Chapter 59

He let go of his mother’s hand long enough to clutch at my lapel.

Trust me, I mouthed, and he nodded and let me go.

“Mrs. Mann?” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You heard Quinn. You’d better damn well be alive when I get back.”

I thought I saw a smile crease the space between her eyes, but the beep was becoming insistent. I thumbed it off and left the ED.

* * * *

It was Sunday night. Quinn and I should have been in Key West, naked, sweaty, and supremely satisfied on the big bed in our suite in Taylor House. Instead, he was sitting in a hospital room beside his mother’s bed, his uncles from both coasts there with him, and I was here, outside the small house Peter Lapin sublet in Georgetown.

I’d come up with a plan, gotten the supplies I would need, and then waited for dark, which would conceal my actions. A little patience would see everything worked as smooth as butter.

It was an overcast night, and the moon was obscured. The street light was conveniently out.