by Sam Burns
“We’ll make sure that whoever takes him home gets the prescriptions to continue his antibiotics, but most of the treatment is bed rest and lots of fluids.” The doctor gave a shifty look and a sigh before continuing. “And they wanted me to ask about payment, since there was no insurance information.”
Owen snorted at that. “Yeah, Dad doesn’t have insurance. Doesn’t think he needs it.”
“He doesn’t,” Keegan said. “Can I pay for it all now?”
The doctor blinked in shock, but nodded. “We don’t, uh, get that answer very often.”
Shrugging, Keegan pulled out his wallet and slid the emergency black card his father had given him out of the back slot. “It’s good to be Dad, sometimes.”
Jenna stared at it in wonder. “No kidding. Can I still decide to be a—” Alex clapped a hand over her mouth and smiled at the doctor.
“We’re just gonna go outside while Jenna contemplates her inability to filter the things that come out of her brain,” Alex explained.
Jenna pouted at him, but didn’t respond, only muttering something about having that much money once she was famous. The two of them grabbed empty soup containers and drink bottles, making sure to clean up the mess they’d made before leaving the area.
Owen watched them leave, head cocked and expression fascinated. “Don’t think I ever wished I was straight before, but she’s kind of awesome.”
Keegan and the doctor looked at each other and both tried not to laugh. “My brother, ladies and gentlemen. The only guy I know who has weirder taste in women than men.”
The doctor laughed out loud at that, while Owen elbowed him in the ribs.
“You’ll tell us what to look for, if there are complications?” Keegan asked, changing the subject. The doctor nodded.
“Are complications common?” Owen asked. “Should we like, hire a nurse or something?”
Keegan looked down at his brother and gave a little scoff. “Yeah, Dad’s gonna be okay with that.”
Owen scowled, but he didn’t say anything. Their dad would never tolerate someone looking after him all the time. He’d run them out in the first hour.
“If he doesn’t get better, or if the symptoms get worse for any reason, you bring him right back. Complications aren’t common in healthy people, but you never know, and it’s better safe than sorry.”
Keegan agreed wholeheartedly. “We’ll keep an eye on him, doctor. And I’ll bring him back if there are any problems.”
Despite the good news, Keegan couldn’t help the niggling feeling that he was missing something important. Something that was going to come back to bite them all later on. He swallowed it down and went to the desk to pay his father’s bill.
#
After a short visit with his father, who continued to insist that everything was fine even as he struggled to breathe, Keegan tried going home and getting some rest. He knew that, despite the few hours he’d nodded off in the waiting room, he needed real sleep. He also wasn’t surprised when he found himself staring at the ceiling above his bed instead of getting any.
He wandered his condo, pacing a circular path between the kitchen, living room, and dining room. As much as he and his father had argued over the last few years, he loved the man more than anything. He was having trouble dealing with the idea of the old man’s illness.
Brendan Quinn was supposed to be immortal.
In the end, Keegan managed to get a few hours of sleep. He still woke before the sun, and even after eating, showering, dressing, and driving downtown, he turned up at Wilde's before nine a.m.
Brigit was already there, preparing for the lunch crowd. It was a running joke around the place that she lived in the back, but some mornings even Keegan wondered if it was true. She was probably the only person who spent more time at the restaurant than he did, and she had a kid to contend with.
She looked up at him as he entered the building, and her usually cheerful expression melted into concern. "Keegan?" She asked, her voice colored with that same worry. "Should you really be here? I know you own the place, and we do need you, but we can handle a few days on our own."
He gave her a small, somewhat bitter smile, and shook his head. "I know you can handle things without me," he said. "But I don't know what to do if I’m not here."
Without another word, she walked over and gave him a hug. Maybe the hugging did make him a stereotype, but under the circumstances, he didn't really care.
She pulled back after a moment and gave him a hard look. "Okay. I understand why you need to be here. But I'm not going to let you work yourself to death just to forget what's going on outside, Keegan."
He nodded his agreement before looking around the main room of the restaurant. "Anything interesting happen last night?"
"Not really," she said. "Just another night."
That seemed wrong. It went back to the fact that he thought his father was immortal. It felt like if Brendan Quinn stopped, then so should the whole world.
Brigit gave him an understanding smile and led him to a table. She brought him a basket of napkins fresh out of the dryer, set them on a chair next to him, and gave him her trademark cheery smile. "I think you know what to do with these."
He muttered curses under his breath, but the truth was that it was exactly the sort of busywork he needed. He needed something, anything, to get his mind off of his problems. So there he sat at the table, folding napkins, and after half an hour he felt more settled than he'd been since before that damn phone call.
She came back to check on him after a while and sat down in a chair across from his. "He's gonna be okay you know," she said quietly. "I know you worry about him, but he's your dad Keegan, not the other way around."
He sighed and set down the napkin in his hands. "I know that. Don't think I don't know it. It's just that there are things that he's good at, and being sick ain't one of them."
Another way that Brigit was like his father. She always tried to go to work sick too, and they had to force her to go home. He doubted that she would see the comparison as a compliment though, so he didn't mention it.
After he was finished with the napkins, he helped her set tables, refill salt shakers, and make sure that every table had a fresh candle and a drink menu. They weren’t jobs that he did every day, but sometimes it was good for him to remember what it was like to just work. Paperwork, scheduling, human resources, and other management jobs were all well and good, but none of those were quite as grounding as manual labor.
When everything was finished, he found himself looking for more to do. The rest of the staff had showed up one by one, and knowing the situation, they hadn't even been surprised to find Keegan doing their prep work. They mostly stayed out of his way, except for the few of them who had given him awkward hugs, all of which he’d accepted with pleasure.
The whole morning was reassuring in the way that only near normality could be. When the restaurant opened its doors at eleven, he was settled enough that he was comfortable going back to his office. Admittedly, all he did once he arrived at his office was sit there and stare at his blank computer screen, but he felt better than he had the night before.
He was still leaning back in his chair, staring at his dark computer monitor, when he heard a commotion in the hallway outside. His eyes automatically strayed to the clock, finding that an hour had passed without him having so much as pressed the power button. He sighed, stood, and brushed himself off as though he might have gathered dust while sitting still.
In the hallway, he found Brigit and Agent Brookfield having a stare down. They both glanced to him when the door opened, and both frowned.
"I thought he wasn't here," Brookfield said, annoyance in his voice.
"I said he wasn't available," Brigit told him, her tone icy. "There's a difference."
Keegan sighed and leaned against the door frame. He looked between the two of them for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Sorry, Agent, I'm really not in the mood today. You’ll have to fin
d someone else to interrogate."
With that, he went back into his office and closed the door. He couldn't even muster up the energy to feel bad about it. He had liked Agent Brookfield, but with his dad's illness, he didn't have time for things like flirting. Never mind the unpleasant twist of his stomach when he thought about how pleased Agent Brookfield might be to learn of his father’s hospitalization. If the world had set out to make him choose sides, Keegan was picking his dad.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jon Has an Epiphany
“Let me get all this straight,” Jones said, leaning back in her chair. “You went to interview Quinn’s son on Monday, and he hit on you?”
Jon looked her straight in the eye and nodded. “Yes.”
In the two days since the interview, Jon had done all the soul-searching he thought was possible on the subject of Keegan Quinn. He’d considered all the possibilities, and decided that the cookie dough was worth taking a chance on the salmonella. Dating someone involved in an investigation wasn’t going to put a permanent crimp in his career, and dating Keegan Quinn had been sounding more and more like something he at least wanted to try.
Since he didn’t want it to affect his career, his first step upon making that decision was meeting with his supervisor. He figured the fact that she hadn’t started yelling the moment he’d told her his plans was a good thing.
“But you’re not in my office this morning just to ask for someone else to do the interview,” she continued, restating his own speech to her, her voice holding a sort of bemused astonishment. He shook his head, but didn’t speak again. “You’re telling me that you came to my office this morning to ask permission to date your interviewee.”
“Kind of?” Jon said, though his tone made the word more of a question than a statement. “He’s not involved in his father’s business, I—”
“I’ve read the files,” she said, cutting him off. “I know he’s not. I’m not even worried about your ethics here. I mean, hell, you came to me with this.” She broke off and shook her head again, obviously struggling to believe she was even having the conversation. “But you work for an agency that’s trying to put his father in prison. Can you date him and be okay with that? Can he date you and be okay with that?”
Jon shrugged, as uncertain as he’d been the day he’d met the man. “I have no idea. I haven’t even discussed this with him. He knows I’m FBI, and that I’d like nothing more than to see his father in prison.”
Jones picked up her mug and took a long drink of her usual straight black coffee. “Like I said, I don’t doubt you. You’re an honest, dedicated agent. But this is such a bad idea for you, personally.”
“I know,” he agreed. “And I’m not sure why I’m even considering it, but I wasn’t going to go talk to him again without talking to you about it first.”
She seemed to stop and consider. “Do I need to send someone else to interview him for the case?”
“You can, but it’s not going to change anything.” He held up the file he’d put together after talking to Keegan. “If what he told me is right, and I believe it is, we’re chasing our own tails anyway.”
She took the file, but didn’t open it. “You don’t think you’re being manipulated by Quinn, here?”
He shook his head vehemently, motioning to the file. “It all fits. I know it’s a theory that’s been discussed. O’Hanrahan’s confession was careful not to implicate anyone but himself, even in the sense that we had no reason to go looking for unnamed confederates. He’s refused to so much as admit he knows Quinn. Quinn’s agents have been consistently loyal across the board.”
She flipped open the file and started skimming his information, looking more and more frustrated. “I’ll send this on up, but you know this isn’t over, right?”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said, holding up his hands defensively. “Heck, I hope the investigation gets someone to turn on Quinn. I’m just giving you my own findings.”
“Your findings suck,” she said, dropping the file on her desk. “But I’m inclined to agree with them. I already figured this was a wild goose chase. Quinn operatives are some of the most stubbornly loyal criminals I’ve ever dealt with.”
Jon wasn’t sure how to respond to that. The investigation wouldn’t be halted, but he hated the idea that they were wasting the bureau’s resources on an investigation they knew wasn’t going to pan out.
After a long moment of silence, Jones spoke up. “There’s nothing in the handbook that says you can’t date a criminal—” she held up a hand to keep him from protesting. “A theoretically reformed criminal. But you know you can’t be a part of the investigation of his father at the same time. I’ll set you up with a temporary reassignment to another case, or to white collar or cyber.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “At least you won’t have to worry about reassigning my interviews. I only had one more on my list after Keegan, and he died last week.” She raised her eyebrows in what looked like a hopeful expression, so he quickly shook his head. “Old age.”
She groaned. “Next time they want us to open the Quinn investigation, remind me to shoot myself, Brookfield. And remind me that you can’t be on it as long as you’re considering sexing up the old man’s pride and joy.” She cocked her head, and sighed. “Too bad you’re serious about dating him, and we can’t use it to our advantage.”
Jon made a face at her. “I know undercover work gets nasty, but I’m not going to date Keegan to get information out of him. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t get any. He’s not stupid enough to fall for it.”
“We wouldn’t try, Jon, you’d stink at it. People like you and me weren’t made for undercover work, poker, or being lawyers. No good at lying.” She flicked the file folder again, sighing. “Take the afternoon off, go give your new boyfriend the go-ahead, whatever. I’ll get your new assignment and you can start on it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Agent Jones,” he said with a wide smile. “I really appreciate it.”
“You’re not gonna appreciate it in the morning, Brookfield,” she told him, waving her hand in a dismissal. “I’m gonna get you put on surveillance reviews or traffic analysis.”
“Better that than lying about what I’m doing,” he told her seriously. It was basically what he’d expected; reassignment to a job no one wanted for the duration of the investigation. He’d resigned himself to it when he’d realized that reviewing surveillance recordings seemed like an acceptable trade for being able to go on a date with Keegan.
She gave him a lopsided smile and shook her head. “You are something else, Jon. I hope he’s worth it.”
Jon did too. Maybe not for the same reasons, but he really hoped that there was something there with Keegan Quinn.
#
To say that Jon was astonished by Keegan’s complete 180 was an understatement. Still, he wasn’t going to let it go that easily. He’d agreed to take the world’s most boring assignment so he could do this, and he was damn well going to do it.
The blonde girl from his previous visit was glaring at him. “Look, Keegan doesn't have time for this today. I'm sure you mean well, and you seem like a nice guy, but we have bigger things to worry about than the FBI right now."
Bigger things to worry about than the FBI? Try as he might, Jon couldn't imagine what a restaurant owner and his employees could have to worry about that was bigger than the FBI. Still, she seemed to be serious, so Jon was going to take her seriously.
"Miss, I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but I promise I'm not here to bother him." The problem was that he didn’t know how to explain what he was doing there without sounding like an overeager fool.
Her expression turned more sympathetic, but her stance didn't change. It was obvious that she didn't intend to allow him past. "Then why are you here? Because if it’s more questions about his dad, they can definitely wait."
The scene was way more contentious than he'd expected, but at least she was asking questions instead of dismis
sing him the way Keegan had. On the other hand, she wasn’t looking right at him now, either. As soon as he had started to answer, her eyes had dropped. “Well, you see, I talked to my boss this morning, and—” he cut himself off when he realized where she was staring, sighed, and crossed his arms. He was nervous, eager to explain, and the end result was that his hands were doing half the talking for him. He hung his head and muttered towards his forearms, “I kind of came to ask him out.”
When he lifted his head to gauge her reaction, he saw her eyes had gone round, and her mouth had fallen open. "Oh. Oh!” Her whole expression opened up. She gave him a small smile and a little wink. "Well, that’s different. Then it's a good thing I got called away to deal with a problem out front, isn’t it?" With that, she turned and walked away.
He watched her go, trying to figure out what was going on. Something had obviously changed in the day between the interview and his return. Keegan seemed like a different man.
Jon had not agreed to take on surveillance reviews just to walk away, though. He was going to talk to Keegan Quinn, and at least find out what had happened. He walked over to the office door, slowly turning the handle and peering inside.
What he found there made him stop and rethink his situation once again.
Quinn was sitting in his desk chair, slumped over, staring at the blotter and looking like Christmas was canceled. A tiny snippet of the conversation from Monday replayed through Jon's mind, and his stomach threatened to sink into his shoes. Keegan had said that his father was ill.
For the first time in his life, Jon didn't know what to want. He hated Brendan Quinn on principle, but he couldn’t stand anything that made Keegan look so dejected. He hated anything that made anyone look like that.
Keegan closed his eyes and squeezed them tight, opening again and blinking repeatedly, then he focused on Jon. “I didn’t think you were gonna make it past Brigit.”