Chapter 14: Hot Water

Quinn's truck was at the curb with the engine running.

I got in and didn't say anything for six blocks.

He didn't ask.

He drove with one hand and put the other on my knee, and I held on to it.

"They filed a report," I said finally. "That I steal medication."

"Who?"

"A concerned family member."

His jaw went tight.

"I have never taken a pill off that unit in my life," I said. "Not a Tylenol. Every vial has my badge on it."

"Then every vial will say so."

"It doesn't matter what they say. A report is a report. People look at you different."

"Imogen."

"My father called my job."

"I know."

"I sent him thirty-eight thousand dollars, and he called my job."

My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated it.

He pulled into the driveway behind our building and turned the engine off.

For a moment we just sat there in the dark.

"Come on," he said. "Upstairs. You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

"That too."

In my flat he turned on the bathroom light and the water, and then he came back and stood in front of me.

He took my coat off and hung it on the hook.

He unbuttoned my cardigan, slowly, one button at a time.

"You don't have to do anything," he said. "I'll wash your hair and put you to bed."

"Is that what you want?"

"No." A corner of his mouth lifted. "But it's what you need."

"Don't tell me what I need."

"Tell me, then."

I pulled his shirt over his head.

The scar down his left ribs was pale and ropey in the bathroom light, and I put my mouth on it.

His breath caught.

"I need you in there with me," I said. "Right now."

The shower was small, an old tub with a curtain, and the water ran hot.

He stepped in first and held out his hand, and I took it.

The water hit my shoulders and I let out a sound I didn't recognize.

He turned me under it and worked shampoo through my hair with his big rough fingers, firm against my scalp.