Stop. You have a plan in place. You’re fixing this.
Ah, hell. Maybe he should just go over there and check on them, just to be sure. But if he did, he’d have to make sure he either left Momma Billie’s before dark or got an escort home. Since the sun was already doing a little dance toward the horizon, and the option behind door number two was definitely not happening, he’d have to settle for another text.
Hey, H. You and Momma B okay over there?
The three dots that signaled an incoming message popped up almost immediately on his screen, followed by a photograph of her making a stern face.
We’re fine, same as 12 hrs ago, big bro & yes, b4 u ask, I’m doing my HW.
Luke gave up a thin smile and thumb-typed, Just checking. Goodnight.
More dots, then, You do know it’s like 7:00, rt? But ’nite. ILU.
Sitting back against the couch cushions, his fingers hovered over the icon just below Hayley’s, the one labeled “QC”. He and Quinn had said polite enough goodbyes this morning before parting ways, but the shadows beneath her eyes had said all the things the rest of her hadn’t.
I’m scared.
Luke scrolled through his (admittedly short) list of contacts, tapping the icon a few below Quinn’s.
Hey Isabella. It’s Luke. I’m checking in from Omaha.
At seeing their special code word for the all-clear, she texted back, Copy that. Sleep tight.
He took a deep breath and exhaled on a fuck it. Is Quinn okay?
She’s safe. Sitting here at the Crooked Angel surrounded by half the unit.
Luke’s hands were steady even though his pulse wasn’t. I’m glad she’s safe. But what I want to know is if she’s okay.
After a beat with no answer, he was certain he’d overstepped. But then his phone rang in his hand, startling the shit out of him, and he lifted the thing to his ear.
“Hello?”
“You didn’t hear this from me,” Isabella said by way of greeting, the ambient noise from the bar filtering over the line as she paused to drop her voice. “But she looks like she could use a friend.”
“Aren’t Shae and January and everyone from Seventeen there?” Quinn had been thief-thick with them since far before he’d even signed up at the academy. Surely she was surrounded by a dozen people who would keep her from feeling alone. All of her friends were more like family than most blood relatives.
“Okay, let me rephrase,” Isabella murmured. “She looks like she could use her partner.”
A feeling tangled inside of him, one he couldn’t readily identify. Luke knew, God, he knew he should step away, reclaim the arm’s length he relied on to stay sane, to stay safe. This feeling was dangerous. Reckless. Wild. He needed to tamp it down. Snuff it out. Let Quinn’s friends take care of her so he could keep her at arm’s length and guard himself.
But instead, he heard himself say, “Copy that. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Just don’t let her leave.”
One fresh T-shirt and fourteen-plus minutes later, Luke wasn’t feeling any less bat-shit than he had when he’d hung up with Isabella. Still, he scanned the parking lot of the Crooked Angel, tucking the keys to his Nissan 370Z into the pocket of his jeans as he covered the space between himself and the door in just a few dozen strides.
This might be crazy, but it wasn’t wrong.
Luke tugged open one of the heavy wooden double doors leading into the bar, letting his eyes adjust to the low light and loud music as he took the place in. The crowd was plenty healthy, especially for almost nineteen-thirty on a Thursday night, with more than half the tables in the dining room and most of the space at the bar in the back of the restaurant occupied by people in various stages of eat, drink, and be merry. A few couples dotted the dance floor on the far side of the dining room, including Sam Faurier and a very curvy, very very friendly looking brunette, and Detectives Maxwell and Garza sat with Addison Hale at a table by the front entrance. But since Luke had never actually met any of the detectives before this morning, he refrained from lifting his chin in greeting, although their brief gazes told him all three of them had registered his presence, loud and clear. A closer look at the bar in the back of the place revealed Gamble and Kellan on one end, both looking shocked as hell as they caught sight of him, and Isabella, who simply smiled into her beer.
Luke headed through the darkly paneled dining room, leaving the tables, the dance floor, and the jukebox in his wake. “Hey,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets and girding up for the heavy ration of shit that was going to be inbound in three, two, one…
“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in!” Kellan said, reaching in to give Luke a brotherly clap on the shoulder despite the fact that Luke had never done anything more than work with the guy. Huh. “It’s good to see you out, man, albeit a little weird. Everything alright?”
He stuffed down the events of the last few days in favor of a status-quo smile. “Yeah. Just felt like having a beer tonight, I guess.”
“Definitely weird,” Gamble said, but Isabella nudged him with her shoulder.
“Oh, don’t be grouchy. I think it’s great that Slater’s out tonight.”
Gamble frowned, but somehow Luke was certain she could hold her own against the guy. Gamble might be a big badass former Marine, but a) Isabella had clearly been served a double helping of badassery at the police academy, and b) she lived with Kellan, whose days as an Army sniper weren’t that far in his rearview. Even if his days of being single sure were.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t cool,” Gamble muttered, looking oddly chagrined. “Only weird. And for the record, I’m not grouchy.”
“Oooookay,” Kellan interrupted, pausing for a good-natured laugh. “So who needs a beer?”
Gamble crossed his arms over the retaining wall that was his chest, but funny, his frown held more confusion than irritation. “What? I’m not fucking grouchy.”
“You got it, buddy. Let’s go with that,” Kellan said, waggling his brows at Isabella as he stepped up to the bar. “Another round? Slater, let’s get you that beer, yeah?”
“Actually, I’m going to borrow Slater for a second to introduce him to Hollister. My partner,” she added as she looked at Luke, and damn, she was good. “He’s right over there talking to Quinn.”
Luke took it back. Isabella wasn’t just good. The woman deserved a fucking Emmy.
“Okay,” Kellan said, dropping a kiss over her temple before unwinding his arm from around her waist. “I’ll just hang here with Oscar ’til you get back.”
Luke let Isabella usher him from his station-mates before Gamble let loose with a reply by way of his middle finger. The few seconds’ worth of ease he’d felt at their back and forth disappeared in a quick strike as soon as he caught sight of Quinn sitting at the other end of the bar. She was still gorgeous—Christ, he’d think so even if she was wearing a clown suit. Her blond hair spilled over the shoulders of her gauzy white blouse, the neckline just low enough to reveal the edges of the lacy pink tank top she wore underneath. She smiled just enough to release those dimples that made him want to do unspeakable things. But the gesture looked cobbled together, too big and too forced for the sadness flickering in her hollow, dark blue stare, and that feeling behind his sternum came roaring back, full speed ahead.
“Hey, you two,” Isabella said, smiling her way into the conversation as they arrived beside the two bar stools in the slightly out-of-the-way alcove where Quinn and Hollister had been talking. “Thought we’d come over and say hi.”
Quinn made a small noise of shock, but Hollister covered for her, extending his hand to Luke for a firm shake-slash-shoulder bump.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Luke nodded, and for as awkward as he’d expected the whole out-and-about thing to be, he had to admit, being at the Crooked Angel could be worse. “Thanks. You, too.”
The two detectives excused themselves a few seconds later on the premise of needing to talk shop, leaving him face-to-fa
ce with his suddenly wary-eyed partner.
“Why are you here?” Quinn asked.
Whether it was his need to scatter the tension between them or his deeply rooted desire to make her smile for real, even temporarily, Luke couldn’t be sure. But he couldn’t help it. He laughed.
“It’s nice to see you, too.”
Quinn’s cheeks turned bright pink in the soft overhead light, and shit, this was going to be an exercise in restraint. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Okay.” Luke slid onto the bar stool Hollister had abandoned, his knee brushing against Quinn’s in a slide of denim on denim that he felt fucking everywhere. “How did you mean it?”
“We’re supposed to be doing what’s normal, and for you this”—she paused to sketch an imaginary circle between them with one index finger, then extend the loop to the rest of the bustling bar behind him—“isn’t really your normal.”
“I was worried about you.”
The truth was out before Luke could tidy it up or haul it back. He put the conversation on hold as a tall, edgy-looking brunette sidled up to their table wearing a dark red half-apron and a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile.
“Oooh, I was beginning to think you might be a myth. Slater, right?”
“Yeah,” he replied, searching through his memory of all the stories he’d overheard at Seventeen to try and place her. Ah.
“Kennedy Matthews. I run the place,” she said, just a heartbeat after he’d guessed her identity in his head. She extended a tattooed arm in his direction, her stare shrewd as hell beneath the heavy fringe of her jet-black bangs.
“Nice to meet you,” Luke said, meeting her handshake halfway.
“You’re keeping good company tonight, Slater. Can I get you anything from the bar?”
He dodged her good-company comment like the hand grenade it was. “Sure.” Scanning the surprisingly impressive beer list on the chalkboard over Kennedy’s shoulder, he ordered an IPA he’d been meaning to try.
She turned her attention to Quinn. “How about you, sweet pea? You good, or do you want another round?”
“Oh, by all means,” Quinn said, her laugh holding very little joy. “Hit me.”
The piercing in Kennedy’s eyebrow glinted as she raised it, just slightly. “You got it.”
Concern twanged in Luke’s gut as Kennedy sidled away with their order and Quinn’s empty beer bottle. Quinn didn’t seem to have had more alcohol than was wise, but still… “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough,” she muttered. But he didn’t let up on his stare, so she added, “Two beers. I promise, I’m not wasted.”
Luke exhaled. “Good to know.”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, really. But you have nothing to be worried about.”
Oh, look. His bullshit detector had just self-destructed. Again. “Right. You’re fine, I know.”
Her chin jerked up as her stare went from a simmer to a low boil. “Don’t.”
Luke’s heart had risen halfway up his windpipe, but still, he didn’t scale back. He couldn’t. “Don’t what, Quinn?” he asked quietly.
Her voice wobbled, although whether it was in anger or sadness, he couldn’t be sure. “Don’t patronize me.”
His body leaned forward of its own volition, his fingers aching to touch her, his mouth ready to do anything to make her believe what he was about to say. “I would never do that to you. I meant what I said. You’re clearly off the level here, and I’m worried about you.”
For a heartbeat, she simply looked at him, those dark blue eyes churning with the sort of raw emotions he knew he should be guarding himself against. But right now, he could no sooner do that than he could move the goddamn moon to change the tides, so instead, he told her the truth.
“Look, I’m your partner. I told you we’d be in this together, and I want to keep that promise. So please, tell me how I can help you. Tell me what you need.”
“Do you really want to know?” Quinn whispered, her stare making it seem like they were the only two people in the bar, or maybe even the world.
Luke swallowed, loosening a breath. “Yes.”
Her expression grew steady, and her voice along with it as she said, “I need to get out of here. I need you to take me home.”
16
Quinn sat in the passenger seat of Luke’s sleek, dark gray sports car, finally able to breathe for the first time in hours. The unease that had clutched at her chest, tightening like a vise with each faked smile and passing minute she’d sat in the Crooked Angel, was finally loosening, allowing her the luxury of a steady inhale/exhale without having to hide the truth from the people who were closest to her. She was in Luke’s car, sitting right beside him. His body was right there. Warm. Safe. Close enough for her to reach out and run her hand over his bare forearm, his fingers that were callused in some places, soft in others.
There. Easy. Breathe…
Luke pulled into the parking lot beside her apartment building, quieting the engine without pulling the keys from the ignition. His gaze moved covertly over their surroundings, mirroring the one Quinn had just sent over the adjacent parking spaces, the brightly illuminated walkway connecting the parking lot with the apartment building, the potential spots where someone might lurk or hide.
“Looks clear.” It was the first thing he’d said since he’d quietly told Isabella and Hollister he was going to take her home, then paid Kennedy for the beers they didn’t drink.
Quinn nodded in agreement. “Mmm hmm.”
Heeding the detectives’ advice not to dawdle, they both got out of the car, Luke locking the doors with a click-CLICK of a button on his key fob before walking her over the paved path leading to the front door of her building. The tension that had made a playground out of her shoulders faded with each step, and she and Luke made their way over the threshold, into the elevator, and down the tastefully carpeted hallway until finally, they were in her apartment.
“I should text Isabella,” Luke said, briefly tapping out a message on his cell phone before sliding the thing back into the pocket of his jeans.
“Thank you for bringing me home.” Heat climbed Quinn’s cheeks as she grew aware of how very alone they were, standing there in her dusky foyer with nothing but the soft light filtering in from the one bulb she always left lit over the kitchen sink. But Luke was the only person she didn’t have to hide anything from. The only person who could get her to breathe. The only person she could be truthful with.
And the truth was, she wanted him.
It seemed completely contradictory that her body should respond in such a primal, greedy way when her brain was a jumbled mess. That was just the thing, though. Her thoughts were a mess around her friends. They were a mess when she tried to work, and they were definitely a mess whenever she remembered the kidnapping. The only time her mind wasn’t on overdrive was when she thought of Luke, with his hand on her rib cage and his breath in her ear, as steady as a heartbeat.
God, she wanted his touch so badly, she ached.
“Do you want to talk about what’s going on with you?” he asked, his eyes steady on hers even through the shadows of her foyer.
“Honestly?” She stepped toward him and shook her head. “No.”
“Quinn—”
“Please, just stop. I don’t want to talk about the other day. I don’t even want to think about it.”
Luke opened his mouth, likely to argue, but she cut him off before he could say so much as a syllable. “Look, I’m not stupid, okay? I know I can’t ignore things entirely. I’m not foolish or flighty enough to think I can magically make the truth into something it’s not. But you asked me what I need, and right now I need to not remember what happened, just for a little while.”
A pause opened between them. Quinn’s heart raced so rapidly she was certain he had to be able to register the constant thump-thump-thump from where he stood.
Finally, he said, “What else do you need?”
For a question th
at had the potential to be so complicated, her answer was shockingly simple, and even though she knew it made her vulnerable, she didn’t hesitate.
“Just for tonight, I need to feel something other than scared. I need to remember what it’s like to feel good.” She moved closer, until she could feel his exhale coast over her cheek. Yes. This. I need this. “So please, can you stay for a while and make me feel right again?”
“Quinn.” He looked at her, his eyes flaring with emotions she couldn’t read. “I don’t want you to regret asking me that question.”
“I don’t want you to regret saying yes if it’s what you want, too,” Quinn whispered back. “But I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure. I meant what I said the other day, just like I mean what I’m saying now. I want you. I’ve wanted you for a long time, Luke. I—”
He cut her off by closing the space between them in a single move. His mouth was on hers an instant later, hot and hungry and so unbelievably perfect that she nearly cried out. Letting her arms knot around his shoulders, Quinn pushed to her toes, lining up her soft, needy curves with the hard plane of Luke’s chest and abs and hips.
Oh God, more. She wanted more.
She wanted everything.
Quinn deepened the kiss, darting her tongue over the threshold of her lips in search of his, and Luke tightened his hands around the back of her waist. His touch made a shiver rise up her spine, and it spread out over her skin as another shot of want built low in her belly. Swirling his tongue against hers, he tasted and took, retreating just long enough for her to return the favor before he pulled back on a ragged breath.
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Quinn blinked through the ambient light, thrown by the question.
But Luke remained perfectly steady. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” she said, and—oh God, the soft chuff of laughter slipping past his ridiculously talented lips made her pussy grow hot and slick.
“I got that part. But I want to know exactly what you want.”
In Too Deep: Station Seventeen Book 3 Page 16