by Sam Burns
“Oh,” Alex said. “I wouldn’t worry too much about the lying thing. He’s gonna make it up to me. A lot.”
Liam leaned his head to press against Alex’s. “Anything you want.”
“Now that’s an offer.” Keegan looked like he had suggestions for what Alex should demand, and Liam had to refrain from kicking him in the foot. He gave him the evil eye anyway, to which Keegan merely grinned and raised his whiskey in a mock toast.
Alex twisted his head so that his mouth was next to Liam’s ear. “Take me home after the show?” he asked.
All the breath left Liam, and he gave a shaky nod.
“Good,” Alex said, then nipped Liam’s earlobe before continuing in his near-whisper. “You can explain a lot of things to me. Then assuming we’re cool with the things, you can introduce me to your real bed.”
Liam couldn’t respond past the lump in his throat, so he just nodded again.
The table was quiet for a long time. Keegan sipped his drink and Liam and Alex did the thing. The band showed up to unpack on stage, shoving and joking, and in unsurprising good spirits. Even Jake seemed happy.
Liam thought, with a pang of guilt, that Alex couldn’t have told them about the kidnapping. They probably wouldn’t have shown up, and if they had, they’d all be glaring at him.
“Stop it,” Alex murmured against his ear. “I can hear you thinking. They’re fine. And I told them you’re a cop. I think Jake might not hate you anymore.”
“I thought he didn’t hate me before?” Liam asked, pulling his head back to look Alex in the eye.
Alex gave him a lazy smile. “I might have been exaggerating. But it was totally done with love.”
They both paused, digesting the sentence and considering. Then Liam leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. “I know it was. That’s why I’m going to let you eat my onion rings.”
“Now I know it’s love,” Keegan interrupted with a grin. “Not even for the thing does a man give up his onion rings, however impressive his boyfriend’s thing might be.”
Alex scrunched up his nose. “You watch it, or I’m gonna yell sexual harassment.”
“Only if I can watch,” Brigit interrupted, approaching the table with a tray. “I’d like to see how Key deals with that.”
“I was afraid you were gonna say you wanted to see the sexual harassment,” Liam said as he sat forward and moved his glass out of her way. “I was gonna scream sexual harassment.”
She batted her eyes at Liam and set plates down in front of them, then looked at Alex. “I assumed you’d want your usual burger, so I put that in with your band’s order a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He grinned at the extra plate of onion rings she set next to Liam’s food, and back up at her. “Meanwhile, I think I’m set till then.”
“I’ll get you a soda too,” she said before heading back to the kitchen.
“Does she ever get time off for good behavior?” Liam asked.
“Nah,” Keegan said, poking his fish with a fork as though he expected it to turn into a man-eating clam. “I set up a cot for her in the back. Plus a cage for the kid, and she was all set.”
“Of course.” Liam looked at the burger with some trepidation. He lifted the bun and looked inside. It looked like a cheeseburger.
Alex leaned in and looked at it with him. “Something wrong with your veggie burger?”
Keegan’s laughter rang through the dining area.
It was almost midnight by the time they arrived back at Liam’s apartment, and Alex was still bouncing with excess energy from the show. He’d asked Liam if they did well half a dozen times, and Liam wasn’t sure he realized it.
No one was surprised that they had done well. They’d gotten so many requests for encores, and Keegan had given them the okay to go ahead, that they’d played almost an hour beyond their planned time slot. Keegan had explained to Liam that it was a Tuesday, and thus, the rules were a thing he could ignore at will. There were no other bands waiting to play on a quiet weeknight.
Despite having been on strictly water since six, Alex was reacting to the adrenaline of the show like a monkey on three dozen red-eyes and a pound of rock sugar candy.
When they stepped inside after Liam unlocked the door, though, he froze.
“Whoa,” he breathed. “Dude, this is way nicer than your other apartment.”
Liam wrapped his arm around Alex and led him into the living room. “My other apartment belonged to a low-level enforcer in a Chicago crime syndicate. This isn’t amazing, but I make a little more than him.”
Alex wandered out from under Liam’s arm and ran his hand along the fireplace mantel, stopping to look at each picture. Liam cringed at the dust he was picking up. No way the place was passing a white glove inspection. Still, he didn’t think that was what Alex cared about.
“They’re mostly my sister,” he said, and motioned toward one in particular. “She’s the beautiful redhead.”
“She looks a lot like you,” Alex said picking one up and peering at it closely. “The guy in this one does, too. Your brother? Father?”
“Uncle Jack,” Liam said, smiling in memory. “That’s the one with the Marquise of Mink, right?”
“If by that you mean a drag queen in a super shiny gold dress, then yes.” Alex’s eyes widened and he dropped the picture back into place, turning to Liam. “Oh god, it’s actually a drag queen, right? I didn’t just call your mom a drag queen?”
Liam lost it. He couldn’t even catch his breath to give an answer, so he nodded, hoping that between that and the laughter, Alex would know he hadn’t taken offense.
“Not your mom, then?” Alex asked sheepishly.
When Liam finally got it together, he shook his head. “No. My mom wishes she had that kind of fashion sense. That’s Jack’s husband Mark.”
“So you come by the gay honestly?” Alex grinned and went back to the picture. “I guess your uncle is giving him the eye, isn’t he? Probably would have been weird if it was your mom.”
“Wrong side of the family. But my grandparents are still convinced that Jack’s in love with mom, and that’s why he never married.” He held up a hand, forestalling comments. “Yeah, they don’t know he’s married, because we’re a good Catholic family. I’m pretty sure we still try to pray the gay away.”
Alex snorted and gave him a raised brow. “Are you trying to pray me away right now?”
Liam moved in behind Alex, winding his arms around his boyfriend. “Never. And unlike Uncle Jack, I don’t give a damn if my grandparents never speak to me again. I’ll introduce you to them tomorrow, if you want.”
Alex leaned his back against Liam’s chest and turned his head to look up into his eyes. “Would they stop speaking to you?”
“Probably,” Liam said, and he didn’t feel at all sad about trading his grandparents for Alex. “But I’ve spoken to them once in the last ten years anyway. And most of that day was them berating me for not reconciling with my father before he died.”
“Ouch.” Alex looked back at the picture. “Your sister and uncles look fun, though.”
“They’re the best,” Liam agreed. “I’d like you to meet them.”
Alex closed his eyes, and a smile drifted across his lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Taking a deep breath, Alex turned to face Liam. “No more lies? Not even ones where you tell me you’re lying?”
It took less than a second for Liam to think it through, start to finish. He would never agree to go undercover again. He would never have another reason to lie to Alex, short of— “Can I still tell you that your cooking is awesome?”
Alex smacked Liam’s shoulder, then buried his face in his neck. A muffled, “Yes,” drifted up to meet Liam’s ears.
“Then I think we’re good.” He kissed the top of Alex’s head, and brushed his cheek against it. “I love you.”
Alex pulled his head back and looked up at Liam, a smile on his face. Neither
one of them cared if it was too early. “I love you too.”
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Excerpt from Sins of the Father
An excerpt from book two in the Wilde Love Series, Sins of the Father:
He didn’t call ahead to ask about Quinn’s whereabouts, or warn that he was coming. That was the kind of thing that led to mysteriously vacationing interviewees, and he really didn’t need that. The file and a quick—okay, extensive—online search told Jon everything he thought he needed to know about Keegan Quinn.
A tiny part of him hoped there would be trouble. He’d gone through the training just like everyone else, dammit. He was just as dangerous as every other agent. But because he dressed nicely, used his hands while talking, and spoke in a certain tone, he was dismissed as a pushover. Well he was not going to be pushed over by Keegan Quinn.
Jon paused for a moment in front of Wilde’s to straighten his coat and tie, then pushed the door open and marched in, standing as straight as he could and trying not to look nervous.
A cute blonde girl at the hostess stand gave him a smile. “Just one this afternoon?”
“Actually, miss, I’m here to see Keegan Quinn. Is he in?” he asked, using his best FBI-guy voice.
Her eyes went a little wide and slipped toward a hallway to one side of the main dining area. “Um, I’m not sure. May I ask who’s inquiring?”
It wasn’t an unusual response, even for someone who was a completely law-abiding citizen. Being put on the spot made people nervous. He pulled back the bottom corner of his jacket without unbuttoning it, enough to show her the badge attached to his belt.
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and her nervous look intensified. “And your name, agent?”
“Brookfield,” he answered. “He doesn’t know me, and he’s not expecting me.”
She gave a small smile, and no one was reassured. “Let me just check if he’s in his office.” Her shoulders were slumped as she walked toward the hallway, head bowed. She was worried about her boss. Score one for Quinn, then, if he had such loyal employees.
Of course, employees of the Quinn family tended to be loyal. That, or dead.
She came back a moment later looking peppier, which was confusing. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head. “Sorry, Agent Brookfield, he’s not in his office. He must have left for the—” she broke off mid-sentence, her face falling as her eyes focused on something behind Jon.
“Someone to see me, Brigit?” came the voice from behind Jon, and it practically slid down his spine. That was an unfairly sexy voice. Deep, smooth, and amused, with a hint of Chicago around the edges.
She sighed and nodded dejectedly. “Yeah. Agent Brookfield.” She waved an unenthusiastic hand to Jon, and looked like she’d just offered the man a plate of week old leftovers.
Jon fought to not take offense, but it was a little hard. He turned, pasting a smile on his face and holding out his hand to shake. It faltered when he got his first look at Keegan Quinn in the flesh. His mugshot had been a horrible, filthy lie. He’d looked decent in it, but nothing like the man in front of Jon. That man was a GQ model, complete with the artistic stubble, piercing eyes, and Armani suit.
Keegan Quinn returned Jon’s smile with one of his own. It was slow, but not hesitant. Amused, really. He took Jon’s hand and shook it, so slowly that it seemed more intimate than the gesture should. “Agent Brookfield. The FBI? I had wondered when you would get around to me.” He looked around for a moment, then raised an eyebrow at Jon. “What, I don’t even rate two agents?”
“Apparently not,” Jon answered, offering his most confident smile. “They thought I could handle you myself.”
There was an odd, strangled noise from the right, and when Jon looked, the girl was clutching a stack of menus to her chest, looking dumbstruck.
“Down, Brigit,” Quinn said, a smile in his voice. Then he turned back to Jon. “You want a table or my office, Agent, uh, Brookfield?”
Jon wasn’t sure what to say to that. Between Quinn’s unexpected perfection and the girl’s strange attitude, he felt completely off kilter. He hadn’t been so wrong-footed in an interview since his first days out of the academy. Shaking his head, he took a deep breath and answered. “Your office, I think. Quieter. Less chance of interruption.”
The girl sighed, and Quinn shot her a meaningful look. “Brigit.” His tone had a note of warning in it that concerned Jon.
“I’ll make sure no one interrupts you, Key,” she told him. “You guys want anything? Some lunch? A bottle of wine?”
Jon turned to look at her, incredulous. “What?”
She didn’t seem to think the suggestion was in the least out of place. “You know, in case—”
“That’s enough of that,” Quinn said, and stepped between them. He motioned for Jon to precede him into the hallway.
Normally Jon would have balked at the idea, but Quinn had showed no reticence to be interviewed, and didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the presence of an FBI agent, so he went along with it. It was a stupid rookie mistake that might have gotten him killed under other circumstances. A smart agent didn’t allow themselves to become so discombobulated when trying to conduct interviews.
Once they got into the hallway Quinn took the lead, and Jon relaxed. “Sorry,” the man told him. “But Brigit was getting that look in her eye.”
“That look?” Jon asked. He had formed a fair idea what they were talking about, but it seemed too ridiculous.
Quinn turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. “You know the look.” He raised his voice an octave and injected excitement into it. “Oh my god, you’re gay? I have a gay friend! You should date!”
Jon tried not to laugh, but failed. It was too much. “She does know I came here to interview you about an ongoing FBI investigation—”
“Into my father, yeah, I’m sure she has a clue. She knows who my father is, she knew you were an agent, and she’s not a complete idiot.” Quinn stopped to think about it, cocking his head to one side. “Well, not usually. When she thinks she might get me to go on a date, that changes pretty fast.”
“I’m not sure if that’s sweet or horrible,” Jon said. He frowned at the familiarity. He was already way off track, and he hadn’t even started yet.
“Both,” Quinn said. “It’s sweet because she means well, but it never turns out too good for me. You want some water?” He walked over to a small refrigerator set up in the corner and flipped it open, revealing neat rows of plastic bottles.
“Sure, that sounds good.” He sat down and tried to focus. He couldn’t figure out why he was so off his game. Keegan Quinn was attractive, sure, but it wasn’t like Jon had never met an attractive criminal in his work. It was probably the girl’s idea about them drinking wine and doing god only knew what else.
Quinn seemed to know Jon was feeling off, too. “We’re not what you expected.”
“No,” Jon agreed. “I don’t know what I expected, but a girl sidekick who tried to set you up with me wasn’t it.”
Quinn came back with two bottles of water clasped between the fingers of one hand. He held the hand out to Jon, letting him choose one for himself. “No one expects Brigit.” He motioned toward the chairs that faced his desk. “Or the comfy chairs, come to think of it.”
Again, Jon failed to stifle his laugh. He was in so much trouble. The smart move was to go back to the office and tell Jones he couldn’t do the interview. The way things were going, he could miss something important and set the investigation back.
“Can I be honest with you, Agent Brookfield?” Quinn asked, looking surprisingly serious.
“I’d prefer it, Mr. Quinn,” Jon answered automatically. It was a
question he got often, and he always answered it the same way.
“Keegan, please. No one calls me Mr. Quinn anymore.”
That was interesting. “Keegan, then,” Jon agreed.
“You guys aren’t gonna find what you’re looking for,” Keegan told him bluntly. “I know what you’re doing, and I know why, but it’s not gonna change anything.”
Jon’s lips pursed, and he raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“Nah, don’t give me mister FBI face now. I thought we were gonna have a real conversation?” Keegan asked, sitting back in his chair. He looked tired, and more than a little bit sad.
“Okay, why not then?” Jon asked him.
Keegan shrugged. “You think Patty’s confession changed something, or meant something had already changed. I can tell you now, nothing in my dad’s life has changed, other than that his best friend turned himself in to the cops.”
“So, what, O’Hanrahan had an attack of conscience?” Jon asked dubiously. No one believed that Patrick O’Hanrahan even had a conscience.
Keegan shook his head, a sad half smile on his lips. “I’m sure he didn’t. But your logic is wrong. The FBI thinks weakness in Uncle Pat is weakness in the family. It isn’t.”
Jon thought he understood Keegan’s point. It was an angle the department was considering, but it seemed so far-fetched that they’d mostly dismissed it. “O’Hanrahan was in trouble with your people. He was getting out of the way. But your father could have him killed in prison just as easily, couldn’t he?”
Keegan gave him an amused smirk. “If my father were able to do things like that, then yeah, I’m sure he could. But Uncle Pat is his best friend. He would never hurt him. No matter what he did to get himself tossed in jail.”
Everything fell into place. O’Hanrahan was in trouble, and prison was Quinn’s way of getting rid of him without having to kill his friend. And Keegan was right. Nothing had changed in the family, and the investigation was going to turn up what it always did, unless another angle cracked open.