Elizabeth stood, walked with Quinn toward the office door.
Then Quinn stopped, faced Grant again.
Oh, no.
“Do you smuggle drugs?”
Hoping to diffuse the situation, Elizabeth stepped between the two men just in time to catch the full impact of Grant’s fist against her cheek.
Pain. Dancing lights. Darkness.
She fell backward into Quinn, who caught her.
“You fuckin’ bastard.” Quinn sounded far away—and very angry.
Quinn’s going to kill him.
She tried to tell Quinn she was okay, but she couldn’t form the words. She couldn’t even open her eyes.
“I didnae mean to hit her.” Grant sounded afraid.He should be.“You all saw that. This bastard insulted me, and she stepped in between us.”
“Aye, boss. You want us to teach him a lesson?”
“I want you to help him get her out of here!” Grant was shouting now. “Bolt, McManus! I dinnae want to see either of you here again.”
“There’s nothin’ lower than a man who hits innocent women.”
“It’s her own damned fault, ya daft bastard.”
Elizabeth felt herself being carried, felt the sunshine on her face, but still couldn’t open her eyes, men’s voices and angry words drifting over her.
* * *
Quinn saton the sofa in Elizabeth’s hotel room, holding the ice bag to her cheek, her head resting in his lap. She’d refused to let him drive her to A&E, certain word would get back to Wilson. So, he’d driven her to the hotel, given her some paracetamol for her headache, and settled her on the sofa. “You’re goin’ to have one hell of a black eye.”
“We’ll be a matching set.” She touched her fingers to the bruise on his cheek. “We need a cover. I’ll tell everyone I slipped and fell and hit my face on something.”
He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, a part of him wanting to throttle her. “You shouldnae have gotten between us. I could have taken that blow.”
She glared at him. “I would have let him hit you if I’d known that’s what he was going to do next.”
At least her smart mouth was intact. Her silence as he’d driven away from the wharf had scared the living shite out of him.
“Then why the hell did you do it?”
“Your question surprised me. I was looking at you, not at him. I thought I could stop the situation from escalating. I was going to tell him that you didn’t mean it like it sounded, that you were just upset about Wilson accusing you—or something like that.”
“I needed answers.”
“We didn’t learn anything that way—except that he hits really hard.”
Quinn felt a hitch in his chest. “I shouldnae have let you come wi’ me.”
“No, it’s good I came along.” She sat up, took the ice bag from him, pressed it to her head. “He’s grieving for Jack, too, but he’s also hurt. He values loyalty above all else. When Jack chose to work for Whitehall instead of him, it felt like a betrayal.”
“Do you think the bastard killed Jack over it?” Quinn trusted her judgment, her ability to read people beyond his understanding.
“That’s the strange thing. Up until the moment his phone buzzed, I would have said no. He meant it when he said that he would put Jack’s killer at the bottom of the Irish Sea. But then…” Her words trailed off, her brow furrowed. “Then he picked up the phone and something changed. His gaze flickered to me for just a second and—”