excitement shivering through her. “I spent too many years runnin’ from them myself.”
What was it about the way he looked at her? She’d met lots of ripped, handsome men in her years working with special forces guys, but none of them had made her feel the way Quinn did.
She was about to say that she wanted to hear more about his days as a delinquent when a man in a tan trench coat strode toward them looking annoyed.
“Wilson.” Quinn’s dislike for the man was obvious.
“McManus, why am I no’ surprised to see you?”
“Perhaps because the control room told you I was here.” Quinn could besucha smart-ass. “Did you catch the bastard?”
“Let’s talk. Your friend, too.”
He led them to an interview room, a small space with a table and a few chairs. He shut the door behind him—and laid into Quinn. “If you’re after findin’ the person who killed Jack Murray, you’d best think again. This is a police matter.”
“Why in God’s name are you angry wi’ me? I take a woman out to the pub, some bastard follows us, and I’m to blame?”
“By confrontin’ the burglar last night, you’ve drawn unwanted attention to yourself. I want to know where you’ve been today, what you’ve been doin’.”
“You ought to be lookin’ into who’s leakin’ details about this case to the media, not worryin’ about us. Aye, you’ve a leak in this office.”
While the two men argued, Elizabeth watched DS Wilson closely. There was nothing in his body language to indicate that he was hiding something or being less than truthful with Quinn. At the same time, it was clear that he didn’t trust Quinn.
Well, Quinn did have a talent for rubbing people the wrong way.
“Gentlemen!” Elizabeth interrupted them, eager to get back to the hotel and anything that resembled a bed. “While I agree it was stupid for Quinn to enter the house alone with a possible killer inside, that’s water under the bridge. Now, it’s late, and I’m jet lagged. This conversation is going nowhere.”
Both men shut their mouths.
Elizabeth asked the obvious question. “Did they catch the guy who followed us?”
Wilson shook his head. “The driver evaded us long enough to abandon the car on a side road. The car matches one that was stolen in Edinburgh this mornin’.”
Elizabeth gave Quinn’s hand a squeeze to keep him from going off on Wilson again. “Are we free to go?”
Wilson nodded. “Try not to get yourselves killed, aye?”
* * *
Quinn drove backto the hotel, glancing in his rearview mirror every so often. “Surveillance cameras? What for? The hotel has security guards and surveillance cameras in the lobby and all the entrances. You can’t use the elevator wi’out a keycard.”
“All of that can be hacked or bypassed. You know that. You’ve seen me do it.”
“You think we’re dealin’ wi’ someone who’s capable of that?”
“I don’t know.” She yawned. “The guy who followed us tonight—he was savvy enough to use a stolen car and to elude the police. What’s his next move? Does he give up, or does he try something different—like putting a listening device in your room?”