by Vonnie Davis
Everyone nodded their assent and Arlo made no objection.
“Okay. Let’s make a list of what we know. See what ties into what. Or maybe nothing fits just yet.” He pointed to the men, his eyebrow arched. “But the facts will. Everything we know is a piece of the puzzle. It’s up to us to methodically put the pieces together until the puzzle makes sense.”
Puzzles. Cassie was in danger and this policeman wanted to play with freakin’ puzzles? Quinn fought the urge to heave the empty chairs against the wall. What Cassie needed was to be in another town in a motel with him guarding her, holding her close and keeping her safe. Yet, here they sat eating tasteless tacos and talking puzzles.
The policeman guzzled a soda and then removed the top to a black dry erase marker. “Let’s start with a timeline. Quinn, when did you join the State Department?” Arlo jotted the date Quinn gave him. “When were you invited into the meeting that temporarily assigned you to the DEA?”
“Look, I mean no disrespect, but this is a fuckin’ waste of time. Our first order of business ought to be getting my ang…Cassie out of town. Let me borrow a car or rent one. I’ll take her someplace fifty, sixty miles away. Meanwhile, you all can play this puzzle shit ʼcause it ain’t workin’ for me.”
Arlo planted his fingertips on the tabletop, leaned toward Quinn and stared him in the eye. “What happens if the two of you are followed? You’ve been watched for three years and were too damn dumb to realize it. You think now, all of a sudden, you can detect a tail? I don’t think so.”
Quinn jumped out of his seat, ready to crawl across the table to grab the arrogant bastard by the throat. Noah and Jace both grabbed an arm to hold Quinn in place.
Wolf motioned to the corner of the room. “Get the hell over there, Gallagher. Now!” Both men stormed to the corner indicated. Wolf stared at his feet for a minute as if he were choosing the right words. “If my Becca was in Cassie’s place, I’d be every bit as pissed and scared and determined to keep her safe as you are.” He took a deep breath and clasped Quinn’s shoulder.
Quinn didn’t like being handled and jerked away from Wolf’s grasp. “But she’s not your woman. She’s mine.”
Wolf shoved him back into the corner with a strong punch to his chest. “And she’s my little sister, dammit. I have protected her for eight years. You think I’m not scared? That I’m not mad as hell? That I don’t want to tear down this fire station, brick by fucking brick? You’re not the only son of a bitch in this town who loves that girl to death.”
Quinn ran a hand over his hair and was surprised at how much it shook when he lowered his arm. “I’ve never loved like…”
“Hell, neither have I.” Wolf lowered his voice. “But I can double-damn guarantee you, Becca, my prickly redhead is my entire life.”
Quinn jammed his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. “So if someone threatened Becca, you’d sit back and do this puzzle shit?”
“I’d get a grip and do whatever…whatever it took! You’ve got two minutes to get your shit together, and if you’re half the man I think you are, you’ll apologize to Arlo. Then you’ll answer his stupid-assed questions, because this whole puzzle process is driving me every bit as batshit crazy as it is you.” Wolf pivoted, his hands curled into fists, and strode to his chair.
Facing the wall, Quinn beat his forehead against it four or five times as he thought of those who had or might be torn from his life. First, his men. Then, his dad. Now, perhaps, his angel. He chuckled. For the first time in nearly four years, a certain dark-eyed woman did not tumble onto his list of losses. Maybe he was doing a bit of healing—or growing up. And the feisty green-eyed woman who’d prompted it all was in peril.
Quinn made the eight-foot trek, that seemed four times as long, back across the room to come face to face with the police detective. “I owe you an apology. I acted like an ass.” He extended his hand, which Arlo shook. “Ask me whatever you need to know and I’ll help you as best I can.”
Arlo nodded. “Good. Let me repeat the question while you take your seat. When were you invited into the meeting that temporarily assigned you to the DEA?” He wrote the date Quinn provided. The policeman asked who was present at the time and added their names, then also wanted to know who each person’s superior was before adding their names to the list.
Much to Quinn’s chagrin, time dragged on, but question by question, Arlo constructed a picture of facts and names. He also shared how his team had learned the text Quinn received was from a burner phone, so that lead was dead. Even so, it remained on the timeline.
Arlo’s cell rang. He answered the call, took notes, cussed a few times and issued a couple of orders. Once he ended the call, he turned to the group. “Looks like the driver of the bike was most definitely after your girlfriend, Quinn. No doubt about it now. A Florida motorcycle license plate, starting with the numbers Ryder remembered, was found by one…” he glanced at his notes, “Milt Garland, shoved into the crack of your mailbox in the vestibule of your apartment building.”
“Son of a bitch!” The table shuddered under the force of Quinn’s fist. The man just kept getting closer and closer to Cassie. “One of us needs to be at the hospital with her all the time. We can’t leave her alone.”
“I’ve got an officer assigned outside her door. Wolf asked that she not know she’s being placed under protective custody.”
“I told Becca and Dr. Paxwell I’m hoping the rest of the girls will think the policeman is there for someone else, if they even notice him at all.” Wolf reached for another taco and pulled back, almost as if he’d lost his appetite. “God, I hate this.”
Jace leaned toward Wolf. “I think we need to tell the whole family. I don’t think it’s fair they don’t know their baby sister is in danger. Besides, with Megan being a nurse at the hospital, that gives us an extra pair of eyes. Maybe she could switch duty with someone else and get temporarily assigned to Cassie’s floor.”
Wolf shook his head. “And just how the hell do we keep it all from Cassie? She’s under enough stress right now.”
“I gotta disagree with you on this, Wolf.” Quinn snapped open another can of soda. “She’s stronger than we think. I’m going to her room as soon as we’re done here and telling her everything. We’ve already worked through some issues that troubled her. I have a feeling this will make her damn mad and speed up her healing. You know what a pistol she can be.”
Wolf chuckled. “True that. The kid has worn me down more times than I can count. And, brother, if you truly plan on marrying her, you better grow an extra set of kahunas, ʼcause you’re going to need them dealing with her.”
“Yeah, her mind is always working on how to get one ahead.” Jace looked at Wold and grinned. “Wolf, remember how she glued your jockstrap shut before the big football game your senior year?”
Wolf laughed. “I’d almost forgotten. She was what? All of ten? Damn brat.” He pointed at Quinn. “Yep, now that I think about it, you might deserve some of her shit. She can be sweet as all get-out and vengeful as a hurricane too.”
“You think I haven’t learned that already? Now, back to this asshole coming into my building. He knows where Cassie works, what kind of car she drives and where I live.”
“To put his license plate in Quinn’s mailbox. Sounds like the bastard is playing with our boy, here. Edging him on.” Ryder crushed his empty soda can in one hand. “Still, trust old eagle-eye Milt to see it.”
“Oh, he saw it all right.” Arlo slammed the top onto the dry marker. “One of my men is bringing him here. Claims he won’t tell anyone but Quinn and Ryder who he saw. Took a picture of the intruder with his cell phone, and his dog, Killer, bit the man on the leg. So now we got a man with no license plate on his bike and a limp when he walks.”
“You think an effing Chihuahua can inflict that much damage?” Quinn wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. As excitable as Milt was, the picture was probably blurred or missing a head. Yet, here they sat, waiting for agent
Milt Garland, double-oh-four and a half to show up with his photographic masterpiece.
As soon as this meeting was over, he was taking personal leave and going to the hospital with Cassie. Dr. Paxwell and her orders be damned. They could choose another month to stay apart, like November…of twenty-seventy-nine.
“By now, our man is probably using stolen license plates,” Noah reached for another taco. “Do you have any reports of stolen plates or a ditched bike found anywhere?”
Barclay took a bite and chewed. “Could have the bike in a shop for a custom paint job. Stripes or design work. Or a complete color change.”
For the tenth time, Quinn’s gaze went over every detail Arlo had scrawled on the large whiteboard, his mind processing, eliminating and zeroing in on the facts laid out. He needed help. Cassie needed protection; the best he could provide.
The memory of the fury and shame in Buck Gallagher’s eyes, the echo of contempt in his voice as his words attacked Quinn like verbal shrapnel after his failure in Chile, burned like acid in his gut. Hell, he’d spent his entire life trying to win the old man’s approval. If being shot while serving his country didn’t qualify, then nothing would. Where his male parent was concerned, Quinn didn’t give a damn. Yet, damned if he wouldn’t do anything to keep Cassie safe, including swallowing his pride. He stood and walked toward a bank of windows before dialing a number he’d known by heart since childhood.
“Dad, I need your help.”
A long-suffering sigh sounded over the phone. “What kind of trouble are you in this time? And haven’t I told you not to call me by that title?”
Telling him to fuck that shit was on the tip of his tongue, but Cassie’s safety meant too much. “You’re the only one I can trust. Will you give me five minutes to ask your opinion on something?”
While the words barely escaped the tight confines of Quinn’s resentment-packed throat, hearing them seemed to knock some of the wind out of the old man’s sails. His favorite chair squeaked, just as it had for years. “I’m listening.”
“First off, how’s Mom and Grandpa Hudson?” God, the pain of missing them was so acute he didn’t know if he could get through the conversation without falling apart. The last time he’d seen his mother was at Walter Reed Hospital after his return from Chile. He was being treated for two bullet wounds and an infection. She’d cried and pressed kisses to his face. What he wouldn’t give for one of her hugs right about now. A mother’s hug that silently proclaimed everything would be all right.
“They’re both fine, but that’s not why you called, is it?”
“No.” Same old heartless bastard. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. His gaze swept over the whiteboard again. “A few days ago, I put out feelers for openings at the State Department and the DEA.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Within hours, I got a text threatening the young woman I’m in love with, if I returned to government work.”
“Go on.”
“An ex-SEAL, trained in surveillance equipment, found bugs and hidden cameras in my apartment. Cassie was nearly run over and then followed by a motorcycle. A friend was able to get the first two digits of his license plate. Just now that license plate was found, bent in half and stuck in the crack of my mailbox, at my apartment building.”
“Someone doesn’t want you to come back.”
“Yesterday, I emailed everyone I’d contacted a couple days ago, thanked them for their trouble, and told them that I’d decided to stay on here. I hoped that would end the danger for Cassie, but…”
“But it’s not stopping what’s already been put into motion. Let me call you back on a different phone.” The line went dead.
A little more than a minute went by before Quinn’s phone rang. Caller ID said Caller Unknown. He answered and Buck spoke. “Where is Cassie now?”
“Are you using a burner?” The person who’d sent the threatening text had used one. His dad hadn’t reached his high level of government security without being a ruthless son of a bitch. Damned if he’d tell him where she was.
“I’m using a secure line. Tell me how I can help you?” Old resentments surfaced. Since when had his old man ever offered to help with anything? His trust level for his father was minus zero. What the hell was he thinking to call him? He was beyond desperate to help Cassie, that’s what.
The door to the conference room flew open and Milt charged in, his face nearly beet red with excitement. Strands of grey hair stood on end as if he’d been attacked. The pupils of his hazel eyes were dilated. His hand trembled as he extended his phone to Ryder. “I got him. I got the son of a bitch’s photo.”
Barclay pulled out a chair for Milt to collapse into.
Jace handed him a Coke, but Milt shook too badly to open it. “Someone get the oxygen tank and the first aid kit.” Jace snapped the can open and gave it back to Milt; he helped the old man hold onto it so he could get it to his mouth.
Quinn stepped behind Ryder and peered over his shoulder at the photo on Milt’s cell phone. To his surprise, the picture was in sharp focus and, although it didn’t show the front of the man’s face, it did show his neck. All the air whooshed from Quinn’s lungs. “Holy Mother of God. It can’t be!”
“Son! Son!” His dad’s voice yelling over the phone finally registered.
“It’s T-Bone! Chris Mason. The only one of my team from Chile to survive. He told me he was in Montana. Asked me to come work for his band of mercenaries. Why is he in Florida? What the hell is going on?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A male nurse, wearing a mask and pushing a wheelchair, entered Cassie’s room. “How’s it going, sweetie? Your doctor ordered an MRI.” His voice was barely heard. He coughed as he glanced at the clipboard. Just her luck. She’d end up with the nurse’s bronchitis, laryngitis or whatever he had. Really, how much did those little white covers work at prevention?
“First, would you give me your full name and date of birth?”
Why did she need an MRI? She hadn’t had one since…when? She couldn’t recall. “My name is Cassie Jacqueline Wolford and I was born on January the fourteenth, ninety-three. Why do I need an MRI? Does Dr. Paxwell think my brain is diseased or something?”
The nurse coughed and looked at the clipboard again. “Hon, they don’t tell us anything, except what to do next. It says here, we’re supposed to have an MRI with dye.”
“Oh? Are you getting one too?” Why in God’s name did nurses talk like that? And should he really be working if he had some kind of a cold or bronchitis? Yet, she knew her sister, an RN, often dragged herself to work when she really wanted to crawl into bed and sleep off whatever ailed her. “Nurses aren’t supposed to get sick,” Megan would say.
“You’re not allergic—” he coughed again. “Sorry. You’re not allergic to anything are you? Iodine? Shellfish? Latex.” He pulled a hypodermic needle from the front pocket of his blue checked scrubs and removed the plastic cover from the needle.
“No. No, I’m not allergic to anything. Although I’m not overly fond of needles.” Especially when the nurse jabbing me with one is obviously germ-ridden.
“Well, lucky for you, then. You got ol’ Jimmy instead of Donna. Patients complain when she gives them shots.” He rubbed an alcohol-soaked swab of cotton over the vein in Cassie’s neck and injected the solution.
“We inject the dye here, so it’s closer to the head. It’s a double combination shot. Part dye for the imaging and part relaxant for the nerves. Just a little prick. Kinda like my last date.” He laughed, injected the medicine and then stooped to tighten the belts which secured her into the wheelchair.
Cassie wasn’t so sure she liked the male nurse. She hated being spoken to in a condescending way. And who ever heard of getting a shot in the neck? Just wait until she saw Megan; she’d ask her sister, the RN. Also, what was with wearing a turtleneck under his blue scrubs? Had he been getting chills too?
Within seconds, the burning spread through her sys
tem and her tongue swelled so she couldn’t speak plainly. Her head became heavy, and she wanted to sleep. Panic hit her hard. Maybe she was allergic to whatever was in this injection, but she couldn’t form the words coherently to make Jimmy understand.
He opened the door and pushed her through. “Here we go, darling. Just relax. Those nasty old MRIs don’t hurt a bit. Ever had one?” He threw a wave at a policeman. “See you in a couple hours, officer.”
What was a policeman doing outside her room? Was a criminal being housed somewhere on her floor? Why couldn’t she talk enough to ask? Why did her throat hurt to swallow? She’d felt fine until this nurse gave her that damn shot.
They stopped at the elevator doors and, when they opened, Jimmy shoved the wheelchair on. “Could someone press floor two for me, please?”
By the time they’d reached the second floor, Cassie could barely keep her eyes open. At this rate she’d sleep through the MRI.
****
After Milt had a few hits of oxygen, his coloring improved and his breathing slowed. His lips were no longer blue. Jace, one of the station’s EMT’s, pronounced his pulse an acceptable rate and his blood pressure in a more normal range.
Arlo slid a chair in front of the older man and sat. “Feel up to answering a few questions?” He flashed Milt his badge. “I’m detective Arlo Jacobs, assigned to this case.” He pointed to the whiteboard. “We’ve been writing down everything anyone knows or has seen or heard. Can you tell me what happened earlier?”
Milt tugged on the blanket Jace had wrapped around him. “All…all hell broke loose.” Then he farted.
Arlo slid his chair back a foot or two.
“I’m Quinn’s downstairs neighbor. Probably his best friend.”
“That he is.” Quinn patted his narrow back. The man was so lonely with his wife deceased; he soaked up anyone’s attention. Throw him a kernel of kindness, and he was your friend for life. He was a decent man, always ready to help. Quinn opened and handed Milt a bottle of water. “Drink this, buddy. You’ve been through a rough ordeal. You need rehydrating.”