“Don’t you feel it too?” Quinn’s warm hands cupped her shoulders, and he spun her around in his arms, pulling her in tight against his sinewy body. He lifted her face up to his with one hand while the other stroked through her hair to cup the back of her head.
“Feel what?” Yep, she was the Bruce Lee of denial.
“This.” He kissed her. His firm lips and stroking tongue stole her every thought from her head. Her head must have exchanged oxygen for helium because it was about to float up into the clouds far, far above her.
He ended the kiss abruptly, pulling back a step, his breath uneven as it struggled in and out of his lungs. Just like hers.
She stiffened her spine and drew herself away and inward, a solitary island with a sole survivor.
“Fair warning, I aim to wear you down like the water shaped those rocks down below. I’ll keep flowing around you, smoothing out the sharp angles, and wear away your resistance. Now, no more fishing off the bridge, because I have a fantasy with you and a pair of handcuffs, but it’s not that.”
His gaze raked over her, leaving a trail of goose bumps and a serious case of oxygen deprivation. Then he walked to his police car and drove away as if he hadn’t just knocked a fissure in her well-constructed wall of defense. How did he do that? Quinn might think she was trouble, but she knew he was a sure heartache.
She couldn’t afford to open her heart to his words. She’d been broken for many years, but avoiding expectations and commitments kept some of the pain at bay. He was going to drive her crazy with his plan, but she had a plan too. She just had to stick to it, because her plan to get back to D.C. as fast as possible might just be the only way to save her sanity.
10
It was ten o’clock on a Friday night, which meant it was time to brew a fresh pot of coffee at the Climax Police Department. Quinn always tried to get the coffee started before Hawk, since Hawk liked his coffee so strong it tasted like it had been brewed by some process involving a nuclear meltdown. He dumped the scoops of coffee grounds in the basket and then poured the water quick since he heard Hawk’s whistle working its way down the hall. Once the switch was flipped, he stepped back and relaxed, knowing his stomach would live another night.
Hawk walked in the break room and strode immediately over to the coffee station. “All right, who made the coffee already? Y’all know I’ve got a special way of making it.” He turned, looking at the other cops in the room before turning accusing eyes on Quinn.
“Your coffee has a special way of eating through the lining of my stomach.”
“Well, maybe, but it keeps you awake, doesn’t it?”
“That I can’t deny. But it’s Friday night. We’ll be awake and busy long into the night.” Quinn pulled two Styrofoam cups off the stack. He poured a cup, handed it to Hawk, and cringed visibly at the four teaspoons of sugar and powdered creamer he dumped in. It wasn’t the best coffee to begin with, but the man managed to turn it into toxic sludge.
Hawk shook his head. “Yeah, awake, busy, and bored. They’re doing the same crap we did ten years ago. Hell, can’t teenagers think of anything new these days?”
“Apparently not. Because, like clockwork, one of poor old Mr. McClatchy’s cows will get tipped, and an illegal bonfire will burn in the woods next to Webster’s abandoned barn, where the moonshine and alcohol will flow like sweet tea on a hot day. Any teenager who evades us during all that will then converge up on Copper Lake for a mini-Woodstock love fest, only without the LSD and with a lot more pickup trucks.”
Hawk grinned at him. “Yup, same stuff we did, and your brothers before that. I’d just appreciate something different for a change.”
“I’ll grant you it can get boring, but I’ll take our small-town Friday night over the shootings, drug busts, and gang activity over in Greensboro and Raleigh.”
“Good point.” Hawk didn’t look any happier.
“The task forces we share with them twice a year are a kick-ass adrenaline rush, but I’m happy to come back to our sleepy little town.” He didn’t hate working Friday nights, but he had to admit Hawk was right about one thing: they’d become so predictable. “I saw rain in the forecast later. That might keep it a little quieter tonight.”
“I don’t need quieter. I would just like something different one Friday night.” Hawk chugged his coffee like it was his job before pouring another to go. “Okay, I’ll make the first round over to McClatchy’s farm, if you want to—”
“Excuse me, Cates. Rojas responded to a call for a drunk and disorderly over at Yadkin’s about thirty minutes ago.” Candy Nguyen, one of the department dispatchers, had poked her head around the doorjamb and into the room.
Quinn’s attention was focused on filling up his own coffee to go. “And?”
“Well, it apparently didn’t go so well, and he just called for backup. Specifically, you.”
“I can go,” Hawk said.
Candy shook her head. “Well, sure, but the D and D involves his girl.”
Quinn’s hand jerked, splashing coffee onto the back of his hand. Ouch. His girl? What? “My girl?”
“Delaney.”
Delaney. His girl. Damn, he liked the sound of that.
“Things sure are interesting around here ever since you brought her back,” Candy said, her forehead an accordion of worried wrinkles. “I haven’t seen the grapevine this stirred up since Sijan and his fiancé hit town.”
Delaney did seem to bring the funky cheese dip to the party. What had he said a few days ago? A walking, talking trouble magnet. He grabbed his coffee and headed out to his car in quick strides, because with Delaney, you never knew.
* * *
Yadkin’s Depot, originally a train station from the 1940s, had been refurbished with an industrial modern décor a few years ago into the only hot spot for the twenty to thirty-something crowd in town. During the day, the large glass windows allowed bright sunlight to stream in, but at night the lighting was dim, the drinks flowing and the waitresses busy.
Quinn pulled up and parked at the curb behind Rojas’s unit. He climbed out, noting everything seemed normal and quiet, but then he’d seen Delaney drunk before and, other than some crying, she wasn’t disorderly. At least not the last time.
As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the first thing that hit him was the country music. Normal. The clientele was a little quiet for a Friday night crowd, and they were all gathered around a central spot over by one of the large round tables. Quinn glanced over at the bartender, Joe, whose smile split his face wide. He gestured toward the crowd with a tilt of his head and said, “Feisty woman, that Delaney.”
Which could mean anything. Oh, boy. He plowed his way through the crowd. Once they realized who he was, the crowd parted for him.
Quinn found Officer Rojas, Delaney, and Barbara sitting around the table, looking at each other. Delaney and Barbara? That wouldn’t end well. Rojas was facing him, and the rookie looked frustrated, confused, and in over his head.
Rojas sat opposite Barbara with Delaney between the two of them at the round oak table. Since Delaney sat to the side, he could only see the left side of her face, but it was enough to see she was pissed about something. Barbara sat closest to Quinn. She was facing the table with her back toward him and she appeared to be . . . handcuffed to her chair?
Well, that was something different. Rojas glanced up at him then, his body sagging in relief. Quinn stepped up to the table behind Barbara. “Everything okay here? Barbara?”
“Quinn! It’s about time you got here. No, everything isn’t okay. Look at me! Delaney cuffed me to the chair! I want you to arrest her right now!”
“Hey there, Laney. Where’d you get the cuffs?” He glanced down at the cuffs again and realized they were police issue. Delaney cuffed her? Oh, hell, that had to be a scuffle the whole cop shop would’ve paid to see. He glanced at Rojas, who shook his head once, then cut his eyes over to Delaney. Delaney watched Rojas as if daring him to make a move. Crap.
; Quinn pinched the bridge of his nose against the unavoidable truth. Well, this was something the rookie wouldn’t ever live down, that’s for sure. He looked back at Rojas, noticing Delaney still hadn’t turned her head to look at him. “Uh, Rafe? How’d she get your cuffs?”
“She’s quick, is all. And a little scary. She said she’d gut me and use my intestine to make strings for miniature guitars and sell them all over the world if I got up and freed Barbie—I mean, Ms. Jewel.”
“You let her intimidate you? Hell, Rojas, she’s just a little thing.”
“She’s got a big temper, and I figured you’d be pissed if I hurt her trying to struggle with her, so instead I called you in for backup.”
Part of Quinn was worried for Delaney. This was the second time she’d gotten so drunk she needed to be bailed out. He could see her tightly clenched jaw in her delicate profile, so he knew she was still upset. Damn, maybe he could sneak her to his house to sleep it off again, instead of a night in a holding cell where most D and Ds ended up. He’d need some crowd dispersal if he had any hope of making that happen.
“Okay, everyone, show’s over. Go back to your Friday night.” He directed his most intimidating gaze firmly around the crowd until they began wandering back to their tables or the dance floor. Okay, time to work the problem. He glanced at Delaney. “What was your drink of choice tonight, Delaney? I don’t see your usual array of wineglasses.”
Delaney finally turned her head toward him, but only slightly, not full on. Enough to pin him with her eyes and her disdain. “I’m not the drunk one, Super Cop.”
He walked around the table so he could look both Barbara and Delaney directly in their faces, only Delaney still kept her head turned away from him. Barbara looked up at him with a grin, which kept sliding off her face.
“Hiya, Quinn. I’d wave at you real cute-like, only like I said, Delaney handcuffed me to this chair.” Hiccup.
Okay, this was different. Barbara was often annoying when sober, and it didn’t look like her sloppy-drunk version was going over any better. That still didn’t mean Delaney could go around handcuffing her.
“Do you want to press charges, Barbara?” he asked.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Delaney said, turning her head to glare at him.
That was when he lost it. “What the hell happened to you? Rafe, you want to explain this?”
“I’ve been trying to. Barbie—I mean Ms. Jewel—drank numerous Long Island iced teas, becoming intoxicated, whereupon she approached Ms. Lyons and started a fight. All the witnesses corroborated this. Joe called the police, which is when I arrived, but before I could do anything, Ms. Jewel jumped Delaney and slapped her. Hard. I tried to subdue Ms. Jewel, but she jumped me. That was when Delaney cuffed her to the chair. Pretty sweet moves, too.”
Quinn could barely hold back the red haze that had engulfed him the minute he’d seen the hand imprint on Delaney’s pale cheek. “Barbara Jewel, you are under arrest for assault. You have the right to remain silent—”
Barbara batted her eyelids up at him and sighed, “Quinn, honey, this has always been a fantasy of mine. Keep going, because this is very hot, only can you talk slower and unbutton a few buttons on your uniform?”
He shook his head. “Officer Rojas, finish this.” And then he grabbed Delaney and headed them out of the building to his vehicle.
“Whoa, wait! Why are you arresting me? I wasn’t drunk, or disorderly, and I wasn’t the one who hit someone, although the night is still young.” Delaney rammed her elbow in his side trying to get him to let go of her. “I even kept your rookie from getting beaten up. And you’re going to arrest me?”
11
“Damn it, I’m not arresting you,” Quinn said, searching for his soothing cop voice and coming up empty. Once again, this woman was tempting him sorely. “Now settle down for one damn minute.”
“If you aren’t arresting me, I’d appreciate it, Officer Cates, if you’d let go of my person.”
He leaned her carefully up against his police car and shoved his hands into his pockets in a feeble effort to keep from touching her. The tension between them grew until the door to the Depot swung open, letting a wave of country music and laughter escape, slicing the tenuous connection. They both turned toward the noise and watched Rojas lead Barbara from the bar, the handcuffs now clipped back on his belt.
“There he is! Quinn, I told Officer Rojas here I wanted you to be the one to frisk me.” She squeezed between Quinn and Delaney and placed her hands on the roof of Quinn’s cruiser, her legs spread wide. As wide as her drunkenness could afford. She peeked around at him and pouted prettily. “I’m ready. Frisk away, Officer Cates.”
Delaney shook her head and stepped away from them all. “I’m not pressing charges. If y’all could just see her home safely, we’ll be all square.”
Quinn looked at Delaney. “Are you sure?”
“I swear, Delaney, you ruin everything. Arrest me, darn it. I demand a good frisking!”
“You’re drunk, Barbara. Go home.”
Quinn gave Rojas a get-her-out-of-here head motion.
“Yes, sir. I’ll see her safely home.” Rojas nodded to Delaney, his cheeks filling with embarrassment as he steered Barbara over to the back of his cruiser. Quinn didn’t know if it was due to Delaney’s sleight of hand with his handcuffs, or her normal effect on males. He remembered reacting that way to her for years.
Looking at her delicate face, he had to clench his jaw tight so he didn’t say what he was thinking. Damn. It had looked bad inside the dim bar, but under the bright stream of the overhead street lamp, the red slap mark glowed obscenely on her pale skin. “You look like hell.”
“You’re a natural born charmer, aren’t you?”
“It’s not just the slap mark. You look tired. Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“Dude, you’re not my doctor. You’re not my therapist. You’re not my anything. Leave me alone. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“We’ve already had this conversation. You have no idea what I’m going through. This is as fine as I’m going to get, and I’m learning to accept that.”
“You’re right—I don’t know what you’re going through. Nobody here does. Not even Greer. Because you won’t let us know and you won’t let us help.” He could see the stiff line of her lips and the flush of her whole face, and knew she was weighing the cost of hitting a cop.
She crossed her arms over her chest, hands clenching her upper arms so tight her knuckles whitened against her grey sweatshirt. “Quinn, there is nothing to help with. Now that you and Greer have me back on track, I’m . . . I’m fine.”
“Fine? So, you’re just going to settle?”
“I’m going to take my ‘thank you for participating at life’ trophy and go home. Yes. I don’t belong here. I don’t fit in here, and it becomes clearer every day. Look, all I did was go to the Depot for a burger because I was trying to avoid the gossip over at the diner. And see what I get for trying to stay out of trouble? Me and this town were never meant to be. Just like us. The sooner you accept that, Quinn, the sooner you can move on.”
She’d just stabbed him through the heart.
“I’m beginning to think this whole thing is more about you than me. Maybe this is your problem. Your deal. Are you stuck in the past, Quinn?”
Now she’d gone for the jugular, but she didn’t even know it. She didn’t know that his family and friends used to tell him this all the time. From high school until he’d finally wised up and gone cold turkey from all things Delaney. This struck at his worst fear, and weakest spot. He was Achilles and Delaney had just aimed for his heel.
Was he stuck in the past? Was he delusional to think there was something between them? No one else seemed to agree with him. Not his friends. Not his family. Not Greer. Hell, certainly not Delaney. But how else did he explain the ache in his chest and the clench in his gut whenever he was near her? He looked hard into her golden eyes, lo
oking for answers he was beginning to fear he’d never find. Was she right? Were they all right?
“Stuck in the past? Huh. I guess I’m going to have to consider that.” Quinn stepped back into Delaney’s space, as close as he could get without touching her. He stood so close he could smell the green apple of her shampoo and a hint of vanilla. “I mean, if I’m the only one feeling anything, then I might be wrong.”
Leaning his head in next to hers, he turned his head so his lips just brushed her ear when he said, “This is one-sided, right? That hitch in your breath, the way your pulse is buzzing like a bumblebee in spring, your hands shaking like you just dipped your toes in Parker’s Creek in the middle of winter. None of that has anything to do with me, right? With us?”
As he spoke, he moved his lips from her ear, along her jaw, to linger mere millimeters from her mouth. Not quite touching, but the heat of his lips over her sweet skin sent a shudder through them both. He turned his head the slightest bit, bringing their lips so close only a soft breeze could slip between them, barely.
“Don’t kiss me.”
“I won’t. The next time we kiss—you’re going to kiss me.” He pulled back, putting a buffer between them, trying to escape the enticing heat of her, the magnetic pull every time he was in her orbit.
“No. There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Your call.”
“Quinn, even if I wanted to start a relationship with you, which I don’t, I’ve got baggage even I don’t want to unpack. Why the heck would you want to?”
“Is this about your parents or your accident?”
“Both.”
This had to be progress, right? Had the door to her fortress just cracked open? If he slipped in real careful like and didn’t knock over any tables or break the china, would she welcome him in further? He knew about her parents, so he’d start with the unknown, the accident. He could kick himself for not letting Greer fill him in last week when she’d tried to. Damn him and his big mouth. “Would it help to talk about the accident?”
Still Crushing on His Best Friend’s Older Sister: Cates Brothers # 2 Page 7
