Midnight Lies: The Wildefire Series Read Free Page B

beautiful and sensual—sexually confident. Their lovemaking was everything
     she had wanted and so much more.
    Still, even with the amazing connection they had, Quinn was never wavering in his
     stance on no commitment. He seemed to enjoy their relationship, laughed with her,
     talked with her, and made love to her until she was breathless and weak. But there
     had been no indication that he had changed his mind about anything permanent.
    She wasn’t giving up on her dreams, though. Beneath the façade of toughness she’d
     adopted to handle her job as a cop, Samantha was still the romantic her sisters had
     teased her about. The romance novels she had stashed away in bookcases and drawers
     throughout her apartment were testaments to her belief in a forever kind of love.
     And she was a small-town girl, with traditional values. That meant a wedding, babies,
     PTA meetings, Pee Wee football, and school plays. She wanted it all. Unfortunately
     the man she wanted to share all of that with had firmly denied wanting any of those
     things.
    With an explosive sigh, Samantha sprang from the bed and headed for the shower. Her
     time was too limited to lie in bed and worry. Besides, staying busy had alwaysbeen her answer to her troubled thoughts. As a teenager, she’d involved herself in
     every activity possible. It had made her numerous friends and paved the way for opportunities
     and honors many had envied. Little had those people known that all of that had been
     her way of trying to stay sane. Cheerleading, being the homecoming queen and class
     president, and taking dance and drama classes had all looked like fun and frivolous
     activities for a spoiled teenaged girl. That had been fine with her. Few saw beyond
     the shield she had erected to deal with the crushing pain of her parents’ deaths.
    She had eventually come to terms with her father’s betrayal, but work was still her
     answer to her worries. Being a homicide detective definitely kept her mind from obsessing
     over things she couldn’t change.
    After her shower, she pulled her hair up in a tight, brow-raising bun, applied a minimum
     of makeup, then stepped into a somber black pantsuit and low-heeled black pumps. She
     hated that she was dressing for the judge, but couldn’t deny it. Yesterday she’d worn
     what she had considered a conservative skirt and blouse. The judge had glared at her
     as if she were wearing a bikini. Hopefully an even primmer outfit would help.
    The clock chimed eight times. Grabbing the purse she’d dropped on her dresser, she
     dashed toward the front door. A stomach rumble halfway there reminded her she hadn’t
     eaten. Cursing softly, she detoured into the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee from
     the pot that Quinn had made, flipped the switch to OFF , and then looked around for something quick. The overripe banana on the counter or
     a cold Pop-Tart? Quickly deciding, she shook the foil-wrapped pastry from its box,
     dropped it into her purse, and headed out the door. Maybe she would call Quinn at
     lunch and see if he had time to spare. The delightful prospect of seeing him in the
     middle of the day gave her the boost of energy she needed.
    Samantha ran down the stairs, enjoying the heady feeling of being young, healthy,
     and in love with an amazing man, gloriously oblivious to the horror her life was about
     to become.
    Quinn parked his Audi across the street from Charlene’s house. Instead of immediately
     getting out, he took a few seconds to center his thoughts and push aside his usual
     revulsion at seeing his ex-wife again. Hell of it was, he wasn’t nearly as disgusted
     with her as he was with himself. He’d made some dumbass mistakes in his life, but
     marrying Charlene had to be the absolute worst.
    An image of Sam came into his mind, instantly soothing him. How he’d fallen so hard,
     so fast, he would never know. He’d met her at the hospital. She’d been there to interview
     a shooting victim, and he’d