The Truth Read online

  “Have you ever been to India?” she asked once they were seated near the back of the restaurant where Mercer could see anyone coming or going.

  “I have.”

  “I haven’t. Although I’ve always wanted to go,” she said as she studied the menu.

  “Do you mind?” he asked when the waiter came to the table.

  Quinn set her menu down and folded her hands on top of it. “Not at all.”

  “Two Kingfishers.” He looked over at her, and she nodded.

  He proceeded to order what he knew were her favorites, with a few of his mixed in, and added a request to keep the heat level to medium.

  “Why do I think you would’ve requested extra heat if I wasn’t with you?”

  Extra heat. Did she have to use those words? Mercer’s body was already warm just from their short, kiss-ladened walk from the building to the restaurant. Instead of answering, he reached across the table and took her hand in his.

  “Tell me about your week.”

  “Well,” she began. “I solved the mystery of who sent me flowers on my birthday.”

  Mercer nodded. “What else?”

  “I tried to figure out how you knew.”

  “And?”

  “No theories. Although, I pretty much decided to leave that one alone.”

  “Why’s that?” God, he was enjoying this.

  “With so many Mercer mysteries, I figured that wasn’t as important as some of the others.”

  He grazed the back of her hand with his fingers, and then turned it over, slowly caressing her palm. He knew better than to throw this out there, but he did it anyway. “If you had one question, what would it be?”

  “Here’s the thing, Mr. Mercer. How is it that, without knowing you at all, I know you have no intention of answering any question I ask?”

  “I’ll give you one.”

  “Hmm…I like this. One question and you’ll answer honestly?”

  “To the best of my ability.”

  “I expected the caveat.”

  Mercer felt the flames surrounding him. Soon he’d be engulfed in a fire of his own making. He’d tossed the match when he gave her flowers, threw kindling on the smoldering embers when he kissed her, and now he was dousing their lives with lighter fluid. He leaned forward, pulling her closer to him, and looked deep into her eyes. “Make it a good one, Quinn.”

  “You were away for a couple days. Where did you go?”

  “To the West Coast. On business.”

  The waiter delivered their beer, as well as papadums with mint and coriander chutney, vegetable samosas with imli chutney, and crispy onion bhajis.

  “My favorites,” Quinn commented. “I won’t have any room for dinner, not to mention naan; it’s always been my weakness.” She paused. “When I asked where you were, that wasn’t my question, by the way.”

  “I knew that,” he answered, holding each dish for her to take from.

  “Of course you did, Mr. Mercer. Is there anything you don’t know about me?” She smiled. “Don’t answer that.”

  Once she had a little of each appetizer, Mercer served himself.

  “Tell me more about your week,” he said, waiting for her to begin eating before he did.

  She dipped the papadum into the imli chutney. “I have a job interview on Monday.”

  Mercer brought a small piece of the bhaji to his mouth and closed his eyes as he chewed it.

  “It’s the best, isn’t it?”

  “This place? Yes. One of my favorite places to eat outside of India itself.”

  Quinn studied him. “What would you say if, someday, I asked you to take me to India?”

  “Yes.”

  “Simple as that?”

  Mercer took a drink of his beer and leveled his gaze at her. Her eyes were fixed on his, and she hadn’t taken a breath.

  “I’ll take you everywhere, Quinn.”

  She smiled and her cheeks flushed, maybe because of the spiciness of their food, but more likely because of the intensity of the conversation they were having.

  “Who are you?” she murmured.

  “Who do you think I am?”

  She thought for a minute. “I have no idea.”

  “Does that frighten you?”

  “Should it?”

  “Answer the question, Quinn.”

  She set her fork on the edge of her plate, moved it to the side, rested her forearms on the edge of the table, and folded her hands. “No, Mercer. Nothing about you frightens me. So, I’ll ask you again. Should it?”

  “Trust your instincts.”

  She unfolded her hands and held them open on the table, and he rested his palms on hers. “I’m not hungry anymore,” she told him.

  “I am.”

  Quinn tried to move her hands out from under his, but he held them tight.

  “Not for food.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head and signaled the waiter. “We’ll take the rest of our order to go, please.”

  “Mercer?”

  “Don’t worry, Quinn. We’re going to take our time and see where this thing between us goes.”

  She flushed and looked away from him.

  “Okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and then stood. “Excuse me.”

  “Of course,” he said, standing too.

  Mercer had gotten the all-clear twenty minutes ago. If Razor had any concerns whatsoever, he would’ve said so. No additional alert meant he hadn’t found anything, although that didn’t ease Mercer’s mind. Trusting his instincts, like he’d told Quinn to, kept him alive.

  “Ready?” he asked when she returned to the table.

  When she nodded, he put his free hand on her waist and led her to the front door.

  “Need any help?” she asked, peering at the overloaded bag he held in his opposite hand.

  He smiled. “I got it.”

  Mercer didn’t rush, and neither did Quinn. He asked again about her scheduled interview, and she told him everything he already knew about the historical preservation group. He loved her enthusiasm and seeing her so animated. There’d be no question she’d get the job, but knowing she’d bring such passion to it, filled him with pride.

  He had no idea what would happen between them when they got to her apartment, but whatever did wouldn’t be because he planned it.

  Right now, he wasn’t watching over her or orchestrating the safety of her life without her knowledge. Instead, he was a man who was so drawn to a woman that he couldn’t think about anything other than having her in his arms.

  When the elevator reached their floor, Quinn hesitated. He rested his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward her apartment.

  She stopped and leaned up against the wall outside her door. “Please tell me you’re coming in, Mr. Mercer.”

  “I am.”

  She sighed. “And will you stay?”

  He set the bag of Indian food on the floor next to her feet and leaned in, trapping her between his body and the wall. He kissed her forehead, each of her eyes, each cheek, and then the tip of her nose. “Slow, precious. That’s how this is going to go.”

  His lips settled on hers, and she gasped, opening her mouth to his. He cupped her face with his hands, which had been flat against the wall, and deepened their kiss. He kept it slow and gentle, savoring the feel of her tongue caressing his.

  Mercer felt Quinn reach over and punch her code into the door’s keypad, and then heard it click open. He turned her inside and trapped her once again, this time between the wall in her foyer and his body.

  “I could kiss you for hours,” he murmured, pulling back to look into her glazed eyes.

  “I wish you would,” she whispered.

  “Invite me in.”

  She smiled. “You are in.”

  “Further in.”

  Quinn ducked under his arm and held out hers. “Please come in, Mr. Mercer.”

  “I’d love to.”

  He followed her into the k
itchen, where he unpacked the Indian food onto the counter.

  “The best part is how good it will be later,” she said, taking a whiff of the tandoori chicken he’d ordered.

  “Are you sure you’re not hungry now?” he asked.

  “Not for food,” she repeated what he’d said earlier. She took his hand and led him out of the kitchen into the living room that looked much like his own.

  Walls of windows afforded a view of the vibrant lights of the city, breathtaking right after the sunset. Off to the side sat a piano, which he knew she played well, and beautiful artwork adorned her walls. The only thing he didn’t see, were photos. Even though he knew there weren’t any, it still took him by surprise. There wasn’t even a picture of her tribe of five.

  Mercer didn’t have photos in his apartment either, but that was different. It wasn’t his home, and even if it had been, it wouldn’t have been his thing. He had digital photos of people who mattered, like Quinn, that he could look at when he felt like it.

  His lack of photographic memories didn’t bother him, but hers did.

  “What are you thinking about?” she asked, pulling him over to the sofa that faced the city view.

  When she sat, Mercer sat as close to her as he could get, putting his arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head against him. “You.”

  “Do you think about me a lot?” she asked.

  “I do.” More than she could dream.

  “I think about you, too.”

  They sat in the still quiet, touching but not talking, caressing but not kissing. Quinn ran her hand over his chest, and then to his arm. Her fingers trailed down to his forearm, to his hand. When she moved to his thigh, he trapped her hand with his.

  “Careful, precious,” he warned.

  She blushed and tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight.

  Mercer couldn’t pinpoint the exact day or time when he’d looked at Quinn as a woman rather than a teenager. He hadn’t felt the earth turn on its axis, or ever felt the need to analyze the change. It had happened slowly, naturally, just like things would proceed between them.

  The enormity of the responsibility he felt for every aspect of this woman’s life was ever-present, yet not suffocating. It just was. No one could know her the way he did, and as disturbing as some might find that to be, Quinn said he didn’t frighten her. Not that she knew the extent of it.

  “Mercer?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is okay, right? You’re feeling it too, aren’t you?”

  “It isn’t okay, precious. It’s perfect. Don’t go in search of something negative that isn’t there.”

  She rested her head back against his shoulder and sighed. “That’s what people do, don’t they? If something feels too right, they doubt its authenticity.”

  He nodded. “Whatever is supposed to happen between us, will. Trust your instincts.” It was the second time, or maybe even the third, he’d said those words to her, but there wasn’t anything more important he could tell her. He wanted her to trust him, and since she hardly knew him, she only had her instincts to rely on.

  “I’m worried about something, but it isn’t this,” she began.

  When she didn’t continue, he turned her body so she was facing him. “Tell me what’s bothering you, precious.”

  “I don’t know where my mother is.”

  If there were anything that could be awkward between them, it was this subject. He could listen, but he couldn’t comment. If she trusted her instincts, like he kept insisting she should, she’d sense his discomfort.

  “I haven’t talked to her since May, when she was here for my graduation.”

  Mercer looked into her eyes, focusing solely on how she felt about her mother’s absence, rather than what he knew about it.

  “We’ve never been close…”

  “No photos,” he looked around, commenting on what he already knew.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She thought a long time before she answered, and he waited, not in any hurry.

  “I’m not sure how to say this…”

  He tilted his head.

  “You already know my answer, don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve always been alone. Seeing photos where I’m not, seems like…a lie.”

  She’d never been alone, and maybe someday he’d be able to tell her so. Mercer pulled out his phone and did something so out of character for him that he chuckled. He pulled her close and took a photo of them together.

  “Let me see,” she said, pulling at his arm.

  Without looking, he held the phone for her to see.

  “Wow. I think it’s the best photo I’ve ever seen of myself.” She giggled. “It’s a good photo of you too.”

  He turned the phone so he could see as well. She was right; it was a fantastic photo of her. She was photogenic anyway, but this—she looked happy, and unfortunately, that was a rare thing.

  “Will you send it to me.”

  Mercer shook his head.

  She moved away from him, but not far enough that their bodies weren’t still touching. “Why not?”

  “Soon you’ll have proof that this isn’t a lie, precious.”

  “I pray it isn’t,” she whispered, resting her head against him.

  It was close to midnight when Mercer’s stomach rumbled again. He’d hardly eaten anything at dinner, and before that, he had no idea when he’d last had food. He took a deep breath, not wanting to disturb her.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  He shook his head, stood, and held his hand out to her, but she crossed her arms and pouted.

  “Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it,” he teased. He crossed his arms too and walked toward the kitchen. “I can’t promise I’ll leave much for you.”

  Quinn flew off the sofa, ran into the hallway, and around to the kitchen from the other entrance. “Oh, no, you don’t. That Chicken Makhani is mine.”

  Mercer shook his head and laughed.

  “What?”

  He pulled her into him. “I like seeing you happy, Quinn.”

  The smile left her face. “How do you know the difference?”

  “Because I do.” His hand gripped the side of her face, and he covered her mouth with his.

  She ran her tongue over his lower lip. “Mmm, peppery,” she murmured, tasting the papadum he’d just eaten.

  He pulled her body closer, pressed his hardness against her, and then reminded himself that he’d told Quinn they’d take things slow.

  When he moved away, she sighed, and he tweaked her nose.

  “I’m hungry,” he grumbled.

  “For food,” she said, and he nodded. “Me too.”

  They heated their leftovers and sat at the table in her kitchen, talking easily about unimportant things. Quinn did more talking than Mercer did, but he doubted that would ever change.

  He didn’t want to walk down the hallway and around the corner, to his apartment, but he had to. It was close to two in the morning, and if he didn’t leave now, he knew he’d end up in her bed, buried deep inside her.

  “I know this sounds silly…”

  “Go on,” he said when she bit her bottom lip.

  “This has been one of the best nights of my life.”

  “Mine, too, precious.”

  When Mercer crossed the threshold of his apartment, his unease returned. He watched the same surveillance recordings Razor watched, and like his partner, he saw nothing. No one had been in the apartment, no one on the floor, and no one in Quinn’s apartment. The only logical explanation was that his foreboding feeling had nothing to do with the walls that surrounded him, but from something inside him instead.

  He scrubbed his face with his hand and rolled his shoulders, wishing he could shake the chill that kept up the hair on the back of his neck.

  Before he’d kissed her goodnight, Mercer put his cell numbe
r in her phone and asked her to call him in the morning when she was ready for their breakfast date. She’d rubbed her belly and told him she couldn’t imagine being hungry again for days.

  “Coffee, then,” he’d said, and she’d smiled.

  “I’ll let you take me anywhere, Mr. Mercer, or was it everywhere? Breakfast, coffee, India.”

  He closed his eyes, remembering how good her body felt next to his. She was everything he’d dreamed she’d be. There had been an outside chance the Quinn he’d thought he knew wasn’t the real version of her—that the reality of her couldn’t possibly compete with his fantasy. If anything, she was funnier, smarter, sweeter, even more beautiful than he’d imagined.

  It would’ve been easy to stay with her tonight, and she would’ve let him. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Not with Quinn.

  His phone buzzed with a message from Paps letting him know there was no significant news from California, and telling him to enjoy his weekend.

  If he could shake his dread, he would do just that. As it was, he was on edge, and even getting a decent night’s sleep probably wasn’t going to change that.

  5

  Quinn was walking on air. For years she’d listened to her friends, Tara especially, talk about how they’d “fallen in love,” with some guy they’d just met. But now she got it.

  Mercer was all she could think about. She wanted to be with him all the time, and hated that he’d left last night, although she understood why he had.

  What she didn’t understand was why she had such faith in him. It was as though, somewhere deep in her heart, she knew she could trust him with not just her dreams, but with her nightmares too.

  She sent him a text telling him she was awake and ready for breakfast whenever he was. She watched to see if the three moving dots would appear, indicating that he was responding, but none did. A few minutes later, she heard a knock.

  She opened the door and leaned against the jamb. “I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

  “Invite me in,” he said.

  She moved to the side and motioned for him to enter.

  “You first,” he said, putting his hand on the small of her back. He directed her through the foyer and into the living room, where they stood, looking out at the morning’s view of the city.