The Third Victim Part 70

She came to a halt in front of the rickety table, holding the collar of her shirt shut with her hand and breathing much too hard.

On the bed, Quincy sat up slowly. His dark hair was mussed. She didn't remember doing that. His cheeks were raspy with five o'clock shadow. She slapped a hand against her throat and belatedly felt the warm flush of whisker burn.

s.h.i.t. She was an idiot. She just was. And now she was going to cry, and that would be adding insult to injury. How could one person be so dumb? That was it. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

"Stop!"

Quincy snapped the word, shockingly loud in the silent room. Rainie froze.

"Please sit down," he said more quietly.

"No." She had her hand on the doork.n.o.b and she wasn't letting go.

"Dammit, sit down!"

She sat in the hard wooden desk chair by the door.

"I'm sorry," Quincy said shortly.

"I didn't mean to yell at you. I didn't mean to let things get this far. I didn't mean a lot of things tonight."

That made her feel better. Rainie pasted a smile on her face that could've shattered gla.s.s and said, "Ah, thanks, fed. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"Shut up, Rainie. And give the att.i.tude a rest." Quincy rose tiredly off the bed. For the first time Rainie noticed that his hands were trembling. The lines were more p.r.o.nounced around his eyes. His mouth carried a fresh, grim set. The sight of him like that hurt her. She had done that to him, and she knew it was wrong of her.

She wished she was the type of person .. . She wished she could erase the grimness from his face.

Instead, she sat, like a bad pupil who'd been caught red-handed and now waited for the blow to fall.

"Don't look at me like that," he said impatiently.

"I'm not your mother, I'm not some abusive husband. Sometimes I feel like wringing your neck, but I'm not going to hit you."

Too well bred for that, Quincy? Don't know how to get down and dirty?"

A muscle leapt in his jaw. She thought she might have pushed him over the edge and she actually felt triumphant. What the h.e.l.l are you doing, Rainie? Why won't you just shut up?

She couldn't help herself. She rose out of her chair, driven by demons she was smart enough to explain but too worn down to control. She walked toward him slowly, watching his eyes narrow, again, feeling powerful because of the way his gaze fell to her lips. She undid the b.u.t.ton at the top of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"No more foreplay," she whispered.

"Let's just do it. How do well-bred Yankees f.u.c.k? Missionary? On top? On bottom? Doggy-style? Sixty-nine? Oh, what would your daddy say?"

She slid loose another b.u.t.ton, revealing her worn white cotton bra. Her hands weren't shaking anymore. She felt giddy. Not part of her body, but far, far away, where she could watch it all unfold as if they were merely characters in a play. How many times before? It didn't matter.

There was always the morning for repentance.

Quincy caught her hand in a tight grip. She smiled and pressed her body against his, wriggling her pelvis suggestively against his erection.

"f.u.c.k me, Quincy," she murmured in a voice she barely recognized.

"f.u.c.k me good."

And he said harshly, "What was his name? How old were you? Did your

mother know, or was she too drunk to care?G.o.ddammit!" He broke off contact, shoving her away and striding across the room as if he could barely contain himself. One moment she was next to his hard form. The next he was gone. She had to put out her hands to steady herself.

"You've never told anyone, have you?" he demanded.

"And now here I am, and I need to be impartial to help you and there's not an impartial bone in my body. I want to hunt him down. Christ, I want to break every bone in his body. How many of these a.s.sholes can I put away, and it still isn't enough]' "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

"Do you treat all your women this way? No wonder your life is all work and no play."

"Rainie, what happened fourteen years ago?"

"Look at the time. Clock has struck midnight. Gotta run."

"Fourteen years ago. So long, but not long enough, is it, Rainie?"

"Are you going to be around in the morning? We have a lot of work to do, but then you're not really part of this case team, are you? One phone call and you're out of here, and we both know it."

"Rainie ' "Let it go, dammit! Why the f.u.c.k can't you let it go?"

"Because I'm me! Because I'm not stupid and, so help me G.o.d, I'm interested in you! And because some part of you is interested, too, or you wouldn't keep coming back to my room night after night, looking for conversation. Now here we are. Let's have the conversation, Rainie.

You need to talk. I need to listen. Let's go. Let's get it done!"

"I don't believe this c.r.a.p."

"And I don't believe that you forgot the name of the man who supposedly killed your own mother."

He delivered the words with brutal force. Rainie drew up short. For a moment she thought she'd heard him wrong. He couldn't. n.o.body How did Her heart hammering so loud in her chest.

But he was Quincy, of course. That's how he knew.

Because he was Quincy, Quantico's best of the best, and she kept coming to him night after night, feeding him bits and pieces.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly.

Quincy just looked at her.

"I'm not going to simply stand here and take this," she tried.

Quincy set his lips.

"This is bulls.h.i.t! I'm going home." She strode for the door.

He still didn't say a word.