"I screwed up," he said. "I rushed things."
"It's not a matter of rushing--"
"Yeah, it is. You needed more time. I rushed."
He said the words softly, no defiance in them, no denial, either, and I knew then that it would never work. He wouldn't change his mind, and he'd never be convinced that he couldn't change mine. There was no middle ground here. Not for him. If I cared about him, I should leave. And I only needed to glance at him to feel that flutter, that longing and know that I did care, very much.
"I should--" I glanced at the door.
"Just hear me out, Nadia. I know you consider us over. You have for a month. For me . . . for me it was just a spat. But not for you. I get that now. I can't just pick up and carry on. I need to win you back."
"Quinn, no. I--"
"Not this minute. Though you're welcome to stay the night." The grin glittered again. "Hell, I'd be very happy if you did. No strings attached. But otherwise, we'll work this case as colleagues. Then after it's done, we can try again."
"No. We can't--"
"Yes, we can."
I met his gaze and shook my head, pulling my hand from his. "You need to find someone who can give you what you want."
"I already have."
"No." I met his gaze. "I'm sorry, but you haven't."
With that, I left.
Q
The last thing I wanted was to go back to my room. Jack was there, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with him. I could go bunk with Evelyn. She'd have a couch. Except I was in no mood to talk to her, either--I was still pissed off with her for bringing in Quinn.
I checked my watch. I'd been gone almost two hours. By now, Jack might have presumed I wasn't coming back and chained the door. Then I'd have an excuse to get my own room.
He hadn't chained the door.
When I slid inside, I caught voices and stopped. Was Evelyn here? No, the voices came from the bedroom . . . and were accompanied by the faint blue glow of a TV. That stopped me in my tracks. I've never seen Jack watch TV. Also, I know from experience that it's a handy way to cover noise during a break-in.
I took out my gun and crept toward the half-open door. I could see Jack's feet on the bed, atop the covers. He was still wearing his boots. I shifted my gun into position, both hands around it as I approached the door, ready to kick it open. With another step, I could see Jack. He was staring at the television. His gaze was unblinking, empty. Ice trickled into my gut. Then he glanced toward the door.
I shoved my gun into my waistband and walked in. He nodded. I looked at the TV. There were zombies.
"What are you watching?" I said.
"No fucking idea. Whatever was on." He flicked it off and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Then he seemed to realize he was still wearing his boots and bent to unlace one.
"You didn't need to wait up," I said.
"Wasn't. Just . . ." He shrugged and stood. "Giving it a while. Before I lock up."
"Well, it's locked now, so you can
go to bed. I'm going to stay up and read the journal. I haven't gotten far."
He caught the back of my shirt before I reached the door. When I turned, he let go but stood there, studying my face. I glanced away.
"Didn't go well?" he asked. "With Quinn?"
"I think the fact that I'm here answers that question." I could hear the snap in my voice but couldn't bring myself to regret it.