Chapter 138 I Am Back
The next day after work, Quinley got a call from Detective Wilson.
"I'm back. Meet me at the usual place."
He hung up and texted the address and time.
Quinley changed clothes and left the Apex Global Group building. She'd barely walked a few blocks when she ran into Peter. He pulled over, rolled down his window, and waved her over. "Lily, come here."
Quinley hesitated but walked over.
"Mr. Martin."
"Get in. I found you a place. Let's move your stuff now."
Quinley checked her phone—only an hour until she was supposed to meet Detective Wilson.
"Okay."
She opened the door and got in.
Quinley hadn't expected Peter to find her an apartment in South District.
"Why here?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"It's close. Twenty-minute walk to work. There's a subway stop right outside—two stops to the office. You can stay here temporarily. I already paid a year's rent."
Peter's tone was casual.
"Okay."
The small apartment Peter rented for her was right across from her old place—also a one-bedroom. The decor was simple, but it was clean.
"Mr. Martin, thank you so much."
"I've got things to handle. If you can't get your stuff from the hotel, I'll help you move tomorrow after work."
"No need. I can do it myself."
Peter nodded and left quickly.
As soon as he was gone, Quinley rushed out too. This time she wore a baseball cap and mask.
She flagged down a taxi at the complex entrance and headed straight for the bus station.
Halfway there, Detective Wilson texted. "Where are you?"
"Be there in half an hour."
It was rush hour. By the time she reached the station, it was already seven-thirty.
Quinley arrived at the meeting spot, but Detective Wilson was nowhere to be seen. She texted him—no response. She called several times before he finally picked up.
"Ms. Elikin, you know what I hate most? People who can't be on time."
Detective Wilson was pissed. His anger blazed through the phone.
While he vented, Quinley stayed silent until he ran out of steam.
"I'm sorry."
He went quiet too.
"Let me buy you dinner. Order whatever you want—consider it a welcome-back meal. Deal?"
Quinley's tone softened.
"I'm too angry to eat."
Detective Wilson was being stubborn.
"Since you decided to be crazy with me, I'm craving barbecue right now. You coming or not? If not, I'll go by myself."
Quinley was about to hang up when Detective Wilson spoke.
"Go where I tell you."
He didn't say where, creating an air of mystery. After hanging up, he sent her a location pin.
The barbecue joint wasn't far from the bus station. Quinley took a cab.
The place was hidden deep in an alley. If not for the greasy sign out front, Quinley never would have known it existed.
Inside were only three tables spaced far apart, with a few scattered customers at each.
Quinley stood in the doorway looking around—no sign of Detective Wilson.
"Over here."
His voice came from behind her.
Following the sound, she spotted him across from the restaurant at a table set up on the sidewalk. Even at night, Detective Wilson still wore sunglasses. He'd dressed down today, looking like any ordinary middle-aged local.
Quinley sat across from him. He pointed at the paper menu. "I ordered. Your turn."
She glanced at it and added a few things.
While waiting for the food, Quinley spoke up.
"I need your help with something."
"Shoot."
Quinley paused, then said, "I want to see him."
She wanted to see Zachary, to know how he was doing.
"No problem."
Detective Wilson agreed without hesitation.
The floor where Zachary was staying was heavily guarded—Quinley couldn't get in on her own. But she knew Detective Wilson would have a way.
"When can you make it happen?"
The skewers arrived. Detective Wilson flagged down the server for takeout containers.
"I'll let you know when it's done."
He packed up the barbecue and stood to leave.
"Not eating together?"
Quinley was surprised.
Behind his sunglasses, Detective Wilson rolled his eyes. "Better safe than sorry."
He was cautious, but he got results.
Two nights later, deep into the evening, he suddenly called.
"Come to the hospital."
Brief and to the point. He hung up again.
Fortunately, Quinley understood. She immediately threw on clothes and took a cab straight to Serenity Health Center.
Detective Wilson wore a hospital gown, his hair dyed salt-and-pepper gray. He'd done his makeup expertly—the wrinkles and age spots looked real unless you looked closely.
"Follow me."
Seeing Quinley, he turned and headed for a side entrance to the inpatient building.
"When we get upstairs, I'll draw them away. You slip inside. Be quick—don't drag it out in the room."
Detective Wilson's instructions were clear.
Quinley murmured agreement.
The elevator reached the fifteenth floor. Detective Wilson instantly hunched over. Without looking back at Quinley, he shuffled out shakily.
As the elevator doors closed, Quinley heard Lucas's voice.
"No unauthorized visitors allowed. Leave now."
"I live here. Why should I leave?"
Detective Wilson spoke in a thick regional dialect Lucas couldn't understand. He was a good actor, playing confused. When Lucas tried to stop him, he kept shuffling forward.
One blocked, the other pushed through stubbornly.
Detective Wilson finally plopped down on the floor and started throwing a tantrum, muttering and cursing. Lucas's frown deepened.
This was a hospital—all kinds of patients came through.
With no other option, he contacted the nurses to take Detective Wilson back to his room.
But he wouldn't get up, making a huge scene.
Quinley hid in the stairwell, peering through the door crack.
After more coaxing, they finally got Detective Wilson toward the elevator, but he grabbed Lucas's hand and wouldn't let go.
Quinley didn't know what Detective Wilson said, but eventually he dragged Lucas into the elevator with him.
Tonight, besides Lucas, no one else guarded Zachary's room.
Once they left, Quinley quickly slipped into Zachary's room.
The sharp smell of disinfectant hit her—pungent and familiar.
A row of machines lined the bedside, beeping steadily.
Zachary lay still on the bed as if sleeping. His head injury had required surgery—white gauze wrapped around his skull. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed thin and pale.
Quinley walked over and stood beside the bed.
After more than half a year, he'd gotten thinner, more gaunt, more haggard.
She calmly took his hand. His large palm was still solid and warm.
Her nose stung. Hot tears splashed onto the back of his hand.
"Mr. Jennings, I'm back."
She whispered.
Suddenly, the large hand she held trembled slightly.