Neanderthal Marries Human: A Smarter Romance (Knitting in the City)

by Penny Reid

  “He’s alright. He smiles too much,” Quinn grumbled.

  Dan grinned at Quinn then turned to go, calling over his shoulder. “You’re just upset because, for once, you’re not the nicest piece of man eye-candy in the room.”

  ***

  “I like him!” I said, stripping to my new bra and underwear set. Honestly, I was kind of proud of it. It was handmade by artisan lingerie crafters in London, made from responsibly farmed silkworms, and it fit like it was made for me. Nothing feels quite as nice as a lacy bra that fits and matching underwear that flatters.

  “Who?” Elizabeth asked. She appeared to be a tad overwhelmed as she fell to our couch.

  Elizabeth’s state of overwhelmedness made sense given the present circumstances.

  After our lunch, we’d taken Nico to Quinn’s building for a tour of the second penthouse and several other apartments that might suit. I’d given him a key to the apartment I shared with Elizabeth so he could see the floor plan. When Quinn and I arrived, we found Elizabeth and Nico caught in a moment.

  And, by moment, I mean they were just about to maul each other.

  Basically, Elizabeth was in her underwear because she was in the midst of a panty dance party. Nico, having come upon her, looked like he was going to throw her down on the nearest surface and charisma a promise of marriage out of her.

  And, by charisma, I mean use staggering sex appeal and raw emotion until she surrendered.

  It might have worked if not for our interruption.

  Now, Elizabeth and I were alone, as Quinn and Nico had been dismissed. I was the one who did the dismissing because I knew my best friend.

  As soon as I saw her trying to hide her body—from Nico—behind a pair of throw pillows, I knew something major was amiss. As I watched her interact with Nico, I realized she was drowning in a kerfuffle sea of self-imposed angst and neuroticism.

  I’d never seen her so discombobulated, and I’d definitely never seen her make such an overt and violent attempt at modesty. She’d never been modest, not as long as I had known her.

  We needed to talk.

  “Nico. Mr. Manganiello.” I said. “He’s nice.”

  “Yeah. He’s nice.” She sighed, appeared to be lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. Abruptly she asked, “When did you get back from Boston?”

  “Just today, this morning actually. Nico called Quinn last night and made arrangements to meet us today, to arrange private security, and that’s when I suggested his family move into the second penthouse.” I walked to her phone, scrolled through the selection of boy band albums. I was stalling because I was trying to find a way to steer the conversation back to Nico. “Have you abandoned your plans with the Dr. Ken Miles?”

  Dr. Ken Miles was the latest guy Elizabeth was fooling herself into sleeping with. She hadn’t slept with him yet, but this was her modus operandi ever three years or so. Since college, I’d watched as she forced herself to become interested in a guy, usually someone who was hot as Hades but lacked depth: a Gooch.

  Predictably, she’d sleep with Mr. Random Gooch then lose interest. I came to understand that she only pursued men who were shallow Gooches because then her feelings would never grow beyond shallow.

  But Nico was not shallow. And if Elizabeth had feelings for Nico, then she was probably freaking out.

  “No, not really. Not yet. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her non-answer fueled my suspicion.

  I waited for a moment, unsure how to proceed, then blurted, “Nico seems like a really nice person.”

  She cleared her throat. I could feel her staring on me. “You already said that.”

  “Yes. I just wanted to reiterate the fact that he is a really nice person.”

  “And why do you want to reiterate that fact?”

  I turned, met her eyes, and debated how much to say. I believed Nico when he said he loved her. I also, as I may have mentioned already, liked Nico. Elizabeth’s history would make it difficult for them to move beyond the hurdle of his depth of character and real feelings.

  I’d been so preoccupied with Quinn and me and the wedding planning that I hadn’t even noticed the change in Elizabeth. She’d been there for me, without fail, since we met. She’d counseled me, guided me, given me advice, allowed me to talk through my weirdness and work through my issues. Yet, she’d never really needed the same from me in return.

  I was determined help.

  I finally settled on, “Because I’m ninety-seven percent certain he is in love with you.”

  She continued staring at me, her anxiety clearly evident as she said, “Why ninety-seven percent?”

  “A three percent confidence interval is standard.”

  “Why would you think he’s in love with me?” Her tone was defensive, as though she felt guilty.

  “You know what I’m talking about,” I said, wanting her to stop pretending that she didn’t know.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. He’s the guy. He’s the guy from Iowa, Garrett’s best friend. He’s the one that you were friends with as kids, then hated, then didn’t hate, then lost your virginity to. I just met him this afternoon, and I, the queen of missing the obvious, couldn’t help but notice. He talked about you basically nonstop, Quinn found it irritating, but I thought it was charming. Also, he looks at you like he wants…well, like he wants.”

  My tirade only served to make her breathless. “What did he say?” she asked, looking more alarmed with each passing second.

  I thought about telling her that he flat-out admitted he was in love with her, but decided against it.

  I wanted to help Elizabeth, not frighten her away from someone who so obviously cared about her and so obviously was worthy of her care in return—obvious even to me.

  “He talks about you like you invented penicillin. Like you—like you’re an angel. It’s rather disconcerting, to be honest.”

  She frowned; it was a very sad frown. “Because I’m so awful?”

  “No. You’re not awful; what a ridiculous thing to say.” I’m sure I was scowling, and my annoyance was obvious. I was annoyed by her assumption, but I was also annoyed with myself. Instead of being there for Elizabeth, I’d been planning a wedding I didn’t even want.

  Eventually I said, “It’s disconcerting because he’s so smitten, and you don’t—well, you know. You don’t have relationships, after what happened with Garrett.”

  She covered her face with her hands like she couldn’t stand anyone looking at her. “Oh, Janie, I don’t know what to do.”

  This behavior worried me. I walked to where she sat on the couch and sank down close to her, placing my hand on her back. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, but I’ve really missed you.” She sniffled like she was going to cry.

  My heart twisted in my chest at the sadness of her tone.

  Thank goodness I’d come to my senses and thrown the bet to Quinn by depantsing him on the plane. Thank goodness I’d chosen to be happy now instead of postponing my happiness indefinitely. Thank goodness Katherine seemed content to take the wedding reins away from me, because I needed to focus on what was important.

  Like living and working through real struggles with Quinn, not manufacturing stress.

  Like forming lasting relationships with my in-laws.

  Like enjoying giving and receiving support from my friends.

  And, right this minute, Elizabeth needed my support.

  “I’m here now,” I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  And that’s when Elizabeth started to cry.

  CHAPTER 20

  Quinn was running on the treadmill when I got home. This was unusual as he normally ran outside when the weather permitted it. I gave him a questioning look, and he held up three fingers. This was his sign that he had three minutes left.

  I blew him a kiss and was pleased to see the barely-there smile claim his features as a result.

  Since we’d gone to the restaurant directly from the
airport, I decided I would take advantage of the next three minutes by unpacking my luggage. However, when I moved into the bedroom I found the bustier, panty, and stocking set from the night of the (still-unknown charity) ball laid out on the bed with a note that said Wear Me.

  I squinted at the note.

  Struck by sudden inspiration, I crossed to my side table, withdrew a scrap of paper, wrote Wear Me on it, then affixed it to one of his ties. I still wanted to talk to him about his irrational display of manners—always ordering for me, opening doors without fail like I was an invalid, never allowing me to pull out my own seat—and felt like my clever table turning using his tie would be an excellent segue into the discussion.

  I was just placing it on the bed next to my prescribed outfit when he walked into the room.

  I turned, smiling to myself, but did a double take because he was shirtless and sweating, leaning against the door frame, watching me with his trademark quiet Quinn intensity.

  My first thought was that I couldn’t wait for him to release oxytocin into my system. My second thought was that even the tie was too much clothing.

  “Hey, Kitten,” he said.

  I think I also said hey, but maybe not. I might have purred or grunted…or meowed.

  Whatever I did put a small smile on his face. His eyes moved up and down my outfit, but I got the impression he wasn’t looking at my clothes.

  “Did you have fun with Elizabeth?”

  I nodded, the question and the topic a life preserver, allowing me to climb out of my lust fog. “Yes. I’m trying to be a good friend, and I’m looking forward to getting back to things that matter.”

  “Instead of…?”

  “Instead of planning a wedding neither of us wanted.” I gave him a wry smile. “You were right about that, and it’s important to me that you know that I know that you were right.”

  His eyes squinted as he tried to follow the train of my thoughts. “Thank you…I think.”

  “You’re welcome.” I gathered a breath as I smoothed my hands over my skirt, lifted my chin, and prepared to broach the subject of antiquated manners. “And, while we’re on the topic of things that matter, I want to talk to you about something.”

  “The Parduccis,” he said.

  I frowned. “The Parduccis?”

  “Yeah, the private account I mentioned last night.” Quinn stepped away from the door and moved to where his laptop sat on the table in our room. While he crossed to his computer, he towel-dried sweat from his chest and neck.

  I watched him and was mesmerized by his movements. This happened to me whenever he was shirtless, and also when he was pantsless, or really all the time regardless of the amount of clothing he had on. He mesmerized me witless, every time.

  I began to mentally recite the numbers that followed the decimal point of pi in order to keep my head above Ida’s influence.

  He threw the towel into the dirty laundry bin then grabbed the laptop and motioned for me to come to him. “I have some of the details here, but you can look at the entire file at the office whenever you like.”

  I walked to his side and peered over his shoulder. “So…who are these people?” It felt a little strange, now that I was faced with what I’d requested, like an invasion of privacy.

  “They’re modern day industrialists, very wealthy, huge contributors to Senator Watterson’s campaign, and likely the reason he’s a third-term senator.”

  I bit my lip and started reading one of the surveillance logs he’d pulled up. Distractedly, because I was trying to read and talk, I asked, “You said their son was the one who drugged me?”

  He straightened, turned to me, caught and held my gaze. “Yes. Their son’s name is Damon Parducci, and he is both the secret they tried to keep and the reason my company ceased providing security for them six months ago.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Quinn recited the facts like he was giving a report to his supervisor—no embellishments, just stark details.

  “We realized Damon was trouble soon after we secured the account, but he wasn’t within the scope of our operations. We were assigned to provide security to just the husband and wife. None of the children—all grown—were within our purview. However, we intercepted several phone calls between Mr. and Mrs. Parducci and their son. He is a drug abuser, and they were attempting to push him into a rehab program. This is what we do. We gather information, store it, flag it as potentially useful. Their son’s drug problems were flagged. We started trailing Damon because he appeared to be the main source of potential leverage over his parents. However….”

  Quinn’s jaw ticked and he glanced away briefly; when he returned his gaze to mine, his face was somehow harder. “However, once we began trailing him, we discovered that he was dealing in a large amount of product—a very large amount. Also, we found that he was drugging young girls and raping them.”

  My eyes widened. “You—you let him…?”

  “No.” Quinn’s hands reached for my arms as though to stay any potential retreat. “No. Pete was trailing him that night and stopped Damon before he could do anything more harmful than filling the girl’s system with benzodiazepines. But we believe that she was not the first.”

  “God…what happened?”

  His voice turned monotone once more, his expression grim, but he didn’t release me. “I confronted his parents with the information we found, showed them the evidence of their son’s misdeeds, and told them that I would have to turn him over to the police.”

  I waited for him to continue. He didn’t, so I asked. “Unless…?”

  He shook his head. “No. No unless. It wasn’t about leverage. I told them it was going to happen and explained why I had to end our professional relationship.”

  “But…weren’t they upset? What did they do?”

  “Yes, they were very mad, and they tried to bribe me, to bury it. Then, they threatened me.”

  “What did you do?”

  He shrugged. “I told them that I was also aware of their off-shore holdings and eleven prior years of tax evasion.”

  “And…they chose their offshore holdings over their son?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you turn the parents in? If you were already exposing the son, why not the parents as well?”

  “When we discover something like exploitation, rape, drug distribution, we don’t hold on to it, we pass it on to the police through an anonymous tip. Sometimes we provide tangible evidence, like video, audio, or pictures. In this case, Damon was arrested possessing a very large amount of cocaine with intent to distribute, which is a felony and an automatic fifteen-year sentence.”

  “And the parents?”

  “Their tax evasion is insurance against retaliation.” Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he took a deep breath. “Honestly, though, I think they were relieved. Their son had been a pain in the ass for a long time.”

  “But…what about the girls?”

  “Since we stopped him before he violated the girl, the drug charge carried the heavier sentence. I passed on as much of the rape evidence I had; that way, if any women come forward, their stories can be corroborated. I stepped up the timeline for his arrest after I found you in the Canopy room.”

  I nodded, thought about this, then asked for additional clarification just in case. “You always pass this kind of stuff through to the police? Always?”

  “Yes. Always. In fact, I’ve pulled a few other files for you to see—they’re at the office waiting for you. Nothing as bad as Damon Parducci, but similar issues where we’ve turned the bad guys over to the cops.”

  “Who makes the determination? Who decides if the misdeed is bad enough to turn over or…not bad enough to use as leverage?”

  Quinn inhaled, his gaze steady, but his jaw tight. Finally, he said, “I do.”

  I studied him. This wasn’t a revelation so much as verification of my educated guess. I analyzed his confirmation from several angles. The responsibility he’d saddled himsel
f with was a terrible burden, especially since it wasn’t his to begin with. Laws, courts, judges, and juries existed to administer justice.

  He was a superhot vigilante.

  “Oh, Quinn….” I gave him a sympathetic smile. “You really are Batman.”

  He breathed a small laugh and closed his eyes. “Something like that. But, you were right, I’ve benefited from the information I’ve gathered.” His lids lifted and his gaze felt somehow determined, sharp. “It was all about revenge at first, gathering as much information as I could so that I would be able to destroy the people who killed my brother. After that….”

  I wanted to prod him for more, but waited.

  Quinn’s hands dropped from my arms and he glanced over my head. “Let’s just say I’m talented at using people.”

  I watched him for a long moment. It was too much to absorb. All this detail sharing led to more questions. I needed to get my head out of the weeds and think about the big picture, what he’d ultimately done with information he’d gathered, what information he still possessed that should be turned over, what would happen if he did pass it to the police.

  What were the broader ramifications—not just for us, but for the victims of these bad guys?

  I couldn’t ignore the fact that Quinn used secrets to persuade people to do what he wanted. I called it blackmail when he first told me that night in London. The line between persuasion and blackmail was a thin one; it might not have been technically illegal.

  Technical honesty and technical legality were concepts that were dissonant with right and wrong. I liked my labels, which meant I didn’t like relativistic morality.

  Eventually he brought his gaze back to mine, his head tilted to the side, one of his eyebrows raised. “You wanted to talk about something else.”

  I was still deep in my hamster wheel of analysis. “What?”

  “When I came in, you said you wanted to talk about things that matter, but it wasn’t the private clients.”

  I shook my head slowly. “No. It wasn’t the private clients. Although, admittedly and in retrospect, what I wanted to talk about feels a bit ridiculous.”