Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “What about the professor?”

  Kaleb looked over to find Gaylord snuggling up beside Sasha and he suddenly lost his appetite.

  “I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “Hey, Professor?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do me a favor and hang out here for a few hours, okay? You’ll be safe with Sasha and my mom.”

  Nikita shot him a look like spending more time with Gaylord was literally the last way she wanted to spend her morning, but Sasha looked tickled by the plan.

  “My pleasure,” he told Kaleb as he nuzzled into Sasha’s cheek.

  She squirmed and giggled like a schoolgirl and it took every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes.

  “Let’s get going before the diner turns into a madhouse,” he suggested and they rose from the table and made their way outside.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kaleb pulled his truck along the curb right in front of Angel’s Food. Lucy let out a sigh, staring out at the diner, and said, “I hate it that we have to ask her to do this.”

  “Trust me, so do I,” he agreed. “But there’s no one else. She’s our only option.”

  When they entered the diner, they didn’t wait at the hostess stand. Lucy crossed clear through, rounding behind the counter and through the kitchen. As Kaleb followed after her, he noted that the breakfast rush hadn’t yet poured into Angel’s Food, though there were a number of customers. It was nothing that one waitress couldn’t handle, though, before the others got out on the floor.

  Beyond the kitchen, Lucy came to her locker where her blue button-down uniform was tucked. As she changed into it, Kaleb spied Angel who was standing with one of the cooks and explaining a new muffin recipe that, by the sounds of it, the cook had yet to get right.

  As soon as Lucy was dressed, she neared Angel and Kaleb trailed in next to her.

  “Can we speak privately, Angel?” she asked. “In your office perhaps?”

  Angel shifted her big, blue eyes from Lucy to Kaleb and back to Lucy again, a wash of skepticism coming over her.

  But she agreed with a nod and led them into her office.

  Kaleb shut the door as Lucy invited Angel to have a seat. She was hesitant. Her instincts were probably telling her that whatever Lucy and Kaleb had come to discuss with her wouldn’t be good. But she obliged them and lowered into the chair on the far side of her desk.

  Lucy sat as well in the chair opposite. “We’ve discovered a way to stop Dante,” she began and Angel’s blue eyes widened in extreme interest.

  “How?” she asked, intrigued.

  Lucy and Kaleb exchanged a glance and then she went on to explain, “The professor who has been working with Police Officer Rachel Clancy—he’s a werewolf expert and quite smart despite his whacky personality—came across a method. We tested it the other day. On me.” Lucy unbuttoned her uniform enough to show Angel the red dot that had scarred her chest. As Angel leaned in, furrowing her brow with what looked like concern mixed with alarm, Lucy went on, “The heart must be pierced, then certain Latin words are chanted. It completely stripped me of my powers. Dante has the same powers. We can strip him of them and take him out.”

  Angel asked fearfully, “What does this have to do with me?”

  Again, Lucy and Kaleb exchanged a nervous glance. Then Kaleb told her, “We need your help.”

  ***

  At the exact moment that Angel’s jaw dropped, her stomach twisting with terrified knots, on the southeast side of the Fist, Rachel and Conor climbed out of his parked pickup truck and cautiously neared Adelaide Marple’s cottage.

  Given that Rachel was out on bail, a temporary fix to a problem that could very well turn permanent if Detective Eddie Friendly had any say in the matter, she was on a leave of absence from working at the police station, but that didn’t mean she was going to stop investigating.

  Adelaide’s son had been murdered. Her store had been burned to the ground. And somewhere along the way Dante or one of his damned had turned her into a werewolf. It seemed her life had gotten worse and worse in the span of mere days, and it had killed her. Rachel wished the older woman’s death hadn’t been at her hand. But she couldn’t turn back time. All she could do was try to make sense of what had happened and do everything in her power to prevent anything like that from ever happening to another innocent resident again.

  “It’s locked,” she told Conor after testing the doorknob of the front door.

  “Come with me,” he said as he began walking around the perimeter of the little cottage.

  She followed after him as he checked window after window.

  When they reached the back of the house, they snuck behind a line of rose bushes, coming to the living room window that was open.

  “Your brothers said that Larry Hardcastle and Ronnie McDowell came here,” she reminded him, thinking out loud. “Do you think that was the night she was turned?”

  “It could have been,” he allowed. “But if she let them in, it’s possible she’d already been turned and working for them under duress. We might never know.”

  As he worked to pry the screen off the window, Rachel sighed, “Those two should’ve been locked up for what they did to Whitney.”

  “Would that have stopped them?” he reasoned. “Look at Harry. He made bail.”

  “So did I,” she added.

  “But Eddie fought it,” he pointed out. “We really need to find out who at the station is working for Dante.”

  “I’m hoping we’ll find the answer to that in here,” she told him as he cranked the window pane open as wide as it would go.

  Conor helped her to climb in through the window and then breached into the living room himself.

  As she cleared the couch she’d climbed onto, Rachel took a slow lap around the living room, taking in her surroundings to get a cursory impression of the home.

  “You’re the detective,” Conor mentioned, “what are we looking for?”

  She smiled, liking the sound of that even though she hadn’t made detective and was definitely losing all hope that she ever would. “You tell me,” she countered. “You’re the werewolf.”

  Conor pulled her in and kissed her then said, “No, I’m just the guy who’s so crazy about you that I’ll commit a little breaking and entering.”

  “I’m surprised Eddie hasn’t strung police tape over the front door.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “If Eddie is working for Dante, he’s not going to want any evidence of that conspiracy recorded by the cops.”

  “I’ll take this floor,” she told him. “Want to search through the second floor upstairs?”

  “You got it,” he said as he started off towards the stairs.

  There was an apothecary desk in the corner of the room so Rachel started there, going through all the drawers and looking for clues, though she didn’t have the foggiest idea of what specifically she was looking for.

  As she did, she realized she was smiling, and it had nothing to do with hunting through a dead woman’s files.

  It was Conor. Their night together had been incredible. She’d never had a night like that with anyone. It wasn’t just his amazing body or how well they fit together physically, though that had been mind-blowing as well. But her time with him last night had left her with a warm, loved feeling. She felt calm today like she hadn’t felt in weeks. She no longer felt like she was fighting her way through this world alone. In so many ways, she felt like she truly had found her other half. All the doom that had filled her wasn’t there clouding over her mind and heart. She still felt a twinge of anxiety, but it no longer felt like it had anything to do with Conor. She could handle this. She was certain that the lingering dread in her stomach would completely dissolve the second they’d taken Dante out. She couldn’t wait for that day.

  But hanging over her head was still a big question mark. Should she ask Conor to turn her into a werewolf? This wasn’t about surviving Dante anymore. It was about Conor and what it would take in the long run to be
with him. She’d relished the long night with him. She’d gotten lost in the incredible joy of having this man to herself and knowing he was all hers. But the fact of the matter was that Conor wasn’t a man. He was a werewolf. Wouldn’t she have to be one too if she wanted to be with him, grow old with him, and really make a life with him?

  As she moved from the apothecary desk over to the coffee table that had a shallow drawer, she began to carefully consider the prospect of becoming a werewolf herself.

  Troy had bonded with Reece Gladstone. It was safe to assume that Reece had made the same choice. Obviously, Lucy Cooper had been turned by Kaleb, and Rachel had every reason to believe that Whitney had as well in order to be with Shane Quinn. Three women had allowed themselves to be turned so that they could be with their men. Did they regret it or were they happier now? Had it been painful or exhilarating? Were their personal transitions from mortal life to that of a werewolf’s a difficult struggle, or had they taken to it easily and naturally?

  Rachel knew that her guesses and imagination could go on forever and she’d still never know. She’d never been particularly close with any of those women, but she wondered if she might be able to talk to one of them. It could give her insight and help her decide.

  Though she reasoned that she wouldn’t have to make any huge decisions about it immediately—she could probably get away with holding off for years if she wanted—she did feel a sense of personal urgency on the matter.

  After such a great night with Conor, she felt the strong urge to be with him. Permanently. It wasn’t like she was going to get down on one knee or anything. Rachel wasn’t the sort to even hint at such a thing in the hopes that Conor would pop the question. But regardless, the feeling growing inside of her, her strong love and affection towards Conor, was nudging her.

  If she really wanted to be with him, then should she just bite the bullet, dive in head first, and become a werewolf?

  The more she thought about it, the more certain she felt that going to that extreme would be the only way to go. Realizing this, she felt both thrilled and terrified. She realized her hands were trembling when the loose papers in her hand began rustling. She let out a rocky breath and tried to steady her hands, but they refused to cooperate.

  She was getting nowhere with this unfocused search so she returned the papers to the coffee table drawer and pushed it shut. Then, as she planted her fists on her hips and looked around the living room, she heard the distinct sound of a vehicle pulling up to the cottage.

  “Shit,” she breathed. Conor’s pickup truck was parked right outside and if that was Eddie Friendly out there and he caught her trespassing, he’d surely throw her back in the slammer.

  She raced up the stairs as quietly as she could manage and found Conor in Jake Marple’s bedroom. He’d heard the vehicle as well and was standing at the window, keeping concealed behind the curtain as he peered down at the driveway.

  She joined him and saw for herself that it wasn’t Eddie who was climbing out of an old Buick that had parked. It was Larry Hardcastle and Ronnie McDowell.

  Their voices came faintly as they circled Conor’s pickup truck.

  “Someone’s here,” Larry stated.

  “Do you recognize the truck?” Ronnie asked him.

  “Seen another just like it,” he said before spitting. “Shane Quinn drives a similar one.”

  Rachel whispered to Conor, “What should we do?”

  “The only way out is through the front door,” he told her.

  Unless they wanted to walk right into a confrontation with two of Dante’s werewolves, they’d have to sit tight. Rachel didn’t like it.

  “What do you suppose a Quinn is doing here?” Ronnie asked, and Larry shot him a look that from where Rachel was standing and peering down was obviously meant to imply that the kid was being a real bonehead.

  “The Quinns are who we’re at war with,” he reminded Ronnie. “Means they know Adelaide was one of us. Come on,” he said as he returned to his Buick. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “What about the armory?” asked Ronnie. “Dante told us to collect the arsenal from the basement. We’re going to need it and all the silver bullets down there as well.”

  “Forget it,” Larry barked. “We’ll come back for it later. Come on, let’s get out of here before they know we’re here.”

  Rachel and Conor watched the Buick reverse out and swing around. A gray cloud of exhaust coughed out of the tailpipe as the Buick growled down the driveway and turned onto Evergreen.

  “There’s an arsenal in the basement?” she questioned, and they wasted no time padding down the stairs.

  There was a closed door at the back of the living room that Rachel had assumed was a closet. When she opened it, however, she found a staircase that led down into darkness. She flipped on the light and they descended down into the basement where she found another light switch.

  The room brightened and her jaw dropped.

  “Jesus,” said Conor as he edged into the cramped space. “This is more artillery than I had in Kandahar.”

  As he began opening a wooden box that was packed with assault rifles, Rachel had an idea.

  “They’re going to come back later for these,” she said, thinking out loud. “I think I know how to trap Dante.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  CONOR

  Rachel’s plan was a good one. Damn good. But it also scared Conor. He didn’t want her anywhere near its execution, but knowing Rachel, it was clear that there was no way in hell that she wasn’t going to put herself smack dab in the very center of the action. In her mind, capturing Dante once and for all would earn her the detective’s badge she’d been chasing for years. It didn’t matter that the sheriff had called off the investigation. She was convinced that his arm had been twisted into dropping the case, and she was confident that Rick would jump at the chance to finally end Dante’s long reign of terror over this town.

  After meeting with his brothers, the professor, and Angel Mercer at Quinn Security to go over all the details Rachel had devised, Conor and Rachel drove back to his cabin to wait until the hour they’d all planned to gather. Everyone had a job to do in order to get ready for the ambush Rachel had calculated, but Rachel hadn’t told Conor what his job would be.

  When they entered his cabin, he closed the door and locked them inside, then asked, “So, boss, what’s my job?”

  She stood in the middle of the living room. She was wringing her hands and the look on her face told him that whatever his job was supposed to be, even Rachel wasn’t sure about it.

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” she began. She couldn’t look at him and it was making him feel as nervous as she seemed. “I don’t want you to fight me on it.”

  “Rachel, you’re scaring me,” he admitted.

  She let out a deep breath, pinched her eyes shut, and blurted out, “I want you to turn me.”

  She opened her eyes and they stared at each other for a very long, heavy moment.

  “Will you?”

  “Why do you think you want this?” he asked.

  “Because I need it.”

  It wasn’t a good enough answer for him so he pushed, “Is this your way of preventing your own death?”

  “It could be,” she allowed. “I don’t want to be the only mortal in that house later tonight.”

  “Rachel—”

  “I told you not to fight me,” she warned, her voice stopping him from nearing her further. “If you won’t do it, I’m sure I can get someone else to turn me.”

  “I don’t want anyone else to turn you,” he told her.

  “This is what I want, Conor. Don’t make me beg.”

  “Your life will never be the same,” he warned. “It’ll take you weeks if not months to gain control over yourself. It’s not an easy life.”

  “But it would be a life with you,” she stated.

  Her point cut through him and gave him pause. Yes, he wanted a life with her, and it
wasn’t lost on him that she would have to become a werewolf if he wanted to have the kind of long life he’d always hoped for them. But the abruptness of her demand felt wrong. She wasn’t asking to be turned werewolf so that she could be with him. She was demanding it as though it would be no more complicated than pulling on a bullet proof vest before marching into battle. Conor knew for a fact that it didn’t work like that. And if she regretted it, there would be no turning back. She’d be forced to live the rest of her life as a werewolf. There were no cures for it, no ways to reverse what he would have turned her into.

  “I’ve thought this through,” she reiterated. “I really have.”

  Finally, he neared her and she didn’t stop him with voiced demands.

  “I’ve thought a lot about this, too,” he told her as he stroked her wavy brown hair off of her shoulders and looked down into her big eyes. “I want to be with you, but I thought we would be meant to be.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Most werewolves have a destined mate. Their one true mate, we call it. It’s written in the stars. Reece Gladstone was destined for my brother Troy. And Lucy was destined for Kaleb. Whitney for Shane,” he explained. “But…”

  “But what?”

  He let out a long breath, unsure of whether or not he wanted to tell her the truth.

  “But what, Conor?” she pushed.

  “I wanted to know for sure if you were destined to become my one true mate. I was certain you were. I could feel it.”

  Her big bright eyes turned dark as realization washed over her.

  “Troy has a gift. He can see it, see who is meant to be with who for all of eternity. I asked him about us…”

  A sad look came over her.

  “I can turn you,” he said in a small voice. “But you have to know that you and I aren’t meant to be, not in the way I had hoped.”

  “I see,” she murmured before falling silent and turning away from him.

  She couldn’t look at him and even though he felt the impulse to take her by the shoulders and force eye contact, he remained standing and gave her the space she needed.