by Cari Quinn
“Live Tweet?”
She pulled her phone out of her sweater. “Yeah.” She flicked her thumb down the screen, typed something fast, and then handed me her phone. “See?”
I sighed and wiped my hands on a towel before taking her iPhone.
There was a play-by-play of the way the actor jumped out of the barn and down to help the old man in the movie. I’d seen it a number of times myself. Her reactions were lively and funny.
So much so that I kept scrolling to follow her series of Tweets.
“You definitely know the movie.”
“Right? Man, now I want to watch it. I have it on my Amazon account. How about we watch it as we’re eating? If I have to eat healthy, at least I can watch Patrick’s perfect ass.”
“Acceptable.” Not that I was interested in his ass, but the movie was entertaining.
“You can eat the vinegar stuff though. There’s only so far that I’m going to go with the health crap.”
“They’re your arteries.”
“Damn right.”
11
Keys
Living with a man was a new experience. Of course, I’d lived with my parents, but that was far different from my current situation.
He didn’t make a lot of noise. Actually, almost none to be truthful. We’d enjoyed our dinner and whipping-fest that was Roadhouse. I didn’t want to think about just how hard my heart had kicked at the love scene in the movie as we sat across from each other in my great room.
Both of us had bowls of salad cupped in our hands as we watched. Instead of trying for a full-blown meal, we’d ended up slicing the chicken and putting it over the greens.
He was a good cook. The chicken had been tangy and moist—shockingly—and when I dumped enough Thousand Island dressing on it, I’d been delightfully surprised how filling it had been.
But it had been a little weird to have Dalton banging the hell out of Doc against the barn wall with Quinn across from me. His eyes didn’t move from the screen, even if a slight wash of red had blazed strips along his cheeks.
Was kind of cute really.
Big tough guy a bit embarrassed about watching a love scene with a near stranger.
Me?
I was more worried about the fact that I wondered if he could do the same hoist-her-up-against-the-wall thing that Patrick had done.
Not at all what I should have been thinking.
My only saving grace was that he was hot and it had been a damn long time since anyone had hoisted me onto anything, let alone a bed. So, I was human.
That was my freaking story, and I was sticking to it.
The next few days had been the same. Quinn trying to feed me healthy food, Quinn vetoing any sort of outside trips—even walking the trails—Quinn putting the kibosh on visitors and, oh…doing anything fun.
I was about to go out of my damn mind.
If I watched one more episode of Dr. Who on my Netflix account, I was going to scream. Even David Tennant couldn’t soothe me. The tenth doctor could always soothe me, dammit.
I spun around on the couch and hooked my knees over the back so my head could dangle off the edge of the cushion.
This was my vacation before we started tour and I was holding my ass because some crackpot might do something. How was this my life? The fear I’d been holding the last four days had slowly burned to anger.
I needed to get out of this house.
I needed to do something.
Devon was coming home Tuesday, but that was still days away.
“Hey, Siri.”
“Yes, Keys.”
“Play my Dance Around the House Mix.”
“Playing Dance Around the House Mix.”
I put my hands on the floor and did a backbend off the couch as Taylor Swift blasted out of the house-wide speakers. I jogged through the great room into the kitchen as I shouted along with the words to, “Shake it Off”.
Bare feet slapping on the tile as I shook my booty for the pleasure of the fridge before opening both doors with a dramatic turn. I pulled down a peach-flavored water and closed the door and shrieked.
Quinn stood directly behind the door. “Can you turn it down?”
I uncapped the water. “Nope.” Then did a bastardized version of the mamba out of the kitchen to the dining room. I grabbed a peach from the fruit bowl in the center of the table.
The song changed to a wild Frank Turner one and my dancing turned into a ska-like punk jumping as I shook my arms and tried to get the tension out of my limbs.
I’d been lying around for days. Quinn liked things quiet. I needed music. I needed life and sound around me. I needed people.
He kept to himself and did a “sweep of the perimeter”—his words—every other hour. Otherwise he was always on his computer. He’d taken over my office, usually closing the door so I had no idea what he was doing. On the phone, with hushed tones. Again, I had no idea who he checked in with, or who he was talking to—I’d tried to eavesdrop—nada.
He was like a freaking covert spy.
“Faith,” he shouted.
I ran up the stairs as another of my favorite songs came on. I went straight to my upright and played with Frank Turner.
He followed me up the stairs and I pounded on the keys as the song burst into drums and guitars with crashing pianos. I screamed that I wanted to dance and to romance, though the words went so fast in this song that I had a hard time keeping up. I laughed as he laughed in the song, and the British pub song spiraled out about how he was no good at dancing but was going to do it anyway.
The song was exactly me.
I needed that life.
I knew every word of the song. I turned around and played behind my back as Quinn stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips.
I left the piano and crossed to him and dragged him inside and jumped around him. Every word screamed into his face. His expression was deadpan and stiff until I opened my arms at the end of the song where it was light and airy.
I sang the lyrics sweetly to the almost carnival tones of the song. His lips twitched and I ran over to my piano to play out the rest of the song until my heart was slamming and my breath couldn’t keep up with the words.
I stepped away from the piano, my shoulders heaving as I laughed.
“Better.”
“Can you turn it down now?”
Miranda Lambert came on and I shook my head. “I can’t turn off my girlfriend.” I jogged past him and down the stairs again. The song was country and spice with a whole lot of rock.
It made me want to tug on my boots and two-step. But I settled for jumping around my living room. Just as I was singing along to her lyrics about gunpowder and lace, the song cut off.
“Hey!”
He came down the stairs, a smile on his usually staid face.
“What did you do?”
“Turned off the damn Bluetooth.”
“You have no right.”
“I can’t hear myself think. Not to mention you’re telegraphing that you’re here for anyone to notice.”
“Of course I’m here. The warden doesn’t let me out of this place. You won’t even let me go to my parents’ house, for God’s sake.”
“Until we know what we’re dealing with this is far safer.”
I held out my arms. “I’m going nuts. Do you understand that?”
He tilted his head. “Find a hobby.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to sit here and break out the decoupage and scrap books?” I asked incredulously.
“Maybe. Or how about read a book. Or watch a movie. Or hey, write a song if that works for you.”
“I’ve tried. I can’t find a song. It’s quiet as a freaking tomb in here because you don’t like music, you freak.”
“I don’t hate music.”
“You don’t like it.” I put my hands on my hips. “Who doesn’t like music? It’s just…wrong.”
“It’s just not part of my life like it is for you, Faith. I
have to pay attention to my surroundings. I can’t be distracted if someone comes up to the house and tries to break in. I have to be able to protect you, dammit. And I can’t do that if you’re broadcasting the entire Dance Party USA catalog through your fucking house.”
I blinked at him.
He’d actually yelled.
His icy-blue eyes were wide and there was a vein popping along his neck.
I pressed my lips together. I should probably be horrified, but I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Unbelievable.” Quinn turned on his heel and stalked to the office and slammed the door.
“Oh, come on. I’m sorry!” I chased after him and stood outside the door. “Warden, open up.” He didn’t answer me. I pressed my forehead to the door. “Quinn. I was just trying to have a little fun. You can’t fault me for that, can you?”
Still nothing.
I pressed my hand to the door. “Dammit, Quinn.”
The door swung open and he was right there in front of me. I stumbled back, my heart skipping. I’d just stuck my face in his space fifteen minutes ago, but it was different now.
There was no playful banter, just a waft of spearmint and soap.
He fisted his hands under his arms as he crossed them. “Call one of your friends. Keep it a close friend.”
“Owen,” I said quickly.
He nodded. “Acceptable.”
I frowned. “He better be. He’s in my band, for God’s sake.”
Quinn said nothing, just arched a brow at me.
“He’s one of my best friends.”
“I said he could come, didn’t I?”
“Right.” My gaze dropped to his chest where his Henley pulled tight, then back up to his eyes. “Thanks.”
Not that I should thank him for deigning to let one of my friends come over, but I wasn’t going there right now. I’d won, and I needed to be good with that.
I skidded into the living room and swiped my phone off the couch. I didn’t want to wait on a text. Not when Owen was famous for forgetting to actually check his phone.
The call went to voicemail. “Pick up, you lazy sod.” A minute later my phone blasted out the Boondock Saints theme song. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you as always, darlin’.”
I grinned. “My warden said I could have a friend over.”
“What are ya, twelve?”
“I feel like it.” I dropped onto the couch. “Are you busy?”
He paused and I heard him shuffling the phone to his other ear. “I’ve been begging to come over to see my favorite girl. Of course I’m not busy.”
“You have someone there.”
“No, of course not.”
I drew my feet up to sit cross-legged. “Is she a blonde? Blondes always get you in trouble.”
“You’re a blonde, sweetheart.”
“I don’t count.”
“You’re trouble enough for a whole city.”
Owen’s Irish accent was music in itself, and instantly soothed me. “As far as my new bodyguard is concerned, I’m even more trouble than that. Come save me.”
“Am I bringing movies and pop, or are we doing the other?”
My grin broadened. “Definitely the other.” I heard a girl’s voice. “You do have someone there.”
“I’m on vacation, darlin’. Of course I do, but you’re my mate and I’ll be there within the hour, yeah?”
“Thanks, Owen.”
“Just make sure you’ve got plenty of crisps.”
“Ten years out of Ireland and you still can’t say potato chips.”
“Crisps. I can’t help it if you people say it wrong.”
I laughed again. “See you soon.” I hung up and bounded off the couch. I took a quick shower and put on my favorite hoodie with a pair of yoga pants.
I needed to be limber for our marathon.
Fifty-eight minutes later I was pacing the kitchen.
“Would you stop slamming around out there,” Quinn yelled from the office.
“Why isn’t he here?”
“Because the traffic in LA is atrocious.”
“Right.” I cracked my knuckles and spun my jade ring. “You’re right.” Owen’s place was a few streets over from the Strip. I didn’t even know what day it was. Not that it mattered in this city. Every night was a show, or party, or premiere.
My phone buzzed in my hand. I frowned as a text came in twice. Same text.
“Stupid cell towers.” I ran for the door and was jerked back by my hood.
“Really? How many times are we going to go through this?”
“Forgot. But it’s Owen.”
“You don’t know that.”
I jerked out of his hold. “He just texted me.”
“Get back into the kitchen.”
I growled and stomped back into the dining room. I fixed the stack of boxes on the table and moved the bowl of chips a little left of center as they talked.
“I thought you’d be bigger,” Owen said.
I snickered and shot down the hall.
Quinn sighed. “Faith. Get away from the door.”
I pushed by Quinn and flung myself into Owen’s arms.
“There’s a love.” He put his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “How’s my favorite keyboardist?”
“Better now.” I squeezed him hard. “So much better.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “I’ve got some paperwork to do. You guys have a nice visit.”
I looked up from the many layers of jewelry and cotton that was an Owen Blackwell ensemble and pulled way. I linked my fingers with his and gave Quinn a tight smile. “Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“Wow. He’s intense, yeah?”
“He takes his job very seriously.” I dragged him down the hall to the dining room. “So seriously that I require at least three games of Hungry, Hungry Hippos to help put me in a good mood.”
Owen shrugged out of his denim jacket and hooked it around the back of the chair, then rubbed his hands together. “That’s what I’m talking ’bout.” He lifted the top of the box off the game and lifted out the board. “Prepare for domination.”
“You’re so going down.”
Owen snagged a chip from the bowl and chomped. “Where’s the beer?”
I winced. “I have soda, but not beer.”
Owen wandered into the kitchen. “You wound me.”
“My house is kinda like a dry campus at the moment. The warden is pretty strict on keeping all the faculties clear.”
“Warden, huh?” He swung open the door to the fridge. “Wine will do, though.”
I shrugged. “I could do wine.”
“Beautiful.” He grabbed the corkscrew magnetized to the side of the fridge, and went to uncorking. “How are you doing?”
I spun my ring. “Going stir-crazy.”
“We’re all worried about you.”
“I know.” I hopped up onto the counter and swung my feet as he poured two glasses. “I’m just sitting here twiddling my freaking thumbs. Thanks.” I took the glass when he offered it.
“Has anything…you know, happened?”
I shook my head. “Nope. But then again, I’m trapped here, so who knows if it would or not.”
“There’s no need to take chances though.”
I knew that, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less shitty. I didn’t want to get all depressing. Not when I finally had someone here that I actually wanted to spend time with.
I hopped down. “I’ll just take all my aggressions out on your hippo.”
Owen slung his arm around my neck. “Cheers to that.”
12
Quinn
I slumped back in Faith’s office chair. It was too small for me, so my head tipped back before hitting the headrest. I stared at the beams above my head that made up a grid.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Q.”
“I know,” I said into my earpiece. “I was hoping to find some sort
of lead.”
Aidan Roth sighed. “We have less than nothing to go on. I had two different people scour the footage. The only thing we found was a flash of blonde hair at one of the cameras on the south side of the building, but it could have been anyone.”
“Yeah.” I’d also gone through the hours of video and came up with one other Hail Mary shot of a woman near the stage at about the time Faith had been drugged.
Noah was in frame. The look on his face made my gut drop into my boots. I’d seen that face before.
“Q?”
“Yeah, here.”
“You can take her out—”
“No.”
Aidan sighed. “You know how to keep a client close and keep the danger to a minimum.”
“Too many variables. And I don’t trust her to stay close.”
“Noah didn’t say she was a flight risk. She understands how serious this is, right?”
“I don’t know. It’s been five days and there hasn’t even been chatter in the fandom. That worries me. The ones who are harmless and exuberant can’t keep their mouth shut. Quiet ones—patient ones—they’re the ones who go into the history books.”
They were out there slamming something plastic and…balls? No—marbles were scattering. Faith’s raucous laughter drifted from the dining room, followed by the deeper male voice.
I curled my fingers into a fist and crossed the room to close the door. My nature wasn’t to trust anyone, even if there was no reason to think Owen Blackwell would hurt Faith.
“What’s going on over there?” Aidan asked.
“I think they’re playing board games.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what to say to that, but at least she’s not streaming her music at top volume.” Just medium volume. Damn woman figured out how to get the speakers working again.
“Wishing you’d gone to France with Pierre?”
“Yes.”
Aidan laughed. “You hate French food.”
“I’d make do. At least the French have decent food. Faith eats like a fourteen-year-old boy.”
“Faith, huh?”
“That’s her name.”