by RJ Blain
“You know what, Quinn? I’m done talking for right now. Shut up and kiss me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sleep was a luxury Quinn could apparently live without. I couldn’t. While I thought I’d be safe sleeping the day away in the Plaza, he disagreed.
Long before I had even dreamed of sleeping with Quinn, we had fought. How had we gone from hating each other to… us? After I got some sleep, I’d be able to make sense of it. Our first real fight as a couple ended with my frustrated tears. Why couldn’t I go back to bed? Instead, as the loser of the discussion, I got dressed in new clothes the hotel magically made appear since mine were ruined with pink neutralizer stains. Quinn ignored my sniffled complaints and herded me to the lobby, where he proceeded to manhandle me into the back of a waiting cruiser.
To ensure I couldn’t escape, he slid in beside me. “Anything critical on the wire?”
Quinn blocked my route of escape by closing the door. Damn it.
“The CDC called Washington for support regarding our gorgon problem. They also called trying to get hold of you, Gardener. They’re expecting a call back.”
Oh. I knew the cop from her voice. Amanda seemed like the type of woman Quinn would actually pursue, down-to-Earth, wearing a uniform, and pretty enough to model if she wanted. I was a crow to her swan, but she grinned at me as though it never occurred to her we were in two totally different leagues.
“Yippee.”
Quinn jabbed me with his elbow. “Anything else?”
“The CDC did a full sweep of your house. It’s clean.”
“Good.”
“We have one question, however.” Amanda sounded far too amused for my comfort, which meant trouble for someone.
If Quinn kept frowning so much, I would worry for the safety of everyone in the cruiser, especially after the death of his phone. “What?”
“We never took you for the lace lingerie type, Gardener. What were they doing in the chief’s bedroom anyway?”
Oh no. Had I actually left the black lace bra and panties in his room? “I was trying to kill him in a way that wouldn’t get me convicted.”
Amanda clucked her tongue. “Try dangling them from the rearview mirror of his car. That might have better results. It seems your plan didn’t work.”
She and her partner laughed.
“I see dead cops,” I snarled, reaching for the cage dividing the front and back seats. My fingers brushed the metal grate before Quinn got his arms wrapped around me and pulled me back.
“Gardener’s a little cranky today. She had a long day yesterday beating up a gorgon and may need a few more hours of sleep.”
“A little cranky? Are you sure you’re safe back there, sir?”
“I’m sure I’ll survive until we get to the station. Relax, Gardener. You can nap in my office or in the break room. Hey, Vanderhorn. Ask the station to dig out a pack of the transformation pills—D grade should suffice. If any gorgons get any bright ideas, I think I’d enjoy watching them play with a napalm junkie.”
Still laughing, Amanda’s partner relayed Quinn’s orders.
There was only one thing I could say. “I hate you so much, Chief Quinn.”
He smiled as though I had given him the best gift in the whole wide world. “I know.”
Until my first sip of police station coffee, I hadn’t considered myself a coffee snob. “What is this sludge? Am I drinking sewage? Who made this? What decade was this made in?”
Perky leaned against the doorway into the break room and pointed at Quinn. “He did. It’s the station rule. Whoever walks into the break room when there’s only one cup left has to make the new pot. You were stealing my stale chips while he was making the coffee.”
How had stale chips become a part of my diet, anyway? I leveled my best glare at Quinn. “The angels couldn’t kill me, so you’re trying to finish me off, aren’t you?”
“Think you can do better?”
Every single cop turned and stared at the police chief. I arched a brow. “Raise your hand if you think the barista with more than ten years of experience making you dipshits coffee can do better than Chief Quinn.”
Perky raised his hand. “This dipshit thinks Gardener made the best coffee in Manhattan. I cried when you stopped making coffee I could buy.”
“Who are you and what have you done with Perky?”
“It’s the truth. Even Chief Quinn liked your coffee so much he had to have it at least three times a week or he complained.”
“Perkins!”
“I’m only telling the truth, sir. The woman’s a coffee goddess.”
“Don’t you have work to do, Perkins?”
Perky made a show of checking his watch. “Oh, look at that. I have some reports to file. Please be the first person to walk into the break room when there’s only one cup left, Gardener. Please.”
Since killing a law enforcement officer would land me in jail, I turned my wrath in the direction of the coffee maker. “You bought that at a discount store for less than ten bucks, didn’t you?”
Taking a sip of his coffee, Quinn gave the white plastic machine a pat. “Don’t you be mean to Suzy. She treats us real good.”
Several cops in the main room whimpered, and I suspected a few of them cried. How could I be mean to so many heartbroken adults at one time? Even I couldn’t do it. It was worse than kicking a puppy.
“I’m going to need a ride to the bank and a trip to a restaurant supply store.” I guzzled down my cup of crap coffee, shuddered, and left the break room. “I’m also going to need a strong man willing to sacrifice his body for the sake of good coffee. Volunteers?”
Every cop in the place, even the women, raised their hands with the exception of one cranky-looking Chief Quinn.
“What do you think you’re doing, Gardener?”
“I’m kidnapping at least one cop, possibly more, so I can have good coffee. Some cheap bastard put the world’s worst coffee machine in this place, and I will not stand for it. Leave me alone, Chief Quinn. You have committed crimes against coffee in this station. Don’t you have work to do?”
“You need to call the CDC, remember? There’s nothing wrong with Suzy.”
“As soon as I’m back, I’m going to take Suzy to your office and dismantle her piece by piece while you cry and beg for me to spare the machine. Guess what? It isn’t going to work. She dies. Today.”
“You’re not killing Suzy.”
“Suzy dies. She will be replaced by a stainless steel beauty of a machine, one that doesn’t make charred, disgusting sludge instead of coffee. And you’ll like it. You will end up on your knees begging me to make you coffee.”
The cops cracked up laughing.
“You still need to call the CDC.”
I stepped to the nearest desk, which was occupied by an older gentleman. The amused cop raised both hands and rolled his chair away. “Press nine to call out, Gardener.”
Did everyone in the station know my name? Probably. I peeked at his nameplate. “Thanks, Officer Nilman.”
It took me five minutes to navigate my way through the CDC’s menu so I could speak to a real person. When the receptionist answered, I said, “This is Bailey Gardener. I’m returning a missed call.”
“Hold.”
So much for speaking to a real person. I tapped my foot and parked my ass on the edge of Nilman’s desk. “Yippee. I’m on hold.”
Satisfied I was doing what I was told, Quinn headed for his office. The instant his back faced me, I flipped my middle finger at him.
“I can see you in the mirror, Gardener.” Quinn lifted his mug and gestured to a mirror mounted in the corner over the sea of desks. “Nice try, though. And here I thought you preferred to flip me off where I could see you do it. Subtlety is not your forte.”
The line clicked and robbed me of my chance to talk back to the police chief. “You have reached the office of Marshal Clemmends. Please hold.”
Oh boy. What had I done to deserve being transfer
red to the head honcho’s office? The man worked in Washington, I’d never met him in my life, and I doubted I wanted to. I’d been to Washington exactly once, and about ten minutes after I got there, I had found a liquor store, went to my hotel room, and got so drunk I couldn’t remember why I had gone in the first place.
The hangover ranked second only to my napalm bender.
“Good afternoon, Miss Gardener. Thank you for returning my call.”
Was I actually talking to Clemmends, or was I speaking to one of his minions? Since I didn’t know, I replied with, “Sir.”
“It has come to my attention you publicly assaulted a gorgon prince.”
“Gorgons have princes?”
Good job, mouth. One day, my mouth and I were going to sit down and have a very long talk about what should and shouldn’t be said.
“Yes, Miss Gardener. According to our records, the local clan has two of them, and you assaulted the older one.”
Nice. If I was going to cause an interspecies problem, at least I went all in and beat the shit out of the oldest prince of the gorgons. “That’s going to look so cool on my gravestone. Look, sir. If the motherfucker hadn’t tried to assault me first, I wouldn’t have beaten him. Do you know what rape is? Rape is when one being tries to force itself on another being. Since rape—mine included, thank you very much—is a felony, self-defense is completely legal. If he hadn’t tried to rape me, I wouldn’t have needed to beat the shit out of him. He should be fucking grateful I hadn’t been armed with a knife, because I would have cut off his limp dick and fed it to him. I am not breeding stock. So, fuck off, sir.”
I slammed the phone down on its cradle. “The nerve!”
Was clapping over my tirade really necessary? The cops sure seemed to think so. My face flushed.
“You just hung up on your boss, didn’t you?” Nilman rolled his chair back to his desk and grabbed his badge, wallet, and keys from a basket beside me. “I’m off duty in ten minutes. I can take you to the bank and drive you around. You might want to recruit some extra muscle, though. I’m a weak, little old man as these young whippersnappers like telling me at least once a week.”
A door banged open, and Quinn leaned out of his office. “Gardener, did you hang up on the head of the CDC?”
“I am not breeding stock!” Maybe I shouldn’t have let my voice turn shrill, but it was his fault I was so tired. If anyone expected calm and collected from me, they had obviously never met me.
“Gardener.”
“I don’t care if he was a prince.”
Quinn sighed. “Gardener.”
“I’d beat him up again.”
“Just come answer the phone, Gardener.”
“Damn it.” Wasn’t hanging up at the end of a screaming fit a sufficient reason to fire me? I’d have to try a little harder. Lifting my chin, I marched into Quinn’s office, picked up the phone, and barked, “What part of ‘fuck off’ didn’t compute? Let’s try this: take my certification and shove it up your ass.”
I hung up.
Quinn leaned in his doorway and smiled at me. “You’re so cranky when you’re tired. Why don’t I give you my credit card? Then you can go shopping all you want without risking the murder of a poor bank teller.”
Bristling, I glared at him. “I have my check.”
“I know you do.” Stepping into his office, he headed for his desk. “You can pay off anything you charge today after you go to the bank. It’ll just cut out a step in your outing. If you take Nilman, I won’t worry. He’s a one-man army and not even a swarm of gorgons would try him.”
“Good to know. What’s his trick?”
“Last time he got petrified, it took over an hour for him to even start stiffening up. He’s not immune, but he’s resistant. He gets really offended when gorgons try to petrify him, too. He’s also one of the best shots in Manhattan and carries the maximum amount of ammunition I’ll let him get away with.”
Quinn’s phone rang, and he sighed, circled to his chair, and answered, “Chief Quinn speaking. Hello again, Mr. Clemmends. Yes, Miss Gardener is still here. No, she hasn’t burned down the station yet. I’m not sure where you got that idea, sir. One moment.” He sighed. “Gardener, he’s really, really sorry he implied you weren’t within your rights to defend yourself from sexual assault. Would you please speak with him?”
“Stop sounding so damned reasonable. I don’t want to talk to him. I just want a half-decent cup of coffee.” I snatched the phone out of his hand. “What?”
“He’s offering you six million dollars if you agree to be the surrogate mother for his children.”
My mouth dropped open. The slimy, disgusting menace was offering me what? I stared at Quinn, lowered the phone, and whispered, “Quinn, he’s offering me six million to help him spawn his whelps.”
“No.” With a scowl so fierce I expected him to flip his desk in a fit of rage, he got up and closed his office door. “No. Absolutely not. No fucking way in fucking hell. No.”
“I was thinking the same.” I returned the phone to my ear. “No, sir. I will not.”
Clemmends sighed. “He wants a tough, beautiful virgin, and he is of the opinion you are the only one even close to acceptable for serving as the surrogate mother of his children. Due to your immunities, you are the ideal candidate.”
I looked up to the ceiling, thanked God my mouth had begged Quinn to spank me, thus evicting me from the pool of eligible virgins forever and ever and ever. “Quinn, the asshole gorgon prince wants a beautiful virgin.”
“Why are you relaying this conversation to Chief Quinn?”
I held the phone out to Quinn. “He wants to know why I’m relaying all this to you. Do you want to tell him?”
With a grin that turned my knees to jelly, Quinn slid onto his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. “And ruin such a wonderful chance for you to run your mouth? I couldn’t. Please, Gardener. Tell him anything you want.”
“Anything I want?”
“Anything you want. My office is soundproofed.”
Hallelujah and amen. Of course, the bastard head of the CDC didn’t need to know Quinn was the reason I was no longer a virgin, but I’d make do. “Sir, while the offer of six million is more than generous, I’m not a virgin.”
Quinn grinned and sipped his coffee.
“Your file—”
“Is so very, very wrong. In bed. On the counter. On the floor. If it’s found in a house and can support the weight of a wilting lily like me and a big, handsome, muscular man, I’ve probably had sex on it.”
I dodged Quinn’s spray of coffee and smirked while he choked out, “Gardener!”
“You said I could say whatever I wanted. Sir, you can write whatever you want, but make sure the phrase ‘definitely not a virgin’ is in there. Not a virgin. I’m very happy not being a virgin, thank you. If that prince wants me to beat the shit out of him again, can he wait until next week? Say, on Tuesday? I think I take my first self-defense course on Monday. For the record, Chief Quinn’s ex-wife wants me to have her babies, too. The answer is no, no, no, and no. I am not going to serve as a gorgon harem mistress and help them spawn their little whelps. Absolutely not happening.”
“I now understand why you informed Chief Quinn of the situation. How about this? I’ll pass on a polite refusal and inform him that while you are single, you’re not a virgin.”
“I’m not single, either, sir.”
“Your file indicates you’re a loner, Miss Gardener. There are no relationships of any sort listed, no emergency contacts, nothing.”
“I’m not single. I just haven’t figured out how to get the bastard to marry me yet.”
Quinn slid off his chair and ended up on the floor, coughing and wheezing.
And laughing. The man was definitely laughing between the coughing and wheezing fits. I sighed. “Chief Quinn, will you stop laughing, please? I’m on the phone. You told me to say whatever I wanted.”
“This could simplify matters for us.
Do you have proof of a relationship I can provide for His Highness?”
“I need proof? Since when was no an insufficient answer?”
“The CDC needs to provide evidence a potential surrogate among our employees isn’t eligible. It’s a rather annoying law.”
“I’m not technically an employee. I’m a contractor. I’m still saying no. That’s also ridiculous. I’m not serving as a surrogate, period. Not for him, and definitely not for one of his gorgon friends, either. There’s only one man I’ll even consider having children with, sir. End of story. I’m unwilling.”
Quinn coughed another laugh out. I grabbed the nearest available object, a hardback reference book, and dropped it on him. A satisfying thump heralded a grunt and a groan.
“Proof of a relationship and confirmation of your…”
“Very active and happy sex life?” I provided, unable to stop from smiling. Since I was certain my words pleased Quinn, I dropped another book on him.
“Yes, that. If you can provide verification, the CDC can ensure no one will bother you in the future.”
“How the hell am I supposed to provide verification? Should I corner my man and record it or something? Should I have sex in a public place with him? Haven’t you heard about privacy, sir? Is this so-called gorgon prince a pervert who just wants a chance to watch? If he wants pornography, tell him to get it off the internet.”
Quinn sounded like he was dying on the floor, so I dropped a third book on him. When that didn’t stop him from laughing, I grabbed a three-inch binder, which seemed to do the trick. “I’m not a broodmare to be put up for sale to the most fashionable stud. What sort of legal verification would work? Because I promise you, some dimwit rapist prince isn’t having anyone poke at me to confirm my virginity. Are we understood?”
“A marriage license would be sufficient to prove an engagement, if you can find a man willing to sign one. They last a period of six months before they expire. I’m sure if you have an actual boyfriend, this wouldn’t prove too problematic for you to acquire.”
Wow. The head of the CDC had a set of brass balls on him, that was for certain. “Let me get this straight. I’m going to be sexually harassed by someone of another species unless I coerce someone into signing a marriage certificate.”
