Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  She glared at him for a long moment, then said, “Have a good night, Detective.”

  Eddie took his sweet time excusing himself from her table without comment, but stubbornly, he didn’t leave the bar. Instead, he sat on one of the stools at the counter as if nothing had happened and proceeded to order himself a pint.

  Maybe she had egged him on, but so what? If he came after her, she would fight. At least that would take her mind off of the gaping hole in her heart where Conor had been.

  Bring it on.

  ***

  At about the time Rachel was choking down the last of her ice-cold beer, hoping that between the alcohol and its frigid temperature she’d be able to extinguish the fire that was burning in the pit of her stomach, on the other side of the Fist Kaleb Quinn rushed towards Lucy, embraced her like their lives depended on it, and exclaimed, “Wait!”

  All of the Quinn men, along with Professor Gaylord Geer III, had gathered inside Quinn Security. They’d locked the doors. They’d drawn the blinds. And they’d stood in a circle around the only Astral Goddess they knew, as the professor clutched an ancient book in his bony hands.

  “Just give us a minute,” Kaleb breathed into the flowing, blonde locks of Lucy’s long hair.

  “It’ll be okay,” she breathed into his shoulder, but as far as Conor could tell, neither of them truly trusted it.

  Conor was especially thrilled that Troy had tasked him with the job of piercing Lucy’s heart. He loosened his grip on the bow and arrow he had stretched, giving his brother another long moment to hold the love of his life.

  This had been their second attempt and Troy was running out of patience by the looks of it.

  “Okay,” Kaleb said, though he had yet to step away from his one true mate.

  Lucy urged him back and whispered, “I saved you from the afterlife, remember? I’m going to be just fine.”

  Kaleb grimaced but managed to step back until he was in the circle and when Troy gave Conor a nod, he again stretched the arrow back in its bow and took aim at Lucy’s heart.

  “Fair warning, guys,” she said all of a sudden. “I can’t say my reflexes won’t kick in.”

  “We’ve been warned,” Troy allowed before ordering Conor, “Go!”

  Conor released his fingers and the second the arrow struck Lucy through the heart, Kaleb gasped and lunged for her, but Troy and Dean held him back.

  Immediately, Gaylord commanded, “Stay! Do not vanish! Hold for your chains!”

  Shane rushed forward and quickly shackled Lucy who seemed more irritated than anything.

  As Shane worked, Gaylord read the Latin phrases he’d found in the book, chanting them as loudly as he could.

  When he fell silent and stared at her, wide-eyed and fascinated, Troy asked her, “Are you struggling to regain control?”

  “Not really,” she told him.

  “Try!”

  She did and was unable to flicker out of this dimension and into the next. She looked surprised then pissed and told them all, “I can’t. Let me see if I can glow and levitate.”

  Lucy didn’t appear to do a damn thing.

  “Damn it!” she cursed. “It’s like I’m normal again!”

  Kaleb, as if pained on her behalf, objected, “Can we please get that arrow out of her?!”

  Troy was too busy celebrating with Shane and Dean. “It worked! It actually worked!” Troy grabbed the professor, lifted him off the ground, and kissed his mouth. “You did it!”

  As he set the professor down, Kaleb rushed to Lucy and began examining the arrow.

  “I’d just yank it out,” Lucy told them all, “but without my powers I could have serious complications. Who knows how to reverse the curse?”

  Everyone looked at Gaylord and his jaw dropped open.

  “You wanted me to find out how to reverse it, too?”

  ***

  Two beers later, Rachel spilled into her old apartment and was instantly comforted by the familiar smell. If she was being honest with herself, everything had gone to crap the second she’d moved into Delilah Dane’s place. What had she been thinking? This apartment had been Rachel’s home for years. Yes, it could be noisy on the weekends and especially loud during tourist season when the bar traffic kicked up downstairs, but it had also been her safe haven. It had been where she’d made leaps and bounds on countless cases after hours. And it was also a place where Conor hadn’t yet complicated her life. If only she could reach back in time and restore everything. Feeling lonely because she hadn’t yet sparked a connection with Conor had been far better than the feelings consuming her now.

  Hindsight was always 20/20.

  The first order of business she tended to was changing into something more comfortable. As she slipped into a pair of yoga pants and a tee-shirt, it occurred to her that she really ought to get some food in her stomach. Why couldn’t Angel’s Food deliver?

  As she hunted through the cabinets, recalling a few boxes of mac and cheese she’d left behind, she heard a knock at the door and her heart soared for a shining moment.

  Conor?

  Maybe they could kiss and kiss and kiss, avoiding any conversation that might drag them both down further into this pit of despair?

  With that in mind, she threw the door open, but instead of finding Conor Quinn on the other side, there stood Adelaide Marple.

  “Oh, hi,” Rachel said, shaking off her sudden confusion at the sight she hadn’t expected.

  Adelaide looked forlorn as she asked, “Can I come in? I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  Of course, she didn’t feel safe. Her murdering, arsonist husband had just gotten out of jail.

  “Please,” said Rachel, inviting her inside and closing the door behind her. As Adelaide waded nervously into the living room, Rachel didn’t hesitate to apologize, “Harry shouldn’t have been released. I’m so sorry. If you want, I can call Dean and see if he could stay with you again until the case is sorted out?”

  When Adelaide turned to face her, she looked slightly different than she had a second ago, but Rachel couldn’t place why.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to put that poor boy out,” she said in a strong tone that didn’t match the apprehension she’d worn on her face a moment ago.

  That’s when Rachel realized what had changed. It was her eyes.

  They were black, no longer the twinkling bright shade they’d been.

  “Adelaide?”

  “I need help,” she said darkly as though she’d meant to plead with the policewoman but her strong, determined tone had betrayed her.

  Rachel suddenly remembered what Conor had told her during their difficult lunch.

  Larry Hardcastle and Ronnie McDowell had met with Adelaide late last night. Shane and Dean had seen them.

  Was Adelaide Marple a werewolf? One of Dante’s damned?

  No sooner than the possibility had crossed Rachel’s mind, the older woman snarled, revealing fangs where her incisors should have been, and lunged for her.

  As Rachel leapt away, dodging her, her Glock sprang to mind. It was in her bedroom so she made a run for it, Adelaide tearing after her as she shifted into her wolf form, and slammed the door just as the wolf sprang after her.

  The wolf connected with the door, cracking its wooden surface, and Rachel raced for her gun without thinking to lock the door.

  Just as she got her hands on it, the door flew open and everything after happened way too fast.

  Rachel spun around, as she lifted, aimed, and fired the weapon.

  But just as she squeezed the trigger she realized the wolf had transformed back into the shape of a woman.

  Adelaide Marple dropped to the floor, having caught the bullet between her eyes.

  “No!” Rachel gasped.

  She rushed to the older woman and dropped to her knees.

  “Oh God, no!”

  She couldn’t find a pulse. Adelaide wasn’t breathing. How could that be? If she really had been a werewolf—and she had! Rachel knew what s
he’d seen!—then how could a bullet that wasn’t silver take her life?

  Just when Rachel began panicking, fully trusting that this couldn’t get any worse, she heard the distinct sound of her apartment door opening.

  “Heard a gunshot! Who’s there?” Eddie Friendly called out.

  “Fuck,” she breathed.

  This looked very, very, bad and when Eddie rounded through the living room, he found Rachel kneeling over what appeared to be an innocent old woman, dead on the floor.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  But the gun in her hand was still smoking.

  Eddie smirked at her and said, “I bet right about now you’re wishing you hadn’t burned that bridge, aren’t ya?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  CONOR

  It was fast approaching closing time. The diner was nearly empty except for a few customers seated at the counter, nursing warm pie and mugs of decaf coffee. Lucy was still recuperating at home and Angel Mercer had left the restaurant in the charge of one of the senior waitresses. The lights were already off in the kitchen, but the table area was still bright.

  Conor was sitting across from Dean in a large booth that faced Main Street. From his vantage point, he could see the charred heap that was Devil’s Advocate, the police station next to it, and the sign for Abernathy Way beyond, as tourists strolled the sidewalks carrying ice cream cones and otherwise enjoying the warm, tranquil night.

  For Conor, it was far from tranquil.

  What was happening to this town?

  “Thanks,” he said to Dean.

  “For what?”

  “For sitting here,” Conor said. “I know if I went to Libations, I’d probably drink way too much and try to go upstairs to talk to Rachel.”

  “You’re taking this pretty hard, aren’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Dean fell silent and stared out the window for a moment. After deep consideration, he agreed, “Yeah, I think I would.”

  Conor felt his jaw clench. The tension in his muscles had been growing all day and if he didn’t make a concerted effort to breathe deeply and relax, his body seemed to turn to stone without his permission.

  “I shouldn’t have asked him,” he grumbled. “It’s only made things worse.”

  Dean looked as though he didn’t know what to say, but that was just as well. He was here. That would have to be enough. None of the Quinn men had ever been told or promised that they each were guaranteed one true mate. It was a known fact that no werewolf had that guarantee. But it still felt wrong. Maybe if Conor had never met Rachel this wouldn’t feel like such a blow. Having spent time with her, having gotten to know her, and having realized his feelings for her, it made absolutely no sense to Conor that Rachel Clancy wasn’t meant for him. And yet he had no interest in challenging Troy. He didn’t feel like his brother was wrong. He just felt like nothing made sense and nothing ever would.

  The lone waitress circled through the empty diner, placing the salt and pepper shakers she’d been filling at one of the stations on each table from the tray she was carrying. When she reached their booth, she asked if they’d like anything else.

  She was being polite.

  One of the customers from the counter slid off his stool and exited the restaurant, leaving only one other man at the counter. The waitress wanted to lock up, go home if not to the bar, get on with her night and her life.

  Conor told her they didn’t need anything except for another few minutes then they’d be out of her hair.

  As she padded away to make the same offer to the remaining customer at the counter, Dean said, “Just because Troy didn’t see an eternal bond between you and Rachel with his foresight, doesn’t mean you can’t be with her.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he quietly agreed.

  Dean knew that Rachel had opted to move back in to her old apartment. His optimism, though supportive, only made Conor feel worse. Rachel had felt it. By some magic of her instincts, she’d been able to tell that they weren’t meant to be, and now that Conor knew the same thanks to his brother’s firm honesty, he didn’t see how he could fight for her. All he could do was let her be.

  “What do you think you’ll do?” Dean asked him as Conor found his wallet and pulled enough cash out to cover their coffees.

  “I don’t know. My job?” he guessed. “Not that Rachel had ever acknowledged that I was trying to keep her safe.”

  “Dante might not be a threat to her, if you think about it,” Dean said, highlighting the bright side.

  “I did and yes, it’s a degree of relief,” he allowed. “She also won’t ever have to go through becoming one of us, which I guess is good news.”

  “A werewolf,” Dean nodded. “It’s easy for forget how hard that is on them, changing their entire way of life.”

  Conor let out a breath and shook his head. “I don’t want to think about outliving her, about watching her grow old right in front of my eyes.”

  “Then don’t think about it,” Dean suggested.

  “Easier said than done.”

  He was full-on wallowing now. Maybe he should get a drink at the bar. Libations would be the only place in town that would be open. Even the ice cream shop—Devil’s Desserts—across the street that sat just beyond Abernathy Way was dark. Maybe he should get so tanked that he wouldn’t know what town he was in or his last name. But he feared that it wouldn’t bring comfort, only the risk of stumbling up to Rachel’s apartment door and making a complete ass of himself.

  “If it was me?” Dean began, “I’d be with her. To hell with eternal fate. If you want to be with her, then be with her. If you want her to live a long life, then turn her or convince her to ask you. There are plenty of werewolves in this town who have been living happily, who have made families and had the happily ever after that we all want.”

  “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

  “Then why are you giving up?” Dean challenged.

  “Because…” Conor trailed off. It hurt too much to say out loud, but after scraping himself off the floor, he told his brother, “She could feel it.”

  “Feel what?”

  “That it’s never going to work. That’s why she’s moved back into her old apartment. She didn’t see the point in staying with me. She all but told me that whatever semblance of a relationship we’d formed felt doomed.”

  “Shit, man, I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “Don’t forget, though, that she’s a person.”

  It made Conor smile. “I know she’s a person. It’s hard to forget.”

  “I just mean that she isn’t a fortune teller or a prophet. She doesn’t have Troy’s gift of foresight. People get cold feet. They get scared. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rachel out on a date much less engaged in a serious relationship. She might just be fearing the worst the way any human would. The more someone discovers they care, the greater their risk.”

  Dean let that sink in and Conor glanced out the window.

  Crossing the street, far up the block, were Rachel and Eddie Friendly, but they were walking strangely. Conor lurched forward and realized Eddie wasn’t just walking behind Rachel, he was holding her arm. Her hands were locked behind her back. Handcuffed?

  “Shit,” he breathed as he jumped out of the booth, leaving the cash on the table.

  As he started through the diner, Dean sprang after him and stayed at his heels. “What’s going on?”

  “Rachel’s getting arrested.” He threw the door open and jogged across the street just as Rachel and Eddie hopped onto the curb and headed straight for the police station.

  “What?”

  Just as Eddie escorted Rachel through the stationhouse doors, Conor heard Rachel insist, “It’s not what you think, Friendly!”

  “Oh?” Eddie returned. “You didn’t gun down an innocent woman in cold blood?”

  Conor and Dean exchanged and alarmed look then spilled into the station.

  “Whoa!” Conor yel
led, getting Eddie’s attention.

  The detective swung around with Rachel and the second she saw Conor and Dean she let out a defeated groan as if this couldn’t get any worse.

  “Why have you apprehended her?” Conor demanded.

  Eddie shot him a glare then kept on his way as all of the police officers and detectives working the night shift stared with their jaws dropped.

  As he tossed her into one of the jail cells, Conor again demanded to know the charge.

  “She murdered Adelaide Marple,” he barked at both Quinns and glared at them. “Is that a good enough reason for you?”

  “It was self-defense,” Rachel insisted from behind bars.

  “She was fifty!” Eddie yelled before he stomped away.

  “What about my phone call?” she called after him.

  Conor and Dean neared her cell and Conor asked, “What happened?”

  “Adelaide’s not who we thought.” Rachel spoke low. “She’s a werewolf. One of Dante’s, I assume. She came up into my apartment and tried to attack me. I saw her shift. I’m telling you, she’s a wolf. I sprinted into my bedroom where I’d left my gun and as soon as I had it, I turned and fired.”

  “And shot a woman,” Conor supplied. “She’d shifted back.”

  “Exactly,” said Rachel. “I can get out of this. She was clearly trespassing.”

  Dean interjected, “But she was unarmed, and Eddie’s right, she was an older woman.”

  “And you can’t very well tell a judge she was a werewolf,” Conor added.

  “They wanted her dead,” Rachel insisted as though she’d already thought the whole event through. “Whoever sent her, Dante or someone from his pack, they had to have expected I would fight back with force. They sent her there to be killed, but not because they wanted her dead. They want me in jail and here I am.”

  “We’ll get you out of this,” Conor promised.

  “How?”

  He had no idea, but answered, “Let’s start with your phone call and see about bail.”

  “Yeah,” she snorted a put-off laugh. “Like Eddie’s going to permit bail.”

  Cops were lingering around and staring so Rachel turned her back and took a slow lap around the cell.