Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  The thought broke a grin to his face, but he suppressed it as he poured himself a mug of coffee and started towards the bathroom. A cold shower might help put things in perspective. But when he turned on the water, he heard the bedroom door click open.

  “Please be wearing clothes,” he mumbled to himself under his breath as he dared ease out of the bathroom.

  He groaned, thrilled and massively annoyed, to find Elizabeth trailing through the living room with a long bedsheet wrapped around her. She looked like a Greek goddess, her blonde hair all tousled, her skin dewy and cheeks blushed.

  She stopped when he filled the open bathroom doorway and said, “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

  Her gorgeous green eyes widened to find him shirtless in only his boxer-briefs. If she smiled at him, it would be his undoing.

  “Mugs are in the cabinet above the sink,” he barked.

  As she neared him, he began praying that she wouldn’t let that bedsheet fall from her body. She didn’t, thank God, but when she reached him and took his mug out of his hand, part of the bedsheet slid dangerously down her breast, but stopped just shy of exposing her nipple.

  She took a sip of his coffee and instead of handing it back to him, she said, “Thanks,” and walked back into her bedroom without closing the door.

  He shook his head. Man, she was a brat, and goddamn him that it turned him on.

  He stepped back into the bathroom, closed and locked the door, and scrubbed his hot skin as hard as he could in the shower.

  Twenty minutes later, he was squeaky clean, his body, not his mind. He emerged from the bathroom to find Elizabeth waiting on the couch with that bedsheet still wrapped around her.

  “It’s all yours,” he told her as he made a beeline for his bedroom to get dressed, a bath towel wrapped around his waist, his skin beaded and damp.

  “I need to get into town,” she informed him.

  It gave him pause and he noticed she was holding her cell phone in her hand.

  “Why?” he asked, highly skeptical of her agenda.

  “I have things to do,” she told him, completely failing to answer his question.

  “You want to tell me what those things are?” he demanded.

  “You might like to stop what you’ve started,” she said with an edge of accusation in her otherwise melodic tone, “but I always follow through.”

  “Is that right?” he challenged.

  “If you knew me, you’d know that,” she informed him.

  “Like you followed through last night?” he shot back.

  “How did I not?” she hotly returned.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to untangle her twisted logic. Technically, she had got him to hand her dress to her, take off her high heels, and give her a massage. But they both knew what she had really been after and they both knew she’d failed to follow through with it herself.

  The only way to win an argument with Elizabeth Halsey was to change the subject, so he said, “You better not have plans to meet Dante.”

  “I don’t,” she told him frankly. “But I made some calls and he hasn’t officially bought the building where Devil’s Advocate used to be.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I might like to proceed with the idea of rebuilding the store and apartments above,” she said. “I follow through.”

  “Get in the shower and we’ll see about getting you into town,” he said before disappearing into the bedroom to change.

  Instead of obeying him, she opened the bedroom door without knocking and caught Dean buck naked, having tossed his towel to the bed.

  “Jesus,” he exclaimed, cupping himself. “Don’t you knock?”

  “Not always,” she allowed as she neared him. “Don’t you lock the door when you don’t want to be barged in on?”

  If she dropped her bedsheet from around her body, it would be all over. He was already growing hard for her beneath his cupped hands and controlling himself would be no easy task.

  “A little privacy, please?” he growled.

  “I don’t think that’s fair,” she breathed. “I’ve shown you mine…”

  Dean felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. She wanted to see him? Did she actually think he was going to lower his hands and give her an eyeful?

  “Scared?” she challenged.

  “Are you insane?” he countered, in sudden belief that she actually might be.

  “Hardly,” she laughed as she closed the gap between them.

  “Don’t start something you can’t stop,” he warned, but she was standing too close. Nothing about his tone had sounded as though he wanted her to leave the bedroom in favor of taking a shower. “Don’t,” he warned when she brought her warm hand to his cupped ones.

  “Why not?” she breathed, on the brink of soft laughter.

  He kept seeing himself toss her onto the bed, jump over her, and do what he’d been fantasizing about all night.

  He must have looked either stern or serious or both, maybe even furious, because she pouted and sighed, “Fine, have it your way,” then started for the bathroom to shower.

  Dean let out a rocky breath and dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and tee shirt, then pulled his boots on and waited for her in the living room. He spent the duration of her shower collapsing the fold-out bed back into the couch and finishing the coffee.

  When finally they were driving into town, Elizabeth having thrown on a breezy, purple dress that looked expensive despite its casual style, he asked, “What’s the real plan, here?”

  “I’m going to put a bid in on the building,” she said.

  “What do you think that means?”

  “Figure out who owns the building, make them an offer,” she stated. “I might be new to this but I’m not an idiot.”

  “I don’t think you’re an idiot,” he quickly returned. “I think you’re about to attempt to take something from Dante that he doesn’t want to give up,” he explained. “And in terms of staying away from him, I think your attempt at rebuilding the souvenir shop is going to backfire.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do, Dean?” she hotly shot back. “Besides go back to Los Angeles.”

  “I don’t want you to go back to Los Angeles,” he said honestly.

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  After a moment’s consideration, she questioned, “Really?”

  “You think I don’t like having you here?” he snapped. “You’re a pain in the ass, I’ll give you that, but…” he trailed off, unable to admit that, against all odds, it seemed Elizabeth had taken root in his heart.

  “But… what?” she prodded.

  “I’m going to show you the real Devil’s Fist,” he asserted, once again changing the subject since that was the only way to survive a conversation with her. “I’m going to get you out of those heels and—”

  “Are you now?” she smiled.

  “Not like that,” he snapped. “There’s a clothing store on Main Street called Acorn Fashion and Accessories—”

  “You want to take me shopping?” she interrupted, lighting up like a Christmas tree.

  “What? No, I’m just saying, you should pick out a pair of shorts, some tee shirts, a pair of hiking boots… what?” he asked when she started groaning. “You’ve done nothing but complain about your heels. I guarantee you after a long hike you’ll feel good as new.”

  “I prefer looking amazing and getting spa treatments to feel better.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’re ridiculous!”

  “Look, honey, as much as I like massaging you—”

  “You like massaging me?” she smiled, interrupting him all over again.

  He had to laugh then he asserted, “We’re going to hit the clothing store next so whatever you’re planning to do real-estate-wise, make it quick.”

  He pulled over in front of Angel’s Food diner, across the street from the burned down building, and pulled the key from the ignition.
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  “I’ve never been hiking,” she admitted.

  “Yeah,” he said. He believed her. “I bet you’ve never had pizza and beers, or played pool, or went camping either.”

  She looked a bit worried and asked, “You’re not going to make me do all those things, are you?”

  He grinned at her and said, “I’m going to make you do a lot of things, Elizabeth, and I’m going to make you like them.”

  ***

  Instead of heading into the stationhouse where Detective Eddie Friendly would surely lord over him and ruin his day, Sheriff Rick Abernathy instead opted to drive on out to Sasha Quinn’s little stone house on the northwestern edge of the Yellowstone National Park where he was sure to find Professor Gaylord Geer III.

  Rick had slept on what few options he had available to him when it came to Dante Alighieri’s dark, diabolical order to kill Lucy Cooper. He was staring down the long barrel of either complying, which would destroy his relationship with all five Quinn brothers, his precious daughter, and maybe even destroy his own life. Or, he could thwart Dante, which would undoubtedly result in his miserable life coming to an abrupt end.

  When he woke up earlier that morning, he had come no closer to a decision, but he reasoned that he could buy himself some time if he stopped in on the professor. Eddie probably wasn’t following him, but Dante had eyes on him. Rick could feel it. Whether the dark lord was out there somewhere right now keeping watch or whether he had ordered his minions to follow after Rick, one thing was certain, Rick’s every move was under the watchful eye of Dante Alighieri. Rick figured that if he at least showed up to speak with Gaylord, it would look like he was in the process of following Dante’s dark demand. That would be enough for now.

  He pulled his police-issued SUV up to the little stone house and killed the engine. The house looked more like a castle and it warmed his otherwise chilled heart. How in the world had a woman of one hundred years found true love this late in her life? It gave Rick hope for himself. He would never be able to forget his beloved Sally-Mae whose life had been stolen by cancer so many years back, but Rick didn’t want to spend the rest of his life alone. Not when he was slowly losing his Whitney. Maybe, just like there had been a man out there for Sasha Quinn, there was a woman somewhere out there for Rick.

  He just needed to get to the other side of this war.

  He lumbered up to the entrance door and looked around. It was a beautiful morning. The weather was cooling down and autumn was closing in. Blue skies and chirping birds. There was an antique knocker on the door, one of those old animal ones with the iron ring in its mouth. He examined it more closely and realized it was a wolf.

  Huh, that made sense. The Quinn boys were all werewolves so obviously their grandmother was, and their mother. He supposed it brought a whole new meaning to Sasha Quinn’s one hundredth birthday celebration. How old was she really?

  Rick gave the door a knock, banging iron against iron, and waited, but the front door didn’t open. Before long, he sensed someone behind him and as he turned, Nikita Quinn greeted him.

  “Can I help you, Sheriff?” she asked, as she brushed dirt off of her fingers with a small cloth.

  Rick got the impression that she had been gardening. She was wearing a large brimmed sun hat, and she had belted the skirt of her linen, indigo colored dress up so that it didn’t fall past her knees.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting, Mrs. Quinn, but I was interested in speaking with the professor if he’s around?”

  Rick hadn’t seen Nikita since her mother-in-law’s birthday parade last month and even then, he hadn’t spent longer than two seconds with her to congratulate her good-naturedly on the accomplishment of Sasha’s one hundred years. But he hadn’t necessarily taken her in visually and gotten a good look at her.

  As she replied, offering a cordial smile and suggesting he come around the side of the little stone house with her instead of through the front, he was able to do that now, really take her in.

  Her long hair was a silvery-white shade that almost sparkled. It flowed down her poised shoulders and back. She looked almost like mother earth herself. She was regal and dignified, a woman of few words it would seem. She was a youthful forty-eight or so, her complexion was smooth and dewy, her eyes dark.

  Why had he never looked at Nikita Quinn like this before? he asked himself as they trailed around the side of the house, Nikita having mentioned that Sasha and the professor were sunning themselves in the backyard. He reasoned it was probably because she rarely came into town. In fact, she was known to go months and months without ever setting foot off of her property. Knowing what he now knew about her, that she was a werewolf, it made sense. She and her mother-in-law lived close enough to Yellowstone that they could head off in the night, shift into their wolf forms, and hunt to their hearts’ content. There would be no need to come into town ever, and if they did need something, it would be easy enough to ask one of the Quinn boys to get it for them.

  Rick also had to consider that he’d never looked at Nikita before like he was now, because he’d never before been a werewolf himself.

  “These are lovely,” he complimented as they rounded to the very back of the house where rose bushes spanned the planters near the stone façade. “You must have quite the green thumb.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled. Wow, she was radiant, almost otherworldly. She paused near the bush of white roses and touched the petals of one of the largest ones. “It takes a lot to keep them flourishing, but over the years I’ve learned that flowers, like all living things, need attention. Loving attention. You don’t have to know the correct amount of water to give them and they’ll forgive you if you accidentally trowel into their roots when you’re trying to aerate their soil. So long as you talk to them, dote on them, and spend time with them, they’ll be happy.”

  “Is that right,” he breathed, giving Nikita more of his attention than the bush.

  It was almost impossible to reconcile that this gentle, sweet woman had raised five brutish boys, but then again, the Quinns had grown into upstanding men, he just hadn’t been able to see it until recently.

  “Gaylord is right over here,” she mentioned, inviting Rick to walk with her through another garden she’d been tending to. On the other side of it, there was a canopy tent, lounge chairs underneath where it seemed the professor and Sasha were seated to take a break from the sunlight. On the stone table between them was a pitcher of lemonade, glasses, and a plate of grapes, cheese, and crackers. Nikita greeted them and introduced Rick’s arrival. “Gaylord, the sheriff is here to speak with you.”

  The professor released Sasha’s hand, kissed her cheek, and rose to meet Rick.

  “Lemonade?” Nikita offered Rick, but he declined. Too sour. The only thing he had an appetite for these days was raw, bloody meat. He wondered if word among the Quinns had spread about him. Did Nikita know that Rick was now a werewolf? Had she heard that he was one of Dante’s damned? As she sat in the lounge chair where Gaylord had been, she mentioned, “If you need anything, please let me know.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” he said as he urged Gaylord back towards the garden. “If we could speak privately.”

  “Certainly, Sheriff,” the professor said, obliging him as they neared the cover of a vine covered trellis. “Is everything alright?”

  He had every impulse in the world to come out with the truth that felt like it had been ripping him apart at the seams, but he reminded himself that the point of this excursion was to prove to whoever might be watching him from afar that he was slowly and steadily obeying Dante’s order.

  Making small talk, he asked, “Hope I’m not infringing on your honeymoon. You two didn’t want to head out of town?”

  Gaylord smiled, glancing back at his wife, and said, “We have everything we need right here.”

  “Has Troy gotten in touch with you about having a second go at Dante?” he asked, turning serious and speaking quietly.

  “Why, no, he hasn’t,” he t
old him. “But I assume that he will as soon as he’s figured out our next move.”

  “Do you happen to have those Latin chant books on you?”

  The professor became suddenly curious. He furrowed his brow and squinted up at Rick through the glaring sunlight. “I left those at Quinn Security, why?”

  “I was interested in having myself a looksee at them,” he mentioned. Thinking on his feet, he asked, “You didn’t happen to memorize the chants that had paralyzed Lucy Cooper when y’all practiced the tactic, did you?”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but you’ve piqued my curiosity much too far. What is this really all about?”

  “Have you?” he pushed. “It’s a police matter.”

  “I understand you’re straddling two worlds right now, and the way you’re talking, I have to wonder if you’re leaning more towards the dark side.”

  “Don’t be difficult now, professor. You wouldn’t even be in Devil’s Fist if it wasn’t for me.”

  Gaylord paused, holding his breath and debating whether or not to allow this conversation to go any further. After a hesitant beat, he admitted, “Yes, I’ve memorized the chants.”

  “Could you write them down for me?”

  “You know I’m going to ask you why.”

  “And you know I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Then maybe you should tell Troy and get some guidance on whatever situation you’ve gotten tangled up in, Sheriff.”

  Rick cut his eyes over to Nikita and watched her pour her mother-in-law a glass of lemonade.

  “It was just a question,” Rick told him. “No need to read too much into it.”

  Gaylord looked unconvinced so Rick steered the conversation into another line of questions that were far more interesting to him at the moment anyway.

  “What’s Nikita’s story?”

  “Pardon?”

  He sighed and said, “Never mind,” but the professor had caught on to Rick’s interest in delayed reaction.

  “Are you interested in Nikita Quinn?”