by Tami Lund
It wasn’t hers.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Quinn arrived home on Tuesday evening, he wanted only two things: a stiff drink and to lose himself in Kyra’s warmth and affection. They didn’t even have to have sex. He just wanted to be near her, to touch her, to hold her. He was certain she would bring his world back into focus and everything would be okay afterward.
He’d helped Court with his case, which had taken no time at all. Then he’d gone to Nico’s office to discuss Kyra’s case, but that turned awkward when Nico asked him point blank if he and Kyra were sleeping together. Not exactly the type of conversation one wanted to have with his boss. Especially with the very real fear that Nico could send her back to Dallas hanging over his head.
That conversation had been followed by another with his father, who’d called just as Quinn climbed into his truck. Larry had taunted that Whitney Bianca was way smarter than either he or his new little FBI girlfriend, and for once, Quinn hadn’t let the man get to him. Larry had said his piece, and Quinn had thanked him for the call and hung up. It had felt strangely cathartic.
Because he hadn’t initially packed for a long-term stay at the house that he shared with Kyra, Quinn went to his own home and packed more clothing. While he was there, he also went through the mail, paid a few bills, and did some general housekeeping. By the time he headed to the bungalow, he was more than ready to put this particular day behind him. He could hardly wait to see her again.
He found her seated on the wicker couch in the sun room. “Hey,” he said as he stepped up and tried to give her a kiss. She deliberately turned her head so that he ended up kissing her cheek instead of her lips.
“Bad day?” he asked as he kicked off his shoes.
“You could say that.”
The tone of her voice was off. Something was definitely up. She needed a stiff drink too, he figured. The last time they’d split a bottle of Jack, they’d ended up tumbling into bed together. Which sounded like a damn good idea, so he walked into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle sitting on the counter. When he turned back around, she was still sitting on the couch, but she’d thrust out her hand, and something red dangled from her finger.
“Look familiar?” she asked in that same flat voice.
He squinted at the red material. Unless he was mistaken, it looked like a pair of women’s panties. A thong, actually. Kyra wasn’t a thong girl. Something clicked in his head, like pieces of a puzzle coming together all of their own accord. Oshard had mentioned Bianca was pissed off that Quinn hadn’t succumbed to her feminine wiles.
“No,” he said, confident as he strode across the room and snatched the panties from her hand. “I’ve never seen these before in my life. I haven’t seen a thong since I started sleeping with you, as a matter of a fact.” He made a fist around the panties. “This is a setup, Kyra. I know you can see this.”
“Can I?” She looked up at him, all doe-eyed, looking as wounded as if he’d just slain her firstborn. Or cheated on her.
“I didn’t do it.”
“Isn’t that what they all say? Keith did, until I hit him with all the proof I’d gathered.”
“Well, hit me with the proof you have against me. Come on, let’s hear it.”
She waved at his fisted hand. “Right there. Don’t really need anything more than that.”
“Where were they?”
She smirked. “You tell me.”
“I have no fucking clue, since I wasn’t here when they were planted. Where did she hide them?”
“Right here,” Kyra said, and she stood up abruptly, like it had just occurred to her that he’d had sex on that couch with another woman. Except he hadn’t.
“I didn’t do it,” he repeated. He needed her to believe him. “Goddamn it, Kyra. You know me better than this.” His temper flared. He was so angry he was shaking. He was about to lose control, he could feel it. He needed to get the hell away from her before he did something stupid, but he needed her to believe him more.
“Do I? I dated Keith for almost a year before he cheated on me. We’ve only been sleeping together for what? Three, four weeks? Hell, we weren’t even dating in the beginning. I’m not even sure that’s what you’d call what we’re doing now.”
“It is,” he said evenly. “We are dating. Exclusively. Monogamously. I didn’t do it.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears and she swiped at them before she wrapped her arms around her midsection and hugged herself, looking devastated. He ought to feel sorry for her, but he was so angry at her accusation, so bitter that she did not believe him, he did not have it in him.
“Goddamn it, Kyra,” he said with a snarl, and he flung the bottle of booze against the nearest wall. The bottle shattered on impact and brown liquid splattered everywhere. Kyra winced and let out a startled cry, and then she fled the room. He stood there, listening to her retreating footsteps as they hurried up the stairs, heard the bedroom door slam.
With a resigned sigh, he set to work cleaning up his mess. What he really wanted to do was get into his truck and go to the nearest liquor store to buy a replacement bottle, because now he wanted to get rip-roaring drunk. Instead, he headed to the basement and took out his frustration on the workout equipment. Then he took a shower, and afterward, collapsed onto the bed in the downstairs bedroom.
• • •
Kyra woke alone in bed the next morning. She felt disoriented, confused, until she recalled why she was alone. Then she felt angry, bitter, sad, frustrated. Her stomach lurched, and she leapt out of bed and ran into the bathroom, half afraid she was going to get sick.
After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she stepped out of the bathroom just as Quinn reached the top of the stairs. His gaze swept over her, and it felt as though he dismissed her before stepping around her and walking into the bathroom. She turned away from the sight.
I knew better.
She’d been burned once before, in this exact same scenario. Recalling Keith and his impassioned speech about Whitney Bianca’s breasts made her head hurt. She headed downstairs in search of a distraction, in the form of coffee and food.
She was halfway through her Corn Flakes when Quinn stepped into the kitchen doorway. He wore a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over his forearms. His hair was damp and brushed away from his face, but he hadn’t shaved. She felt a ridiculous urge to scrape her fingers along his scruffy jawline. Instead, she fisted her hand and dropped her gaze to stare at her soggy cereal.
“I’m going to work,” he said. “Don’t change the locks while I’m gone.” Then he headed toward the door, and it was closing behind him.
Kyra sagged in her seat. Her entire body ached, right along with her heart. She waited until she heard his truck backing out of the driveway, and then she gave in to the urge to cry. Great wracking sobs shook her entire body and did nothing whatsoever to ease the ache in her heart.
• • •
It took several hours, but she finally managed to pull herself together enough to be presentable enough to go into the bureau. She carefully avoided looking in the direction of Quinn’s cubicle as she made her way to Nico’s office. He beckoned her inside and she closed the door behind her.
“I need to pull myself off this case,” she said before he could speak.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m too emotionally invested. I need to give it to someone else.”
“Kyra, you’ve been working this case for damn near two years. And the good agents always get emotionally invested. That’s what makes them so good.” He slid a file folder across his desk, toward her. She took it and opened it.
“Warrant. Just came in. She’s moving her offshore money around. She’s getting ready to run. Go get her, Kyra. Bring her in and close this damn case once and for all.”
She stared at the warrant. “Quinn and I are—”
“Fighting. Yeah, I know. He
already told me. It’ll pass, Kyra. Everybody fights. You wanna know how many times I’ve slept on my own damn couch over the course of my marriage? Hell, when I buy a new couch, I make sure it’s comfortable just in case.”
Kyra shifted her gaze from the warrant to Nico. “You … you know?”
“That you and Quinn are dating? Yes. To tell you the truth, half the reason I picked him to help you with this case was because I thought the two of you would be good together. And I don’t mean professionally.”
She sank into the cracked leather chair facing Nico’s desk. “You were playing matchmaker?” she said weakly.
Nico grinned. “More like hopeful big brother. Quinn’s like a son to me. Actually, he reminds me a lot of one of my own sons, although my own sons had a pretty decent life. At least I like to think so. Quinn’s had a screwed-up life, but he’s a good man, and when I met you, I thought you might be the perfect woman for him.”
“He cheated on me.”
“He says it was a set-up. Keith’s story leads me to believe it. Apparently Bianca had it out for you since you almost caught her in Dallas.” He paused, then added, “Oshard admitted that he told her. She knows you were the agent who almost caught her.”
She knew.
Quinn had suggested it several times, and every time, she insisted it wasn’t true.
“He never even loved me.”
“Quinn? You’re wrong, Kyra. I think—”
She shook her head. “No. Keith. I thought he loved me. But he didn’t. I’m not sure he ever did.”
“Whatever he felt for you, he’s a dirty agent, Kyra. He shouldn’t have hooked up with Whitney Bianca, and he sure as hell shouldn’t have told her about the case. That’s besides the fact that he never should have cheated in the first place. He’s scum, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I want to move here. I want a permanent place in your office.”
She was sure the expression on her face was as shocked as she felt on the inside. She’d just discovered Quinn had cheated on her, and she still wanted to move? Their cubicles were less than twenty feet from one another, with no walls in between. She’d be forced to look at him every single day. And if she bought the house, she’d have to live with the reminders of what they had, and lost.
Before she could retract her statement, Nico said, “Good. I’d like you on my team. You’re a damn fine agent, Sanders. I have plenty of work to keep you busy.”
“Maybe I’m being hasty, making this decision …”
Nico reached across the desk and tapped his forefinger on the file. “Too late. Go close the case, then talk to Quinn. I’ll make a call to your director in Dallas, start the permanent transfer process.” When she didn’t move, he said, “That’s an order, Sanders.”
She leaped from her seat, grabbed the file, and left his office. She felt as though she were walking through fog. Everything around her appeared hazy, unfocused. She and Quinn were through, yet she’d just asked Nico if she could join his team permanently. While she could simply walk away from the house when the case was closed, she still wasn’t sure she wanted to.
I can make a new life here, even if Quinn isn’t in it. I’ll move on. Eventually.
Keith waylaid her in the lobby, just as she was about to exit the building. “You look like hell,” he commented.
“Gee, thanks. Excuse me, Keith, but I’m a little busy at the moment.” She started to walk around him.
“Where are you going?”
She waved the file folder. “Warrant. I’m going to bust Whitney White once and for all.”
Keith began sweating. His gaze darted every which way. “Shit. I didn’t think it would happen this fast. Are you going right now?”
“Yes.”
“Right. I’m going to go back to my hotel. I’ll be there if you—ah!” He turned, no doubt meaning to bolt out the door, when Court appeared, blocking his exit.
He clamped a hand down onto Keith’s shoulder and grinned at Kyra. “Why don’t me and Keith here escort you over to the perp’s house?” he suggested.
She was missing something here. It was not a coincidence that Court just happened to be there, prepared to keep Keith from bolting at that moment.
“Did Nico tell you to help me?” she asked.
Court gave her a funny look. “No. Why?”
She waved at Keith, who was quite literally quaking in his running shoes. Court was a pretty big and scary-looking guy. Not someone you wanted to run into in a dark alley. Or as you were about to skip town.
“Um, just wondering why you’re offering to escort us to the perp’s house, that’s all.”
“Can’t an agent help another agent out? I’m not confident this guy won’t pull some life-endangering bullshit on you on the way over there.”
“Hey,” Keith protested, but neither Kyra nor Court acknowledged him.
“Oh. Okay. Well, let’s go then.”
The ride to Whitney’s house was quiet. Court was not normally a chatty person, Kyra was distracted by her own thoughts, and Keith was undoubtedly worried about his own future. When she pulled up in front of Whitney’s house, Quinn’s truck was in the driveway.
“Damn it.” She suddenly had no desire to walk into that house. Finding those panties in her own couch was bad enough. The potential of catching them in the act was too much to bear.
“I can’t go in there.”
“It’s not what you think,” Court insisted. He climbed out of the passenger seat and bodily dragged Keith from the car. “Let’s go, Sanders,” he barked when she did not move from the driver’s seat.
Her anger spiking, Kyra climbed out of the car and slammed the door. “I do not need this again.”
“Again? What do you mean, again?” Keith asked, his head volleying between Kyra and Court.
“Nothing.”
Keith’s gaze zoned in on the truck in the driveway, and then his eyes widened. “Holy hell, is that your boyfriend’s ride?”
“Shut up, Keith.”
“He’s been elevated to boyfriend status?” Court asked.
“No. He’s nothing status. Let’s do this.” Kyra climbed the porch steps.
“I told her he would succumb,” she heard Keith say from behind her. “I’m telling you, the woman’s tits are amazing.”
Kyra turned, and in one fluid movement, punched Keith in the jaw. He crumbled to the ground like shattered glass. Court whistled.
“Nice right hook, Sanders.”
“Thanks.” She turned away from the scene and used the same fist to hammer on the front door.
A flustered Whitney jerked it open. She wore a white halter top and a pair of hot pink short shorts. Her hair was slightly disheveled—not any more than a normal person, but on someone like her, it was obvious. She glared at Kyra and held the door open as she stepped to the side.
“Finally,” she snapped. “Get him out of here, please. How the hell do you put up with him?”
Huh?
A crash from another room drew everyone’s attention.
“Damn it,” Whitney muttered. She stalked back through the house. Kyra glanced at Court. He was just straightening after pulling Keith to his feet. Keith’s eyes were glazed and he staggered when Court walked him forward, into the house.
“I didn’t hit him that hard, did I?”
Court shrugged. “All I know is I’m keeping my face away from your fist.”
Kyra hurried through the house, in the direction Whitney had just taken. Court followed, dragging Keith along with him.
They found Whitney and Quinn both in a small study tucked behind the kitchen area. Between his disheveled hair and unshaven face, Quinn could make for a damn scary Halloween costume. He wore a white tank top with sweat stains under the armpits and a pair of sweatpants that looked as if they were leftover from his college days. He smelled like urine.
He held a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a broken wine glass in the other.
“Oops,” he said. “Wro
ng glass.”
“You’ve been drinking straight from the bottle for an hour now,” Whitney said as she snatched the broken glass from his hand. “Why do you suddenly need a glass?”
“I think I’m ready now,” Quinn announced.
“For what?” Whitney asked warily.
Quinn rolled his hips in an obscene way. Kyra turned her head away in disgust, but then narrowed her eyes when she saw that Court was struggling not to laugh.
“To get it on, baby,” Quinn announced, and he performed a poor rendition of a catwalk strut as he walked over to Whitney, then proceeded to attempt to hump her leg.
Whitney wiggled out of his grasp. “Good God, is he really this vulgar all the time?” she asked Kyra. “I’ve watched you two. He never acts like this with you.”
“You really did watch us?”
“We both did,” Keith commented helpfully.
Whitney focused on him for the first time. She narrowed her eyes and said, “What are you doing here? And what happened to your face?”
Keith stepped behind Court and did not reply.
“That’s invasion of privacy,” Court commented. “Another count against her. Not a big one, but at this point, the more, the merrier, right?”
Quinn took a swig from his bottle, then pulled it away from his lips with enough force that liquid splashed from the top and splattered across the front of Whitney’s white top. She let out a screech of annoyance.
“You are so disgusting,” she said.
“I’m a fucking rock star in the sack, though,” Quinn replied. “Come on, baby. I’m drunk enough now that I’m willing to give you a shot. Let’s go, before I pass out.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Whitney said with a sniff. “You smell like a sewer. I would never sleep with the likes of you.”
Somewhere, in the depths of Kyra’s confused mind, it occurred to her that this conversation sounded as if Whitney and Quinn had never had sex before.
“But what about the panties?” she cut to the chase.
