Quinn Security

by Dee Bridgnorth

  He found Eddie hunched over a pint of beer at the bar counter, Jack Quagmire lingering around the other side.

  After acknowledging Jack with a curt nod, Dante clapped his hand over Eddie’s trembling shoulder—trembling?—and mentioned, “Why don’t we grab a table near the windows?”

  As Eddie lumbered to his feet, Dante noticed the man looked pale and depleted. It didn’t bode well for what the dark lord had expected his subordinate to accomplish the night prior, but he held off from admonishing the detective until they reached one of the high round tables in front of the large, picture windows that face Main Street.

  “You look ill,” he commented as Eddie took a series of nervous gulps from his pint.

  “I feel worse than I look, trust me,” he complained before draining the rest of his beer and setting the empty glass on the table.

  “Don’t tell me Elizabeth Halsey got the best of you last night,” he said, fearing that was exactly what had happened.

  Truth be told, Dante had never before attempted to mind control someone into Eddie’s hands. In the past it had always been Dante waiting out in the darkness to receive his beautiful puppet. Last night had been something of an experiment, and by the looks of Eddie’s pallor, it could prove to be one he would never again duplicate.

  “She nearly clawed my throat out,” he sneered as he reached for the collar of his shirt.

  It took him a second to loosen his tie and partially unbutton his shirt. As he did, he slid his eyes, scanning the bar to make sure Jack wasn’t glancing their way.

  When the coast was clear, he peeled his shirt back, revealing bloody nail marks that had been scratched down his chest.

  “You should see my stomach,” he told Dante. “It’s black and blue with bruises.”

  Dante narrowed his dark eyes at him. “How on earth did she manage to attack you?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Eddie hissed. “I thought you had her subdued.”

  “I did,” he insisted. “She wouldn’t have set one foot out the door if I hadn’t.”

  “Well, it wasn’t enough,” he complained.

  Dante asked the only question he needed an answer to, “Did you turn her?”

  Eddie’s eyes turned dark and brooding as he countered, “What do you think?”

  Chapter Eleven

  DEAN

  Dean had to wonder if Elizabeth was seriously ill when she emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white tee shirt, and—drumroll please—almost no makeup. She’d mentioned the terrible headache, but it had subsided enough that she’d felt ready to head out to Grandmother Sasha’s. But Dean wasn’t wondering about or stuck on headaches. She had massively toned it down, her entire look, and it gave him pause.

  Of course, the khakis were pristine and the tee shirt had to have been at least $200 so she was still dressed to the nines in designer wear, but her attitude towards her appearance was more relaxed.

  Knowing Elizabeth, however, it was worrisome. She had consistently put a ton of thought, time, and effort into how she looked. Given that neither of them knew what she’d actually gone through last night, it was a point of concern to Dean that she would do anything out of character.

  She didn’t even ask him how she looked, didn’t fish for a single compliment or criticize him for always being so dressed down.

  At least she was wearing a ridiculous pair of high heels that were completely inappropriate for a trip out to Yellowstone.

  “Oh, hang on,” she said when he opened the door for her.

  She jogged, click-clacking her way back into the bedroom, and when he trailed after her, coming to fill the doorframe, he caught her on the bed, peeling one high heel off then the next and replacing them with her hiking boots.

  “Seriously, are you feeling okay?” he asked.

  “I told you, the headache is almost gone,” she repeated as she popped up and stomped past him, swaying her hips the entire way through his cabin.

  Dean followed after her and by the time he climbed into his truck and pulled his seatbelt on, he realized that Elizabeth had helped herself into the passenger’s seat without a single complaint.

  “So, other than the headache, you feel like yourself?” he questioned, highly skeptical of her new, toned down, and self-sufficient attitude.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” she countered. “Considering everything you told me, I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel like myself again.”

  Dean told himself not to try to guess or figure anything out. Yes, he was concerned that this slightly altered version of Elizabeth was some kind of indication that Dante or one of his minions had in fact turned her last night. Why else would she suddenly forego her dramatic false eyelashes and blowing out her hair for a solid thirty minutes in the bathroom? But he told himself to trust Troy and his grandmother’s abilities. He would find out the truth soon enough.

  But Elizabeth’s behavior was getting strange… for Elizabeth.

  As they picked up speed, Dean having driven them from Berry Road to Bison and then turned onto the Highland Highway, she did the unthinkable—for Elizabeth.

  She rolled her window down.

  Her wavy blonde hair started flapping and flying in the hard breeze, whipping over her face and tumbling every which way. The Elizabeth he had met in Libations bar that night would have murdered him for rolling the window down and mussing up her flawless blow-out. But not this Elizabeth. This Elizabeth looked ready to take on Yellowstone if not the world. She looked down to Earth and rugged and laidback, and very, very sexy because of it.

  If this new side of her wasn’t the result of having been turned last night, or at the very least attacked, then Dean had to wonder what in the hell had gotten into her?

  They soon reached the edge of Yellowstone where his grandmother’s land intersected with the National Park. There was a gravelly parking area that connected to a slight walkway through the greenery that led to the little castle Sasha and Nikita had lived in for centuries.

  Even before Dean pulled the key from the ignition, Elizabeth hopped out, drew in a deep breath admiring the scenery and fresh air, and planted her manicured hands on her hips.

  Maybe she didn’t look rugged and laidback, he thought to himself as he watched her. Maybe she looked like a werewolf in human form. There was something about the appreciation for nature that seemed to have suddenly come over her that gave her away.

  Ordinarily, he would be thrilled and turned on by this. She was now coming into being the type of woman that Dean could always see himself with. But if it had been Dante or one of his damned that had turned her and made her this way…

  He clenched his jaw at the thought, reminded himself for perhaps the hundredth time that morning that there was no sense in fretting about it, and climbed out of his truck.

  “The house is up this way, through the woods,” he told her, and they started off along the narrow trail that cut at a slight incline.

  “This is where you grew up?” she asked breathlessly as they walked briskly.

  “It’s a far cry from your upbringing, isn’t it?” he said good-naturedly.

  “I’ll give you that,” she agreed. “But I would’ve loved this.”

  Entirely thrown by her statement, he asked, “You would have? Really?”

  “What child wouldn’t love to be raised in nature like this?” she returned, smiling at the tall trees and the peace and quiet that surrounded them for miles and miles. “I was raised by nannies with central air and views of a city. My schoolyards were covered in blacktop. There’s virtually no fresh air in Los Angeles. The palm trees are decorative and don’t give off oxygen. Sure, the Pacific Ocean is right there, but it’s generally coated in smog. Oh, wow!” she exclaimed as the trees cleared away and the little stone house came into view.

  Dean smiled as well, charmed by the castle his family lived in. He knew it was adorable and it never failed to warm his heart.

  As they came to the front door, he mention
ed, “My mother and grandmother, Nikita and Sasha, are also werewolves.”

  “I figured as much,” she allowed.

  “Right,” he said, feeling a bit nervous as he used the iron wolf knocker to pound on the door.

  He had never introduced a girl to his mother before, and while that wasn’t the purpose of this visit, his mother would be intuitive enough to pick up on his affection towards Elizabeth.

  He heard boots clomping over gravel and turned to find Troy nearing them along the walkway. He had called Troy, asking him to meet them here. His brother’s presence, however, only added to his anxiety. Could Troy see it already? Was he able to look inside Elizabeth to see within her what had happened out in the woods last night?

  “Hey,” he said when Troy reached them.

  Troy gave him a curt nod then asked Elizabeth, “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” she said, a bit irritated at the question since Dean had probably asked her the same dozens of times that morning. “My headache is lingering, but other than that I think I feel okay.”

  The door opened, Nikita on the other side. Her sons had been dropping in unexpectedly recently so she didn’t look all that surprised.

  “This is Elizabeth Halsey,” he introduced.

  Elizabeth offered with a sense of humor, “As in the old Halsey land,” and shook Nikita’s hand, which was a custom his mother had become familiar with.

  “Come in,” she invited. “Troy, nice to see you.”

  As they entered the little stone house, Nikita suddenly looked as nervous as Dean felt but not for the same reason. Ever since Troy had come into full possession of his gift of foresight, all of the Quinns tended to function in a cloud of worry around him, knowing that he could see and intuit all kinds of things that they couldn’t. Troy wasn’t always the bearer of bad news, but if anyone among them had bad news, it was him.

  When they all reached the living room, Dean spied Sasha outside in the backyard through the windows. The professor was with her and they appeared to be canoodling under a canopy tent.

  “We may need Sasha,” Troy told their mother.

  “What’s all this about?” she asked, wringing her hands and looking between her sons.

  Troy cut his eyes to Dean, shooting him a questioning look that told Dean his older brother was prepared to hold his tongue for Elizabeth’s benefit. But Dean had already told Elizabeth everything. The can of worms had spilled open. There wasn’t a single cat left in the bag. However, just because Elizabeth was no longer in the dark, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be mortified to have to stand there while Troy and Dean referred to her as Dean’s one true mate who may or may not have been turned by Dante Alighieri.

  “If you could please just get Sasha for me,” Troy maintained without divulging a single secret.

  Nikita took a deep breath and obeyed. As she made her way to the rear door, she mentioned, “Would anyone like coffee or tea…?” then she slipped outside.

  Dean neared his brother as Elizabeth meandered around the living room, looking at the various crystals and framed photos that were shelved throughout.

  “There’s no way she could’ve been turned, right?” he asked, speaking very quietly. “If she’s meant for me, then there’s no way?”

  Troy looked at him, but didn’t respond.

  “I’m freaking out a little,” he explained.

  “I can see that, but try to remember, I freed Angel and Rick is also on my list to free,” Troy assured him. “If I have to add her to that list, then I will.”

  “It’s exactly like Angel,” Dean said, though he had already expressed this fact to Troy over the phone. “Angel still, to this day, hasn’t remembered what Dante did to her out in those woods.”

  “Angel wasn’t meant to become anyone’s one true mate,” he reminded Dean. Perhaps to help Dean calm down, he tasked him to get Elizabeth situated in Sasha’s crystal room where she had saved Dean himself the afternoon he’d been shot. “Go on, I’ll be right in with Sasha.”

  “Elizabeth?” he said, getting her attention.

  She was stooped over in front of a large, onyx stone that was mounted on a high pedestal in the corner of the living room.

  “If you like crystals, then you have to see this room,” he said, inviting her over.

  When she walked into the room, he eased the door closed but not all the way and watched as she took a slow lap around the stone slab situated in the very center of the room. On the shelves that lined the walls, there were countless crystals and spell books and healing herbs hanging and drying.

  “This is where Sasha healed me,” he said, indicating the stone stab, “after I’d been shot in the shoulder.”

  Elizabeth joined him at the side of the stone table and grazed her slender fingers over its cool surface.

  They turned when Troy entered with Grandmother Sasha. Her aged eyes locked on Elizabeth and Dean could tell immediately that the elderly woman’s intensity had stolen the younger woman’s breath.

  “I knew your great grandfather,” she told Elizabeth as she stared deeply into her eyes, taking one rocky step after the next until she was standing right in front of her and looking up. “And his great grandfather generations and generations before him.”

  As Troy closed the door, Elizabeth breathed, “You did?”

  “Your roots grow deep in Wyoming,” said Sasha, “but I bet you didn’t know that.”

  “No, I didn’t,” she agreed.

  “They were fighting it,” she mentioned as she patted the stone slab, inviting Elizabeth to hop on up as she would in a doctor’s office. “Men can be cowardly.” Once she had gotten situated on the slab, Sasha said, “Lie down on your back.”

  Elizabeth locked eyes with Dean so he nodded, reassuring her that everything would be alright even though he didn’t have a damn clue as to what his grandmother was planning.

  She did as she was told, however, and when she was settled, Sasha came to the head of the table, took both of Elizabeth’s hands in hers, helping her to reach over her head, and closed her eyes.

  Troy, either knowing or sensing exactly what to do, came to the foot of the table and wrapped his large hands around Elizabeth’s ankles, which caused her eyes to widen as they locked on Dean.

  But the reassuring glance he meant to give her didn’t translate. He knew he looked concerned as well and he couldn’t hide it.

  “Close your eyes, dear,” Sasha instructed. “We need to see into you to find out what happened last night.”

  Instead of doing as she was told, Elizabeth looked up at Sasha’s serene face and asked, “How did you know that’s why I’m here?”

  Troy smiled as though it was far from a mystery and offered, “I told her before we came into the room.”

  “Oh,” she breathed and tried to relax. She closed her eyes, but had to ask, “What are you doing?”

  “Quiet,” Sasha snapped.

  After a long moment of silence, Sasha holding Elizabeth’s hands and at times flicking her wrists, which sent a wave of movement down Elizabeth’s body, and Troy on the other end gripping her ankles above the boots and tapping his thumbs as though shocks of electricity were shooting out of her, Sasha opened her eyes, met Troy’s gaze, and asked, “Did you see that?”

  “Yes,” he told her.

  “What?” Dean asked. “What did you see?”

  “Their plan didn’t work,” Troy told him, but Dean didn’t know what it meant.

  “Their plan? Who was they?

  Sasha then examined Elizabeth’s fingernails, which were manicured with pink polish. She frowned then left the table in favor of getting an orange stick and ceramic bowl. When she returned, she used the orange stick to scrap under Elizabeth’s fingernails.

  “What are you doing?” Dean asked in a whisper.

  “She fought back,” Sasha told him, but it only frustrated him further.

  Why couldn’t she just come out with it? This had been Sasha’s way for as long as he could remember. It u
sed to frustrate the hell out of Troy as well, but it seemed that ever since Troy had come into his gift of foresight, he no longer needed any explanations. He could see just as clearly as Sasha could, and felt no need to pressure her into explaining herself, which left Dean and the rest of their brothers squirming in the dark.

  “Who did she fight?” he pushed. “Dante?”

  “No,” said Sasha. “The sheriff is still on our side?”

  “Ah, yeah,” he allowed. “I mean, he’s one of Dante’s but he’s been holding on by a thread.”

  “He can use this,” Sasha mentioned as she handed him the ceramic bowl that now contained the fingernail scrapings. “Hard evidence of the attack.”

  “Who attacked her?” he demanded.

  This time, Troy gave him a real answer, “Eddie Friendly, one of Rick’s detectives.”

  “He didn’t attack her,” said Sasha. “She attacked him,” she clarified further, “but Rick doesn’t need to know that.”

  Dean let out a rocky breath and said, “I can take her to the station next. But will getting Friendly arrested incite Dante?”

  “It’ll weaken him,” Sasha told him. “Friendly is one of the few that Dante trusts completely.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, but he felt his heart lurch up his throat. He needed to hear for sure that Elizabeth hadn’t been turned. “Is she… one of them now?”

  This time, it was Elizabeth who answered, “No.”

  “No?” he questioned.

  “I remember,” she said. “I remember what happened. Why was he able to get into my head like that?”

  Sasha released her hands and stepped away from the table. And when Troy released her as well, she sat up, looked momentarily woozy, and Dean rushed to her.

  “He has his ways,” Sasha allowed. “She isn’t safe,” she then told Dean.

  “So, the fact that she’s meant for me won’t protect her?”

  “No,” Sasha told him frankly. “She might be destined to become your one true mate, but I was destined to become your grandfather’s one true mate too. Before that happened though…”