by Sam Burns
Jon let his head fall back, and let out a deep breath.
“For what it’s worth, Agent Brookfield, I’m sorry about how much this sucks for you guys.” Keegan offered, his tone sympathetic.
Slumping against the back of the chair, which really was as comfy as it looked, Jon gave Keegan Quinn a long look. “But not sympathetic enough to help us out, right?”
Keegan slid his water bottle back and forth on his desk, looking hard at Jon. “You actually asking me to turn on my own dad, or you just frustrated?”
Jon slipped down a few inches into the chair. “You already know the answer to that, because I already know the answer to my question. Can I ask something, though?”
“Ask what?” Keegan asked.
“Why?” Jon said. “You seem like a nice guy. You’ve gotten out, started an honest business that seems to be doing pretty well. Why would you defend a business that hurts people?”
“I wouldn’t,” Keegan answered as soon as the last word left Jon’s mouth. “I think someone ought to crack down on the drugs, and guns, and things that are hurting the people in Chicago. But if you’re asking me why I would defend my dad, well, that question kinda answers itself, doesn’t it?”
Jon nodded. “I wouldn’t turn my dad in.”
“Not even if he was Brendan Quinn?” Keegan asked, looking apologetic and sad.
Jon didn’t even have to think about it. “Not even if he was Brendan Quinn.”
“So, you’ve got questions you need to ask me?” Snatching the bottle of water up with his left hand, Keegan twisted the cap off with his right and tossed it into the trash can on the opposite side of the room. It was an impressive feat of dexterity, so much so that Jon almost missed the stiff way the man’s left hand gripped the bottle. A well-practiced maneuver, that.
Jon sat back up and nodded. “Yes. I have a standard list that I’m sure you’ll be familiar with.”
Keegan took a swig of his water and sat back in his chair, looking comfortable in a practiced way. Every line of his body said that he was at ease. It was either an impressive act, or Keegan Quinn wasn’t even slightly concerned about Jon’s questions. Jon suspected it might be both.
After running through a list of standard questions that he deflected or answered easily, though, Keegan hung up on the simplest one of all.
“When was the last time you saw your father?” Jon asked, and Keegan flinched.
The room was quiet for a long moment while Keegan stared at his desk. “Two days ago.”
Jon was shocked. For some reason, he’d believed that Keegan leaving the business meant Keegan leaving his family. In retrospect, it was a stupid thought. “And where was that?”
“His home,” Keegan answered quietly. “I went to see him at his house.”
As much as it made him feel like as ass, he had to ask. “And that was regarding?”
Keegan’s eyes flashed with anger, and he bent forward. His palms hit the desk. “Me being his son, dammit. Not everything in his life is about business. I went to see my father. Is that not allowed?” Jon put his hands up as though he needed to defend himself, and Keegan threw himself back in his chair so hard that it scooted back a few inches. “I’m sorry. I—”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jon interrupted. “You’re right, and your relationship with your father is none of my business.”
“But it’s your job to ask,” Keegan said, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s sick. I’m worried. It’s making me act like an ass.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jon said by rote, the flinched. How many times had he wished ill on Brendan Quinn, and now he was saying he was sorry the man was sick? He felt like a hypocrite.
“It’s okay,” Keegan said, a wry grin taking over his face. “I know nobody in the FBI is gonna be too sad about it if it’s serious.”
Jon took a moment to consider that, and then nodded agreement. “That’s true. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sorry it makes you unhappy.”
Keegan quirked an eyebrow at him, and leaned forward, arms on his desk. “That right?”
“Yes?” Jon asked more than answered.
“That’s pretty sweet, Agent Brookfield. Maybe you oughta be careful about that, or I’ll start thinking Brigit’s right, and I should ask you out.”
Jon felt his mouth fall open, but he didn’t seem to be in control of it. The thought of Keegan Quinn asking him out on a date was—it was unthinkable. Dating Brendan Quinn’s son breached every code of ethics on the planet, no matter how far away from the family business he was. No matter how damned pretty he was.
“I, uh, I have to—to go,” Jon said, fumbling even the words necessary to escape. “I’ll have to come back and finish this another time.” Another time? He cringed inwardly at the words. The last thing he needed was to come back and talk to the beautiful, distracting, wicked Keegan Quinn again.
Keegan gave him a placid smile and nodded. “See you another time then, Agent Brookfield.”
Jon hardly even noticed the blonde girl watching him from the front counter as he hurried out.
About the Author
Sam lives in the middle of nowhere with a husband and cat. Exciting, no?
Okay, maybe not.
She was also born on a Tuesday in May and grew up in a military family, moving from place to place. She’s been writing fiction with authorial intent since she was ten and wrote a fantasy “epic” with her best friend, starring themselves. She attended twelve different schools before eventually graduating high school in Las Vegas alongside her contemporaries, the dinosaurs.
She has no children, nor will she ever have them, because she is still a child herself and should not be allowed that much power over another human being. As such, if you like her characters, you should be afraid for them.
You can find her in these places:
www.burnswrites.com
[email protected]