Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “It’s lucky that she can get away with recovering from the ordeal by staying at home with Troy,” he pointed out.

  And it was. Troy and Reece had united in eternal bonds, Reece having ended up as his one true mate. She was now a werewolf, and technically a Younger. She was struggling to control her shifts and required constant attention, which Troy was more than happy to provide. If Dante hadn’t captured and held her in that cage, however, she wouldn’t have the brilliant excuse of needing to recover at her new home in Troy’s cabin. Mrs. Yeats, the crotchety old head librarian had permitted Reece time off, and because of it, Reece had been able to hide out, undisturbed.

  Kaleb didn’t have to ask his brother why Troy had been in a sour mood. It had nothing to do with his new wife, and everything to do with the gift of foresight. It had been wishful thinking on Troy’s part that he’d hoped the second he’d bonded with his one true mate, all of his gifts would kick in. Last time Kaleb checked, Troy’s foresight visions had been murky and jumbled at best. He wasn’t able to make heads or tails of them, and he certainly wasn’t able to hone them so that he could locate Dante, wherever the rogue werewolf was.

  “We learned from Jack,” said Conor as he began to get Kaleb up to speed in terms of what he’d missed at the meeting, “that the sheriff has more or less decided that Holly van Dyke and Leeanne Whitaker were both killed by the white wolf he shot on Trout Street.”

  He practically breathed his response, “Angel?”

  “Well, the sheriff doesn’t know it was Angel, but yes. That’s what he thinks he’s hunting.”

  “Jack told you that?”

  “Jack’s word is gold,” Conor reminded him and Kaleb didn’t dispute it.

  “It sounds like Rick isn’t pursuing the wolf-man angle,” he said, relieved.

  “Now that a body has turned up dead at Lucy’s, no. I guess that invalidated Lucy in his eyes, not that I’m convinced Rick ever thought Lucy Cooper’s word would be valid. But now I imagine she’s really on his shit list, you know, based on what she did last night.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Jack was there,” Conor told him. “And like I said—”

  “Jack’s word is gold,” he supplied. “Right.”

  After a beat of studying his brother, Conor correctly guessed, “You were there.”

  “I saw lights on in her apartment. Went up. I volunteered to be her bodyguard.”

  The last detail Conor already knew.

  “How does Troy want us to proceed?” he asked as Conor glanced around the diner.

  “Damn, I really want bacon now.”

  “Could you focus?”

  “This is a diner,” Conor stated.

  “We know Lucy didn’t kill Leeanne,” Kaleb began summarizing. “And I’m sure Jack insists Angel couldn’t have done it either.”

  “Why do you put it like that?”

  Kaleb leaned in and spoke at an even lower volume since a group of teenagers had just bounced into the booth behind his brother.

  “Maybe she did.”

  “What makes you think that?” asked Conor. He looked more interested than skeptical.

  “She wasn’t in the restaurant. I was here, and I know she wasn’t out in any of the sections.”

  “She could’ve been in the kitchen,” Conor supposed.

  “She has a key to the apartment since she’s the one who rents it out.”

  “Leeanne had Lucy’s key. That’s how she got in. Anyone could’ve followed in after her,” he challenged, playing devil’s advocate.

  Kaleb had run out of points and now flipped to the opposite side of the spectrum, agreeing, “My amethyst didn’t heat up at the time Leeanne was up there and killed.”

  “Which it would have if Angel had shifted,” he said, catching on.

  “It also would’ve lit up like white fire if Dante had been anywhere near that apartment.”

  It was puzzling and troubling, especially considering that the sheriff was certain Leeanne had been attacked and killed by a wolf.

  “So, what are you thinking?” asked Conor.

  “I have no idea,” he said, puzzled. “What’s Troy’s take on all of this? What’s the plan?”

  “It’s not encouraging,” he warned. “Since we can’t seem to get a line on Dante, we’re sitting on the defensive.”

  “Wait and see?” he asked. It didn’t sound like Troy. But then again…

  “Yeah, literally. Until something else happens or until Troy gets a handle on his gift of foresight, what other options do we have?”

  Kaleb didn’t necessarily know, and he was starting to share his eldest brother’s frustration. In all of Kaleb’s years, it had never once crossed his mind to ask his father who his one true mate might be. That curiosity was now seriously crossing his mind, and Troy was in absolutely no position to provide an answer. It was literally the blind leading the blind.

  “Well, I guess I can put all of my attention on Lucy,” Kaleb said, thinking out loud.

  A knowing grin spread across Conor’s face.

  “Oh, stop. It’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  Kaleb glanced down at the tattoo that spanned his inner forearm—the Quinn clan crest. Conor also had the howling wolf tatted across his forearm. It was a long moment before Kaleb realized he was touching the other tattoo he had. The one of the ethereal goddess whose face he could never recall upon waking up. Deep down, as the recurring dream had washed over him throughout the years, he’d started to trust that it was a form of foresight. His subconscious revealing to him who his one true mate was. Again, he felt a sting of frustration that Troy wouldn’t be able to tell him one way or the other.

  He was about to vent his frustration, but he noticed the sheriff pull Lucy aside over by the counter.

  “Crap,” he grumbled as he slid to the edge of the booth and climbed out.

  “Kaleb,” Conor said, a weak attempt at stopping him.

  Yes, the sheriff, as a general rule, despised all of the Quinns, but that didn’t mean Kaleb was going to hang back and let him grill his client.

  As he neared them, he heard Rick ask her, “What made you think you wouldn’t get into serious trouble sneaking back into my crime scene and cleaning up evidence?”

  Kaleb came to stand right beside Lucy, but it was immediately clear that she wouldn’t need his help.

  She held her head high and asserted, “It’s my home, Sheriff. I’m going to continue to live there. If your officers haven’t gathered up all the evidence they need, then that’s their shortcoming. Not mine. I have every intention of living in my home.”

  “You’re a creepy little thing, aren’t you?” he sneered.

  “Hey!” Kaleb blurted.

  “This is none of your concern, Kaleb,” he barked. “And I’ll thank you to return to your seat.”

  “I’ll thank you,” he shot right back, using the same, snide tone, “to go fu—”

  “Kaleb!” Lucy blurted, saving him for saying something they both might seriously regret.

  Rick took an intimidating step towards him, but Kaleb didn’t back down. “Were you there, too?” When Kaleb didn’t respond, only glared at him, his jaw clenching and hands balling into fists, the sheriff warned, “I’m itching to arrest you. Just you give me the chance, boy.”

  Lucy strongly pointed out, “There’s no law against cussing. I have to get back to work.”

  “You’ll get back to work when I excuse you, young lady.”

  In response, Lucy said something bolder than Kaleb would’ve ever thought her capable. “Sally-Mae would roll over in her grave if she saw you acting the way you’ve been.”

  Lucy cut her eyes to Angel, driving her point home, and it was enough to cripple the sheriff. He didn’t have a retort—snide, insulting, or otherwise—and he probably would’ve crumbled to pieces had Rachel Clancy not interrupted.

  “Sheriff? Got a call.”

  “Not now, Clancy!”

&nb
sp; “Sir, it’s your daughter,” she told him and the grave look of concern that had filled her eyes was enough to pull the sheriff straight out of the restaurant.

  “You okay?” Kaleb asked Lucy as she let out a rocky breath.

  “I’m staying in my apartment tonight,” she asserted with such conviction that Kaleb felt his heart swell in his chest for her. But it didn’t last. When she added, “Alone,” that very same heart sank, bottoming out through the floor.

  Chapter Eight

  LUCY

  Lucy was starting to realize that getting rid of Kaleb Quinn wouldn’t be easy, and the only thing that truly irked her about it was that she kind of liked his persistence. A lot.

  He’d stubbornly taken up the prime real estate of that booth her entire shift, which she would’ve been thoroughly annoyed at if he hadn’t left her a jaw-dropping tip to make up for the stream of customers that hadn’t had a chance to sit there. As soon as she’d gotten off, he’d boldly entered the kitchen, unwilling to allow her out of his sight for even a second. It made slipping upstairs into her apartment completely impossible. He came right up with her and waited outside of her bedroom door while she changed out of her diner uniform and into a yellow dress and sandal heels. When she emerged, he looked very pleased at what he saw, but didn’t comment or cross any lines. He was back to being polite and professional, and if there was one thing weighing on Lucy’s mind, it wasn’t her disgust that he’d slept with Courtney Harrington, though she hated knowing that he had. The only real problem she was having was her own reaction.

  She shouldn’t have gotten so sour over it. It wasn’t like they were dating. She had no claim on him. It wasn’t her place to have any kind of problem with his personal life. Sure, he had been in the habit of hitting on her with more determination than Babe Ruth at the World Series when he wouldn’t quit until he’d scored a home run, but that was no reason to have gone and jumped to wild conclusions. If she wanted to be mad at anyone, she could only direct her anger at herself for having the foolishness to wonder if perhaps she might be special to Kaleb.

  Hadn’t just about every girl in the Fist hoped as much? Weekend after weekend, an endless parade of women had hoped the exact same, that they’d be the one to impress Kaleb Quinn so much that he’d actually give up his playboy ways and settle down with them. But like a revolving door, as soon as they went into his bedroom, they were, moments later, spit right out again.

  And here Lucy was, having almost made the exact same mistake.

  She stood by her assertion that she would stay in her own apartment from here on out. Alone being the operative word. Just because Kaleb had offered, or really insisted, that he serve as some kind of bodyguard, didn’t mean she didn’t have a say in the matter.

  But he hadn’t given up.

  From her apartment, he’d walked her all the way down Main Street to Libations where she’d promised Whitney they’d have a drink or two after her shift. Kaleb had stubbornly kept street-side the entire way, his hand on the small of her back as though if he didn’t keep some kind of hold on her, she’d zip off into the outer stratosphere of space beyond the stars.

  When they reached the bar, he held the heavy wooden door open for her and she felt a pinch of irritation that her good friend had yet to arrive.

  The bar was quiet, though there were the usual barflies hunched over pints along the counter. Here and there were college kids enjoying a drink over conversation, but for the most part Lucy had her pick of tables.

  She chose a round one in the near corner, its windows facing the intersection of Trout and Main. Kaleb hadn’t said a word the entire walk, but she expected him to sit down with her. He didn’t. Instead, as she got situated at the table, he hung back at the bar counter where, on the other side, Jack Quagmire was drying a martini glass with a clean dish rag.

  It was a little weird to see Jack without Angel nearby. The two had been practically inseparable since Angel’s episode out in the woods, the details of which she still couldn’t remember, as far as Lucy had heard. It gave her pause. She knew that Angel was at the diner and would be until closing. She’d probably float over then. Maybe something had happened that had caused Jack to need a little breathing room. Why else would he have left Angel in favor of tending to the bar when he had a slew of bartenders and bar-backs who were used to holding down the fort?

  She realized she was staring, but before she could cut her gaze away, Kaleb swiveled out on the barstool he’d sat on and looked at her.

  She felt magnetized to him. She couldn’t look away. He was easily the most handsome man in all of the Fist, but his good looks wasn’t the reason their eyes had locked.

  It was then that it dawned on her the real reason why she’d gotten so upset when Courtney had thrown in her face how much Kaleb had liked her body. Lucy felt connected to Kaleb. Had she always? If she had, she’d never realized it before he had held her to see her through the emotional upheaval that had overcome her last night. But that’s what it felt like. A connection. Magnetic. Even though he was seated across the room, she felt drawn to him, like if she didn’t plant both hands on her table, she might float towards him.

  But he was all wrong for her. Wasn’t he? If she was being honest with herself, Kaleb Quinn was wrong for just about any girl who wasn’t angling for a hot night of passion. She cut her eyes away from him finally and frowned a little. He should really stick to tourists and women who were only passing through town. Lucy herself was no prude, but she was still discerning. She wasn’t about to go to bed with just anyone…

  What was she thinking!

  She groaned at herself. Why was she mentally wrestling with the frustration that Kaleb was all wrong for her? She shouldn’t even be thinking in those terms. The fact that she was, was evidence that she wanted something from him, and she couldn’t stand that she did.

  She was attracted to him and wished she wasn’t.

  She felt connected to him and couldn’t understand why.

  And even though she’d told him point-blank that she’d be staying in her apartment alone tonight, deep down she felt a strong fire burning in her heart that she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  She felt another groan coming on, but Whitney breezed into the bar and it was enough to derail her from beating herself up any further.

  Whitney had fully embraced the warm weather and was wearing a slinky purple dress that would probably pitch her father into cardiac arrest if he was here.

  “Hey,” she breathed as she flashed Lucy a smile. She looked gorgeous and had turned more than a few college-aged heads when she’d entered the bar. The purple hue of her dress really complimented her wild mane of red hair, and Lucy momentarily wondered if she looked like a country bumpkin by comparison. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

  “You look amazing,” she complimented, deaf to the question.

  “I feel like it’s a martini kind of night,” she decided without sitting down.

  Instead, Whitney sashayed her sassy way over to the bar and didn’t have to try at all to get Jack’s attention, or anyone’s for that matter, except, Lucy discovered, for Kaleb’s. He’d touched eyes with Lucy and shot her a piqued smile, indicating that her friend looked about ready to have a big night.

  Lucy smiled, shook her head, and rolled her eyes as if to say, that’s Whitney for ya.

  Once Jack had shaken up two dry martinis, Whitney carried them back to the table and, setting the cocktails on the table and lowering her slinky self into her seat, commented, “I’m not going to have to toss one of these in Kaleb’s face, am I?”

  It was her way of asking Lucy how last night had gone after she’d driven off with the second eldest Quinn in the dead of night.

  “No, not yet,” she said good-naturedly before taking a sip of her crisp martini.

  “You just say the word,” Whitney promised, “and I’ll happily waste twelve bucks to shame the man. Why’s he here anyway? Oh right,” she remembered, answering her own question. “H
e’s your bodyguard now.”

  “Whether I like it or not, apparently.”

  “Oh, come on, you like it,” said Whitney with a grin. “Every girl does, until they don’t.”

  “Yeah, I’m trying to avoid the until I don’t part,” she said with widening eyes.

  “Please do,” she begged. “I don’t want you to end up another of Kaleb’s victims.”

  Lucy didn’t either and as she took another sip of her strong martini, it occurred to her that getting tipsy probably wouldn’t help that effort.

  “You look good, though,” her friend told her as she brushed her auburn hair off of her shoulders. “You look relaxed.”

  “I am, for some reason,” she said. “I haven’t taken a single Xanax.”

  “I could use one myself,” said Whitney and she paled as the lighthearted smile slipped from her face. She gulped her martini, fortifying her emotions, it seemed, and then said, “I saw him.”

  “Who?”

  “The wolf-man.”

  Lucy just stared at her for a long, terrified moment.

  “You look how I feel,” Whitney commented. “Don’t worry, I’m alive.”

  Lucy leaned in and asked in a grave tone, “Did he seep into your mind?”

  “No, but I was petrified. Utterly petrified. If Buttons hadn’t sensed danger and taken off at a gallop, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

  Buttons was Whitney’s favorite stallion. He was a magnificent horse, tall and muscular and intuitive, all black with a white diamond of hair dripping down his forehead. He lived at the corral stables in Yellowstone where she worked and had a habit of demanding she ride him either before, during, or after her every shift.

  “He crept out onto the trail way out in front of us, the wolf-man,” she explained. “The second I saw him….” She trailed off, shaking her head and widening her horrified eyes, until she had to snuff the image out of her mind with another big gulp of vodka. “My heart stopped and my brain froze. He was exactly as you described him. A mangled, horrible thing. When he charged at us, Buttons rose up on his hind legs, cried out, and took off galloping in the other direction. When we reached the stables, the wolf-man hadn’t followed.”