Quinn caught up to Tyler in the parking lot. There were only
two vehicles left: his truck, and a black sedan across the lot
that some parent must have left here to come back for later. She
grabbed Tyler's arm before he could jump in his truck and take
off.
She expected him to spin in a rage and shove her away, but he
didn't. He just stopped. He didn't look at her.
"Are you okay?" she said softly.
"No." His voice sounded thick.
"Is what he said true?" she said. "The fire that killed his parents—
did you—"
"I don't know." He turned to look at her, and where she expected
to find rage and fury, his expression only offered torment.
"I don't know, Quinn. I was sixteen years old. My sister
was dead. I hated Michael Merrick with everything. I don't—"
His voice broke, but he caught it. "Gabriel Merrick hated us,
too. They all did. I don't know for sure which one of us started
it. But I know I wasn't the only one. I didn't have that kind of
power, the way the whole house went up in a flash. Not then."
"But . . . but you've called the Guides against the Merricks.
You've tried to have them killed. You stood in your kitchen and
told me you've never hurt anyone with your power. What was
that about?"
Now she got the fury. "What was I supposed to do?" he
snapped. "My parents wanted to kill them for what they'd done
to Emily. Was I supposed to stand up and say, 'Guess what,
guys. I'm one, too! Let's get cake.' Do you have any idea what it
was like for me, knowing what I was, knowing my parents were
calling the Guides to come to town to kill off the true Elementals?
Knowing I might have played a part in killing my best
friend's parents? Do you have any idea?"
"No." She wet her lips. "I don't." She paused. "But you kept
hurting them. You kept going after them. You went after Becca!
You kept—"
"Because I had to!" he exploded. "Because that's what everyone
expected! Don't you get it? They killed my sister. Everyone
thought they killed Seth's parents. I had to hate them."
"Or else everyone would have hated you."
A cool wind whipped through the parking lot, reminding her
of Nick. Tyler's breathing was heavy.
"Yeah," he finally said.
She couldn't reconcile this in her head. The sweet things he'd
whispered to her this morning, the way he'd helped her with her
own insane family, the way he'd gotten in her face and made her
confront her own fears about herself.
And then this . . . this hate borne of nothing but selfish fear.
"You could stop it," she said. "You could just . . . stop."
"I can't. Quinn, you don't—"
"Didn't you pin me against your bathroom wall and tell me
to stop pushing people away? That people would help me if I'd
give them the chance? The sad, sorry truth is that the Merricks
would probably help you if you weren't so determined to be an
asshole."
"I don't want their help, Quinn."
"So you're just going to keep on being ignorant . . . why, exactly?"
The sarcasm was out before she could stop it. Tyler's face
shut down, chasing away any emotion. "You don't understand.
This isn't me being ignorant. This is me trying to stay alive."
"Just like they are."
276 Brigid Kemmerer
"I can't argue this with you, Quinn." His breathing staggered.
"Not now. Not—not now."
She took a step back. "Then go."
He stared down at her.
Then he turned and climbed into his vehicle. He started the
engine, but didn't shut the door. He inhaled like he was going to
ask her for another chance.
She took another step back. "Go. I'm not coming with
you. Go."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Quinn looked away.
She expected him to beg her to climb in with him, to make
more excuses, to apologize, to break down and give in.
He didn't.
"Fine," he said.
Tyler slammed the door and backed out of his parking place,
spraying gravel when he turned onto the main road.
Quinn was still standing there, watching the dust settle, when
a dark-haired man climbed out of the black sedan and approached
her. He was young, mid to late twenties, maybe, with
dark eyes and very average features. He wore a sport coat and
khakis. If she saw him on the street, she probably wouldn't give
him a second glance. He looked like every other daddy of a
three-year-old in a tutu.
Maybe he'd seen their argument and he wanted to make sure
she was all right.
He said, "Quinn Briscoe?"
She frowned. "Yes?"
Then she kicked herself. What if this guy was a social
worker? Or a cop? Wasn't this how it happened? They cornered
you somewhere and made you give your name—
"I was wondering if you could help me for a moment," he
said.
Sure. Maybe he was legit, or maybe he was a crazy rapist
who would take her back to his commune.
But at least that didn't sound like the way a social worker
would lead off. "Yeah, what kind of help do you need?"
SECRET 277
"My name is Gareth." He pulled out a gun and put it right in
her face. "And you're going to help me kill Nick Merrick."
Nick felt Quinn's flare of panic in the air like a bright starburst
in his senses, amplified when the door to the studio swung
open, sending the chimes ringing through the near empty space.
He grabbed Adam's arm and dragged him to the opposite
side of the risers.
Adam inhaled to speak, but Nick got an arm around his neck
and slapped a hand over his mouth.
"Be still," Nick said, his mouth right against Adam's ear.
"Please. Be still."
Adam went still.
Nick hadn't had time to tell him much about his family, and
he definitely hadn't gotten to the part where someone might be
trying to kill them.
Quinn was silent, but her fear was a beacon, her shaking
breath giving him information with every passing second. Footsteps
approached, slow and steady on the wooden floors.
He could also feel whoever was frightening her. Even breaths,
pure confidence. There had to be a weapon of some sort, for
Quinn to be this pliant.
"See?" she said loudly. "They're gone already."
Please, Quinn, Nick thought. Please don't be stupid. He tried
not to think of Michael's stories of what Silver had done to
Hunter's girlfriend Kate. The torture, the final bullet to the
head.
Was this Silver? Had he escaped from prison?
He begged the air for answers, stretching his senses far.
"They're here," said a male voice.
Adam went very still. He held his breath.
"Come on out," said the man. No British accent. Not Silver.
But definitely a Guide.
Nick didn't move. There had to be a way out of this.
Had to be.
He tried not to think of his brothers. Had this guy gone after
them first? Were his brothers dead and he didn't know it?
278 Brigid Kemmerer
Not likely, if they were all together.
Then he remembered his conversation with Michael. They
were scattered. That could mean anything.
And not just scattered. Scattered remotely. Gabriel would be
home alone—with no Nick to warn of danger approaching.
Chris and Michael were working a job, and if they were finishing
the one Nick and Michael had skipped last night, it was a
massive yard away from any other houses. Sitting ducks.
Hell, if the Guide took out Nick and Gabriel, he wouldn't
even have to go looking for Chris and Michael. He could just
wait for them to come home.
"You've already given me proof," said the man. "I know this
girl is innocent. There is no need for her to die."
Think, Nick. God, what the hell use was his GPA if he couldn't
think of a way out of here?
"Come out now," said the man. "Three seconds and she
dies." He didn't hesitate. "Three . . . Two . . ."
"Nick!" Quinn's voice, high and panicked.
"Okay!" Nick shoved Adam down and stood, revealing himself.
He didn't recognize this guy at all.
But he recognized the danger of a gun pointed at Quinn's
head.
Nick put his hands up to show he was unarmed. "Okay. I'm
here. Let her go."
Adam. Stay hidden. Please, Adam.
"That was easy," said the Guide.
Then he pointed the gun straight at Nick's head and pulled
the trigger.