by RJ Blain
He swallowed, opened his mouth, and I crammed several more fries in. “Chew or choke, Quinn.”
After three more fry assaults, he covered his mouth with his hand. “You’re being ridiculous again. They didn’t feed you napalm, did they?”
I sulked over my thwarted attempt to feed him fries and popped the ammunition into my mouth. Once I swallowed so I wouldn’t choke, I giggled. “I got them to give me some C4.”
“Are you drunk?”
If I was, I didn’t care. “No idea. I’m feeling pretty good, though, all things considered. If my ribs are cracked, they don’t hurt much, my headache’s mostly gone, and the stitches aren’t bothering me at all. I thought they would fall out when I transformed. I thought the cuts would have closed up, too.”
“That’s Grandfather’s doing. He said something about keeping your insides where they belonged, and after that, I stopped asking questions and decided to be grateful.”
“I’m pretty sure he was exaggerating, Quinn. I was never at risk of spilling my guts.”
Quinn’s expression soured. “You were hurt.”
I loved his growl so much. “It’s my fault I ran in front of a transport. I earned my stitches. Hey, you should be proud of me. Before I ran out into traffic, I smacked an incubus with a door, then I mauled him a bit. I also went straight to the cops, too.”
“You stuck your head in a cruiser because you were cold.”
“It still counts.”
“I really don’t think that counts. You could have gone up to them, told them you’d been kidnapped, given them my name, and then stuck your head into the cruiser to warm up.”
Of course he’d use logic against me. “Says the man who lugged his blanket all the way from New York.”
He smiled at me. “You like my blanket, which is why you’re still snuggling with it.”
Busted. “That’s cheating, Mr. Samuel Quinn.”
“I’m known to do underhanded deeds to secure my victory. No more joking around. This next part is going to be long, tiring, and very frustrating. I thought I’d warn you before it begins. We’ll have to go over the same thing many times. We’ll discuss a lot of possibilities, most of them will be wrong or a dead end, and it’ll make you cranky.”
“I come cranky by default. I thought you knew this already.”
“Crankier, then. We need to try to figure out Audrey’s goals so we can get ahead of her, especially if she’s capable of crafting gorgon dust.”
I grimaced. “Or is working with someone who can.”
“Yes.”
While it didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, I couldn’t force my thoughts away from the fact Quinn had brought his blanket with him. “You really brought your blanket from New York because I like it?”
Smiling, he reached across the table and flicked my forehead. “Yes, of course.”
I didn’t understand how something as insignificant as a blanket could hurt so much. I didn’t deserve him bringing me anything. Why? Every emotion I had packed away over the years escaped from their prison and converged in a single spot within my chest.
Quinn stood, circled the table, and crouched beside my chair. “Bailey, it’s okay.”
It wasn’t until he lifted his hands and brushed his thumbs across my cheeks I realized I was actually crying. It’d been so long since I’d cried without being sick or drugged the fact I could startled me. I swallowed to suppress them, but the tears came harder and faster.
I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve him.
“Bailey, don’t cry. I thought you’d enjoy having the blanket. What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t do anything to deserve—”
My traitor mouth betrayed me, confessing my dark, dirty secret all on its own. I opened my mouth to force out an apology, to somehow take the words back, but Quinn sighed and pressed his fingertips to my lips. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve something like that. I brought it for you because I thought it’d make you happy and you’d like it. I love you.”
Maybe his words would have made other women scream for joy or lose their minds, but not me. I cried harder. Quinn dislodged his blanket from the back of my chair and wrapped it around me, kissed my forehead, and sighed. “You’ve been told all your life you don’t deserve anything, haven’t you? It makes me want to beat those assholes who dare to call themselves your parents.”
I shook my head to deny it, but Quinn cupped my cheek in his hand. “You’re just going to have to get used to it, because I’m never going to stop. When I think you need something to help you feel better, I’m going to bring you our blanket. I’m going to try to make your problems disappear, though I’m starting to think I might be striving for the impossible. How am I supposed to keep the Calamity Queen out of trouble?”
A choked laugh escaped me. “You don’t.”
“I’m doomed. I suppose I’ll just have to happily suffer. I mean it. You better get used to it, because I really won’t stop. When you’re stuck as a unicorn, I’ll bring you roses when I can’t convince the CDC to give me C4. I draw the line at magic-infused napalm, though. You might talk me into gasoline with a few additives so it has a gel-like texture and higher ignition point, but we won’t call it napalm. I’m pretty sure I can come up with plenty of other little things you’ll like.”
“But—”
Quinn covered my mouth with his hand. “I’ll do it because I want to. I like seeing you smile while you’re snuggling in my blanket. When I get you home, I’ll take you to the station and let you cuff me to a chair so you can force me to watch while you beat Suzy to death.”
If his goal was to stop me from crying, he was failing miserably. I sniffled and pulled his hand from my mouth. “Really, Quinn? Homemade napalm? Are you sure you’re a cop?”
He smiled, reached across the table, and grabbed a napkin so he could wipe my cheeks. “I’m a bad one. I ditched work the instant I got the call you were here. I may have forgotten to tell anyone why I was leaving. If I’m fired, I might have to mooch off you for a while.”
The realization he could mooch off me startled me so much I stared at him with wide eyes. I liked the thought of him at my mercy. “Underwear model.”
Quinn’s eyebrows rose. “You want me to model underwear?”
“I’d make a fortune to pay for your mooching.” Swallowing and rubbing my eyes, I cleared my throat and tried to pretend I wasn’t a sniffling, crying mess. “Why do I need to handcuff you while I beat Suzy to death?”
“It’s more fun that way. Everyone in the station will love it. You can gather your loyal fans and have them watch Suzy’s murder while I howl over the injustice of it all.”
A weak laugh bubbled up and escaped between my unsuccessful attempts to quit blubbering. “I don’t have loyal fans.”
“You have an entire station full of them. Not only did you get them a good coffee maker, you taught them how to use it. That’s automatic heroine status among us cops. I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
“Now you’re the one being ridiculous.”
“If it makes you stop crying, I’ll be ridiculous and take my shirt off.”
“You without your shirt is never ridiculous.” While there was a box of tissues on the counter, I grabbed a napkin and blew my nose. “I’m sorry I ate part of your uniform.”
Quinn laughed. “It gives me a good excuse to order some new ones. Go to the bathroom and wash your face. I love you, but you are not one of those women who does the crying with grace thing. You might scare the on-duty cops.”
I cringed because he was right. On a good day, I only splotched bright red in uneven patches, making me look like I’d been on the losing end of a nasty fight. On a bad one, I scared babies. “I hate you because you’re right.”
“No, you love me because I’m honest.”
I did, but instead of admitting it, I stuck my tongue out at him.
Despite Quinn’s warning preparing me for the discussion, the investigation did wear aw
ay at my nerves. My patience frayed, and the snarky, cranky elements of my personality rose to the surface, forcing me to bite my tongue several times so I wouldn’t snap at someone—or hiss like one of Grandfather Quinn’s snakes.
If I hunted the gorgon down and asked him really nicely, would he bite someone for me? I could have antivenin nearby along with some neutralizer. That counted as considerate, right?
I sighed. I understood why the two chiefs needed information about me and my lifestyle, but it shamed me to reveal my difficulties with getting by. Some people called it making a living. I called it barely surviving.
Quinn’s teasing over my greasy burger ended the instant he got his hands on my financials. With narrowed eyes, he flipped through the pages. “I think we can eliminate wealth as a motivation: Audrey likes her money like she enjoys her men.”
I snorted. “Plentiful and easily spent?”
Crap. There went my mouth again, blabbing whatever it felt like. My face flushed from embarrassment.
“Close enough.” Quinn sighed. “I had no idea it was possible to live in New York on this income, Bailey.”
The heat in my cheeks intensified. I needed to swallow so I could speak. “I managed. If you need help with your budget, I’m your woman.”
There. Somehow, my pride survived almost intact. Everyone appreciated good budgeting skills.
“Next time I beat my head against the wall working on the law enforcement budget, I’ll take you up on that. Whenever I call in accountants, they start to cry. They’re always complaining about how I want to do too much with too little. It’s not my fault the city doesn’t want to give me more funding.”
I wondered if my foot would taste terrible if I actually stuck it in my mouth. “I’ll take your word on that.”
Quinn tossed my financials into the box of papers representing my life. “It has to be your immunities she’s after. Nothing else makes sense.”
Chief Hollands glared at the pair of whiteboards taking up precious space in his office. One focused on me while the other concentrated on Quinn and Audrey’s failed relationship. “Sam, when did you learn about Bailey’s immunities?”
Quinn grabbed the red marker, which we were using to denote first encounters or occurrences, and made a notation on my whiteboard. “I knew she had immunities from her file, but I didn’t believe it until five years ago. A bomber rigged an explosive device to glass containers and detonated them. They contained gorgon bile. When I called the CDC for cleanup, they sent her—it was her first solo job. The CDC tries to keep newly certified consultants and agents partnered for a year before sending them out on their own. Her task was to clean the site, purify the petrified victims, and apply the neutralizer. Per protocol, she was handling the bile while wearing a hazmat suit. Unfortunately, my team, the CDC’s bomb squad, and the NYPD’s auxiliary squad missed a device. It detonated, and several glass shards pierced her suit. Instead of petrifying, she cursed a storm, ripped her suit off, pulled a chunk of glass out of her arm, and started tearing down ceiling tiles. Five destructive minutes later, she had pulled down broken jars and one more device. Her solution to an active bomb was to grab the C4 and rip off the attached wires.”
The glare Quinn shot my way promised he still harbored a serious case of cranky over my handling of the bomb. I hadn’t known some devices were designed to explode if fiddled with. “It worked.”
Quinn sighed.
Chief Hollands also sighed, bowed his head, and rubbed his temples. “That poor crime scene. That’s one way to wreck evidence.”
“The only thing she didn’t break was the intact container. She handled that with care, neutralized its exterior, and very carefully placed it in the hall. She gave us the dirtiest look, called us a few names I’m unwilling to repeat, and went back to work.”
“I called them overpaid, talentless man whor—”
Quinn lunged at me and clapped his hand over my mouth. “Please don’t. Please.”
I peeled his fingers away from my face. “I’ll let you off the hook this once. You won’t have to go to a strip club and learn how to lap dance properly. Or—”
Or he could kiss me and shut me up that way. With a satisfied murmur, I enjoyed my prize for having nettled him.
Chief Hollands cleared his throat. “Please continue. What happened after she cleaned the bile container?”
The man would have to pay for ending such a nice reward. I licked my lips and sighed. “I got gorgon bile in my hair. Do you know how hard it is to clean gorgon bile out of hair?”
The police chief’s expression told me he didn’t want to know. Too bad. “It involves a five pound bag of neutralizer, a comb, and careful brushing. If you get the neutralizer wet first, it’ll clump in the bile. Then you have to wait until it dries. If you apply it as a powder, the bile will crumble. So you apply, brush, apply, brush, and keep repeating until you’re down to spaghetti-like strands. Then you have to shower it out using a shampoo infused with neutralizer. Your hair glitters and shines for a week but becomes really, really soft.”
“You also needed stitches but decided to clean the rest of the site first. Then you attempted to leave without getting stitches.” Quinn glared at me.
I glared back. “You yelled at me the entire time they were stitching me up. I was the one who was supposed to be yelling at you. You didn’t make sure all the bombs were gone.”
“I tried telling you the NYPD bomb squad is actually part of the CDC, but you didn’t care. Anyway, maybe I was worried. You have no self-preservation skills.”
“Unless she’s running away from me,” Sylvester murmured, his melodic voice a whisper in my ear.
I shrieked, launched off the couch, and ran for the door only to be trapped in Quinn’s arms. Spinning me around, he pulled me to him and held me close.
Any other time, I would have been too embarrassed to cling to him so I wouldn’t ooze to the floor in a quivering heap. “He’s going to be the death of me, Quinn.”
With a soft laugh, he rubbed my back. “I see you’ve returned, Grandfather. Was there any reason you tried to scare my wife to death?”
“A two-hour bicker fest over your failings, of which there are many, wouldn’t be a productive use of your time. She would win, you would sulk, and more time would be wasted while we waited for you to find the nearest hotel you could tolerate—a thirty minute drive each way, for the record. You’d then spend the next few hours keeping each other close company, resulting in this conversation being suspended until tomorrow midday. I thought I would pop over and remind you of the day you met your lovely wife. Thus, you will lose far less time and be much happier as a result. I do need to go home now, since I’ve been on the mortal coil for too long. Xavier’s coming with me, but your other grandfather is still here. Have fun, children.”
Quinn’s grandfather vanished in a flash of silvery light.
“He usually comes and goes in golden light,” I observed with a worried frown.
“Gold is when he’s nearby.” Quinn turned me around and guided me to the couch, shoving until I sat down. “For him, that could be anywhere on Earth. Silver’s for when he’s leaving or entering the high heavens. Angels are powerful, but they are often limited while on Earth, and Grandfather’s been around more than usual—and used more power than usual, too. He’ll be back eventually. If we’re lucky, maybe he’ll stay gone for a few years.”
“Keep dreaming,” Quinn’s other grandfather declared from the doorway.
Quinn sat on my lap, which prevented me from entering orbit at the gorgon’s arrival. Although he was heavy, I appreciated his warmth, and the hole in the back of his uniform amused me—and was an excellent place to slip my hand inside his shirt and stroke his skin. He leaned into my touch.
The gorgon cleared his throat, probably trying to catch my attention. Did he think I cared with such a wonderful, beautiful man in front of me wanting me to touch him? Nonsense.
“We need to leash you, girl.”
I peeked
around Quinn at the gorgon; his snakes cooed at me, and he’d come within easy reach. I scratched one of the coral snakes under its chin. “You might be right.”
Quinn chuckled. “If you’re leashed to me, I’m okay with it.”
Why wasn’t I surprised? “I’m going to make Suzy’s death as horrific as possible for that comment, Quinn.”
Chief Hollands’s eyes narrowed, and he frowned. “Suzy?”
“My coffee maker.”
“Ah. Why is your coffee maker going to die at the hands of your wife?”
“My wife is a coffee snob.”
“Your wife thinks you have a stick up your ass again and you need a dose of pixie dust to be tolerable company.”
I blinked. Wait. When I had first met Quinn, I had thought he was an uptight ass; beautiful, infuriatingly sexy, and unfortunately married, but a snobbish ass. Dosing him with pixie dust had been my way of getting rid of the lust-inducing nuisance.
Did pixie dust affect him like it did other incubi?
I trailed my fingers along the length of his spine before pulling my hand out of his clothes. “Hey, Quinn?”
“What?”
“Does pixie dust make you a sex fiend?”
Everyone in the room choked and spluttered. Quinn stood, turned around, leaned over me, and rewarded me with a kiss. “Is there a reason you’re asking me this, my beautiful?”
He stole my breath. He needed to stop doing that. I needed to breathe. I also needed another kiss, but he pulled away. Later, once my heart stopped racing, I’d deal with him calling me beautiful. “I may have spiked a few of your coffees with pixie dust while you were still married to Audrey.”
He froze, sucked in a breath, and widened his eyes. “Oh.”
“You were being an uptight ass, and Mary kept pinches of pixie dust on hand for spiking drinks to keep irate customers from flipping out. It’s like a quarter of the amount we use in a light dusting—just enough to take a bit of the edge off.” I bit my lip. “It’s legal.”