Capturing the Queen (Damaged Heroes Book 2)

by Sarah Andre

  Sean nodded. “Okay. Let me know.” He knocked twice on the threshold, his annoying signal that he was done with the effort of being social.

  Before he could step into the hall, Gretch called, “And you didn’t submit your timecard Friday. If you want a paycheck, I better have it by ten.”

  He pivoted back. An expression so raw and primal crossed his face that her heart thunked to a stop, then thudded up again painfully. Who was this Sean? Before she even finished the thought, his standard sardonic grin reappeared. “Sir, yes, sir.” He saluted then disappeared down the hall without a sound.

  “Insufferable!” She stood and smoothed her darling dress. Why hadn’t he shown her this side yesterday? She totally would have said…maybe.

  “What’s going on between you guys?” Hannah asked.

  “Nothing.” Gretch threw her an easy grin and headed for the door. “Absolutely nothing.”

  She glanced at the closed conference room door on her way back to her desk. Her phone dinged as she sat down, and she scanned Brandon’s newest text. It marked her thirty-fourth wedding proposal, and was as short, cute, and empty as the rest. She knew what she was good at, and why his message was worded for her hand in marriage when she’d declined another evening with him. Men and their penises!

  Gretch shut the cell phone in her desk drawer. She picked up the supply bill from NaraGoods as a faint ding came from the drawer. Brandon… Give me a break. It was one—

  The company line rang, and she snatched the receiver, her cheerful receptionist greeting strained, just in case Brandon had somehow found out where she worked.

  “Sean Quinn, please.”

  “I’m sorry, he can’t be disturbed.”

  “He already is disturbed. Interrupting him won’t compound that.”

  Gretch cocked her head in delight. “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Jason Quinn. His brother.”

  “Brother?” she squeaked. Strangely, her brain flailed with something witty to say. “I—I was so sure he was raised by bears.” Wow, that was crazy lame!

  “Close. Four brothers who are Bears fanatics.”

  “No sisters?”

  “Much to my mother’s dismay.” His chuckle was low and lovely. A Quinn who could socialize.

  “No wonder Sean can’t relate to women,” she purred.

  “That has more to do with the four of us dressing him up in Mom’s evening gowns.”

  “No!”

  “No.” The grin in Jason’s voice was unmistakable. “But damn, I wish I’d thought of it before now.”

  Gretch jumped up and perched on the edge of her desk as if flirting in person. “Please tell me some dirt.” Her voice came out breathy and silly. She frowned. She didn’t do silly. And why would she want to know details about Sean, anyway?

  Her lanky coworker took that exact moment to stroll in and drop his timecard on her desk. He didn’t so much as glance at her sexy pose, her hem riding almost to her panty line. Seriously, it was like she wasn’t even in the room. Without a second thought, she held out the phone. “Your brother.”

  Hell froze over, pigs flew, and hark, the herald angels sang! Sean’s mask slipped, and a mess of emotions raced across his face. Gretch caught annoyance, curiosity, and joy before he grabbed the receiver and turned his back on her.

  “Jace? I can’t talk right now…” His shoulders stiffened. “Yes, I did say that, but not during work hours.”

  Gretch ate up the sight of him. The untidy dark brown hair, the slim build that was all lean sinew. She’d been a personal trainer long enough to know he had to be doing everything right. Healthy diet, just the right amount of high-impact aerobic activity mixed with perfectly proportioned strength training. If only his button-downs didn’t always cover his ass! Even spiffed up Saturday night, his fitted shirt had remained untucked.

  “No, I can’t do that either,” Sean muttered. His grasp on the phone turned his knuckles white. More silence and finally a sigh. “Okay. I’ll meet you out front at noon.”

  She was so going to be hanging around the sidewalk at noon. One more opportunity to explore what made the Enigma tick. And she was dying to meet Jason—Jace.

  “Yes, Jace, I get the urgency. I said I’d go.”

  Urgency? Gretch stood and gnawed on her lip. Sean never went anywhere. He holed up in whatever cubicle was equipped for that particular project’s requirements, stuck earbuds in (probably disco), and went into a mental zone so deep she’d only experienced it once, competing in a triathlon. Was there a family crisis?

  He grunted what must have been a goodbye, turned, and handed her the receiver without meeting her gaze. She intentionally let their fingers brush as she accepted the phone. Not one iota of a reaction from him. It had to be the family emergency. “Hope everything’s all right,” she said, cursing her high octave. “No one ever calls you.”

  Sean glanced over then, his usually soft brown eyes hard and cold. The sudden alpha-toughness stirred something deep. It was all she could do not to stagger into his arms. Christ in a cradle, where had that alien feeling come from?

  “It’s all good,” he said. “Gotta get to work.”

  Wait. This guy had hemmed and hawed his way through asking her out not twenty-four hours ago, and now he was walking off like she was a potted plant in the corner? “Hannah wants you to work on that charity painting next,” she blurted. “The one Harrison Wickham planned to donate to a senior center.”

  He spun back. It was a freaking high to see those quirky eyebrows knot, watch his frown carve even sharper angles into his cheekbones. When he let his guard down and displayed emotions, Sean was really quite handsome. “That piece of shit? Why?”

  “Turns out Harrison wants it after all. Skip the Etruscan mosaic; this is the newest priority.” She nodded to make her lie more convincing. Goosebumps skittered along her skin. Why had she recklessly screwed with his projects? It wasn’t sabotage so much as a test: here was a glimpse of the ugliness inside her. How would he deal?

  She had yet to meet a man who got her, but somehow, stealthily, in these last two years of working together, Sean had shown he was different in almost every way. He didn’t fawn over her, never reacted to situations where she knew exactly how other men would behave. His response to this practical joke would peg him one way or another. If he ended up so furious it ruined this budding thing they had, so be it. A part of her would be relieved.

  Besides pressing his lips into a flat line and nodding curtly, Sean reined in any other emotions and loped back to the lab. Gretch studied his retreating form, her breath streaming unsteadily. Yes, she was a bitch, but this was a great plan to get over him.

  Just as another client walked through the door, her cell phone erupted in a series of muffled dings.

  5

  Sean rolled the kinks from his shoulders and stepped into the warm sunshine. “Fuuuuck,” he muttered, stopping short. Jace was leaning nonchalantly against the black Suburban, laughing at something Gretch said. When he responded with his own quip, she coyly touched her earring and shifted her weight, thrusting her hip inches closer to him.

  Cue the Habanera aria from Bizet’s opera, because the maddeningly provocative Carmen had just sprung to life.

  They made a great couple, damn it. Dual DNA lottery winners. Innate self-confidence. Both consuming and discarding lovers like oxygen… It made sense that they’d be drawn to each other like Bogart and Bacall. But cerebral observations did nothing to relieve the jealousy flickering through Sean like a live wire.

  Moments remained before they’d notice him. He pushed aside the inner turmoil and stood motionless, hoarding images of Gretch to replay in the wee hours. Those long legs and the astounding figure poured into that obscenely short camouflage dress. The lovely way she tilted her head so it exposed the slender column of her neck. How she fluttered her fingers so gracefully while she spoke, almost like a translator for the deaf. Everything about Gretch was sexy elegance, the kind that torched a dangerous lust in
side him. A lust so dark he’d fucked a stranger in an alley to slake his hunger for her. He winced as shame suppressed the inner inferno like firefighting foam.

  Jace spotted him and jerked his chin in the universal get-over-here command—for a kid or a dog. Sean strolled over, peripherally engrossed with Gretch, inhaling her spicy perfume, but warily eyeing his brother. “I’ve only got an hour.”

  “I’ll get you back in time, Nancy. Jump in.”

  Sean flushed and reached for the door handle. He hadn’t been gifted with Jace’s quick wit or cutting comebacks; he was a declawed cat born into a family of pit bulls. Arguing would only decrease his stature in Gretch’s eyes.

  “So, how ’bout I pick you up Sunday at six,” Jace said smoothly.

  Sean spun around. His brother ignored him, but Gretch looked right at him, almost like she waited for his reaction. He swallowed. There was nothing to react to—this was Jace, lifelong champion, former SEAL, now part of the FBI’s International Ops Division. Even in Sean’s earliest memories, all Jace had to do was glance at a woman and her clothes fell off.

  Despite his brain’s signal to get in the Suburban, Sean remained frozen at the Sunday-at-six significance. “You’re busy,” he stammered. “It’s Mom’s birthday.” The party I wanted to invite her to.

  His brother grinned at Gretch the way a child would at a new Happy Meal toy. “Mom’ll love her,” he murmured, and the truth hit Sean like a freight train. Mom would. She adored spunk, sass, and socially outgoing girlfriends. The kind her four elder sons dated. In college, Sean had brought his first girlfriend, an introverted lit major, home. It’d been the most uncomfortable evening in his long and tortured history of uncomfortable family evenings. He’d vowed never to put himself or another girlfriend through that again. A vow he’d have broken in a heartbeat if only he’d had the guts to ask Gretch out yesterday.

  She smiled a message he couldn’t decipher—probably pity—before shifting her gaze to Jace. “Sure.” She fingered her earring again. “Sunday at six.” Then she rattled off her phone number, and Jace was ready-Freddy with his smartphone.

  Sean climbed into the back of the Suburban, his stomach in knots. If he hadn’t begged his brother to help on this case, those two would never have met.

  A woman with a honey-blond ponytail and wide cornflower-blue eyes twisted around in the front passenger seat and stretched out her hand. “Good to see you again, Sean.”

  “Oh hey, Margo. How’s the new anthropologist working out?”

  “Joe Taylor? Pissed not to be on this case, thanks for asking.” Special Agent Margo Hathaway smiled. Planes could land in O’Hare guided only by that smile. When Sean had consulted on the occasional case, his obsessive disposition hadn’t triggered sidelong looks from her like it had with other agents. And he’d appreciated how methodical she was in gathering facts and weighing all options.

  “I’m only helping out this one time.”

  Her ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “And we appreciate it. We sure miss you around the office.”

  Sean jerked his head toward the sidewalk. “I couldn’t stay.”

  “I know. It’s a shame you two couldn’t work together. Anyway, I’m your wife.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Jace slid in beside him. “She’s your undercover spouse.” He shut the door and nodded to Crew Cut behind the wheel. “You remember Dirk from the airport?”

  Sean managed a curt nod. As the car rolled forward, his brother handed over a credit card, business cards, and an authentic-looking Illinois license. “You’re William and Jane Bixby.”

  Sean frowned between him and the smiling agent, still turned in her seat. Technically, Margo was Jace’s superior, but the dynamic wasn’t playing out here. Why would she let him assume the lead? And why this farfetched ruse? “I thought I was consulting on artifacts.”

  Even the way his brother shook his head was patronizing. “You’re an interested buyer. She’s your bodyguard, should anything go wrong.”

  Sean clenched his teeth. Typical Jace espionage shit. It was why Sean had resigned his infrequent consulting role a few months after they’d hired his brother. “What do you mean wrong?”

  “Asuman gave up his buyer.” Jace handed over a photograph of a fierce-looking bearded man. “Mohammed El Bashtan. Rents a booth in the Broadway Antique Market.”

  “I know BAM,” Sean muttered. He’d bought his vintage sofa there.

  “He sells Middle Eastern antiques, but according to Asuman, many of the pieces are conflict antiquities. We’re tracking whether El Bashtan has extremist ties, but need more evidence. You’re going in as a big spender.” Jace handed over a worn wallet, ostentatiously bulging with bills. “I’ll want this back untouched, but flash it around, talk your art-speak so he knows you’re legit.”

  Sean frowned. It was noon on a Monday. “And the reason Joe Taylor isn’t doing this?”

  “He’s staffed on another task force now.”

  Sean switched wallets, handing his to Jace. “Let’s go back to the ‘if anything goes wrong’ part.”

  “Margo is just an added precaution. One of her blouse buttons is a video camera. Her job is to wander around his booth recording the inventory. No worries, baby brother, you’re safe.” Ah, there was Jace’s earnest expression… Sean had years of tortured baby brother memories that all started with that innocent look from one of his brothers. Jace gestured wildly. “And you got your black belt at—what? Nine? Made the rest of us look like chumps? You can handle him.”

  The praise ratcheted up the tension in Sean’s neck. Jace wasn’t a guy to hand out compliments at his own expense. Before Sean could respond, his brother’s attention was snagged by a buzzing text. Sean glanced at Special Agent Hathaway, still shooting him that sunny smile. As far as Sean could recollect, Margo didn’t know baby brother, and any further protesting would solidify his sissy status to her too.

  After a minute of silence, Jace murmured, “Besides, if anything went wrong, I’d never hear the end of it from Mom.”

  Aaaand sissy status achieved, right on cue. Sean stared out his window as the car slowed for a right turn. No doubt Sunday’s party would include his older brother inadvertently outing him as even more of a social moron to Gretch, too.

  And shit, it wasn’t fair Jace hooked up with her so easily. What sort of norms did the über-beautiful work off? Did they instantly size each other up and know they could chance their hearts? Or was it all a game, just wall sex with a stranger and walking away without drowning in self-disgust?

  Sean tried to rest his temple against the pane, but shifting in the seat caused the new wallet to protrude into him. He shifted back. The lump remained, like a heavy appendage had grown on his ass cheek. This undercover op was so not worth interrupting his day for. And his childish need for Jace’s respect had cost him his dream girl.

  “It’s up ahead,” Margo said, pointing to the vast building.

  Sean straightened and wiped damp palms along his jeans. He could do this. In an hour he’d be back in the comfort of his cubicle. The only potential danger in his day was not finding the wit to out-snark Gretch. Or accidentally overhearing her infectious laugh. To get any work done, he’d long ago invested in quality earbuds and drowned himself in operas. Today was Mascagni’s Cavalleria rusticana. He played the calming Intermezzo in his head, but it did nothing to slow the crescendo of his heart.

  6

  Sean tried to look like a lunchtime browser, but adrenalin pulsed like a caffeine dump, and the arm “Jane” linked hers in was as rigid as the rest of him. For the past ten minutes they’d meandered the antiques market, which mostly held midcentury-modern items, heavy on furniture, jewelry, and snobby-looking clerks.

  What if El Bashan saw through the charade? What if the antiques dealer packed a concealed weapon? Or wore a suicide vest? What kind of a stupid…?

  “What’s it like working with my brother?” Sean blurted to shut down the thoughts.

  “Probably the same as gr
owing up with him.” Margo laughed, completely at ease or else putting on a terrific front. “Arrogant, decisive… As you know, I’m the special agent, but it’s hard to pull rank when he’s on my team.”

  “Be careful. He’ll take that inch and run all the way to Oklahoma.”

  Margo shrugged as if the warning were sour grapes from an envious brother. “He’s in a new program where we provide a lot of slack and see what they do with it.”

  Enough to run their own investigation at midnight? “Where were you Saturday night?”

  “The O’Hare interview sounded straightforward enough to send Jake and Dirk as the FBI task force representatives. And by all accounts—” she gestured to him, “—he made a good call bringing you back as a consultant.” She grinned, eyes merry. “He’s never experienced failure in any form, am I right?”

  “Now multiply that three more times and you’ve got my older brothers.” Sean tried grinning back, but his cheeks felt inflexible, like they were in a territorial dispute with his lips.

  “No kidding? What do your other brothers do?”

  Look up noble in the dictionary. “Jace is the oldest. Patrick is a lieutenant at Fire Station One Twenty-six on South Kingston. Cage and Dillon are still in Afghanistan. Both Special Forces.”

  “No one else works with art?”

  That familiar defensiveness crept up Sean’s spine. Already the easy rapport with Margo was taking a turn. “It’s called conservation and restoration.”

  Margo slowed down, pulled out her phone, and texted, which seemed ruder than normal. He glanced away. A booth cluttered with Middle Eastern wares was on the right, and a portly man, who resembled the photograph in the file, was on the far side of the booth, speaking on his cell phone in a foreign language. Oh yeah. I’m tracking down ISIS in the middle of a Chicago market. Sean sucked in a breath.

  “Oh, look, William,” Margo exclaimed, pocketing the phone and dragging him to the booth’s glass-partitioned case. Jewelry in bronze, turquoise, amber, and other semiprecious stones winked up at him. “Let’s go in.”