“Yes.”
His white knight complex. His go-to excuse for running her life.
Her hands clenched into tight fists. “It wasn’t your place,” she said, the words barely audible.
“Excuse me?”
“It wasn’t your place,” she said again, this time, the words almost a shout. “It wasn’t your decision to make. It was ours.”
“I made it for you.”
“I didn’t need your protection then, and I don’t need it now.”
He looked gut-punched, but she continued, ripping off the emotional Band-Aid and letting the wound breathe. “I want to move forward. I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, tossing his words back at him. “But we’re partners trying to stop a biological weapon. This was a bump in the road. In the night. Nothing more.”
When he faced her, his expression was hard, and the armor that he used to keep himself safe was in place. She told herself it was for the best.
“If that’s what you want,” he said.
“It is.”
Rising, he headed for the shower. “I’ll be quick.”
He shut the door, and she dragged a pillow over her head and yelled into it, venting her frustration and pain to the safety of the stuffing. We’re partners trying to stop a biological weapon. Nothing more.
Her head told her that she was right. They could never be more than what they were now. He didn’t trust her enough to include her in decisions about their relationship, and she didn’t trust him to not walk away.
But even as the fury ebbed, she knew her heart wanted more. Bastard muscle.
She’d do better to listen to her head. And right now, her head was telling her she’d made the right decision. That their mission to save Felix before he was coerced into making a bioweapon was bigger than their past. Bigger than them.
And bigger than the love she still felt for Quinn.
Chapter Ten
Déjà vu. Quinn pushed open the door to the Marble Room, holding it open for Eva. Same bartender. Same hour. The same man, or someone so similar that it didn’t matter, ate chicken wings at the bar and watched the football game on the television while he yelled between bites.
The only difference seemed to be the twenty-four hours that had passed and the marble in Quinn’s pocket.
That and Eva. After spending an awkward day avoiding talking about last night, it was a relief to leave Eva and Quinn behind and to be Dave and Paz again. To avoid the silence that grew with each passing minute.
“Welcome back.” The bartender smiled at Eva, poured a Murphy’s, and set it on the bar in front of her.
She couldn’t wear the same dress she’d worn last night so she’d opted for the jeans, her sneakers, and the D.C. T-shirt, one size too small. Quinn had been both embarrassed that he’d gotten her size wrong and pleased, since the tight stretch of the cloth across her chest made the simple outfit sexy.
Playing the flirt, she leaned her chest toward the bartender, playing her part. “Miss me?”
“Why did you bring him back?” He gave Quinn a slight nod.
“Thanks,” Quinn muttered.
The bartender continued as if he wasn’t there. “You should hang around. After I end the shift, we could go out.”
“On a date?” she asked.
“If that’s what you want. Sure.”
“I am right here,” Quinn said, waving his hand between the two. He’d played this game himself, but just as he knew the flirting was a joke, he also knew there was truth beneath the bartender’s banter.
And he didn’t like it.
Bruce placed a gin and tonic in front of him, and the laughter in his eyes told Quinn that he knew he’d hit a nerve. “Just messing with you.”
Sure you were. “No worries,” Quinn said, saluting him with the glass before taking a small sip of the hated alcohol. It took a concerted effort to not gag.
Bruce wiped down the bar top even though the wooden surface was clean. “Did you make it to Maryland last night?”
“He thought it sounded boring,” Eva said.
“Not my kind of game,” Quinn agreed. “I don’t like to play against the house. Other players are more interesting.” He opened his hand to reveal the black marble. “I think this is what you need, isn’t it?”
Bruce’s eyes widened for a split second “Where did you—” He cut himself off. “Doesn’t matter.” He leaned in. “Minimum bet is five hundred. House gets five percent of the winnings.”
“Fair enough,” Quinn said. He’d better win. What they had left wouldn’t get them far.
“Enjoy,” Bruce said. The familiar buzzer sounded, and the door opened. With drink in hand, Quinn headed to the room with Eva on his heels. The door clicked shut behind them, and he found himself in a windowless room that was bigger than expected.
There was the poker table he’d spotted yesterday, with a game already in progress. Four players and a professional dealer.
To the far right, a craps table was surrounded by a cluster of gamblers, and the left wall was dotted with slot machines, all occupied with players in various stages of winning and losing. A soccer game was playing on a big-screen—Brazil and South Africa from the jersey’s—and he was sure there were bets being made as to the outcome.
The room also held more people than he’d assumed. Twenty players. Maybe a few more. And all those eyes were focused on him and Eva, the newcomers. He took a large sip of gin, grimaced, and headed to the poker table. “Mind if I join in the next hand?” he asked, sitting in the empty chair to the dealer’s left before anyone could answer.
Eva stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. He couldn’t see her but assumed she appeared bored and somewhat vapid. Every man at the table gave her the once-over, all eyes lingering.
While distraction was part of the plan, he found himself fending off the urge to upend the table and start throwing blows. “Are you all here to play or ogle my girl?” he snapped.
There was some shuffling, and all went back to the game, with the exception of the big man to his left. He lingered, soaking in Eva with hungry, brown eyes.
At first glance, it would be easy to assume he was a working man. His brown hair was buzzed short, and his dark gray shirt was worn. He also had the tanned skin and life-weary stare that came with hard work.
But his palms were soft, while his knuckles were worn and scarred. He worked, but it was a sure bet that it was more in the enforcer business or perhaps as a mercenary. A man didn’t get knuckles like that from plowing a field or working in a factory.
He might be the one that could give them information on either Felix or the people that held him. Might.
Quinn glanced around at the rest of the players. None were hard workers—probably businessmen from their attire.
“The game is five card draw,” the dealer said. “Ante up.”
No chips here. The men tossed bills into the center of the table, and Quinn followed. The gambling area might be difficult to get into, but that didn’t mean the players were expert. Just well connected.
One hand later, he watched the player across from him—an unassuming businessman in dark blue dress slacks, white shirt, and striped tie—rake in the pot, and Quinn realized he had underestimated the situation.
He’d bet that they played every night. Hell, maybe during the day. He’d have to concentrate and watch his “tells,” or this would be over before he and Eva learned anything useful.
“You said you could win,” Eva snipped. “You said you’d buy me something nice.”
“I also said you were replaceable, Paz,” he replied, staying in character.
She thrust out her lower lip. “Meanie.”
“Where you from?” the enforcer asked, interrupting the show.
“California,” Quinn replied.
“Not you. Her.” He gave a nod toward Eva.
“Like he said, California,” she said, the heat of her voice making promises that he knew her body wasn’t going to keep.
&nb
sp; “I was there once,” another player commented. He wore a blue button-down shirt, but Quinn had the impression he was more of a junior accountant than someone higher up the food chain. “San Diego. I went to the zoo. Have you been there?”
“No,” Eva said. “I live in L.A.”
“Do you know Jennifer Aniston?” the fourth player asked. Lawyer? Maybe another accountant.
“No,” Eva replied. “Do you know William Nast?”
The tension at the table rose, but Quinn had no choice but to go with it now that Eva had put the dead man in play.
“Why?” the enforcer asked.
Eva straddled the nearest chair placing herself between him and Quinn. “He’s a friend.”
He hesitated, and she leaned in toward him, both innocent and seductress. A tantalizing combination of girl next door and fearless woman. “Does there need to be any more reason than that?”
The big man’s gaze flickered downward, and he licked his lips. He had to know what Eva was doing, but from his eager gaze, it didn’t seem like he cared. And from the way the rest of the table watched her, neither did they.
“Are we here to chat or play?” she asked with a giggle.
She tapped Quinn’s leg under the table. Maybe it was too much too soon, but there was one thing he was sure of—they all knew Nast. The question was which one could provide them with useful information.
Quinn was betting on the enforcer. Nast’s sister had mentioned that Nast was beaten up when she’d had to retrieve him from the game, and the bruiser to his right looked to be the one who might have done it.
“Ante up,” the dealer called. Quinn tossed five hundred into the center of the table.
“Are you going to win this time?” Eva asked.
“Shut up,” he replied. Two hands later, he won back what he’d lost plus extra. “Happy now?”
She shrugged. Quinn shook his head. “Never happy, are they?” he commented.
With the exception of the enforcer, the other players grumbled under their breath. Quinn didn’t care.
“You sure you gentlemen have played before?” he asked, giving them a verbal jab. “I like to win my money—not have it given to me.” He wanted them angry. Angry men played sloppy.
The grumbling turned into muttered threats.
Good.
The dealer tossed out the next hand, and Quinn glanced at his cards. A pair of tens. Not much.
Eva sipped her beer. “Are you and Willy friends?” she asked the enforcer, resting her slender fingers on his forearm, giving the muscles a massage.
“No.”
“Not good friends or not friends?”
Perfect, she was digging. Better it come from her than him. Men were much less likely to question a pretty girl or a pretty girl’s interest.
“Not friends.”
“Coworkers then?”
He cracked a smile. “No. If you were friends with Willy, you’d know he doesn’t talk about his business.”
“What. Ever,” Eva said, clipping the words. “But he owes me money.”
“Now that sounds like Willy,” the lawyer snapped. “Dumb ass.”
None of them men held love for the dead man, but that wasn’t helpful.
“So, can anyone here tell me where he might be?” Eva asked. “Or perhaps his friend, Jerry something or other.”
“Kilburn?”
“That’s him,” Eva said, sliding a glance at Quinn.
They had a last name. Well done.
“For a fee, sure,” the man said. “Money or you. I’ll take either.”
The man was talking to Eva but addressing Quinn. Testing him. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and it took all his strength to not punch the man in the throat. But he was in character, and they needed the information. “She’s with me,” he said, then went back to the game.
Later, he promised himself. If the opportunity presented itself, he’d make sure that man paid for the insinuation.
However, Eva’s reaction was to stick out her tongue, playing the idiot. “Let’s see how much my guy wins. Maybe it’ll be enough. If not...” She let the words hang.
Quinn ignored the comment, as if the insinuation were beneath his recognition. As if Eva was.
In truth, she was so deep in his sights she all but obliterated everything else. He forced himself to focus on the mission.
He watched the enforcer watch Eva. Was he open to a bribe?
Maybe. Maybe not. There wasn’t honor among criminals. The junior accountant raised the bet. Quinn matched it. Not rushing a situation was one of the first lessons he taught his students. As much as they needed information, it had to be organic. Anything less was what got people killed.
They’d tossed out the bait. Now, it was time to wait. Watch. React. And in that order.
Two rounds later, with one hand won and another thrown, Eva kicked him under the table again. He knew what she wanted. Answers. He did, too, but now was not the time.
She kicked him again. He ignored it. Patience might have been the first lessons he’d taught her, but it was still the one she failed on a consistent basis.
Her escape from the police station had reminded him of that much.
Two more hands and a few more kicks, and he was tempted to kick her back. What did she want him to do? Question them all point-blank?
With a sigh, she rose. “Where is the ladies’ room?”
“I’ll show you.” The junior accountant rose and escorted her toward the back of the room.
The dealer went to the next round. Quinn glanced at his cards. Two kings.
He gave three cards back, and the dealer tossed him replacements. Two more kings and a seven.
Four of a kind. Excellent. He made sure that his face stayed blank, not reflecting the excitement at having a winning hand.
The next round of betting started. “Raise three hundred,” the lawyer said.
There was some arguing and hedging. But one by one, the others folded. And it was time to see who would win.
Quinn put his cards on the table. “You can hand your money over.”
“Nice.” The enforcer put his cards faceup on the table. A pair of sixes.
Quinn grinned and pulled in the pot. This would be enough for both bribes and a nicer hotel. Maybe he could get Eva a separate room or just separate beds. It might not kill his need for her, but it would help.
And that’s when he realized she hadn’t come back.
And the enforcer had a gun on him.
…
“In a minute.” Eva washed her hands at the sink as someone jiggled the handle to the women’s room. A single room that smelled like bleach, it was just big enough for the necessities.
She wasn’t in a rush to head back to the table. Playing the vapid airhead was her least favorite persona. Let Quinn do what he did best—surveillance.
The handle jiggled again.
She might not be in a rush, but it seemed someone else was. “I’m done.” She flung the door open, and the young man who’d escorted her to the ladies’ room was on the other side. Did he honestly think he stood a chance? In a toilet? She rolled her eyes. “I can show myself back. Thanks.”
Instead of standing aside, he shoved her backward. She crashed into the back wall, hit her head, and fell to the floor. Her vision flickered. What the hell? She hadn’t seen this coming. The big man still at the table with Quinn was the most obvious suspect, and she knew that was her mistake.
They were all suspects, and she’d been an idiot to assume otherwise.
Quinn was going to have a field day if she made it out of the bathroom alive. She shook the blackness away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her attacker shut the door behind him. “Why do you want Nast?”
“I told you, he owes me money,” she said, scrambling into a corner, adding a quiver to her voice. Let him think she was weak. Helpless.
It would be such a shock when she proved otherwise. “Please, don’t hurt me.”
He let her go and pushed her backward again, this time pinning her to the wall, his hands digging into her shoulders. “What do you want? And do not tell me Nast owes you money. He’s missing, and I think you know it. Kilburn came looking for him last night.”
Dammit. She cringed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m looking for Willy, too.”
“No, you’re asking about him. Prying.”
She sobbed, her eyes welling with tears that weren’t all fake as the pressure on her shoulders was reaching the unbearable stage. If he didn’t let up soon, she’d have to take action.
He threw his hands upward in disgust. “God, you’re a stupid cunt. Pathetic.”
He called her the C word? That was it.
She cowered, bending down and covering her head as if she were afraid of being beaten. Her attacker grabbed her hair again, but this time, as he yanked her up, she followed the movement, fists in motion. Her uppercut connected with his jaw, and he stumbled back into the door, letting go of her hair. “You bitch.”
Glaring, she shook her hand. She hated a full-on fist fight. No matter how tight she clenched her fingers, punching hurt. He rubbed his jaw, then came at her, but in the small room, his punches lacked ferocity.
She blocked. Stepped aside so the hits didn’t land with full impact. There wasn’t time for anything but defense as he pounded her, trying to break through her guard.
Where the hell was Quinn?
Distracted, he landed a punch on her abdomen, and she doubled over. She’d have to play dirty if she wanted to get out of this without broken bones.
He was still punching her, going for her face. She kicked out, aiming for his knee but not daring to look down in case he realized her intention and moved to protect himself.
Cartilage cracked beneath her foot, and he dropped to the tile, shrieking. She grabbed his hair and yanked his head down, kneeing him in the face.
Risking It All for Her Boss: A Heroes for Hire novel (Entangled Ignite) Page 14