Deadly Lies (Deadly #3)(99)

“He was my dad’s doctor.”

“Actually,” now Monica’s gaze turned to Samantha, “he wasn’t.”

Max glanced back at Samantha.

A little shrug lifted Samantha’s shoulders. “I hacked into his computer and found some old files. When Donnelly started working with Malone, he was there to take care of Quinlan.” She paused, then said, “Frank was tired of the doctors at St. John’s asking questions.”

Max swallowed and felt the punch in his gut. “He’s sick. Quinlan needs help.” And it twisted his heart that he hadn’t seen it sooner. Could I have stopped this? Stopped him? Saved those—

“If you believe that,” Monica interjected smoothly, “if you really think he needs help, then we need you to help us. Get a confession out of him, and we’ll make sure he gets psych treatments during his incarceration.”

“For how long?” His temples pounded. “How long’s he gonna be locked up?”

She didn’t answer, but he already knew. Forever.

Ramirez glanced down at his watch. “They’ll be here soon.”

Max turned his head and gazed down into Samantha’s eyes. He just wanted her, and, f*cking miracle, she seemed to want him. Even with what his brother had done to her, she wanted him.

He would do anything to keep her by his side. Anything to keep her in his life. He bent and brushed his lips across hers.

“I’ll talk to Quinlan.” He released his hold on Samantha. “For all the damn good it will do.”


Max didn’t rise when Quinlan was led into the conference room.

Quinlan smirked at him. “Knew you’d be coming by, sooner or later.”

“You can’t talk to him.” The tall, thin man in the suit next to Quinlan—the guy had to be his lawyer—shook his head. “This is highly irregular. We need to get the DA in here. You need to—”

“We need to talk,” Max said, putting his hands flat on the table.

Quinlan laughed. “Yeah, yeah, we do.” He jerked his thumb at the lawyer. “Get out of here.”

The lawyer’s eyes widened. “Don’t you see what’s happening here?” He waved toward the mirror. “They’re watching you. Recording everything you say. It’s just a—”

“When I want your opinion,” Quinlan muttered, “I’ll damn well tell you.”

The lawyer’s face slackened with surprise.

“Now get the hell out.”

“You’re making a mistake!” The man shook his head. “Fine. Your damn funeral, kid.” Then he shoved past the two guards who’d brought Quinlan in.

Quinlan shuffled forward. A guard leaned down and cuffed one of Quinlan’s hands to the side of the table.

“You good?” The guard asked Max.

Max nodded. Not really.

The guards left them alone. Probably the SSD’s order. Max didn’t speak at first. He just stared at Quinlan. His stepbrother was paler, and the orange prison garb was too bright.

“Don’t!” Quinlan snapped. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

But part of Max did. And the other part wanted to jump across the table and rip the * in half. His palms pressed harder into the table. “I’ve got some questions for you.”

Quinlan leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him. “Don’t you mean your agent whore has some questions?” He smirked. “I knew she was an FBI bitch the whole time. Kevin told me when she came into The Core, asking all her questions.” His jaw hardened. “I warned you not to get the cops, but you were screwing her—”

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Max bit back the rage as he cut through Quinlan’s words. “The SSD called me in today. Said if I got you to confess, they’d give you therapy.”

“I don’t need f*cking therapy! I’m not sick!”

“I don’t give a shit if you are or not.”

Quinlan blinked.

“I don’t give a damn if they open up the cell, shove your ass in, and never pull you back out.”

Quinlan shook his head. “No, you don’t—”

Max’s fists slammed into the table. “You killed Frank.”

“The * needed to be put down.”

“And then…” Max leaned forward. “You made your worst mistake. You came after her.”

Quinlan stilled.

“You’re lucky she was the one with the gun, because I would have blown your head off and never hesitated.” Disgust had his jaw tightening. “Therapy? They think you need therapy? Nothing’s gonna fix you. You’re broken, twisted. Hell, we never expected you to amount to much anyway. Dropped out of college, couldn’t hold a job, and shit, now everyone knows that you’re just a f*cking psycho—”

“Shut up!” Quinlan was on his feet, the table jerking toward him as he yanked his arms up and the cuffs stretched taut. “Just shut the hell up! You sound just like him! Never f*cking good enough! No matter what I did. But I showed him! I showed every damn one! It was me. I did it. I planned it f*cking all. I was king, I was God, I could do whatever I wanted—”

“And you wanted to kill.” Softer, sadder, because Max had gotten what the agents needed. And he’d known just what to say.