by Sam Burns
Keegan could practically read the thoughts on his expressive face. “You’re worried he’s got something on me?” he whispered. Then he shook his head. “Nah, I never brought my work home. Reporting on my whereabouts was probably the best he could ever do.”
“Yeah,” Phil’s quiet voice came from behind them. Apparently, he had figured his way out of the car despite the locks. “Best I could ever tell them was when you went to work. They seemed to think it was important. O’Hanrahan, too, when he told me to leave town unless I wanted to take a dirt nap.”
Jon’s boss had her hand on her gun, tense and ready for Phil to try something. “Great,” she sighed. “More dirt on a man we already have in prison. You have anything on someone who isn’t on the inside?”
“Mikhail Christiakov found out I was dating Keegan. He said unless I wanted to have to look for new work, I was going to tell him about Keegan’s comings and goings.” Phil’s voice was low and heavy, as though speaking was the most exhausting thing in the world.
Even Keegan felt a twinge of pity for Phil, who looked like life had made him its punching bag. On the other hand, he’d helped to get that kid killed, intentionally or not, and Keegan’s sympathy was limited.
“New work?” the woman asked, an unimpressed look on her face. “You betrayed your boyfriend over a job?”
“He’s a model,” Jon said. He looked a tiny bit smug that he was finally the one saying it. “A threat to make him find new work was probably a not-so-abstract way of saying he’d cut him up.”
Phil nodded, looking a little queasier. “Yeah.”
“You shoulda come to me, Phil,” Keegan told him. “I’d have taken care of you.”
A tiny, sad smile on his face, Phil nodded. “By the time I figured that out, it was way the hell too late. For whatever it’s worth—and I know it’s not much—Keegan, I’m sorry.”
Keegan sighed after a silent moment, and shook his head. As much as part of him wanted to punch Phil square in the face, and that was the nicest thing he was fantasizing about doing to the man, nothing would be solved by it. He walked over to help Phil as he headed for the other car. “For both our sakes, I hope I never see your face again, Phil.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” the woman said, opening the door so Keegan could help Phil into the passenger seat. She patted him down for weapons, and then patted him on the head as she helped him into the car. “Soon enough, there won’t even be a Phil.”
Phil paused in his descent, and looked at her. “That sounds nice.”
She looked shocked, but covered it quickly and headed back over to where Jon was standing. “I take back what I said, Brookfield. Dating Quinn isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“You never said worst, you just said it was a bad idea,” Jon corrected her.
She grinned at him, perfect teeth glinting in the dark. “Then I don’t take it back. I was completely right.”
“Maybe it was a bad idea for him, Agent, but it’s worked out pretty good for me.” Keegan told her as he walked back to Jon’s side, and this time, faced her. “You’re his boss?”
She looked over at Keegan speculatively. “I’m his superior, Assistant Special Agent in Charge Maggie Jones. And you’re the guy he’s risking his career for.”
Keegan blushed and ducked his head. “Um, I guess?”
Stepping forward, she held out her hand to shake his. “Don’t guess, Mr. Quinn. You have a good agent’s future in your power. I don’t like it and I’m not going to, but he trusts you. Don’t make him regret it.”
He shook his head vehemently as he took her hand and shook it. “I won’t, um, Assistant Special—”
She raised a hand to stop him from trying to remember the title. “Maggie, as long as you’re not messing with my boy. The minute you do, it’s ‘yes sir’, and you’re gonna be in cuffs.”
“Maggie,” he agreed, nodding.
Without another word, she went and climbed into her car, driving away with Phil in the passenger seat.
“She’s your boss?” Keegan asked again, a little stunned.
“Yep,” Jon agreed. “You don’t have to say it, I know she’s amazing.”
Keegan turned a grin on him. “I think she likes me.”
Jon dragged him close and pressed their foreheads together. “I think you’re crazy.”
“Love you too,” Keegan said, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist and drawing him in.
Pulling back a few inches, Jon looked down at him. “Nah, I don’t like ‘too’. It sounds like second. I just . . . love you.”
Keegan leaned down and pressed their lips together. “Then yeah. I just love you.”
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An excerpt from book three in the Wilde Love Series, Strike up the Band:
Elsi seemed excited about something, and Jake knew Alex well enough to know that he was probably still thinking about kittens.
There were two guys. One looked like a hipster who’d gotten lost on his way to the locally-sourced, all-organic farmer’s market, and the other looked like he was twenty years late looking for a grunge band to join. A tiny part of him acknowledged that both of them were just fine, and either look would work with the rest of the band. It wasn’t like they had some kind of special fashion sense that had to be adhered to.
Hipster guy went first, pulling his beanie off to reveal messy dark-brown bedhead. He was wearing a freaking thumb-hole sweater. He had to be the reason for the kitten thing. He looked nervous and shy, head ducked and eyes on the floor. How the hell was this guy going to make it on stage? No way.
He finally looked up and Jake saw it when he transformed. The guy had a stage persona the size of a football field; bright white smile that looked somehow fake and real at the same time, shoulders back, head high, cocky stance. He ran through a quick scale and mouth exercise like the ones Jake had watched Jenna do a thousand times, and then motioned for the tech to start the track.
When the music started he changed again, this time into something more real, and even bigger. Either he loved the song, or he was the best actor Jake had ever seen. His voice was huge. It seemed like it would have filled the room without the microphone. He gave a little bounce that reminded Jake of his sister, and the way his body moved suggested he was trying to hold back the urge to dance.
It was perfect.
Jake hated him.
The last notes of the song drifted away, and hipster guy’s eyes returned to the floor. His shoulders slipped down, and he bit his lip, looking like he wanted to apologize for something. He slunk over to where grunge dude was standing alone, looking as though someone had slapped him. Jake was feeling grunge dude pretty hard. He was tempted to pick him without even hearing his voice. There was no way he could be as perfect and horrible as hipster guy.
It took a little prodding for grunge dude to go up for his turn. Jake didn’t blame him. He didn’t even listen, despite Alex prodding him with his elbow halfway through. All he could do was look at hipster guy.
When the second guy was done, Jake distantly heard Sandra thank them both and ask them to wait outside so the band could talk. She included the label guy in the banishment, despite his obvious irritation. He tried to get his opinion in, but she cut him off with the suggestion that the band was likely to choose whichever singer he didn’t like, just to spite him. He shut up and left, looking like a petulant child refused a candy bar.
“Brian. Mulholland.” Elsi breathed, like it was something important. “Brian Mulholland wants to play with us.”
“Kitten?” Alex asked, and she nodded. Alex turned to Jake. “We’re picking Kitten.”
Sandra snorted at that. “I’d say something about not being star-struck, or
thinking about personalities instead of just his voice, but forget that. I agree, even if I don’t get a vote.”
“You called him ‘kitten’ for a reason,” Alex said, like he was a stuck record, skipping over and over on the one word. “Sounds like our kind of guy.”
“The other guy was good, too,” Elsi said in a conciliatory tone. “But he wasn’t as good as Brian Mulholland.”
“You know if you’re going to work with him, you’re going to have to stop calling him that, right?” Sandra asked.
“His name?”
Rolling her eyes and shaking her head, Sandra gave Elsi an unimpressed look. “If by ‘his name’ you mean an awed little sigh and an expression that looks like you’re thinking about writing ‘Mrs. Brian Mulholland’ all over your trapper keeper, then yes.”
Elsi blushed. “I didn’t! And I have a boyfriend. It’s just that—you know. He’s Brian Mulholland. Hugh’s going to freak out.”
“Hugh’s a big boy. He learned to deal with your Nana’s evil eye, he can deal with you working with somebody who’s already famous.” Alex paused after saying it, the expression on his face like he was working on a tough math problem. “If he’s already some kind of famous singer, how come he was so nervous? And how come I’ve never heard of him?”
“Because you don’t listen to boy bands, presumably,” Sandra told him with another unladylike snort. “Jake? What about you? I’ve got two votes for Kitten.”
“Anyone but hipster guy,” Jake said, but he already knew that he was beaten. It had to be hipster guy. Brian whatever. With that kind of stage presence, a background in a boy band was no surprise. That kind of talent was shocking, but he supposed Justin Timberlake had pulled it off.
Sandra sighed at him. “Of course you didn’t listen to their names. I’m just going to do the same, pretend I heard you say ‘yes, Sandra, I agree that Brian is the obvious choice, so please confirm that he’ll join us,’ and go tell them.”
“I would never say it like that,” Jake denied even as she turned to leave. He didn’t stop her, though.
Alex was looking at him, serious face on. “Dude. He was good. You didn’t even watch Josh after him, so why don’t you want him?”
Jake shrugged, unable to put the feeling into words.
“You gonna be okay with him? I mean, this crap isn’t his fault, Jake. We can’t take it out on him.” Alex’s voice was soft, but there was steel behind it. “He seems like a nice guy, and I think even Sandra likes him.”
Elsi nodded. “I never would have thought of him as shy, but he’s . . . he’s just so cute. Like a fluffy little kitten.”
“Would you two stop it with the kitten crap already? He’s a grown man, not a cat.” Jake was surprised at the exasperation in his own voice. It was the most he’d felt in days, though, even if it was annoyance.
He was pretty.
No, whoever the hell he was, Brian Mulholland was beautiful. He had a beautiful voice, and an instinct for how to sing, at least in the one song he’d done for them. Jake had almost asked for another song, despite wanting to get the whole mess over with. He’d wanted to hear more. Another of his own songs, in that voice.
“—cool, seriously,” came grunge dude’s voice from outside. Josh, he supposed. “As soon as you opened your mouth, I knew it was over.”
“Um, thanks?” hipster guy answered, sounding confused by the compliment. Of course he was humble. Beautiful, talented, humble. Plus Jake wanted to kiss his stupid pretty face.
And that was never going to happen, for so many reasons.
He covered his face with his hands. The last month had been the worst of Jake’s life. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his childhood bedroom in his parents’ four-bedroom, split-level house, and sleep for the rest of his life. Instead, he was looking at another two months on tour.
Two months, and Fred would be dead. Good riddance.
Sandra came back in, dragging hipster guy with her. “Everyone, this is Brian. You’re gonna call him Brian.” She over-enunciated the name like it was difficult to pronounce, and the guy looked at her like she was nuts. Poor sucker was in for an ugly surprise.
“No,” he said, and he was almost surprised to hear his own voice. “Alex is gonna call him Kitten, Elsi’s gonna call him ‘Brian Mulholland, sigh’, and I’m gonna call him ‘hipster guy.’ You call him whatever you want.”
Sandra sighed and shook her head, Alex followed suit, and Elsi let out a little squeak and blushed bright red.
Hipster guy smiled that stage grin at Elsi. “Guess that makes you my new best friend, if you’re the only one who can pronounce my name.”
Jake had to give him credit for that. It wasn’t bad. He shrugged. “Sandra’ll tell you when we’re leaving. Tour manager will tell you where we’re going. See ya round, hipster guy.”
“It was nice to meet you,” the guy said, partially blocking the exit. “And I know it’s not worth anything coming from me, but I’m sorry you guys are stuck in this tour.”
Jake met his eye for the first time and nodded. “You’re right. It’s not.”
And he walked out.
About the Author:
Sam lives in the middle of nowhere with a husband and disaster-prone cat. The husband is slightly less disaster-prone.
She’s been writing fiction with authorial intent since she was ten and wrote a fantasy “epic” with her best friend, starring themselves. She also had an emo poetry phase in high school, all of which has been burned and shall never be spoken of again, except here, apparently.
This is her second published novel, and she plans to be writing for a good long time to come.
You can find her in these places:
www.burnswrites.com
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