But some a**hole was still out there. An a**hole who couldn’t let the case go. And now Samantha was hurt. She’d damn well been hurt enough in her life.

Hyde tried to pull Max away from her. “No!” His hold tightened. He wouldn’t leave her.

“You want me to help her,” Hyde snapped out, “then move.”

“Max?” Sam whispered, and nothing would have moved him then. Her lashes lifted. Dark eyes stared up at him. “You… okay?”

Him? The first thing she asked was about him? His head bent, and he pressed a kiss to her lips. “You saved my ass, baby.” Then she’d scared ten years off his life.

“Ridgeway, get back.” Hyde’s bark.

Max’s gaze held Samantha’s. “Are you okay?”

“Hit my head…” A weak smile curved her lips. “Just left you for a minute.”

“How about you don’t ever leave me again?”

Her eyes widened.

A siren wailed, even louder now, and an ambulance braked to a hard stop about ten feet away.

“Scott Jacobson and Ridgeway,” Ramirez’s voice carried even over the siren’s scream. “Sir, I’d say we have a problem.”

“A big damn problem,” was Hyde’s instant response. “I already have officers en route to the Weatherly house. They’re taking Curtis into protective custody before his father ships him out again.”

“Or before he winds up dead,” Ramirez muttered.

Samantha sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes stayed on Max. “He came after you.”

Max couldn’t look away from her. Whoever the a**hole was, yeah, the guy had come after him, but he’d almost taken them both out.

“I want this scene canvassed!” Hyde ordered as the EMTs broke through, and Max forced himself to ease back from Samantha. Need to feel her against me.

“I want access to every surveillance camera within a ten-block radius. Get the footage and get it now!” Hyde demanded.

“On it, sir,” Ramirez said and backed away.

Hyde’s hand clamped down on Max’s shoulder. “We’re going to find him. This guy’s coming on to my turf, planting a bomb blocks away from the FBI. Damn bold.”

“Bold” was one word for it. “Crazy” was another. “Why?” Max just didn’t understand. An EMT grabbed his arm but he shook free and said, “I’m not getting on the damn stretcher! Take care of her. She could have a concussion.” Her eyes were so dark that it was hard to see her pupils.

If they’d both been a little closer to the Jeep…

A dull throbbing burned in his temples. “It’s him, isn’t it? The bastard who took Quinlan.” And they’d been questioning his stepbrother just moments before. Oh, Christ…

“Quinlan!” He turned on Hyde. “If the guy came after me and the other victim, he’ll go after Quinlan too.” Or he could have already gone after him. Two car bombings. Why not three? Just how well had that bastard planned? Ice froze his stomach.

“I’m already on it, son,” Hyde told him. “I’ve got two agents and the bomb squad en route to the Malone residence.”

“Puppet master,” Samantha muttered and winced when the EMT probed the back of her head.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“One got away from us.” Her breath hissed out. “The one… pulling the strings. Someone in the background who was watching… tying up the loose ends.”

Puppet master. Who? Who was he?

And where was the bastard?

Beth ran up the stairs, her heart racing. “Quinlan?” Dammit, he was back earlier than she’d expected. His car had been sitting out front when she pulled into the driveway.

This better not mess up her timeline. She’d targeted the attacks while he was supposed to be in the office with those FBI pricks. She’d given him the perfect alibi. No more suspicion, and no more jerkoff stepbrother standing between Quinlan and her money.

“Quinlan, where are you?” She shoved open his bedroom door. Empty. “Quinlan?” She hurried down the hallway. Where was everybody? Two maids were scheduled to work today but she hadn’t seen them.

A thud came from Frank’s room. The crash of breaking glass. Beth ran forward, grabbed the door handle, and shoved open the door. “What the—”

The room was a wreck. Furniture overturned. Mirrors shattered. Pictures broken on the floor. In the middle of the mess, Quinlan stood with his shoulders bowed.

Beth sucked in a deep breath. “Quinlan, what are you doing?” Not a breakdown, not now. That was the last thing she needed. Once they were settled, and she had a ring on her finger, then the guy could go nuts. Not now.

He bent and picked up one of the long glass shards from what had once been an antique mirror.

“I have the worst luck,” he said, his voice so low that she had to strain to hear him.

“What are you talking about?” If the guy wanted to compare piss luck stories—

No. She’d never told Quinlan about her parents. She’d given him just the briefest of details about her past.

“My mom walked out when I was four. She left me with that prick who didn’t give a damn about me, and she never looked back,” Quinlan said as he turned the shard of glass over in his hand. The point was sharp, like a knife, and the light hit the gleaming tip. “When I was fifteen, he finally called me home from that prison of a boarding school, and why? To introduce me to her. The low budget whore he’d decided to marry!”

At least he didn’t shove his hand up your pants every damn day. Her own shoulders straightened, and Beth shut the door behind her with a soft click, suddenly very, very grateful that no one else was around. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see him this way.

“Quinlan, you need to calm down, honey.” Deliberately, Beth pitched her voice nice and low in an attempt to soothe. “You’ve been through a lot. You’re stressed, but this—this isn’t helping.” Yeah, that sounded like she cared, right? Poor little rich boy. Cry her a damn river.

A bitter laugh broke from his lips. “He never had a space for me in his life, but he had room for her. Her and her ex-con son.”

What?

At her quick breath, Quinlan’s head lifted, and his gaze settled on her face. “You didn’t know, did you? Max killed a man. Beat him to death with a baseball bat.” His eyes glittered with a feverish intensity. “And my old man still thought he was the golden child. Always comparing me to him, always telling me how good old Max was bustin’ ass to make a name for himself—hell, yeah, he was, with my father’s money.”

Max had killed a man? She hadn’t seen that one coming.

“And when the whore finally got sick, I found out the truth.”

“Have you been drinking?” Beth asked him. This wasn’t like Quinlan. Sure, he bitched and moaned, but he’d never called Katie a whore.

“Not booze. Pills.” He raked a hand over his face. “So sick of seeing his f-face. Took more of the pills that damn shrink gave me.”

Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. Ah, drugs. She’d used enough of them to keep Frank in line. “We need to get you in bed. All this—” She motioned to the chaos in the room with a wave of her hand. “You could have hurt yourself.” He had hurt himself. Blood seeped through the white fabric over his abdomen. He must have broken open some of the stitches.

“You know he wanted to give his money to charity? When she was dying…” Quinlan acted like Beth hadn’t spoken, and his gaze fell to the mirror shard one more time. “I found out that he wanted to give all the money to the cancer society. Can you believe that?”

Yes. Because even though Frank had been screwing her, the old bastard had actually seemed to love Katie.

“I stopped that. Stopped him.” The fingers of his right hand curled tightly around the glass. Too tightly. A drop of blood fell onto the floor. “Worst f**king luck.”

Beth climbed over the broken drawers from Frank’s chest. She needed to get that glass away from him. The way he was acting, there was no telling what he’d do. And if the rich boy went and sliced his wrists, what would she do then? And what would she get? Nothing.

“Then this kidnapping…” His left hand rose. “My dad, my dad—I see him…”

Her hand curled around his. “It’s okay.”

“No.” He pinned her with his wild gaze. “It’ll never be okay again.”

A swirl of red and blue lights lit the scene. While firefighters circled the still smoldering wreckage of the Jeep, cops and FBI agents swarmed the street.

“I think it was a cell phone-activated bomb,” Samantha said as she stood beside Max. The EMT had finished checking her out after trying to get her in the ambulance, but she’d refused his order. “I heard the ring, and I-I just knew.”

He caught her hand and squeezed her fingers. “Without you, I’d be dead.”

Hyde walked toward them. “We have a suspect.”

“What? Who?” Samantha demanded.

Hyde pointed toward an elderly lady, one standing with her hat slightly askew and talking animatedly with Agent Daniels. The lady’s shaking hands rose, and she pointed down the street.

“Mrs. Sarah Ann Douglas was almost the victim of a hit and run today.” Hyde’s head tilted toward the left. “Just after the explosion that took out your car, a woman driving a blue BMW nearly plowed into Sarah Ann.”

A woman? A blue BMW…

Max stiffened. No, there were hundreds of BMWs in the city. Just because Frank had one in his garage didn’t mean a damn thing.

“Video surveillance at the red light caught the car and license plate. And we just got a hit in the system.” Hyde’s gaze cut to Max. “We’re heading there now, but I thought you might want to come with us.”

“Go with you where?” Samantha asked, shaking her head and narrowing her eyes. “Who owns the car?”

Shit. Max answered, the kick in his gut telling him it had to be… “Frank.” And the woman driving the car? Hyde’s suspect?

Beth.

“It’ll never be okay again,” Quinlan spat the words at her, “because I just saw the news. Scott Jacobson is dead. He was taken by the same kidnappers who took me, and he’s dead.”

She let horror wash over her face. It was the reaction that he’d expect. “What? Oh, God, Quinlan, I’m so sorry!”

His left hand flew out and curled around her wrist. The bandages bit into her flesh as he hauled her closer. “I caught the story on TV right before you got here. Max was also targeted. The bomber went after him, but missed.”

Dammit. Not next time, though. She wouldn’t miss again.

“I had almost convinced them,” he muttered, “I had Max’s bitch eating out of my hand. The woman nearly cried for me, and then you went off and you f**ked up everything for me.”

Beth blinked, his words slowly sinking in, too slowly. “Wh-what?”

In a flash, he spun her around, and his right arm looped over her body. Her back pressed against his chest. “You’re such a dumb bitch,” he whispered. “Did you really think I was going to stay with you? Did you think if the money was all mine today, I’d keep you?” His breath blew against her hair.

Real fear began to settle in Beth’s stomach. “Quinlan, llet me go.”

The bandaged hand, the hand that she tried not to look at, had her wrist in a too-tight grip.

“You’ve f**ked things up,” he said again. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

OhGodOhGod…

“I guess this…” He took the shard of glass and he slit open her left wrist.

“No!” The scream ripped from her as blood spattered onto the carpet. She shoved back against him, slamming her head into his. “No! Let me go!”

His hold eased. Her wrist and arm throbbed and burned. Quinlan? He’d been the one to bring her into the house. He’d set everything up so that she fit into his world.

He’d even been the one to tell her to screw Frank.

Beth stumbled away from him. He’d cut her deep, a long slash from the base of her palm nearly to her elbow. Her fingers curled in, the tips already numb, and a moan trembled on her lips.

“Did you think I loved you?” he asked softly, and Beth’s knees buckled as she fell to the floor. Her blood stained the gleaming wood, coating her fingers as she tried to crawl away from him.

“I loved you,” she yelled at him. And she had. From that first day, she’d wanted him. Wanted the life that he’d given her.

But he just stared down at her, and she wondered why she’d never seen the ice in his eyes before. Get up. No man would make her crawl. She shoved to her feet, stumbled again, and slipped in the blood. He stood there, watching her with his lips curved in a grin and the bloody glass shard held tight in his hand.

“I killed for you,” she threw back at him. Didn’t he understand? “Why did you—” The drumming of her heartbeat filled her ears. So loud. So fast.

“I needed you to keep an eye on the old bastard. To make sure there were no more changes to his will.” Quinlan glanced down at the bloody glass and his lips twisted. “And then there was the added bonus. Every time he screwed you, my father felt so guilty he could barely look at me.” A rough laugh. “I liked for him to squirm. He hated himself, and he didn’t pay any damn attention to me or the plans I was making.”