Page 80 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“Hmm?”

“How did you know?”

“About what?”

“Who the murderer was? How did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t.” He opens his eyes and grins.

“You didn’t know who the murderer was?”

“No. I just knew it was someone who knew you and your habits, someone who followed you.” He takes a deep breath. “Donovan kept tabs on you, had his goons tracking your movement. He even had them staking out your apartment.”

I shiver with distaste at the thought of them reporting my every move to Billy. “Why?”

“Unhealthy fixation. He wanted you for himself. It was clear as day.”

The lunch I ate an hour ago rolls uncomfortably in my stomach. I change the topic. “But the medal?”

“A bluff.” He groans with pain when he tries to move. “When you mentioned it, I had a hunch.”

“But you found the medal at the mansion.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Claude’s office the day Donovan took you from my apartment.”

“How did you know there was a connection?”

“I didn’t. Like I said, it was a hunch. I called their bluff.”

“Oh, you brilliant, ridiculous man. I could punch you for putting yourself in such a dangerous situation on a hunch.” Exasperated, I slump against the bed and lay my head on the blanket. His fingers thread through my hair.

“It’s over. I survived. Case closed.”

I lift my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am.” His grin widens. “I love you too, kid.”

My heart takes flight at those words, and I’ve never been so fucking happy. “Good, because I’m not leaving. I’m going to harass you for the rest of your life.”

“Kid, loving you gives love a bad name, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re mine, Quinn.”

A nurse walks in and joy blooms through the wing. The flurry of activity disrupts our tender reunion, but there’s plenty of time for us to talk later.

I’m just happy he’s alive. He loves me. I love him. It’s about fucking time both of us had something to look forward to.

Even if it means we both have to change careers, it’ll be worth it.

Happy endings always are.

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