Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(72)

It would be hard to forget that.

“I passed out after a while.” Rough, gravelly. He cleared his throat. “Woke up a few times, and it was always dark. I think—I think I must have been blindfolded. I never saw anyone, just heard their voices.”

“Their?” Monica pounced.

“Yeah, yeah, some guy who always whispered. The bastard kept saying he’d ‘see how much I was worth,’ and there was a girl with him, a woman. When he went to work on my hand, I think she tried to stop him.” Softer, he said, “I think she tried to.”

“So you heard her voice?”

His eyes narrowed. “I heard a woman. I know I did.”

“And what did she say?”

He stared back at her. The moments ticked by in tense silence.

Then quietly, “Tell me this, Mr. Malone,” Monica leaned toward him. “Did you know Adam Warrant?”

Quinlan reached for his glass of water. The guy nearly drained it dry in two gulps. “You already know I did.”

“What about Jeremy Briar?”

“I—”

“Here’s his picture.” Monica slid a photo across the table at him. “It’s a picture of him, with you. Taken last year at a frat party at Melline University.”

His gaze was on the photo. “He’s dead, too.”

“Three dead victims, three survivors.” Her nails tapped on the table. “You’ve read the stories, so I know you’re aware of the other two survivors.” Monica waited a beat then asked, “Do I need to show you the photos or are you going to admit that you knew them, too?”

His gaze jumped to the mirror once more. Anger tightened his features. “I know what you’re doing. I’m not the f*cking criminal!” He shot to his feet. “I’m the one those *s tied to a chair. I’m the one they tried to cut open! Look at me!”

Monica was looking. So was Sam. Looking and seeing rage and fear.

“You knew them all,” Monica said softly. “Isn’t that a big coincidence?”

The chair fell backward and hit the floor with a clatter. “I don’t remember Scott Jacobson.” His voice fired out at her. “Yeah, I remember having a class with Greg Tyler my freshman year, but I haven’t seen the guy since.”

“You’re the only link we’ve found between the victims so far.”

“I’m not the one you need for this.” His breath expelled in a frustrated rush. “Maybe we all hooked up with the same girl. Maybe we pissed off the same psychotic *.” He spun away and headed for the door. “It’s not just me. There’s another link. Do your job and find it.”

“I have more questions, Mr. Malone.” Monica’s voice remained low and calm, and she didn’t get out of her chair.

“I’m done answering your questions.” He tossed back a tight smile. “At least, not unless my lawyer gives the all-clear, and after I tell him about this conversation, he won’t.”

Now she did rise. Slowly. “I want a sample of your DNA. It will help us to clear up—”

“No, no! You’re not getting anything else from me.”

Monica’s head tilted to the right. “I thought you didn’t have anything to hide.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized you don’t give a shit what I’ve been through. You’re just looking to make your damn case.” He wrenched open the door. “You don’t get it, do you? I thought I’d die in that shithole. And when they started working on me, I wanted to die.”

Then he stormed away. Monica turned around to look at the mirror. No, to look at me.

I wanted to die. Quinlan’s last words. Words she understood too well.

Sam rushed for the door. She stepped into the hallway and appeared right in Quinlan’s path. He stumbled and nearly plowed into her. She threw up her hands, stopping him, and freezing them both. “You’re going to get past this.” Her words blurted out.

He gave a rough laugh. “Bullshit.” Quinlan tried to brush past her.

Sam’s right hand curled around his arm. “You survived.” She’d been told all of this once, too, but…

I didn’t understand then.

“I killed my father.” His eyes glittered at her. “I wake up every night, and you know what I hear? That gurgle he made when I drove the knife into his throat. I hear that sound, and it makes me sick.”

Monica had left the interrogation room, and she stood back, watching them. Sam ignored her. “You need to see a shrink. Start therapy right away.”

“Screw therapy.” Quinlan wrenched away from her. “Some things, some people, can’t be fixed.”

“And some can.” She took a deep breath. “You’re not alone, Quinlan. Your brother cares about you. He’ll be with you every step of the way.”

He threw a glance back over his shoulder at Monica. “What do you care? You got the bad guys. Go slap yourself on the back and leave me alone.”

Not that easy. “Don’t you want to know why?” she asked. “Why they picked you? Why they did all of this to you?”

“I know why.” His lips twisted. “I’m an unlucky *. Always have been.”

Quinlan walked down the hallway, his wounds slowing his steps, but he kept his head up. Then he was gone.