Identify

by Denise Wells

  I turn my head down and to the side. If he sees the look in my eyes, he’ll know I’m lying.

  “Just tell me, are you in love with him?” His voice is soft. Almost pained. I glance up quickly.

  “No,” I tell him honestly, looking him in the eye.

  “Then what’s going on?” He uses his free hand to push some of my loosened hair behind my ear. “What snapped in that beautiful head of yours to make you want to shoot him?”

  He thinks my head is beautiful?

  My heart soars. He must like me. “I didn’t want to shoot him,” I say, softly. “I just wanted to scare him a bit.”

  “Why?”

  “So he would behave with his new wife.” Okay, that’s not what I thought I would say, but I think it can still work as a rationale for my actions. If he believes me.

  Reed looks at me, questioningly. “What do you mean by behave? Like be faithful? Are you talking about the apps?”

  I look at him. “The apps? Noooo.” I draw the word out and try to make the answer on my face as plain as day. I don’t want to outright lie and say that David is a cheater, I wouldn’t know. For one, we weren’t together long enough, or even exclusive; and two, I don’t know if David has ever cheated on a girl or if he uses apps to do it. But if Reed were to jump to his own conclusions about what I’m implying, I have no control over that.

  He looks at me and nods as if understanding. “You know I have to bring you in, right?”

  “For what? Nothing even happened.”

  Shit!

  Daria never said what to do if I get arrested. “Uh, can I make my phone call first?”

  “I’m not arresting you, Quinn. At least not yet. I just need some questions answered. Why, who do you want to call?”

  “A friend,” I hedge. If I tell him I want to call Daria, he may wonder why. Though, she is my best friend and would be the most logical choice to bail me out of jail. Not that they have arrested me, but he added not yet. Maybe I can make this work. “I want to call Daria. She’s my person to bail me out of jail.”

  “You aren’t in jail.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. This is looking like a Reed Roberts jail if I’ve ever seen one.”

  He raises a brow. “You’re free to go.”

  I try to step around him, only to have him put his arm out to stop me. “Quinn, I can’t just let it go that you were planning to fire a loaded weapon in a crowded party.”

  “What if I said I would never do it again?” I blink innocently at him.

  “I don’t believe you.” He sighs.

  I’m torn between wanting to convince him I won’t do it again and feeling pride over him thinking I’m bad ass enough to bring a gun to a party again.

  “Come on.” He grabs my upper arm in a loose hold. “If you won‘t talk to me here, then I have to bring you in for questioning.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to do this, Quinn. But you leave me no choice.”

  I chew on my bottom lip slightly, forgetting for a moment about my no-smudge lipstick, trying to decide if I should come clean, call Daria, or make a run for it. But as soon as I open my mouth to tell him everything, my phone rings. I look down at the caller ID.

  Daria.

  Thank god.

  I hold the phone up to show Reed, and shrug as though it’s not my fault I can’t answer his questions, then I press the answer button.

  17

  Daria

  “How the fuck did you forget to extract Quinn?” Mack yells from the back seat.

  “Me?” I turn to glare at him. “Me? You were the one inside the party, you were the one who was supposed to make sure she was okay. Which includes getting her out.”

  “No way, babe. She’s your girl, your responsibility.”

  “Uh, sorry babe, but this was your plan and your get. It’s all on you.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  “I hate that saying.” He knows that. I grit my teeth and try to figure out a way to fix this. Quinn will have no fucking idea what to do if she’s caught.

  “You’ve thrown her to the dogs.”

  “Huh?”

  “You. With this. She won’t know what to do. You’ve thrown her to the dogs.”

  “Wolves.”

  I slow to stop at a red light. “What wolves?” I look around but see nothing.

  “You throw someone to the wolves, not the dogs.”

  I throw my hands up. I hate it when he does this. “You know what I mean.” I confuse words sometimes, especially when I’m upset. And in English, all the words are so confusing, plus it’s my third language. I speak Russian and Polish before English.

  He runs his palm over his face. “What do you want to do?”

  “We can’t go back and get her. Goddamn it, Mack!”

  “Don’t yell at me, Daria. I’m under a bit of pressure here.”

  “I’m under a bit of pressure here,” I mimic, then toss him my cell. “Call her, find out where she is and if she’s okay.”

  He grumbles, but he does it.

  “Put it on speaker.”

  “Daria?” Quinn answers.

  “No, Mack.”

  “Mack?”

  “Daria’s here, she’s just driving,” Mack says.

  “Why is Mack answering Daria’s phone?” I hear in the background.

  “Who’s that?” Mack asks Quinn.

  “Uh, that’s Reed,” she responds.

  “Why is Reed with you?” Mack asks.

  “Reed is with Quinn?” I confirm.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  For as much as I want to believe in Reed, and his not turning us in, if he finds out like this, let’s just say it will not bode well for any of us. I hit the steering wheel with the palm of my hand and speed up too fast at the green light, taking the next turn a bit too sharply. Mack grabs the headrest of the passenger seat to keep from sliding across the bench seat.

  “Do you mind?” he says to me.

  “Put your seatbelt on,” I tell him.

  “Is that Daria?” Quinn asks.

  “What the hell is going on, Quinn?” Reed’s voice comes through loud and clear.

  “Quinn, put Reed on the phone,” Mack demands.

  “No!” I glare at Mack through the rearview mirror, he avoids my gaze, but moves to lean between the two front seats so I can hear the phone better.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Quinn replies.

  “Good girl!” I call out.

  “Daria? I could use some . . . advice.”

  “I know, Quinn. I’m so sorry!” I yell in the phone's direction. “I’m thinking. Give me a second.”

  “Quinn, where are you?” Mack asks.

  “I’m at the house where the party is, upstairs.”

  “Which is where I brought her after I found her with a gun ready to shoot David Tremblay.” Reed’s voice is filled with accusation.

  “Quinn, tell Reed to hang tight. I will call you back in two minutes.” Mack disconnects the call.

  “Why did you do that? If Reed has her, is he going to arrest her?” I can’t help but feel panic. My friend is not cut out for this. “I knew this was a bad plan.”

  “Yeah, well, you went along with it anyway, so . . .” Mack tosses the phone in the center console cup holder where we can both reach it if need be. “Okay,” he continues, “here’s what we’ll do. Cancel heading to the brothel address dipshit gave us.” He thumbs in David’s direction. “We’re going to the safe house instead. I’ll call Reed back and tell him only what he absolutely needs to know.”

  “Which is what?”

  “That I planted Quinn as a distraction so I could get to Tremblay. And she knew nothing else. You are just my getaway driver. And the gun has blanks because I didn’t want anyone hurt. It’s enough of the truth to be plausible and the number of things I’ll admit to will satisfy him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I’ll call him back and have him bring Quinn
to meet us. I got this, Dar. I know this plan was flawed, but I promise you I won’t let anything happen to Quinn, okay?” He touches my shoulder as he says this. I turn my head to look at him.

  God, that face of his, it’s so tragically beautiful.

  I nod and return my attention to the road. We’re about ten miles from a safe house that Mack has access to, where he can question David more thoroughly, and we can meet up with Reed and Quinn. I have no reason to doubt Mack, or his ability to keep Quinn safe, I never have, so I won’t start now.

  He calls Quinn back and tells Reed where to bring her and that he’ll explain everything once they arrive. True to what Mack predicted, Reed seems placated and agrees to not bring Quinn in until they meet. I’m so proud of Quinn for not caving and telling Reed the entire plan. Had you asked me before today if she would have been capable of keeping anything from Reed, I would have said no.

  I only hope she can keep it together until we get to her.

  18

  Reed

  It took every ounce of strength in my body to resist Quinn when she tried to kiss me. We were alone in a room with a bed, and she was rubbing on me and kissing me and all I wanted to do was throw her down and fuck her until neither of us could see straight. But I stopped myself. I know she’s keeping something from me. And I don’t believe that she wanted to shoot David because their break-up upset her.

  I look at her now, sitting in the passenger seat next to me as we head out to meet Mack and Daria. The slit in her dress is open to her thigh, making me want to slip my hand through it, spread her legs, and touch her through her panties. I don’t know what it is about her tonight, whether it’s the dress or the gun, maybe her attitude, but I am hot for her. I usually run at a slow burn for her anyway, but this is something else altogether.

  I exit the highway and take surface streets to the back road that will lead us to the safe house. She shivers next to me.

  “Cold?”

  “A little.”

  I reach in the back seat and grab my jacket, handing it to her. She brings it up to her nose and sniffs it before slipping it on. The bottom of the coat covers a decent part of her exposed thigh. Which is disappointing, but for the best.

  “Why didn’t you kiss me?” Quinn turns to look at me. “Back there, when I tried. I know you wanted to.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, so I stay silent.

  “Well?” she goads.

  “I won’t let you manipulate me like that,” I tell her.

  “Why assume I was trying to manipulate you? That’s not nice.”

  “Weren’t you?” I watch her from the corner of my eye, waiting to see what she’ll do. Instead of responding verbally, she waves her hand dismissively and looks back out the window. “Quinn, I have a job to do. You were at a party with a loaded gun and by your own admission, intending to shoot someone. That’s not something I can just ignore whether or not I want to kiss you.”

  “You’re admitting you want to kiss me?”

  “Of course, I want to kiss you! Look at you, you’re gorgeous.”

  “You think I’m gorgeous?” Her lips spread from cheek to cheek. A complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree flip from her attitude thirty seconds ago. “You like me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I like you.”

  “Okay, you like me? Or you like me?”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “If you like me, then you’ll have no problem kissing me. But if it’s just that you like me, then you say hi when you see me, and maybe you smile, but that’s it.”

  I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying. Part of me understands the difference and part of me thinks she’s a bit of a wack job.

  “I don’t think this is the time to talk about it.”

  “Well, then when is?”

  “After this case.”

  “What case?”

  “This sex trafficking case.”

  “You’re working on the case too?”

  “What do you mean ‘too’? It’s my case.”

  “I thought . . .”

  I wait for her to continue, but she bites on her fingernail. A small fleck of polish comes off and sticks to her lip. I reach over to brush it away.

  “What?”

  “You had nail polish.”

  “On my lip?” She looks down at her nails. “Oh no, I chipped a nail.”

  “That’s what happens when you chew on it.”

  “You know this because you paint your nails so often?”

  I shrug in response. I don’t paint my nails. But when you adhere a synthetic product to something growing and living, at some point it’s going to breakdown and weaken. If it’s polish and nails and you add teeth to that equation, it will chip. But I don’t tell Quinn that. Instead, I say, “I have sisters.”

  “I didn’t know that. How many?”

  “Two.”

  “Are you close with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “I love that. I’m an only child. Do you have any other siblings?”

  “Nope, just the three of us.”

  “Are you the oldest?”

  “I’m the youngest.”

  “Hmm, you seem like you’d be the oldest.”

  “Based on what, exactly?”

  “How you act, your maturity level.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “Okay, you don’t have to get snippy.”

  “I wasn’t . . .” I start to defend myself but realize I don’t want to have this argument with her. It’s stupid and pointless. “What were you going to stay earlier?”

  “When?”

  “When you stopped to bite your nails. You were saying something about my case?”

  “I said nothing about your case. You said you had a trafficking case.”

  “You said ‘too.’”

  “Well, yeah, isn’t that what Mack is working on?”

  “How would you know that?”

  “You guys are partners, duh.”

  Once again, something is not jiving with Quinn and what she’s telling me. But I let it go and wait until we reach Mack and Daria. Mack said he’d explain everything once we meet in person and that it would all make sense. I’m hoping that is the case. I make the turn from the back road to the dirt road that acts as a long driveway to the safe house.

  Trees conceal the house, almost entirely. Which is a coincidence, not all our safe houses are so well hidden. One is in the middle of suburbia, one in an apartment complex, and another in the middle of downtown. The benefit of tree concealment being the concealment part. The downfall being the trees interfere with most wireless or cellular communication devices.

  I pull around to the back side of the house and park near Mack’s standard issue SUV. The surrounding air is still as I step out of the car. Eerily so. I wait for Quinn to join me and guide her into the house, following behind with my hand at the small of her back.

  “Ohmigod!” Quinn stops short in the doorway, then spins around to face me. “You don’t want to go in there.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  19

  Mack

  I haven’t hit Tremblay—much—by the time Reed and Quinn arrive. She stops in the doorway before entering the house and turns back to say something to Reed. He pushes her to the side and storms in, trying to look everywhere at once.

  “What the hell have you done, Mack?”

  He’s upset, and I get that. I even try to see the situation from his point of view, but really, I just want to tell him to fuck off.

  Yes, I have his friend tied to a chair, and roughed up his face, but he’s conscious, so he’s fine.

  “Reed,” David says. “You gotta help me, man, this guy is fuck-nuts crazy.”

  “What are you doing Mack?” Reed turns to me, his face filled with fury and frustration, with a touch of resignation.

  I grab Reed by the arm and pull him aside. “He’s guilty. I have a recorded confession.”

  “Under duress
?”

  “No, in the car on the way here.”

  “In the car? Did you kidnap him? Why are you all dressed up? What’s going on?”

  “I worked security for the party tonight. I handled getting him to a safe place after we discovered the gunman.”

  “The gunman? You mean Quinn?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “So, she was going to shoot him?”

  “No, the gun has blanks in it.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I gave it to her.”

  “Fuckin-eh, Mack. Start at the beginning and leave nothing out. I want the truth.”

  You can’t handle the truth! Rings through my mind. No way am I telling Reed everything. As planned, I will tell him what he needs to know. Nothing more.

  “Quinn was the distraction so I could get Tremblay out of the party to talk to him with no one realizing it. In case anyone else involved in the HT ring was there. Daria did me a solid acting as my getaway driver.”

  I look across the room to where Daria and Quinn are speaking in hushed tones, heads bent together.

  “Why didn’t Quinn just tell me that?”

  “I asked her not to.”

  “Why?”

  “So, you wouldn’t be involved.”

  “Involved in kidnapping my best friend.”

  “Borrowing, for a bit.”

  “What did he confess to?”

  “All of it.”

  “Fuck.” Reed hangs his head.

  “Sorry, man.” I clap him on the shoulder, in a gesture meant to be sympathetic, but I think it comes across as more of just a slap.

  “Did something lead you to believe he was guilty?”

  “Call it a well-educated hunch.”

  “Is the confession legit? Can we even use it?”

  I hold my hand up and waver it slightly. “Maybe.”

  “So . . . no.”

  “Probably not. But at least we have something to go on.”

  “It doesn’t matter if we can’t use it.”

  “Look, Reed, you needed to know if he was guilty, now you do.”

  “Based on a coerced confession.”

  “It wasn’t coerced.”