Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I just wanted peace from turmoil.
“If you can tell me that you feel nothing for me, Taran Macbeth, I’ll walk away for good. I give you that promise.”
I opened my mouth, the words that would stop all this tickling my tongue.
But suddenly, my mum’s voice was in my head. You might regret telling a truth, sweetheart, but you’ll always regret a lie.
“I don’t know what I feel, Quinn.” I tugged off his sweater and tossed it to him. He caught it, his brow furrowed. “I just need … time.”
“We’ve already wasted nineteen years.”
“You wasted nineteen years,” I reminded him harshly.
Quinn tilted his chin up with a stubbornness I recognized. “You’re right. If you need time, I’ll give you time. You could take another nineteen years to make up your mind, and I’ll still be right here waiting.”
I paused at that because the truth was Quinn had changed. He’d never opened up to me back then like he had today. Being vulnerable had never been easy for him. “I don’t take it lightly,” I assured him. “You being honest with me. I don’t take it lightly. I’m not … I’m not toying with you deliberately.”
He frowned, lifting a hand as if he wanted to touch me. “Taran, I would never think that of you.”
I nodded, exhaling heavily as I turned. “When you’re ready to tell me about this suspect of yours, let me know.”
I’d just given him my back when he called, “After you left … I used to come here every year and roar into the sky.”
My breath faltered again as I whirled to stare at him in disbelief.
Quinn nodded, expression tortured. “Every year. I always wondered if the clouds carried the sound of it over to the mainland … to you.”
His poetic words caused fresh tears to spill down my cheeks. “Quinn …”
“All I’m saying is that you weren’t alone in your pain. I just want us both to be free of it … and I think there’s only one way that happens.”
I heard a tinge of desperation in his confession, and guilt joined the fray of my internal war. All I could do was nod in acceptance of his words and hurry away before I did something I wasn’t sure I was ready—or ever would be ready—for.
26. Quinn
Abead of sweat rolled down my temple as I stepped back to survey our day’s work.
“Happy?” Felix, the joiner from the kitchen manufacturer, asked as we surveyed the Keatons’ new kitchen. The couple had ordered it from Germany, and it had been delayed for so long I’d tried to convince the client to cancel it and order somewhere else. But they insisted this was the kitchen they wanted.
It had arrived first thing this morning, and I’d helped the small team from Germany fit it.
I could see why my clients had insisted this had to be the one.
It was charcoal gray, concrete worktops atop the wall cabinetry—almost industrial with no handles, no frills. The cabinetry had inset detailing in antique gold, and that, with the addition of the 40 mm thick gold-and-white quartz countertop on the island, added a touch of glamor that gave it a wow factor. The kitchen was something out of a high-end interior design magazine. And it should be for how much it cost.
“Looks great.”
“Again, sorry for the delay.”
I wiped the sweat away with the back of my forearm and shook my head. There was no point going over that issue again. What was done was done. I gave the kitchen a thorough once-over to make sure everything was as it should be and then I signed it off so the Germans could leave. They were staying at Tierney’s inn and taking their small lorry back over on the ferry first thing tomorrow.
As they left, my crew guys who were working on other parts of the house departed, including Ramsay. Yesterday after my agonizing meeting with Taran, I’d met Ramsay to discuss the possibility that Eoghan McCall had tried to mow me and Taran down. Eoghan had been abusive toward Taran in the coffee shop, and the fact that Cammie had been targeted only heightened my suspicions that this was about me. I’d relayed my and Forde’s complete history with Eoghan so Ramsay understood Eoghan’s possible motive.
“Still nothing,” Ramsay told me as we stood alone in the Keatons’ place. “If it was McCall, he knew to avoid Main Street. None of the shops or ferry terminal CCTV picked up that car. He must have fled the back roads.”
“If it was him.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Then we have nothing?”
Ramsay scowled. “Nothing. None of Cammie’s neighbors saw anyone vandalize her car, and no one has a front door camera. I’m seriously considering donating a bunch of them to the entire fucking populace of Leth Sholas.”
I grunted in agreement. “I’m installing one on Taran’s front door tomorrow.”