Quinn’s anger dissipated into momentary confusion, and he frowned. “What the hell is this?”
“Waiting on instructions,” Fasiri told him.
“Here?”
“I just do what I’m told.” Then the guard snapped his mouth shut and focused his gaze anywhere but Quinn.
Conversation over.
Quinn tapped his lip ring, frustration nearly overriding common sense once again. He’d been on both ends of this deal before, and he knew the stoic-faced guard wouldn’t be budging on his silence any time soon.
If it was Jones-the-Asswipe…
That would’ve been a different story. Self-important people like that guy – criminal or cop – could be goaded into giving away almost anything. It almost made Quinn wish Gilligan had sent the hothead with him instead of Fasiri.
Just a minute or two went by, and then a nervous-looking flight attendant approached them, Quinn’s bag in tow. She set it down, then hurried away. Quinn’s eyes flicked from his luggage to the retreating woman’s back, then to the guard.
They’re letting you go.
Which made no sense. Quinn’s frown deepened and he bit his lip hard enough to hurt.
“What the hell is this?” he repeated, sounding as puzzled as he felt.
“This is us, keeping our town safe.”
The statement came from behind Quinn, and he spun to see that Gilligan had joined them again. He stood just a couple of feet away, his arms crossed.
He was noticeably alone. No Ginnie. No Jones-the-Asswipe, either.
Worry spiked Quinn’s temper and his jaw tightened. “Where the – ”
Gilligan cut him off. “Relax, Mcdavid. Mr. Jones is still occupied, and Mrs. Michaels is in holding, supervised by one of our female TSA officers.”
“She’s – what?”
Gilligan inclined his head toward the other guard, and Fasiri took his silent order in stride, disappearing back up the corridor. Once they were out of sight, the stocky agent dropped his arms and moved so that his body blocked the way back into the main part of the terminal.
“Mrs. Michaels is going to be questioned in regards to some items in her baggage. You on the other hand, are being escorted to the hotel.”
“She’s not really Mrs. Michaels,” Quinn corrected irritably, clueing in for the first time that whatever this was, it might have little to do with him. “She’s Miss Silver. And there’s no way in hell she has anything questionable in her bags.”
“You know her well?”
Quinn considered lying, then thought better of it. He was dug in far enough. No need to hand the TSA a shovel.
“No,” he replied. “We actually just met.”
“So you weren’t travelling together, then?”
“Not officially.”
“Unofficially?”
“I thought you weren’t holding me.”
“We’re not.” Gilligan’s voice remained impassive, but he also showed no sign of letting Quinn go by.
“So you’re not holding me, but you’re questioning me?”
Gilligan echoed Quinn’s own words. “Not officially.”
“And you’re not going to let me talk to her?”
“No.”
Quinn ran a frustrated hand over the buzz-cut side of his head. “What the hell could you possibly want with her?”
“Do you know her husband?”
“Former husband. And also no.”
What the hell did that douchebag have to do with this particular situation anyway?
Gilligan wasn’t telling him. “Those tattoos of yours…They have a special meaning? The knife, maybe?”
Quinn refused to allow himself to lift his hand to cover the dagger on his wrist. There was no shame in the life that he’d lived. Everything he’d done had been in pursuit of justice.
“Don’t worry. I’m retired,” he stated.
“I’m aware. And if I believed that you posed a threat, I wouldn’t be ushering you out the door.”
“Then why are you trying to get rid of me?”
Gilligan shrugged. “I’m thorough. I have good access to records. And yours tells me your loyalties are skewed, your temper is hot, and keeping you around would just plain be a bad idea.”
Quinn narrowed his eyes. Was the man implying he knew something about his undercover role?
Unlikely. But also not the point of this conversation, he reminded himself.
“Where’s Ginnie?”
“I’m not at liberty to disclose any further information, Mr. Mcdavid.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Quinn muttered, then added, “Who is at liberty?”
“No one.”
“Then I’m staying right here until you’re done with her.”
The TSA officer sighed, showing his first true sign of impatience. “Listen to me, Mr. Mcdavid. You may think you landed your ass in some Podunk town and that I’m some hick cop with little to no authority over you, but you’re wrong. Just the fact that you laid a hand on one of my colleagues give me reasonable cause to toss you in lockup.”
“Wouldn’t be my first time behind bars,” Quinn retorted.
Gilligan crossed his arms and said softly, “No. But it would be the first time you were behind bars and your roommates were aware of your actual occupation. And we don’t have a big place here. Just a wide open cell. Wanna guess how long you’d last in there once they found out how little allegiance you have to that tattoo of yours?”
So the man did know about the police work. And about Quinn’s association with the gang. He was eight steps ahead of everyone else, then.
How had he found out? The records were sealed.
Then a very recent, very irresponsible memory crashed down on Quinn.
The ticket agent. The goddamned retirement-issue badge.
Right. Quinn had whipped it out – and not in a flash-her-from-behind-a-trench-coat kinda way either.
Shit. Yet again.
Quinn knew perfectly well how convicts dealt with cops, and he sure as hell didn’t have a death wish.
Could he leave Ginnie, though? Even to protect himself? Not that he’d be any good to her if he was bleeding out on a concrete floor in some small-town jail.
The bigger question was…Would this guy actually rat him out? He didn’t have the high-on-power vibe that Jones-the-Asswipe gave off, but he was quietly authoritative. More genuine.
Yeah, he’d turn you in, Quinn decided as he examined the other man’s cool expression. But he might feel bad about it.
Which Quinn could relate to.
Damn.
This thing with Ginnie, a girl he barely knew, was throwing him the curviest of curve balls. He opened his mouth to tell Gilligan he would take his chances, but the other man beat him to it.
“I’m not unappreciative of the service you’ve done, Mcdavid, and I can tell that even though you just met this woman, you care what happens to her.” Gilligan’s expression lost its hard edge for just a second, but returned quickly. “But let’s be real here. You don’t know her, she doesn’t know you, and neither of you owes the other a thing. And I have a job to do. A job I think you understand. And you can’t tell me a man in your position hasn’t made a decision that puts career and public safety over personal wants a dozen times.”
Quinn ground his teeth together. Every word of what the other man said was true, even if he didn’t want it to be. Quinn did understand. He’d become a cop because he respected the law and wanted to uphold it. Of course, he’d also become a cop to protect the innocent. His current situation wasn’t the first that made doing both seem im-fucking-possible.
The agent went on. “Listen…I’m willing to offer you my word that I will personally deal with Genevieve Michaels, that I’ll personally look out for her until this thing is resolved. And you…You can do what you want and give us both a headache. Or you can do what you should do and save me the trouble of arresting you.”
Quinn considered the other man’s suggestions as if they wer
e viable options.
Walking away felt wrong. Charging in and breaking laws felt right.
But it won’t do any damned good.
Then Gilligan asked a question that made his decision a little easier. “She know you’re a cop? And what things you’ve done in that capacity?”
“No,” Quinn admitted.
“You want her to?”
For one second, Quinn thought the other man was threatening to tell her. Then he realized he was merely making a point. Just off the top of his head, Quinn could think of a dozen things he’d hate for her to hear about. A dozen things that would turn her stomach. Make her wish she’d never met him. He might not be ashamed of his past, but it wasn’t exactly wine-and-cheese conversation material, either.
What the hell had he been thinking, dragging her anywhere near that?
It’s not what you were thinking, he corrected. It’s what you were thinking with.
There was still time to undo what he’d done to her, though. All he had to do was walk away.
And just like that, Quinn made the decision. A clean break. One of the things that made him good at working undercover, at working in situations that required quick thinking and a detachment from emotion.
Pretending not to feel a nagging sense of doubt – pretending not to feel anything at all – Quinn snapped up his bag, and met Gilligan’s eyes with an unwavering stare.
“Is someone outside, waiting to take me to the hotel?” he asked.
“Dark hair, navy blue suit,” the TSA officer confirmed.
Quinn strode down the hallway and pushed through the exit without looking back.
Eleven
Ginnie worked at keeping her eyes from flitting around the little room nervously. In the too many minutes since the airport guard had left her alone, she’d already noticed that the table was bolted to the floor, that the door had no inside handle, and that there was no clock on the yellow-stained walls. And she was pretty sure that the big mirror straight across from her was one of the one-way kind. She felt like she’d walked straight into an eighties cop show.
And somehow I’m on the wrong side.
And speaking of wrong sides…What had they done with Quinn? What was he telling them?
When he’d dived for the man holding her, she’d had a weird, hopeful moment. One where she’d pictured the big, tattooed man scattering the airport police like bowling pins, then sweeping Ginnie off her feet – literally. And then the two of them had gone running off, Bonnie and Clyde style. Into hiding. Maybe holing up in some hotel somewhere with nothing to do but –
Ginnie cut off her thoughts before they could go any further.
“What is wrong with me?” she muttered under her breath.
Before she could stop herself, Ginnie glanced up to the mirror in an attempt to see if the change was something visible.
I look like hell.
Her hair was a nightmare of curls, loose around her shoulders and damp from the melting snow. This morning before leaving the house, she’d meticulously applied just enough product to tame its wildness. But any trace of the smooth ponytail was gone. Destroyed by Quinn’s strong fingers. Made worse by the walk through the storm.
Ginnie’s clothes were askew, too. The top two buttons of her blouse had come undone, exposing a glimpse of her collarbone, and throwing off her usually prim appearance even more. A flush had settled under her skin, and she wasn’t certain if it was a result of her current incarceration, her thoughts of Quinn, or the change in temperature – warm, then cold, and now almost stifling. Either way, the brightness of her cheeks showed no signs of settling down.
I look like hell, Ginnie thought again. But…in a good way.
She wasn’t sure what made it true, and she stared at her reflection a few seconds longer, trying to figure it out.
One of her hands came up to smooth something – anything – back into place. Instead, her fingers found a loose strand of hair, wrapped around it, twisted it up, then let it drop again. The curl landed softly against her throat and teased its way to the gap in her blouse.
Inexplicably, the sight of the gold tendril against her skin sent a rush through her.
What had Quinn seen, when he freed her hair? A glimpse of the wantonness that now seemed to dominate Ginnie’s features? Something that made him push her up against the seat in the airplane and tear into her mouth with his own?
Ginnie’s breath caught as the tingle under her skin flourished, and she forced her eyes away from the (really, seriously possibly one-way) mirror.
God. You’re locked up for having sex on an airplane – but not really having sex at all – and still all you’re thinking about is sex.
She placed her hands back on the bolted-down table and folded her fingers together, then crossed her legs in an attempt to resume a demure appearance. But the motion reminded her that her underwear weren’t where they should be, and her mind slipped to the way Quinn had seemed so annoyed by the fact that she’d left them in Lawrence’s possession.
And Ginnie realized that she wasn’t just thinking about sex. She was thinking about sex. And Quinn.
Just buy a damned vibrator and get over it.
The thought was so unexpected that Ginnie snorted a laugh.
But maybe she really would do it. Maybe when she got to Vegas, she would pop into the first sex shop she saw, and buy the biggest, shiniest one she could find.
Wait. Did they come in shiny?
Does it matter?
She was going to lock herself in her hotel room and find out what else she’d been missing.
If she ever made it to Vegas, and didn’t just wind up in prison in Huntingdon instead. Although if what she’d seen on TV was true, and she did get sent to prison, she’d get a whole other kind of sex education pretty damned quick.
Oh, good. Now you’re not thinking about sex with Quinn. You’re thinking about vibrators and lesbian sex with fellow inmates instead.
She really needed to get a grip. She was going to have a hell of a time convincing the authorities her Mile High encounter had been an act if she was squirming like this.
“What’s taking them so long, anyway?”
Ginnie jumped as the door swung open and a dry voice answered the question she hadn’t meant to ask aloud.
“Sorry, Mrs. Michaels. We’re just not accustomed to processing potential felonies here in Huntingdon.”
Ginnie whipped around to face the security officer. It was the same one who’d intervened when Quinn grabbed the man who pushed her. The same one who’d locked her in the room in the first place. Gilligan. And he looked totally serious.
“Felonies?” Ginnie repeated, trying her damnedest to keep the worry from her voice.
Ginnie’s eyes followed the stocky man as he crossed the room. When he seated himself across from her and gave her a short nod, a cold sweat broke out on her upper lip.
“Felonies,” Gilligan confirmed.
Was sex in public a felony? It couldn’t be. Could it?
“You’re in a serious amount of trouble,” the airport official told her.
“But it wasn’t even real!” Ginnie gasped. “I swear.”
“I know.”
“You – what? What did Quinn tell you?”
Gilligan shrugged. “He had nothing to tell us. He couldn’t have known ahead of time what you were planning.”
“What I was planning?”
The agent sighed. “All right, Mrs. Micheals, let’s start there, then. Even a fake one, undeclared, is considered an offence.”
Undeclared? What did that mean? And wait a second…He’d said a fake one. Which meant he was talking about her orgasm. Which hadn’t actually been fake at all. Shit. He had to be lying about Quinn telling them nothing. Which meant that Quinn knew and…Oh god. Could someone actually die of embarrassment?
“It was so real even I was fooled,” Gilligan added.
At those words, Ginnie’s face heated up, and her mouth snapped shut. He’d been there, on
the plane, listening.
“Do you have anything to say?” Gilligan prodded.
“Not particularly,” Ginnie stated, her voice sounding a little faraway to her own ears.
“I think telling me what happened would be best.”
He wanted details? This was a nightmare. The worst kind of humiliation.
But under that, a spark of anger was lighting.
“Quinn didn’t take any responsibility?” Ginnie asked.
“No. But we know you weren’t travelling together, so we had no reason to hold him responsible.”
“Where is he now?”
“You should be thinking about yourself, not him.”
“Where is he?” Ginnie repeated, the seed of fury growing.
“He’s left the airport, Mrs. Michaels.”
So he really had thrown her under the bus.
Fine, she thought. I can do that, too.
“It was his idea,” she announced.
“His idea?” Now Gilligan was frowning at her.
“Yes!”
“But you had never met before today?”
“No.”
Gilligan shook his head. “Back it up, Mrs. Michaels. I feel like I’m missing something.”
“Quinn thought having a fake – you know – was a good way to get revenge on my husband.”
The TSA officer leaned forward. “And how were you going to get that revenge?”
“Um…Loudly?”
“And he was going to help you?”
“He did help me.”
“Tell me…When – precisely – did you meet Quinn Mcdavid?”
“Right before I got on the plane.”
“So this was before you checked your luggage.”
Ginnie shook her head. “After.”
“So how did he put it in there then?”
Ginnie just about choked on her next breath. “How did he – he didn’t. I told you…It was fake. I had a few drinks, got in an argument with the flight attendant, and there was Quinn.”
My knight in shining ink. Yeah, so much for that.
Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) Page 8
