by C. C. Ekeke
Quinn sat with four of her friends on a too-small couch in their living room, waiting.
She was grateful the OSA had retrieved their personal belongings and for just being alive. But could she move past that Dan a-hole nearly draining the life out of her? She shuddered away from any answer, focusing on the conversation from the kitchen.
Warm yellow light bathed three OSA agents conversing with Devon, using hushed yet urgent tones. Annoyingly, Quinn couldn’t hear anything.
Their expressions were tight-mouthed and stern. Devon seemed at home among her New Orleans colleagues, perched on a kitchen countertop during the conversation. Her long locks were up in a tight ponytail while she wore a dark-blue jacket sporting OSA in bold white letters on the back.
Devon Strauss, agent of the OSA. After the shock had worn off, Quinn understood the career choice. Devon came from a military family and joined ROTC while in college. One of her uncles was a sheriff. Being of service was in her blood.
She glanced at Quinn and the others, her baby-blue eyes twinkling.
Quinn felt a nervous flutter in her belly and averted her eyes, glancing around to ensure her other friends noticed.
Luckily, everyone else was either too tired or shellshocked. “How much longer?” Krista grumbled, stealing quick looks at the kitchen.
“Not sure,” Monica remarked with a limp shrug. Her eyes were still too glazed over for Quinn’s liking. “This was a big case.”
Another concern for Quinn was Annie, who’d been oddly quiet since their return to the rental. She just leaned forward, head in her hands.
Katy took in everyone with suspicious eyes. “Can you believe Devon, though?” she whispered. “Yeah, she saved our lives, but she just offed those guys like the goddamn Terminator.”
Krista nodded in fervent agreement, her mussed-up braids jostling around. “And she lied to us for God knows how long?”
Quinn bristled at their disloyalty. Had they forgotten what could’ve happened to everyone had Devon not gone all “Terminator” on those siphoners? “Stop being so dramatic,” she hissed.
Krista turned to Quinn and opened her mouth angrily. “Excuse me—”
Quinn raised a hand to cut her off. “Devon saved our lives,” she emphasized. “And she’s still the same gun-loving debutante, but more badass.”
Katy tensed, about to respond, but wisely kept quiet. No one else replied, all of them shamefaced.
Good, Quinn mused with satisfaction.
Annie was totally zoned out.
Now Quinn’s worry rose. She leaned forward on her elbows. “Annie?”
Monica also noticed, placing a hand on Annie’s slumped shoulders. “You’re rather mute, sweetie.”
Annie jerked away from her friend’s touch, revealing a haunted stare. The swelling on her bruised cheek had grown worse. “I…I cheated on Johnny,” she said with a trembling voice. “I would’ve fucked that dude’s brains out if things didn’t go sideways. It’s like I couldn’t stop myself.” Annie burst into more tears again.
Quinn, Monica, Katy, and Krista went into damage control mode, gathering around Annie with soothing words. But she remained inconsolable.
Quinn knelt in front of Annie. “Giaconda,” she began. Calling Annie by her full name always grabbed her attention. “You did nothing wrong this time.”
“The siphoners made you do that,” Katy added, stroking hair from Annie’s face.
“Did they?” Annie sniffled. Her sad gaze grew faraway. “You know how I get when I drink too much. Things are so good with Johnny. Jesus…” A fresh sob shuddered through her. “How can I hide this from him?”
Quinn exchanged worried looks with the others. Those words were loaded with trouble, based on what they’d all signed at the OSA office. “We all signed NDAs,” she reminded Annie, gripping her hands. “And you don’t want to break one from the OSA.”
Everyone quieted when Devon reentered the room.
Quinn lurched upright, as did Katy and Annie.
Devon had an authority about her that wasn’t visible before—and an edge of unspoken menace.
“Ladies,” she said, taking in everyone with a sweeping stare. “Will you step inside these rooms? Two at a time?” Devon gestured to two of the house’s four bedrooms on the first floor. “The other agents have a few more follow-up questions.”
That drew grumbles and protests. Quinn found that odd, since she assumed the OSA had gotten everything they needed back at the OSA office. Yet Devon wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“More?” Monica complained, like an irate child.
Devon approached, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Moni…”
Monica flinched away.
The fleeting hurt on Devon’s face was heartbreaking. But she recovered quickly. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“Fine,” Krista grumbled, trudging past, guiding Annie by the arm into the left bedroom.
Monica and Katy both entered the right bedroom, scowling in Devon’s direction.
A lanky tanned man with buzzcut hair stepped inside Annie and Krista’s room, closing the door. A fair-skinned redhead, her hair in a tight bun, stepped into Katy and Monica’s room, closing the door.
That left Quinn, Devon, and Agent Cheng in the living room.
“Then I’ll go after?” Quinn asked, being the odd woman out.
Devon gave a terse head shake.
Cheng frowned at the exchange. “Strauss. Not wise.”
“She’s okay,” Devon reassured. Cheng fixated on Quinn for several moments, then shrugged.
Quinn was lost…and concerned. “Devon, what—?”
Devon gripped her shoulder with unusual firmness. “Wait with me,” she interjected.
Quinn was too exhausted to protest and quietly plopped onto the couch. OSA operatives bustled around her as she watched the closed doors of the rooms her other friends occupied. What were they discussing in there?
Several minutes later, the male agent stepped out of the left bedroom and the female agent exited the other room. Both exchanged nods with Devon and Special Agent Cheng, as if confirming some accomplishment.
Quinn didn’t like that one bit. Something about the pair curdled her insides. The two agents then marched off and out the front door. Only then did Quinn not suppress a shudder.
Devon and Cheng spoke a few more minutes in terse murmurs before she shouldered off her OSA jacket and handed it over. Then Cheng followed the other agents outside. Two muted engines started up before driving off.
Like clockwork, Annie, Krista, Monica, and Katy stepped out of their rooms. They all had sleepy expressions or were yawning.
“God, I’m wiped.” Annie yawned, stretching her arms out, catlike. Her previous distress over “cheating” on Johnny was nowhere to be found.
“Me too.” Monica nodded sleepily. “Bedtime?”
“Bedtime,” Katy agreed, pointing.
“Goodnight, ladies.” Krista gave a lazy handwave.
One by one, all four girls then headed for their respective bedrooms.
Quinn had no words, even with her jaw dropped. Her four friends were acting like they hadn’t almost gotten killed.
Devon looked relieved. “Goodnight, y’all.”
As soon as their doors shut, Quinn whirled on Devon. “Why are they acting so normally?” she demanded. The question would have sounded paranoid if she hadn’t survived the same experience.
Devon glanced away in clear shame. Then she steeled her posture with righteousness. “Those people they met with were from the OSA’s PsiOps division.”
“Telepaths,” Quinn spat. Not that she disliked psychics, except she didn’t trust them to keep their mindreading to themselves. “Why?”
“To scrub what happened from the girls’ brains,” Devon explained. She swallowed hard at the anger she saw on Quinn’s face. “When they wake up, the girls will only remember a raging hangover and a rip-roaring good time today full of barhopping.”
Quinn ached to unhear such an inv
asive action. “You mindwiped them,” she whisper-yelled. And after she’d defended Devon…
The agent’s features hardened. “You want them to remember the hell we just escaped?” she countered, like a patient proctor chiding a defiant student. “Krista and Annie were falling apart. Moni was a zombie. Katy’s too chatty for her own good. NDAs aren’t enough.”
Quinn opened her mouth, only for Devon’s logical reply to splash water on her anger. Mindwiping their friends was unconscionable and invasive as all heck. But Devon wasn’t wrong in her blunt assessment of their friends. Quinn massaged her temples, disgusted that she could rationalize this so readily. That left one question. “Why didn’t you do that with me?”
Devon’s gaze hit her like a stun gun. “I trust you,” she explained softly. “I know you won’t talk.”
The meaning in Devon’s reply constricted Quinn’s throat. “Oh,” she mumbled and looked at the floor.
Their friends all believed Quinn’s falling out with Devon had been their huge fight at homecoming three years back. But the true cause happened afterward, a private and more intense confrontation that Quinn had never revealed. One, because the anger she’d felt was not entirely aimed at Devon. Two, what she’d learned was not her place to reveal.
Devon searched her face with a blossoming smile. “And I know that you’re stronger than the others,” she went on. “You’ll keep any OSA involvement to yourself.”
Quinn was blushing her face off again. “Like the NDA said,” she remarked blithely to defuse the awkwardness. When she met Devon’s gaze again, the tension remained thick enough to choke on.
“Thank you,” Quinn said more seriously. “For taking away their suffering.”
Devon spread her arms.
Quinn walked over, and they shared a long, firm embrace.
Later, after Quinn had showered and changed into her pajamas, fear of bad dreams kept her awake.
She wandered into Devon’s bedroom, where her friend was reading on her tablet, a cropped white tank top and cowhide shorts serving as nightwear.
The two women were soon curled up beneath the bedsheets having one of those deep conversations that only came about at night. The whole time, Quinn found herself sneaking looks at Devon’s muscled abs and delectably thick thighs. She couldn’t help it. Good lord, that girl was in shape!
“How does one join the OSA of all agencies?” Quinn asked after some time. She wanted to know everything about her friend’s secret life. Even the boring day-to-day stuff.
The way Devon batted her eyelashes like a southern belle from the movies flipped Quinn’s stomach up and down. “I was finishing my third Middle East tour,” she said, “and looking to get into Army Rangers training.” Devon seemed to be elsewhere, as if she were back over there with her fellow soldiers. “The camaraderie with my brothers in uniform, serving this country. I’d probably have stayed like ten more years.”
“Until what?”
Devon’s gaze refocused on Quinn again. “An OSA recruiter visited one of the Army bases months ago.” She looked genuinely happy to be sharing this. “Looking for new blood that weren’t just trigger-men to fill SURTR and Acquisition Services. I finally get to use that psych degree for something.”
Quinn giggled. “SURTR? Acquisition Services?” She didn’t know much about America’s secretive superhuman intel agency. “What are those?”
Devon rolled her eyes. “Another long story,” she stated without further discussion. “Took some physical, psych, and tactical tests. Then I got in the OSA.”
“Wow.”
“Now I’m based out of Wichita.”
Quinn was so proud of her friend’s achievements. Yet it saddened her to have missed so much of Devon’s life. Because of my pride. Quinn gave a dry sob. “I’m sorry.”
Devon made a face. “For what?”
“How I reacted the last time we hung out.” Quinn barely kept her voice from quaking. God, what an idiot she had been.
Devon’s expression shifted. She drew her long legs in tighter. “I'd been a major league bitch when you needed a friend,” she admitted. “You had every right to rip my head off.”
Quinn saw the out that Devon had offered from discussing Devon's attitude during Quinn’s relationship with Bobby Cafferty. Or at homecoming three years back how Devon snickered after hearing that Quinn and Bobby had broken up.
Quinn didn’t want an easy out. She wanted her friend back. “No,” Quinn said, steeling herself for the fallout. “After that. When you explained why you’d been distant and bitchy when I was with Bobby.” Devon turned whiter than a sheet and slightly leaned back. “Oh. That.”
Quinn pressed on, even as her stomach twisted in knots. “Me flipping out had nothing to do with your sexuality or you liking me,” she whispered, even with everyone else in the house asleep. “I was so angry at you for the other stuff, and blindsided.”
Devon closed her eyes as if pained, confirming what an open wound this subject remained.
Quinn said nothing, watching her friend process the thorny emotions around her secret. Several moments trudged by before Devon opened her eyes and responded. “I did forcibly kiss you.” Her tone sounded brittle if enough pressure was applied.
“Yeah,” Quinn admitted without judgement. “Again, I’m sorry if it felt like I was rejecting who you are.”
Under dim lights, Devon offered a grateful smile. “I figured as much.”
“Who else knows?”
“Military buddies,” Devon confessed and shivered. “First time I felt safe telling anyone. They only cared that I had their backs on the battlefield.”
Knowing that Devon had a support system warmed Quinn’s heart. “You never told any of the girls?” she asked, scooting half an inch closer to know more.
Devon shook her head in shame. “Someday.”
“Not your parents?” Quinn probed, already knowing how that might go.
“God, no,” Devon scoffed. She fixed her face to hide any bitterness. “You know how those Bible thumpers would react.”
Quinn shook her head, sorrow pressing on her heart. How lonely must Devon have been for so long. “I’m sorry—” Quinn remembered saying that already and winced. “Did you date anyone after college?”
“Lots of one-night stands and casual stuff. Nothing serious,” Devon intoned, both hands now under the side of her face. Except for a few seconds here and there, she never took her eyes off of Quinn. “The assignments I do make monogamy challenging.” The prospect visibly bothered Devon.
Quinn furrowed her brow, not understanding. “Why?”
Devon turned beet-red in the darkness. “A very long story.” She glanced away and changed subjects.
They talked a while longer about all kinds of stuff. Yet Quinn’s mind went back to the horrors she’d just experienced. Suddenly, her struggle to hold things in burst like a dam, and the tears started flowing.
Devon scooted closer and wiped Quinn’s tears with dainty fingers.
But Quinn didn’t want pity, just needed a good cry. “How do you take the violence?” she wept. “The death? How are you not having nightmares every night?”
A smile quirked up the side of Devon’s lovely, plump lips. “Usually, I sleep like a baby,” she quipped. But when Quinn didn’t even smile, she sobered, inching closer again. “For cases like tonight? The only way I can do the job and survive…I have to stuff all my fears and every ounce of anguish in a box, zero in on the threat I need to stop. And once it’s over, then maybe I’ll allow myself to feel.” Her blunt words were unyielding. “Something I learned in the Army.”
Quinn nodded, feeling slightly better. “Those bastards were killing innocent girls.” But the fear she’d forced herself not to experience kept bubbling upward. “They would’ve killed us.”
Devon nodded sadly. “I know.”
Quinn wanted to crawl in a hole and never come out. “I was so terrified,” she confessed. “I thought we were going to die.”
The admissi
on broke Quinn. Facing her own mortality was an experience that drowned her in fear, grief.
Devon reached out again to wipe her tears away. “We didn’t,” she breathed huskily. “Thanks to you.”
Her open gratitude made Quinn smile. “And you…” She poked Devon’s nose.
Devon poked Quinn back. “You first.” The two swallowed much of their giggles, poking and tickling each other.
Eventually, Devon calmed and resumed stroking Quinn’s cheeks.
The physical contact gave Quinn goosebumps, feeling so good. They lay a few inches apart, face-to-face, way too close.
Yet Quinn was too comfortable to move. The horrors of her abduction became mildly unwelcome background noise.
The way Devon caressed her face, watching her with heavy-lidded eyes full of hunger…
Quinn stiffened. There was no mistaking what might happen here.
Say goodnight and leave this bedroom, a voice ordered.
Yet Quinn found herself paralyzed. A cocktail of emotions she’d never experienced boiled within her chest.
Devon put on her sexiest smile, moving a little closer. Now there was no space between them…
Chapter 8
“Your jaw’s still sore, honey?” Quinn inquired.
“Sorta,” Annie complained, opening and closing her mouth experimentally. She sashayed away from the Delta check-in counter with her purse and rolling carry-on. Her right cheek bore a faint purple bruise from the backhand she no longer remembered. “Felt like somebody punched me, but I can’t remember what happened.”
“You probably did a drunk sprint into a wall or something,” Quinn lied, then cringed in self-loathing. But for Annie’s sake, she had to.
Her BFF didn’t notice, already over the discomfort. “This weekend was still awesome,” she crowed. “Friends. Food. Alcohol. Jazz.”
“And beignets,” Quinn added as they walked side by side.
“Yes!” Annie beamed and fist-pumped. “Beignets!”
They marched for their gate early Tuesday morning at the airport after dropping off their check-ins, both in flip-flops and sweats. Quinn was rocking her favorite Red Sox hoodie, while carrying her leather travel bag. The last two days of the New Orleans trip had been a dream. Dining at new restaurants each night, feeding marshmallows to alligators on a swamp tour, barhopping, and hitting up jazz clubs.