Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  It frustrated him. Maybe Peter’s court-appointed attorney had been smarter than most. Had to have been to some extent, because not only had the DA agreed to let Peter plead to manslaughter just to get the case closed for good, he’d specifically pleaded to involuntary manslaughter.

  Rick felt his molars start to grind.

  Voluntary manslaughter would’ve been down-playing the crime badly enough, but involuntary? It was a disgrace to the entire legal system. Involuntary manslaughter was generally reserved to kids who drunk drove their friends home from a party, rolled the car, and accidentally killed one of them. Completely unintentional.

  There was nothing completely unintentional about the murder of Roxanne and Harold Cooper, not by a long shot.

  And worse, as Rick had just discovered having skimmed the contents of the fax, Peter Swanson had already been let out of prison due to overcrowding, which, quite frankly, hadn’t shaved off much of his sentence. He’d been released only a year and a half earlier than he should’ve been, thanks to the fact that an involuntary manslaughter conviction didn’t actually hold a whole lot of weight.

  Good ol’ Peter Swanson had been released before Leeanne Whitaker had been killed on the twelfth of June. But not before Holly van Dyke had met her fatal fate out behind the library.

  Was Peter Swanson a copy-cat killer, smart enough to emulate Holly’s death, but dumb enough to kill the wrong girl?

  And why the hell would he do it?

  Peter hadn’t had one goddamn thing to do with the Coopers twelve years ago. Not one goddamn thing, except that his prints had been all over their house. No one, not the police and not the District Attorney, had ever conceived a likely motive. But again, they hadn’t needed one. Peter had confessed. Case closed.

  Maybe it shouldn’t have been.

  Rick resolved to pay Peter Swanson a little visit. His parole officer’s contact information was right there in the faxed release papers. First thing tomorrow morning, he’d give the guy a call, swing on over to Jackson Hole if that’s where Peter was staying in the half-way house, and give the ex-con a good, hard, Wyoming look in the eye. Ask him a few questions. See what might shake out of him.

  He was lifted from deep contemplation when headlights cut through the window, brightening the length of his study. Swiveling in his chair, he saw his daughter’s Jeep tear down the dirt driveway, but she pulled an abrupt stop right next to Rick’s SUV and climbed out.

  Good Christ, was she stumbling?

  And what in the hell was she wearing?

  Rick had practically pressed his nose to the glass to try and see, but she high-heel walked her way out of view, nearing the door of his cabin.

  He started through the house and found her tip-toeing noisily through the foyer.

  He flipped on a light and she squinted. “Daddy?”

  “Please tell me you didn’t wear that thing in public,” he scolded, wishing his daughter wasn’t dressed like a ten-dollar floosy.

  “Calm down,” she said as she made her way out of the foyer and into the kitchen.

  “What’re ya doing here?”

  She swung the refrigerator door open and at first, he thought she might just like the cool air on her skin, but she started checking out the options inside, as she told him, “I got nothin’ at my place and I didn’t feel like diner food.”

  “The diner isn’t even open at this hour.”

  “Well, there ya go,” she said as though her sudden arrival made perfect sense.

  “Christ, child, sit down before ya twist your ankle,” he ordered, and Whitney clumsy-walked to the kitchen table and plopped down. As Rick grabbed a packet of bacon and three eggs from the fridge then pulled three slices of whole wheat bread from the bread bin, he said, “You got behind the wheel and you’re clearly over the legal limit.”

  “I know,” she said in a defeated tone. “But it’s not like I could’ve called a cab or scheduled an Uber.”

  Though neither of those options actually existed in the Fist, as far as Rick was concerned it was no excuse. “You could’ve called me,” he told her as he shoved all three pieces of bread into the toaster oven and cracked the eggs into a frying pan.

  As he laid out five strips of bacon beside the eggs and the food got sizzling, she reminded him, “I would’ve called you… if I’d’ve gotten pulled over.”

  He glared at her.

  “Don’t burn my bacon, Daddy,” she warned just to get his disapproving eyes off of her.

  “Don’t burn your bacon?” he challenged, but when he looked at her again, he felt his whole heart soften. “Honey, I don’t want you puttin’ yourself in danger.”

  “I made it home safe and sound,” she pointed out then lifted both of her hands to shimmy out a little jazz-hands action and sang, “Ta-da!”

  “We got a viscous wolf roaming free out there! What if you’d had an accident, wandered from your Jeep, and got attacked?”

  “That’s what the handgun is for, right?”

  “You think you’d have any kind of accurate aim? You’re probably seeing double, for Christ’s sake!”

  He was burning the bacon, so he turned and tended to it just as the toaster oven let out a sharp ding. He plated the fried eggs over the toast without buttering it, since Whitney didn’t like it too soggy, then slid the bacon beside it and set the meal down in front of her.

  “Thanks,” she said like a stubborn teenager who hated that she still needed her daddy.

  Rick sighed and pulled up a chair. She was still his little girl. He couldn’t stay mad at her. All he ever wanted to do was keep her safe and happy.

  “Jack was at the bar,” she commented before stuffing more eggy toast into her gullet. “Angel wasn’t.”

  “Humph,” he retorted. Maybe those two were on the outs. Angel Mercer had become something of a happy place in Rick’s mind. Maybe instead of pondering Peter Swanson any more this evening, he’d turn his thoughts to his best friend’s woman and do all the things to her mentally that he was certain he’d never get away with in real life. “You can stay in the guest bedroom tonight, if you want.”

  She hopped up, having devoured her food, threw her arms around him in a great, big, sloppy hug, and breathed, “Thank ya, Daddy. You’re the best.”

  With that, she trotted off through the house, leaving Rick to clean up after her.

  ***

  As Rick eased through his mansion-sized cabin, turning lights off as he made his way up to his bedroom, Whitney having collapsed into a heap of sleep in the first-floor guestroom, Lucy Cooper was finally coming down from the full-blown panic attack she hadn’t been able to avoid.

  Kaleb had ushered her into the bedroom and cradled her as they’d sat down on the edge of her bed. She’d nearly lost consciousness this time, and her mind had gone so blank as the violent, riveting quake of unbridled emotion had erupted through her that it hadn’t even occurred to her to pop a pill.

  By the time she stopped shaking, her cheeks were damp with the tears that had spilled out of her eyes, and she was just now able to breathe deeply enough to be able to feel her arms and legs.

  As she came back into herself, she felt the firm weight of Kaleb’s warm hand between her shoulder blades, his other large hand draped over her thigh, skin-on-skin where the skirt of her yellow dress had ridden up.

  He rubbed her back some then squeezed her shoulder and assured her, “You’re okay.”

  “Am I?” she questioned. “Will I be?”

  She wasn’t just asking him about her recurring anxiety attacks, which were definitely increasing in frequency. She was also asking because she was terrified. Someone had snuck into her apartment. They’d found her lipstick on the sink counter in the bathroom. They’d drawn an oval on the mirror, titling it with the word guilty, knowing full well that sooner or later, Lucy would step right into it, see her own reflection circled in the mirror, and feel the full magnitude of the guilt that she’d been trying to keep at bay for the last twelve years of her life.
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  When she finally looked at Kaleb, staring into those dark, intense eyes of his, it was clear he didn’t and wouldn’t have an answer for her. He tucked a lock of her long, blonde hair behind her ear and gave her leg a little reassuring squeeze.

  He wasn’t coming on to her. She knew that much. But the feel of his large, warm hand against the tender skin of her thigh sent a relaxing wave of energy through her. He was sitting so close to her, leg to leg and shoulder to shoulder, that she could feel the heat rolling off of him. When he placed his palm on the comforter behind her, his shoulders squared to her a bit, their faces came very close. Kaleb’s lips were practically brushing against her damp cheek.

  She was tempted to look him in the eye again but was too scared. The energy was building between them, its intensity feeling like crackling electricity through a live wire, and she knew that if she turned her face to him, their lips would meet and there might be no stopping what would surely start.

  He spoke softly into her ear, “I’m going to find who did this.”

  It sounded like a promise and once again she felt a warm wave of relaxation washing over her. It gave her the impression that there was something about Kaleb that might be healing if she ever got so brave as to let him take her. Maybe that’s what she wanted, despite the Courtneys and Pamelas of the world. But she stopped herself from going there. She didn’t want to become one of them, stalking around and frantic to retain what little ground she’d gained with him sexually.

  “Kaleb,” she breathed, forcing herself to take the first step towards establishing some personal space, but as soon as she said his name, he brought his lips to her cheek, the tip of his nose pressing in against her skin.

  It wasn’t quite a kiss, more like an exploration of how her warm, damp cheek might feel against his mouth. He didn’t pucker or press his lips, only let them brush lightly before pulling back to stroke her hair behind her ear again.

  She realized she’d placed her hand on his jeaned thigh. He felt hard to the touch, muscular, and she was getting accustomed to his masculine, woodsy scent.

  She forced herself to say, “I should probably go to—”

  But he didn’t let her say the word bed. His lips were pressing against hers all of a sudden in a real kiss. He raked his fingers up the nape of her neck, through her blonde hair, until he was cradling the back of her head with his large hand, gently deepening the kiss.

  Kaleb had gone for it and Lucy wasn’t holding back either. Her body sank against his as she rested her palms against the firm wall of his chest. It felt like every tense, shell-shocked muscle in her body was melting into him as their heads tilted and she opened up, his tongue gently probing the soft curves of her lips and mouth.

  She breathed in the scent of him, her nose against his cheek, as their lips brushed and pecked then opened into an even deeper kiss.

  She was losing all sense of herself, all sense of the anxiety that had welled up and nearly destroyed her, all sense of danger that she knew would eventually close in. In this moment there was just Kaleb and Lucy and the potential of what their bodies might do together if neither of them wanted to stop it.

  Maybe she should stop this, stop him, or herself. Maybe she should pull back and blurt out some degree of conversation about the couch and blankets and how she hoped he’d be comfortable sleeping out there.

  But she didn’t want him to sleep out there on the living room couch. She wanted him in here, in her bed, pressed against her between cotton sheets. She wanted to feel his hard body lowering down over her, maybe she even wanted to feel him penetrate into her and help her escape herself, her dark thoughts and worry, if only for one night.

  Whether she would’ve given in to her budding desires for Kaleb or urged him back to claim some semblance of space in order to properly think this thing through, Lucy didn’t get the chance one way or the other.

  Without warning, the bedroom suddenly brightened. At first, she assumed a car was rolling down Main Street with its headlights on their brightest setting, but when she squinted her eyes open, she realized that the light—otherworldly in its sparkling white hue—was coming from inside the room.

  Kaleb was instantly blinded, as well. He pulled back from kissing her and shielded his eyes.

  “What’s happening?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know, I can’t see,” he said as he struggled to squint at her. “It’s you!”

  “What?”

  “You’re glowing!”

  “I am?” she said, thoroughly confused and disoriented. She tried to open her eyes but felt too blinded so she cracked only one eye open to look at her hand.

  Kaleb was right. Her skin was glowing as though every pore in her arm was radiating a blindingly bright ray of otherworldly light.

  “What’s happening to me, Kaleb?” she panicked.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Then try to stay calm,” he advised as he sprang from the bed and crossed into the living room. “Stay there,” he instructed when her first impulse was to follow after him.

  As her eyes adjusted to the light shooting out of her, she realized Kaleb had only fled to the living room so that he could see well enough to use his cell phone.

  “Am I going to go up in flames?” she asked, but now that her initial panic was subsiding, she realized that she felt more alive than ever. She felt strong and healthy and alert.

  She had no idea why this was happening, but something about it felt right, like this day had been coming ever since she was a little girl.

  “Troy,” Kaleb barked into his cell phone. “I think I’m going to need your help. Now.”

  Chapter Nine

  KALEB

  Kaleb watched as Troy neared Lucy’s closed bedroom door.

  His eyes had finally stopped burning and he could see clearly again, but braced himself, squinting as Troy cracked the door open.

  As soon as he did, peering in, the seam burst with otherworldly light, Lucy inside the little bedroom and tucked on the bed, concerned.

  Troy slammed the door shut and turned on his heel, facing Kaleb with astonishment in his dark, blinking and obviously stinging eyes.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Kaleb asked, hoping that Troy would have some insight since he was supposed to be the werewolf king and have answers to seemingly unsolvable questions.

  Neither Quinn was so lucky, however.

  “You’re asking me?” he shot back, puzzled as all hell. “Your client has lit up like a goddamn star in there!”

  “I noticed!” Kaleb barked. “Why?”

  Troy paced away from the door in deep thought, his large hand rubbing across his mouth and his hawkish brow furrowed. As he began shaking his head as though he was at a complete loss for an explanation, he offered, “Maybe Sasha will know.”

  “You want to bring her to Grandmother Sasha’s?” he questioned. “At this hour? You think putting Lucy in the passenger’s seat of my pickup is a good idea? What if someone sees her? She looks like the freakin’ sun in there!”

  “Let me think!” Troy snapped, running all ten fingers through his dark hair.

  Kaleb could smell his brother’s immense frustration. Their late father, Xavier, would have insight if not answers. And Troy had been cursing every day that had passed that his own gifts hadn’t developed.

  Finally, he collected himself enough to ask, “What was she doing right before she lit up like a Christmas tree?”

  That stopped him, dead in his tracks. Kaleb swallowed hard, reluctant to say.

  “Well?” Troy pressed.

  “I, uh,” he stammered. “We were, um…”

  “Boning?” Troy barked in an accusatory tone.

  “No! God! No. We were—”

  “Almost boning?”

  “Stop saying boning, Christ, Troy!”

  “Something was happening,” his older brother insisted.

  “We kissed,” he finally admitted.

  “Yeah, you kissed,” T
roy echoed skeptically before clarifying on his playboy brother’s behalf. “Making out is more like it.”

  “Fine! We were making out!”

  “You just can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Troy! I’ve been with a lot of girls over the years. A lot. And none of them ever turned into a goddamn halogen bulb because of it!”

  Troy did a slow lap around the small living room, having another deep think on the bizarre situation, and they both got quiet enough to hear Lucy say softly through the door, “I think I’m getting dimmer. Guys?”

  “Just stay in there!” Troy ordered her, and Kaleb didn’t much appreciate his brother’s insensitive tone.

  Kaleb crossed to the door and cracked it open, finding Lucy peering up at him on the other side.

  She was right. She looked dimmer but was still glowing. He didn’t have to squint to look at her. If anything, his eyes widened at how beautiful she looked. She resembled a goddess. A familiar one.

  Then it hit him. The ethereal being from his dreams. The one whose face he could never recall upon waking. The otherworldly woman who he’d been so enthralled with, having experienced the brightness of her body, that he’d gone out and had her image tattooed on his shoulder.

  He slammed the door and turned to face his brother.

  He didn’t want to speak so loudly that Lucy would be able to hear him through the door so he came right up to Troy and asked in a low voice, “Is she my one true mate?”

  “I cannot believe you have the audacity to ask me that,” he said dryly.

  “Come on! I’m not trying to make you feel like crap that you’re gift of foresight is murky. I’m asking you—”

  “You’re asking me a question that you know I can’t answer,” he spat. “I’ve never seen a mate who glowed like that. I don’t know what the hell to make of this!”

  “Maybe we should see Sasha,” Kaleb finally agreed. “But not right now.”

  “Hey, guys?” Lucy asked through the door. “Guys, I think I’m normal again!”

  Kaleb quickly crossed to the bedroom door and threw it open. She was right again. She looked completely normal, not radioactive as she’d previously looked.