The Fixer

by Jessica Gadziala

  I had even entertained the idea enough to run - and slide - across my living room toward the front window without my trusty bat or frying pan to look out the window.

  But the man who came out of the SUV was decidedly not Quin. Neither was it one of the men I had met in his office - Kai, Lincoln, Finn, or Smith.

  He seemed not at all concerned about anyone seeing him as he lazily moved toward the back of the SUV, went inside, and came back with flashlights, and a backpack that he slung over his shoulder before slamming the car and heading up toward my house.

  I jumped back from the window, my heartbeat starting to hammer in my chest as I scrambled toward my coffee table where I had my phones, then back toward the kitchen, grabbing the frying pan off the counter.

  I called up Quin, waiting, but there was nothing.

  How was there nothing?

  He seemed glued to his phone.

  I hung up, tried again, moving to the window over my sink in the kitchen, looking out as the man walked casually around my yard like he somehow belonged there.

  But it went to the voicemail yet again.

  On a frustrated, pathetic whimpering growl, I tucked the phone in my pocket, running toward the front door while calling Mackey in my excited 'wanna go outside?' voice.

  He lifted his head off the couch, slowly moving his front feet on the floor, doing a languid stretch complete with an epic yawn, before padding over toward me, his nails clicking a bit on the hard floor, making me wonder for the second how the hell I could trim them without losing a hand.

  "Gotta go out? Gotta go do the good boys?" I asked, making my voice super cheery, making him scratch at the door impatiently. If I riled him up enough, he would run out like a wild beast, barking excitedly. "Gonna get the squirrel? Go get the squirrel," I demanded, throwing open the door, listening to him sounding like a bat out of hell.

  "Don't have to literally release the hounds, doll," a deep, attractive voice called. "If I were here to hurt you, you'd be hurt already. I am pretty sure I announced my presence loudly enough."

  He had been doing that on purpose?

  Why?

  "Who are you?" I shot back, watching the shadow move, his white shirt not exactly hiding him away.

  The flashlight moved in his hand, angling the light upward to illuminate his face. "Gunner."

  "Gunner?" I asked, brows drawing together.

  "I work with Quin," he explained, sounding annoyed to have to do so. Like I was the inconvenience. Meanwhile, I was choking on my own heart.

  What an asshole.

  I guess there had to be one in every office.

  "And you're on my property without asking because..."

  I moved to step out the door, reaching to hold my burner in one hand, the frying pan in the other.

  "Oh," he said, lips twitching in a not unpleasing way. "Are you gonna fry me up some eggs, doll? Over medium. Got any rye bread for toast? I like it dry."

  I sputtered for a moment. Genuinely sputtered. Because, really, how could anyone predict such words spoken to them by some random hot guy trespassing on their property.

  "I'm not going to cook you breakfast," I managed when my brain could catch up with the moment.

  "Well, no," he agreed, nodding, doing more of that kinda hot lip twitching thing. "It would be breakfast-for-dinner at this hour, wouldn't it? Unless you want me to stay the night..."

  "I want you off my property," I countered. He might have had arms that looked like they could crush skulls for funsies, but if there was anyone I wanted to stay over, it was his boss, not him.

  "No can do. I have orders. You're stuck with me until further notice."

  "What?" I asked, my voice a hushed whisper that I was sure he couldn't hear. Until he answered.

  "Yeah, I'm no more fuckin' pleased about it than you appear to be. But Quin took everyone else off, and put me on. You're just going to have to deal with me."

  "Does this arrangement come with a bottle of tequila to make you more tolerable?"

  "Same guy when I'm drinking, doll."

  "It wasn't for you," I shot back, making a low, rumbling laugh move through him, then move out onto the still night air. It was a good sound, too. Maybe because I had a feeling that this was not the kind of man who found cause to laugh often.

  "You can put the phone down, Aven," he said, rolling his eyes at me. "I have no plans on charging you. I just need to get this fucking job done, so I can go home."

  God, he made me sound like such a chore.

  If he was even the least bit friendly, I might have felt bad.

  "What job?"

  "Looking for a trail."

  "Finn already did that."

  "And if this were Finn's specialty, then I would agree that this is pointless. But Finn's specialty is cleaning shit. Mine is tracking shit. Or hiding from trackers. So this is my thing. Go on back inside and relax. I will beep when I leave, so you know if any other noises are suspicious after then. And then you can pummel them with your frying pan."

  "Come on, Mackey," I called, watching him as he looked at me, knowing exactly what I was telling him to do, and slowly sitting his butt down on the ground. I swear he was saying Make me, human.

  "Yeah, don't think your dog likes you, doll."

  I couldn't think of anything witty to say to that, so I lifted my chin, turned, and went back inside my house, locking the door just in case.

  As I moved to sit down on the couch, the cushions giving so much that I was starting to feel the wood underneath, something Gunner had said started to finally sink in.

  Quin took everyone else off, and put me on. You're just going to have to deal with me.

  Quin took everyone else off my case?

  That made no sense.

  I thought it was a huge priority to figure out who the guy was, and where he lived, so evidence could get cleaned, and the whole case could be wrapped up.

  He had made it sound like that was on the top of his list.

  And then just a couple hours later, I was suddenly down at the bottom?

  My stomach lurched, something inside saying that maybe, just maybe he dropped me down on the list because of what had happened outside of She's Bean Around.

  Because of the kiss.

  I had spent every minute since his lips pulled from mine trying not to focus on it, not to obsess about it.

  Clearly, I failed at this.

  It had been the one dominant thought I had to keep me company.

  And what a thought it was.

  I swear, even now, hours later, I could still feel a slight tingling in my lips from his; I could still feel the oversensitive skin of my cheeks from slight beard burn.

  Just a kiss.

  One of dozens in my life.

  Yet, for some reason, it had left more of an impact.

  That sounded juvenile and cheesy, but that was just how it was. I'd never had a kiss that made my body forget it had knees before.

  Quin did that.

  And then he had rushed off.

  And called almost all his men off my case.

  Hell, I hadn't even met this Gunner guy. He hadn't been at the meeting about my case.

  Why the change?

  And why hadn't he at least texted to tell me about it?

  Was he really being that immature about the whole thing?

  I mean, he had no idea I was still fantasizing about the kiss hours later. He had no reason to think it was going to be a problem.

  Yet he was distancing himself - and three-fourths of his team - from me.

  "Ugh," I growled, grabbing my trusty phone and pan, heading to the bathroom, changing into yoga pants and a long-sleeved tee. I stood in front of the mirror, scrubbing at the makeup with oil as the instructions on the tube suggested, making very slow progress in getting it all off.

  At least I would never have to worry about sweating through it at work.

  The scars had settled in, blue and purple were now mixed with some green and yellow as well, making m
e wonder how long they would last, how much longer I would have to wear makeup that felt like it was suffocating my face all day.

  I had just turned off the bathroom light when I heard the beep of Gunner's truck.

  I sighed as I went downstairs, slipping my feet into flip-flops I kept by the door for just this purpose. Dragging Mackey back inside the house. He would have happily stayed outside - and away from me - all night. But it was dropping too cold. I was worried about him getting sick.

  And, let's be honest, running away to find an owner he liked more.

  "Mackey," I called, moving out onto the front step, hoping he would just come, so I didn't have to wander around outside the perimeter like he usually made me do.

  I hugged my arms around me when I saw - and heard - nothing, stepping down, my feet crunching on some leaves I hadn't gotten around to raking up. Red and yellow and orange, my yard looked pretty in the daylight. But I knew that soon, they would molder and brown, and be nothing but an eyesore.

  "Come on, Mack, it's too cold for this," I whined as I rounded my house, the motion sensor light flicking on as I progressed. "Where the hell did you get off to?" I asked, momentarily wondering if maybe he followed Gunner around in the woods or something. I really, really did not want to go into those woods. Even if they weren't that deep. When I first moved in, I found them peaceful. But then he came to me through them, and ever since then, all they did was creep me out.

  My feet crunched on a small pile of leaves near the foundation of the house as I rounded the corner, the motion sensor behind me turning off just a few seconds before the one in front of me flicked on. But even just those few seconds made my belly wobble a bit as I listened for sounds of Mackey walking around. But with the breeze blowing through the trees full of dry leaves, there was no way to differentiate one sound from another.

  "Oh," my breath whooshed out as the light behind me flicked on again. "There you are, you pain in the bu..."

  I couldn't run.

  I couldn't even turn.

  Even as I went to twist my hips to do so, to look for my stubborn dog so I could take a hold of his collar, and pull him inside, I felt a hand close around the back of my neck, bruising in its intensity, long, jagged nails nipping into the flesh.

  I had sucked in a breath to scream, understanding the complete uselessness of that. But before I could even form a thought after that one, there was a shooting pain up the back of my neck and my head before the side of my already pitiful face collided with the unyielding wall of my house; the hard smack it made was sickening, even as the sparks of pain shot off at the point of contact before moving outward, until there was a throbbing pain overtaking the whole side of my face, my vision going spotty even as I tasted the metallic copper of blood. The smell of it conjured awful images that made my stomach pitch.

  "Where is he, you stupid cunt?"

  Somehow, the part of my brain that could be offended even in the face of pain and the kind of terror that made an immediate sweat break out over every inch of skin, cringed at that word. Again.

  But that thought was replaced instantaneously with another.

  That was a female voice.

  "Answer me!" she shrieked, yanking back again, then, as I raised my hands to brace another blow, slammed me forward, the force with which she did it that of a grown man.

  My vision swam, flashing in and out of focus, the pain making bile rise up my throat.

  The hand yanked again, and I knew this blow would knock me out. Or worse.

  But before she could slam me forward again, there was a shriek, and an accompanying low, lethal, vicious growl.

  All I could think as the hand released me, and I sank down to the ground, vomiting onto a pile of leaves, was that maybe he didn't exactly like me, but Quin was right - I controlled the can-opener. So he would protect me.

  I heard the growling, the cursing from the woman, then shuffling.

  My head jerked to the side, fighting the swimming the too-quick motion caused, trying to get at least a bit of a view, something, anything to tell them, to give them to go on.

  But it was dark.

  All I saw was a large woman in a tattered, almost ankle-length heavy jacket, with brown and gray hair around her shoulders.

  Then she was in the woods, steadily chased by my little protector.

  My hand planted on the house, trying to give me some leverage as I forced my legs to take my weight, willed my vision to stay steady.

  Because I couldn't just stay here.

  Not even with Mackey to protect me.

  What if she came back with a gun?

  What if she shot him, and then came for me?

  I had to go.

  I had to get help.

  And the only help I had, apparently, didn't want to deal with me.

  "Ow ow ow," I whined, moving as quickly as I could around my house, wincing as the lights flashed on, irritating the migraine already slamming behind my eyes, in my temples. My hand reached into my pocket, grabbing the burner, hitting the call button when I found Quin's stored number. "Pick up pick up pick up," I begged as I went up my stairs, reaching inside to grab my purse and keys, locking, then making my way toward my car.

  Voicemail.

  I ended the call, and tried again, calling Mackey frantically as I got in the car, reaching across to push open the passenger door as he came running, maybe picking up on my frantic tone.

  He jumped in, I slammed the door, and I threw the car into reverse even as I ended the call, then tried again.

  I should have gotten Gunner's number.

  If he was the only one on my case anymore, calling Quin was useless.

  I thought, though, that he would pick up if I called. Especially several times in a row. But maybe he turned it off when he went home. Maybe it was dead.

  It was a super long shot to drive across town, park in the spot out front, and frantically make my way up the steps.

  It was late.

  No one in their right mind would still be in their office at this hour.

  But there was a ray of hope when I saw a light shining down the hall from the reception area.

  And it was right about then that I lost any single shred of pride.

  I pounded my fists into the door, calling out Quin's name as Mackey made a whining noise beside me.

  I didn't even care that I was attracting attention from a group of guys on the corner, guys that I knew - at this hour, on this street - belonged to the Third Street gang.

  Just as my heart was speeding up alarmingly in panic, thinking this was it, I had nowhere else to go, no other way to protect myself for the night, more lights flicked on as Quin came running into the main room.

  His deep eyes took me in. If I wasn't mistaken, there was panic there, mixed with the shock, and a healthy dose of confusion as he made his way to the door, punching in a code, then sliding some manual locks, having to push me back because I wasn't present enough to move away when he pushed the door open.

  "Aven, what the fuck happened?" he asked, reaching for me, pulling me inside.

  His hands went to my face, framing it, pushing it upward.

  "Someone attacked me," was the idiotic phrase that escaped my lips. Of course someone attacked me. I hadn't kicked my own ass. But my brain was too busy trying to process the panic and pain to come up with anything better to say than that.

  "How's your vision?" he asked, voice a little less controlled than it usually was, but trying to keep me focused.

  "Better now. Swimming before. And I got sick," I added through gritted teeth, suddenly very, very aware of the fact that I hadn't had a moment to brush my teeth - or even mouthwash - after said sickness.

  "Did you break any teeth?" he asked, pressing his thumb into the skin right below my lower lip, trying to pry my mouth open.

  "No. Just split my lip, I think," I told him, trying to keep my mouth as closed as possible.

  "Did someone break in?" he asked, fingers giving up on my mouth, moving up to my
temple instead where I felt the sticky heat of half-dried blood.

  "Gunner just left. I went outside to get Mackey inside. She came up behind me."

  Everything about Quin went still and stiff at that. "She?" he asked, pulling back to look at my face fully.

  "Yeah. I tried to get a look. But it was dark and I..."

  "Whoa," another voice said, coming out from the hallway at my side.

  I turned to find a man about Quin's height, but lighter in features, everything about him screaming I grew up with money! You know the type. There was just something to them.

  His brows drew together over his warm brown eyes. "Say the word. I'll have you on a plane, and with a mixed drink in your hand on the warm sands of the Maldives in about eighteen hours."

  The crazy thing was, I was pretty sure he was serious about that.

  I looked back at Quin. "I called you. Like ten times," I added, voice maybe a little accusing. "I didn't get Gunner's number," I added.

  "Okay. Let's not worry about that now. Fenway," he called to the man, confirming my suspicions. Only rich people named their kids names like Fenway. "There's a closet over here," he said, meaning behind him. "Get the first aid kit."

  "Yes, Boss," Fenway agreed, not exactly rushing to do so, everything about him slow, full of the knowledge that the world waited for men like him. He moved behind Quin as Quin reached to put his hand under my elbow, leading me down the hallway, stopping at a door without a name on it, and pushing it open.

  A bathroom. Luckily, with Quin's trademark dark color choices - deep charcoal tiles on the floor, deep blue walls - and somewhat low light, forgiving to my pounding head.

  "Sit," he said, pushing me toward the toilet. "I need to clean this out. These cuts on your temple look dirty. I don't want you getting an infection. We might need to take you to get a scan later. But we are going to try to avoid that if we can. There will be a lot of questions. We're better off avoiding them. Fenway, the fuck is taking so--" he broke off when my shoulders went up to my ears, my eyes squinting with the shot of pain. "Sorry, babe," he said, voice low. "When the fuckhead gets in here, there are some painkillers in the kit."

  "Alright, keep your panties on," Fenway announced, coming in the room. "I had to run to my car."