Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Am I in danger?” she asked suddenly worried.

  ***

  Rachel had been keeping her head down and sneaking her private investigation, but her stomach was seriously starting to grumble. The time on her computer told her why. It was far past lunchtime. She tucked her notes into the lap drawer of her desk, pushed her chair back, and started through the station with plans of consoling herself with a big, fat, juicy burger on her mind.

  As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, the heat of the Fist was like a punch to the face.

  “You’ve been in quite a mood,” Eddie commented.

  He was standing to the side of the entrance and getting a little sun and air that was hardly fresh. If anything, the heat was stifling and though he had discarded his suit jacket, Eddie’s button-down shirt was stained with sweat.

  “No comment,” she grumbled, but he wasn’t going to let her get away with deflecting.

  “It’s Alighieri, isn’t it?”

  She stopped and turned to face him.

  “The sheriff told me,” he said. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

  “Me neither,” she allowed then another blow of insult slammed into her. “When did he tell you?”

  “First thing this morning.”

  So that’s what this was about? Eddie never missed an opportunity to gloat. He wanted her to know that in the sheriff’s eyes, Rachel was so low on the totem pole that she was the last person to receive serious news.

  “Congratulations,” she muttered dryly before starting down the sidewalk.

  “If you want to make detective,” he called after her, “I’d heed the sheriff if I were you!”

  Eddie could go to hell as far as she was concerned. She looked both ways then crossed Main Street, heading straight for the diner when she heard another voice call out her name.

  It was Conor.

  “Busy day at the station?” he asked as he jogged towards her.

  “I guess.”

  “I couldn’t get past the front desk,” he explained. “Came by to see you.”

  “Oh?”

  Conor tried to endear himself to her with an easy smile, but it didn’t reach her. Eddie had been right. She was in some mood.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m starving.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  What did she care? She shrugged and continued to Angel’s Food, Conor keeping up beside her. When they reached the diner door, he held it open for her. Of course, the place was packed. It was the tail-end of the lunch rush, but quite frankly, she didn’t need to scarf her meal and hurry back to the station. Maybe she would take her sweet time to ensure that the sheriff and Eddie wouldn’t conspire against her to get her to go out of town on some wild goose chase interviewing friends and associates of Jake Marple in Montana.

  “Howdy, Rachel,” Lucy greeted them at the hostess stand. “Conor.”

  He gave her a friendly nod and she led them through the bustling diner to the one booth that was vacant in the back. It faced Bison Road and the burly field beyond it.

  “We’re getting slammed,” Lucy said, stating the obvious. “So if you know what you’d like, I can get your order in lickety-split?”

  “Burger, medium rare, with a big ol’ pile of fries, how ‘bout?” Rachel ordered.

  “Same,” said Conor, and Lucy took off padding up the aisle.

  She sighed, slouching back against red vinyl that didn’t feel even half as comfortable as it usually did.

  “Seriously, Rachel, what’s eating you?”

  “The sheriff killed the Alighieri investigation.”

  “He what?” Conor breathed, astonished.

  Finally, someone had the correct reaction. “If you can believe it.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I have no idea. The excuse he gave me was that Alighieri’s lawyer contacted him, threatening some legal mumbo-jumbo.” She took a moment to absorb the magnitude of it all. It felt like a betrayal, like Rick had betrayed Rachel and the residents of this town. Another hot flare of rage swelled in her chest and it felt like a tipping point, one that pushed her clear over the edge of her determination. “I’m not going to stop investigating. Lord knows I’ve done more for that case than anyone at the station. Rick’s been odd about it from day one, if I’m being honest here.”

  “How so?”

  She grimaced as though the sheriff’s real motivation still eluded her. “I’ve been going above and beyond with my research. I sent countless samples to a lab in Jackson Hole, compiling DNA evidence. I was building a folder for the case and he wouldn’t even look at it. At first I thought it was because he’s a sexist jerk who refuses to acknowledge the hard work of a female officer, but now… I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

  “What kind of DNA evidence?” he asked.

  She narrowed her eyes on him, sizing him up. All five Quinn brothers sat firmly on the left side of her handwritten map of names. All of them were suspects. Of what? She didn’t yet know. But each and every Quinn had been involved in an adversarial role against Alighieri. She would need to be very careful about what she revealed to Conor and what she kept to herself.

  “That’s confidential,” she finally answered.

  “It isn’t, though,” he pointed out. “The case against Alighieri has been dropped. You can tell me anything.”

  She laughed then told him, “You’re good.”

  “I try.”

  “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

  “I thought we agreed to put our heads together,” he reminded her. When her only response was a quirk of her eyebrow, he pushed, “Alighieri is a major threat to the entire town. You know it and I know it. If he isn’t stopped, more people will die.”

  “You mean more people will be turned into wolves,” she countered, challenging him to get real with her. “If you want to investigate with me, you’re going to have to be honest.”

  “I’m being honest,” he maintained.

  But she didn’t agree. “You’re being evasive and I’m in no mood.” He sat back and seemed to study her. “But I’ll give you one thing, the sheriff isn’t going to look at Dante a second time unless he’s implicated in another crime.”

  Again, he asked, “What DNA evidence?”

  Rachel leaned in and responded with a question of her own, “Why is it that Quinn DNA comes back human when all of Dante’s damned are canine?”

  Conor stared at her for a very long moment then leaned in, bringing their faces very close to continue the conversation with a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Show me your evidence and I’ll show you mine.”

  She studied him, leaned back against the booth, and asked, “What are you up to tonight?”

  Chapter Five

  CONOR

  Conor stepped inside Devil’s Advocate at a little after 7pm and found his youngest brother standing behind the counter and struggling to insert a roll of receipt paper into a device. It gave him pause and he cocked his head with interest and smiled.

  “Adelaide had a different idea when you offered your services, I take it?”

  “Something like that,” Dean grumbled. The roll of paper wouldn’t fit. “She agreed but didn’t want me looming around intimidating the customers so I’m supposed to blend in.”

  He grunted, having some kind of epiphany and then flipped the roll of paper. He’d been trying to fill it upside down. He had it now, slapped the device closed, and watched as it munched an inch of paper out, running an automatic test to show it was working.

  “Finally,” Dean sighed. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could not stop thinking about this snow globe,” he joshed, having picked one up and shaken it.

  Dean scowled. “You better have cash, because our credit card machine has been fussy.”

  Conor laughed then realized his brother wasn’t kidding. “Where’s Adelaide?”

  “In the back, pulling herself togeth
er for the tenth time.” Dean didn’t sound irritated or put off, but rather compassionate and remorseful. “I encouraged her to close up shop for a few days, give herself some time to mourn, but she insisted it’s the peak of the tourist season. She can’t afford to.”

  “What about that girl who works here? Couldn’t she handle things?”

  “Peggy,” he supplied. “I think she’s still working up the nerve to tell the girl about Jake. They’ve known each other for years throughout school.”

  It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Conor and he felt his brow furrow because of it. “Peggy has surely heard by now. Word spreads like wildfire in the Fist.”

  Dean shrugged as if he had nothing to say to that. He agreed.

  Conor checked the time on his cell phone then returned it to the back pocket of his jeans. “Rachel’s expecting me.”

  “Careful with that one,” he warned.

  “I know. I was at the meeting.”

  “She’s a smart one,” he reminded Conor.

  “She’s also a burnt one,” he informed his brother.

  “How’s that?”

  Conor leaned over the counter and spoke in a low tone so that the customers who were browsing around the postcard display wouldn’t overhear. “The sheriff is dropping the Alighieri investigation.”

  Dean froze at the news, he was so shocked, then managed, “Are you kidding me?”

  “No, I’m not. Rachel is torn up about it.”

  A strange mix of confusion and relief poured into Dean’s expression. “That’s good for us.”

  “It’s what we wanted,” Conor allowed. “We’ve been in a virtual sprint against the police to locate Dante and deal with him ourselves.”

  “So this is good.”

  “Could be,” he agreed, but he was just as skeptical as his brother. “I seriously question his motives, though. Why now? Why would Rick pull the plug all of a sudden? Something funny is going on. Rachel told me that the sheriff was threatened by Alighieri’s attorney. I don’t doubt he has one. I don’t doubt the guy can afford a whole army of lawyers, but something about it stinks.”

  “I wonder…” Dean stopped himself from finishing the thought as the browsing couple neared the register and placed a handful of postcards on the counter.

  Conor stepped aside as his brother rang up the purchases and made light conversation about Yellowstone. After recommending Angel’s Food, he thanked them for stopping in and sent them on their way.

  “You wonder what?” Conor asked, as Rachel appeared at the back of the souvenir shop, having entered through the door marked employees only.

  “If we’re about to see a lot more of Dante Alighieri around the Fist. Right out in the open. Free as a damn bird.”

  “You think?” he questioned his younger brother, but neither could continue the conversation with Rachel approaching.

  “Hey,” she breathed with a smile.

  She had showered and changed out of her policewoman uniform. Her wavy, chocolatey brown hair was slightly damp and she wore a pair of jean shorts, a blue tank top, and casual boots. She looked relaxed and leggy and smelled of coconut shampoo that Conor noticed immediately.

  “I was just heading your way,” he told her.

  Dean greeted, “How goes it, Rachel?”

  “Just trying to stay cool up there,” she said with a little defeated smile. “When I was renting Jack’s apartment above Libations, I had a solid cross breeze and never thought to buy an air conditioner. I’m not nearly so lucky now. It was the one thing I didn’t consider before I signed the lease.”

  “How hot is it?” Conor asked.

  “Let’s just say,” she began as she looked him up and down. Conor was wearing a tee shirt, but his jeans were long and he was wearing boots, “you might not last too long in what you’re wearing.”

  The observation brought to Conor’s mind the possibility of taking his pants off, and even though he was pretty sure that Rachel had not been suggesting he do such a thing, he felt his mouth tug into a grin, but he fought it, cleared his throat, and assured her, “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  Rachel told his brother, “It’s a real nice thing you’re doing for Adelaide. Are you going to stay at her place as well?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he said proudly.

  Rachel looked slightly ashamed as she shook her head and said, “The sheriff should’ve offered to put a protective detail on her. He’s been acting strange.” Before she would let herself elaborate, she smiled at Dean and thanked him again, “It’s lucky we have Quinn Security to fill in the gaps for us.”

  Dean took it as a compliment, but Conor detected the hidden meaning that Rachel had meant to imply. Rick might have been acting strange, but she still held allegiance to him. She’d meant to assert that the police station and all of its officers were the first line of defense against danger in this town, and Quinn Security was a distant, albeit supportive, second-rate option.

  But he didn’t confront her on it. Instead, he said, “Shall we?” and after telling Dean good night, Rachel and Conor started through the souvenir shop, entered the breakroom where Conor closed the door behind them, and rounded through another closed door that was unmarked.

  “My apartment is up here,” she mentioned as she began climbing the stairs, Conor at her heels.

  As they ascended up to the landing, the air grew hot and stifled, but it was nothing compared to Rachel’s actual apartment, which felt like an oven the moment they entered it.

  “Damn, Rachel, this is brutal.”

  “You’re telling me?” she laughed. “I slept with a cold washcloth over my head last night and I had to douse it with freezing cold water every time I woke up.”

  “You can pick up a few ACs in Jackson Hole,” he suggested.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to, but not tonight.”

  She brought him to a desk in the living room that sat adjacent to a couch. Behind the couch were three open windows but there was no air breezing in. That was the Fist for you. Come summertime there was hardly a breeze in town. It felt like a desert, hot, stiff air still as all hell. Yellowstone offered welcomed relief. Its endless miles of trees and earth offered cool, crisp air. Fortunately, since Conor’s cabin was just off of the National Park, his summer nights felt nothing like this. Rachel’s apartment had to be at least ninety degrees.

  She wrestled one foot out of her boot then the other, kicked them aside, and pulled out a chair. Conor pulled out the other chair in front of her desk and they sat.

  “I probably shouldn’t be showing you this,” she admitted as she touched the many lab reports and research that was spread out across the desk.

  Conor scooted in even closer to the table and as he began pouring over the documents, he came closer and close to Rachel. Their arms brushed at times when they both reached for the same report. Under the table, he could feel the heat rolling off of her bare leg, his own thigh touching hers accidentally here and there.

  He’d never been so close to her physically, other than the one time he’d held her against him in order to break Dante’s spell. It thrilled him, working beside her like this, and his brothers had been completely wrong about her. She wasn’t playing the information of the cards she held close to the vest. Every piece of evidence she’d been compiling over the months was out in the open for him. She was giving him all access, carte blanche. What would he give her in return?

  “This is the most critical lab findings I have,” she said, pulling out a single sheet that appeared to be a DNA report. “This is what I’ve been working off of. Every question I have has been build off of this evidence.”

  Conor angled in to read the report, coming even closer to Rachel, and then he asked, “Dante Alighieri’s DNA has a canine element?”

  “I had his wine glass tested,” she said, confirming his question. “One, I know for a fact it was his wine glass and not Reece’s because we found his fingerprints on it. And two, I asked for a DNA report since at that time we had noth
ing on Dante and I wanted his DNA to see if any trace of it was also on Holly van Dyke and Leeanne Whitaker.”

  “The two murders that Pamela Davenport had conveniently been blamed for,” he supplied. “What were your findings?”

  She rifled through another stack of papers and pulled two thick reports out that Conor immediately recognized as two hair and fiber analysis’ from forensics. “Unfortunately, Dante didn’t leave a trace of himself behind on either victim, but I still feel certain he was responsible.”

  She sat back in her chair and looked at him, and Conor could feel her big brown eyes on him. He met her gaze and it instantly felt like there was so much more happening between them than the investigation she was in the throes of walking him through.

  “Here’s what I think,” she began as she clasped her slender fingers together in her lap and leveled those big eyes of hers on him. He’d never been trapped in an interview room with her at the station, never been interrogated by her, but he was getting the feeling that it might feel a little something like this. “I’m convinced Dante Alighieri is a werewolf. I don’t know where he came from, how he came to be a werewolf, or why he chose Devil’s Fist, but his behavior even since coming to town has been consistent. He’s interested in two things. Turning the residents into werewolves and attacking, so to speak, all of you Quinns, whether by harming and harassing your loved ones as he did to Reece Gladstone and Lucy Cooper—it was obvious to me that Dante had meant to kill Lucy in her apartment above Angel’s Food and had made a terrible mistake when it had been Leeanne who had shown up—or by trying to get you all out of the picture like his effort to frame Shane for Delilah Dane’s murder.”

  Conor was both alarmed and impressed. He had no idea Rachel had discovered so much about what had really been going on. But regardless of how impressed he was, he did not like how she was now looking at him.

  “What I want to know is,” she went on, locking eyes with him so that she could both intimidate him and appeal to him in order to get the truth, “What is the Quinn’s involvement and role in all of this?”