The Quinn Legacy: Inner Harbor ; Chesapeake Blue Read online

  Nora Roberts

  HOT ICE

  SACRED SINS

  BRAZEN VIRTUE

  SWEET REVENGE

  PUBLIC SECRETS

  GENUINE LIES

  CARNAL INNOCENCE

  HONEST ILLUSIONS

  DIVINE EVIL

  PRIVATE SCANDALS

  HIDDEN RICHES

  TRUE BETRAYALS

  MONTANA SKY

  SANCTUARY

  HOMEPORT

  THE REEF

  RIVER’S END

  CAROLINA MOON

  THE VILLA

  MIDNIGHT BAYOU

  THREE FATES

  BIRTHRIGHT

  NORTHERN LIGHTS

  BLUE SMOKE

  ANGELS FALL

  HIGH NOON

  TRIBUTE

  BLACK HILLS

  THE SEARCH

  CHASING FIRE

  THE WITNESS

  WHISKEY BEACH

  THE COLLECTOR

  TONIGHT AND ALWAYS

  THE LIAR

  THE OBSESSION

  Series

  Irish Born Trilogy

  BORN IN FIRE

  BORN IN ICE

  BORN IN SHAME

  Dream Trilogy

  DARING TO DREAM

  HOLDING THE DREAM

  FINDING THE DREAM

  Chesapeake Bay Saga

  SEA SWEPT

  RISING TIDES

  INNER HARBOR

  CHESAPEAKE BLUE

  Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

  JEWELS OF THE SUN

  TEARS OF THE MOON

  HEART OF THE SEA

  Three Sisters Island Trilogy

  DANCE UPON THE AIR

  HEAVEN AND EARTH

  FACE THE FIRE

  Key Trilogy

  KEY OF LIGHT

  KEY OF KNOWLEDGE

  KEY OF VALOR

  In the Garden Trilogy

  BLUE DAHLIA

  BLACK ROSE

  RED LILY

  Circle Trilogy

  MORRIGAN’S CROSS

  DANCE OF THE GODS

  VALLEY OF SILENCE

  Sign of Seven Trilogy

  BLOOD BROTHERS

  THE HOLLOW

  THE PAGAN STONE

  Bride Quartet

  VISION IN WHITE

  BED OF ROSES

  SAVOR THE MOMENT

  HAPPY EVER AFTER

  The Inn BoonsBoro Trilogy

  THE NEXT ALWAYS

  THE LAST BOYFRIEND

  THE PERFECT HOPE

  The Cousins O’Dwyer Trilogy

  DARK WITCH

  SHADOW SPELL

  BLOOD MAGICK

  The Guardians Trilogy

  STARS OF FORTUNE

  BAY OF SIGHS

  ISLAND OF GLASS

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  Cordina’s Royal Family

  AFFAIRE ROYALE

  COMMAND PERFORMANCE

  THE PLAYBOY PRINCE

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  The Donovan Legacy

  CAPTIVATED

  ENTRANCED

  CHARMED

  ENCHANTED

  The O’Hurleys

  THE LAST HONEST WOMAN

  DANCE TO THE PIPER

  SKIN DEEP

  WITHOUT A TRACE

  Night Tales

  NIGHT SHIFT

  NIGHT SHADOW

  NIGHTSHADE

  NIGHT SMOKE

  NIGHT SHIELD

  The MacGregors

  PLAYING THE ODDS

  TEMPTING FATE

  ALL THE POSSIBILITIES

  ONE MAN’S ART

  FOR NOW, FOREVER

  REBELLION/IN FROM THE COLD

  THE MACGREGOR BRIDES

  THE WINNING HAND

  THE MACGREGOR GROOMS

  THE PERFECT NEIGHBOR

  The Calhouns

  COURTING CATHERINE

  A MAN FOR AMANDA

  FOR THE LOVE OF LILAH

  SUZANNA’S SURRENDER

  MEGAN’S MATE

  Irish Legacy

  IRISH THOROUGHBRED

  IRISH ROSE

  IRISH REBEL

  LOVING JACK

  BEST LAID PLANS

  LAWLESS

  BLITHE IMAGES

  SONG OF THE WEST

  SEARCH FOR LOVE

  ISLAND OF FLOWERS

  THE HEART’S VICTORY

  FROM THIS DAY

  HER MOTHER’S KEEPER

  ONCE MORE WITH FEELING

  REFLECTIONS

  DANCE OF DREAMS

  UNTAMED

  THIS MAGIC MOMENT

  ENDINGS AND BEGINNINGS

  STORM WARNING

  SULLIVAN’S WOMAN

  FIRST IMPRESSIONS

  A MATTER OF CHOICE

  LESS OF A STRANGER

  THE LAW IS A LADY

  RULES OF THE GAME

  OPPOSITES ATTRACT

  THE RIGHT PATH

  PARTNERS

  BOUNDARY LINES

  DUAL IMAGE

  TEMPTATION

  LOCAL HERO

  THE NAME OF THE GAME

  GABRIEL’S ANGEL

  THE WELCOMING

  TIME WAS

  TIMES CHANGE

  SUMMER LOVE

  HOLIDAY WISHES

  A JOVE BOOK

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2006 by Nora Roberts

  Inner Harbor copyright © 1999 by Nora Roberts

  Chesapeake Blue copyright © 2002 by Nora Roberts

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  A JOVE BOOK and BERKLEY are registered trademarks and the B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN: 9780440001768

  The Library of Congress has catalogued the Berkley trade edition of this book as follows:

  Roberts, Nora.

  [Inner harbor]

  The Quinn Legacy / Nora Roberts

  p. cm.

  Contents: Inner harbor—Chesapeake blue.

  ISBN 978-0-425-20815-1

  1. Quinn family (Fictitious characters)—Fiction. 2. Poor families—Fiction. 3. Chesapeake Bay Region (Md. and Va.)—Fiction. 4. Maryland—Fiction. I. Roberts, Nora. Chesapeake blue. II. Title.

  PS3568.O2431563 2006

  813'.54—dc22

  20050537063

  Berkley trade edition / February 2006

  Jove trade edition / August 2018

  Cover design by Rita Frangie

  Cover photo by Ekely / Getty Images

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance t
o actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Also by Nora Roberts

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Inner HarborDedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chesapeake BlueDedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  For Elaine and Beth, such devoted sisters—even if they won’t wear blue organdy and sing

  PROLOGUE

  PHILLIP QUINN DIED at the age of thirteen. Since the overworked and underpaid staff at the Baltimore City Hospital emergency room zapped him back in less than ninety seconds, he wasn’t dead very long.

  As far as he was concerned, it was plenty long enough.

  What had killed him, briefly, were two .25-caliber bullets pumped out of a Saturday night special shoved through the open window of a stolen Toyota Celica. The finger on the trigger had belonged to a close personal friend—or as near to a close personal friend as a thirteen-year-old thief could claim on Baltimore’s bad streets.

  The bullets missed his heart. Not by much, but in later years Phillip considered it just far enough.

  That heart, young and strong, though sadly jaded, continued to beat as he lay there, pouring blood over the used condoms and crack vials in the stinking gutter on the corner of Fayette and Paca.

  The pain was obscene, like sharp, burning icicles stabbing into his chest. But that grinning pain refused to take him under, into the release of unconsciousness. He lay awake and aware, hearing the screams of other victims or bystanders, the squeal of brakes, the revving of engines, and his own ragged and rapid breaths.

  He’d just fenced a small haul of electronics that he’d stolen from a third-story walk-up less than four blocks away. He had two hundred fifty dollars in his pocket and had swaggered down to score a dime bag to help him get through the night. Since he’d just been sprung from ninety days in juvie for another B and E that hadn’t gone quite so smoothly, he’d been out of the loop. And out of cash.

  Now it appeared he was out of luck.

  Later, he would remember thinking, Shit, oh, shit, this hurts! But he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around another thought. He’d gotten in the way. He knew that. The bullets hadn’t been meant for him in particular. He’d caught a glimpse of the gang colors in that frozen three seconds before the gun had fired. His own colors, when he bothered to associate himself with one of the gangs that roamed the streets and alleys of the city.

  If he hadn’t just popped out of the system, he wouldn’t have been on that corner at that moment. He would have been told to stay clear, and he wouldn’t now be sprawled out, pumping blood and staring into the dirty mouth of the gutter.

  Lights flashed—blue, red, white. The scream of sirens pierced through human screams. Cops. Even through the slick haze of pain his instinct was to run. In his mind he sprang up, young, agile, street-smart, and melted into the shadows. But even the effort of the thought had cold sweat sliding down his face.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and fingers probed until they reached the thready pulse in his throat.

  This one’s breathing. Get the paramedics over here.

  Someone turned him over. The pain was unspeakable, but he couldn’t release the scream that ripped through his head. He saw faces swimming over him, the hard eyes of a cop, the grim ones of the medical technician. Red, blue, and white lights burned his eyes. Someone wept in high, keening sobs.

  Hang in there, kid.

  Why? He wanted to ask why. It hurt to be there. He was never going to escape as he’d once promised himself he would. What was left of his life was running red into the gutter. What had come before was only ugliness. What was now was only pain.

  What was the damn point?

  * * *

  HE WENT AWAY for a while, sinking down below the pain, where the world was a dark and dingy red. From somewhere outside his world came the shriek of the sirens, the pressure on his chest, the speeding motion of the ambulance.

  Then lights again, bright white to sear his closed lids. And he was flying while voices shouted on all sides of him.

  Bullet wounds, chest. BP’s eighty over fifty and falling, pulse thready and rapid. In and out. Pupils are good.

  Type and cross-match. We need pictures. On three. One, two, three.

  His body seemed to jerk, up then down. He no longer cared. Even the dingy red was going gray. A tube was pushing its way down his throat and he didn’t bother to try to cough it out. He barely felt it. Barely felt anything and thanked God for it.

  BP’s dropping. We’re losing him.

  I’ve been lost a long time, he thought.

  With vague interest he watched them, half a dozen green-suited people in a small room where a tall blond boy lay on a table. Blood was everywhere. His blood, he realized. He was on that table with his chest torn open. He looked down at himself with detached sympathy. No more pain now, and the quiet sense of relief nearly made him smile.

  He floated higher, until the scene below took on a pearly sheen and the sounds were nothing but echoes.

  Then the pain tore through him, an abrupt shock that made the body on the table jerk, that sucked him back. His struggle to pull away was brief and fruitless. He was inside again, feeling again, lost again.

  The next thing he knew, he was riding in a drug-hazed blur. Someone was snoring. The room was dark and the bed narrow and hard. A backwash of light filtered through a pane of glass that was spotted with fingerprints. Machines beeped and sucked monotonously. Wanting only to escape the sounds, he rolled back under.

  He was in and out for two days. He was very lucky. That’s what they told him. There was a pretty nurse with tired eyes and a doctor with graying hair and thin lips. He wasn’t ready to believe them, not when he was too weak to lift his head, not when the hideous pain swarmed back into him every two hours like clockwork.

  When the two cops came in he was awake, and the pain was smothered under a few layers of morphine. He made them out to be cops at a glance. His instincts weren’t so dulled that he didn’t recognize the walk, the shoes, the eyes. He didn’t need the identification they flashed at him.

  “Gotta smoke?” Phillip asked it of everyone who passed through. He had a low-grade desp
eration for nicotine even though he doubted he could manage to suck on a cigarette.

  “You’re too young to smoke.” The first cop pasted on an avuncular smile and stationed himself on one side of the bed. The Good Cop, Phillip thought wearily.

  “I’m getting older every minute.”

  “You’re lucky to be alive.” The second cop kept his face hard as he pulled out a notebook.

  And the Bad Cop, Phillip decided. He was nearly amused.

  “That’s what they keep telling me. So, what the hell happened?”

  “You tell us.” Bad Cop poised his pencil over a page of his book.

  “I got the shit shot out of me.”

  “What were you doing on the street?”

  “I think I was going home.” He’d already decided how to play it, and he let his eyes close. “I can’t remember exactly. I’d been . . . at the movies?” He made it a question, opening his eyes. He could see Bad Cop wasn’t going to buy it, but what could they do?

  “What movie did you see? Who were you with?”

  “Look, I don’t know. It’s all messed up. One minute I was walking, the next I was lying facedown.”

  “Just tell us what you remember.” Good Cop laid a hand on Phillip’s shoulder. “Take your time.”

  “It happened fast. I heard shots—it must have been shots. Somebody was screaming, and it was like something exploded in my chest.” That much was pretty close to the truth.

  “Did you see a car? Did you see the shooter?”

  Both were etched like acid on steel in his brain. “I think I saw a car—dark color. A flash.”

  “You belong to the Flames.”

  Phillip shifted his gaze to Bad Cop. “I hang with them sometimes.”

  “Three of the bodies we scraped off the street were members of the Tribe. They weren’t as lucky as you. The Flames and the Tribe have a lot of bad blood between them.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You took two bullets, Phil.” Good Cop settled his face into concerned lines. “Another inch either way, you’d have been dead before you hit the pavement. You look like a smart kid. A smart kid doesn’t fool himself into believing he needs to be loyal to assholes.”

  “I didn’t see anything.” It wasn’t loyalty. It was survival. If he rolled over, he was dead.

  “You had over two hundred in your wallet.”

  Phillip shrugged, regretting it as the movement stirred up the ghosts of pain. “Yeah? Well, maybe I can pay my bill here at the Hilton.”