She tucked her head low, essentially hiding behind the screen of her laptop so he wouldn’t see the tears that sprang forward. Frantically, Renata wiped her face, not wanting him or anyone else to see. She’d already burdened him with so much… it didn’t seem fair to ask for anything else… not even opening a damned yogurt.
But… she needed him. With the ache of loneliness and loss weighing heavy on her chest, she could barely read the words on her screen, let alone comprehend them, or formulate any sort of plan. A thought, holding hands with a little trickle of hope, popped up in the back of her mind. Before she could overthink it, she placed her left hand on the keyboard, and began pecking away.
[command: open private chat]
painted_pixel: hi.
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CrawDaddy: ………hi. is there a reason you’re opening a chat to talk to me, when i’m sitting across the table?
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painted_pixel: this feels easier.
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CrawDaddy: okay… what’s up?
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painted_pixel: i’m sorry for not telling you who i was.
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CrawDaddy: okay.
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painted_pixel: okay?... does that mean you accept my apology?
CrawDaddy: if that’s what it takes for you to let me get back to work.
Renata looked up, but Quentin had his eyes focused on his screen. She took a deep breath, then began tapping out a response.
painted_pixel: Q… I wish you could understand that I didn’t feel like I had a choice. I WANTED to tell you, but making sure I got Taylor back had to come first. I couldn’t take that chance.
CrawDaddy: I do understand.
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painted_pixel: then… what is it? what do I have to do to make things right between us? I’ve loved you since we were fifteen years old… tell me what I have to do for you to call me your friend again.
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CrawDaddy: You don’t know ME. You know my hacker tag. Not the same thing.
Shaking her head, Renata looked up again, trying to catch Quentin’s eye, but still, he kept his gaze on his computer. Running her tongue over her lips, she swallowed hard, willing her heart to stop racing.
painted_pixel: it IS the same thing. you’re the same person, just… with a face, and a real name. it’s still you… I’m still me. painted_pixel=Renata. Not “agent parker”. I’m the same girl, Q.
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[user “CrawDaddy” no longer exists. aborting chat.]
Renata raised her hand to her mouth, muffling the choked sob that tried to free itself from her throat. She dropped her head, her shoulders trembling as a dull ache worked through her chest.
That’s it, she thought. After all those years, he doesn’t even wan—
“Renata.”
Startled, Renata looked up to Quentin kneeling beside her.
“I…,” he stopped, pushing out a sigh, and scrubbing a hand over his face before he continued, “I don’t know what to say to you, Renata. I don’t know how to react to you, how to act around you, because I… I feel I don’t know you. Painted Pixel? I know her. I care about her.”
“I’m her.”
Quentin nodded. “I know. Rationally, I know that. But… I feel like… even though there were obviously things that went unsaid, details left unfilled… we didn’t have secrets from each other. If I needed you for something, you did it. If you needed me for something, I did it.” He pointed up at the screen. “We relied on each other. Painted Pixel and CrawDaddy trusted each other. But you,” — he put his finger to her chest — “ Don’t trust me.” — he pointed to himself. “And… I gotta be honest… that feels really fucked up.”
Fresh tears sprang to Renata’s eyes. “I know. And I’m so sorry. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you, I just couldn’t—”
“Take that risk. I get that. I really, really do. But it don’t make it feel any better, cher.”
Briefly, Renata closed her eyes as a lump formed in her throat. Before she could respond, he continued.
“With that said… you’re right. It has been fifteen years. No sense in washin’ it down the drain over a misunderstanding. And… I kinda miss talking to ya’.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, a little smile turned up the corners of Renata’s mouth, even as tears spilled over her cheeks. “Kinda?”
Quentin chuckled as he reached up, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from her face. “Okay. I missed the hell outta you.”
Whoa.
Those words made warmth bloom in her chest.
“But.”
Crap.
That “but” doused the warmth in cold water.
Renata squared her shoulders, bracing herself for what was coming next.
“I have to ask,” he said, running his tongue over his lips. “Wolfe… as Taylor’s father… why?”
She tipped her head back. She certainly wasn’t expecting that question, but… she supposed she should have. She emptied her lungs with a heavy exhale, then inhaled deeply before finally meeting his eyes.
“I… I wasn’t… Quentin, it wasn’t something I wanted. I was only sixteen, and I ended up in a situation that left me pretty helpless.”
He nodded. “I know you probably didn’t plan to end up pregnant, but I’m trying to understa—”
“No,” she interrupted, holding up her hand. “I’m not saying that pregnancy wasn’t something I wanted. I’m saying that he….”
She trailed off, trying to figure out how to tell Quentin what Wolfe had done to her. She’d never spoken it aloud, never verbalized the violation she’d suffered at his hands. She looked up at him, sure that the confusion in his eyes mirrored hers.
“I didn’t want to do it,” was what she settled with, when she couldn’t figure out a different way to articulate it, without saying any of the words she so desperately hated to even think.
Bit by bit, the bewilderment left Quentin’s face, replaced by flared nostrils, a clenched jaw, and cold, angry eyes — the same look he’d had when they’d lost contact with Naomi while she was in Victor Lucas’s house.
“He… forced you?” he asked, his voice low, and carrying an edge Renata had never heard before.
When she nodded, he pushed himself to his feet, and the rage hanging off of him was so intense she could feel it, scorching hot.
“It was something in my drink, at that stupid party,” she quickly amended, holding up her hand in an effort to calm him. “It wasn’t like… beating me up or anything.”
“That’s better?!” He turned to face her, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“No. No, not at all, I’m just… can you calm down?”
He looked at her with a scowl for another moment longer before his expression softened, and he scrubbed a hand over his face before he knelt in front of her again.
“I’m… sorry,” he said, reaching to cup her face in his hands. “And I’m sorry he did this to you.” Briefly, his face took on a hard edge again. “He will pay for what he did to you. I promise.”
“Q, I don’t want—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Renata shrugged, then dropped her eyes. “You were dealing with your own stuff. Your dad’s death, and then your mom… You were already doing so much.”
“And I would have done more. I wish you’d told me.”
“So you could have done… what? If I’d told you what Wolfe did to me, the same night as what he did to your father… what would you have done?”
“I would have killed him.”
Renata shook her head. “You would have gotten yourself killed. We were kids. And me, not knowing your name, I would have never known what happened to you, just that I told you what happened, then never heard from you again. And if I did decide to look for you, and found out you were dead… I didn’t know back then that Wolfe had killed your father, so I would have thought it was just about avenging me. So… I’m glad I never told you back then. I wouldn’t have been able to handle that.”
A moment passed, and then with a deep sigh, Quentin nodded. “Okay. I get that. But you never told me about… any of it.”
“Right,” she said, with a tight smile. “I… I guess there was some shame there too. I wasn’t supposed to be at a party like that, I should have paid better attention to what I was drinking, I should have fought harder… I had all these wrong reasons in my head that it was somehow my fault. I know now that it wasn’t, but… back then… I didn’t want you to think less of me.” She paused briefly as her voice strained. “I… didn’t want you to be disgusted by me.”
Quentin’s brow dipped into a scowl.
“Disgusted?” he repeated. “Cher… listen to me… there isn’t — and never has been —- anything disgustin’ about you.”
Renata sniffled, then reached for a paper towel from the table to wipe her nose. “Not even this?”
He reached up, running a hand lightly over her bandaged head before he brought it back down to her face. “Not even.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he drew her closer, and a moment later, his warm, soft lips were on hers. Heat blossomed in her chest, then everywhere else as he amplified the pressure of his mouth on hers, drawing a soft whimper from her throat. His hands drifted down to her waist, pulling her closer to the end of the chair, closer to him, as he pressed his tongue against the seam of her lips.
The heaviness of their conversation was quickly forgotten as he dipped his tongue in her mouth, stroking hers with unhurried skill. Renata draped the one arm that she could over his shoulder, gripping a handful of his shirt as he drew her against his body, mindful of her injured shoulder. Much sooner than she would have liked, the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall drew them apart, and they looked up just as Marcus appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.
His eyes went wide as he quickly glanced from Renata, her face still wet with tears, to Quentin kneeling in front of her. A second later, understanding lighted his eyes, and he turned on his heels and headed back down the hall.
Quentin chuckled, then turned back to Renata, catching her mid giggle. The look he gave her then was one that she couldn’t quite decipher, but made a pleasant sort of heat wash over her.
He lifted his hand to her face again, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
“So… are we good?” he asked, keeping his gaze focused on hers.
She nodded, then smiled, nuzzling her face into his hand.
“Yeah… we are.”
six.
“Okay everybody… let’s get down to business.”
An hour had passed since Quentin kissed her, and Renata still couldn’t focus. They, along with the rest of the team, were seated around the table in Inez’s war room, looking up at a huge screen. She wasn’t sure if this debriefing was for her benefit or not, but in any case, she needed to pay attention. But how the hell was she supposed to do that?
Quentin had kissed her.
And damn it was good.
Guilt poked at her chest for even thinking the kinds of thoughts she had about him, for feeling the warm, buzzing sensations she still felt. A man she considered her own personal satan had her child, filling her head with God knows what, and she was… horny.
What kind of mother was she?
Renata shook her head and looked up at Agent Barnes, trying not to feel the magnetic warmth of Quentin’s body heat radiating from beside her.
Focus, Ren.
“You a’ight, cher?”
Ohhhh, damn.
Quentin’s voice sent a jolt of excitement right to her chest as he leaned over to quietly ask that question in her ear. Her gaze shifted to meet his, which were filled with concern. She gave him a quick nod, followed by a little smile of reassurance. Under the table, he put his hand on her knee and squeezed, then returned his own attention back to Agent Barnes, and Renata had to bite her lip hard to suppress the big smile that wanted to take over her face.
“So,” Barnes said, looking at her from his standing position beside the screen, “Now that we have Agent Parker back with us, in whatever capacity she can work, we’re going to run over this again from the top, and fill in some gaps that we’ve found answers to now, okay?”
Renata nodded at him, and once the rest of the table was in agreement, he moved forward, using a remote in his hand to change the images on the screen.
“This man is Terrence “Terry” King, owner of King Pharma. 56 years old, married, with three teenaged children. Purchased the company twelve years ago, back when it was “American Health Innovations”. Saved it from bankruptcy after a huge scandal, lawsuits, and so forth. Pulled major PR moves to make sure everybody forgot that AHI’s drugs were killing people, rebranded it, and turned it into the drug giant we all know today.”
The picture on the screen was of a handsome man, with smooth, dark skin. Slightly questionable ethics aside, Renata thought he looked nice. She knew from TV interviews, news headlines, and her own research that he was hugely philanthropic. He was also one of the only people with the power to actually do anything who was calling for more affordable prescription drugs, and even had a program through his company that “sponsored” the prescription costs for terminally ill children. Everything she’d seen, in the short time she’d been able to research before everything went to crap, pointed to a standup guy.
Of course Wolfe would want him taken down.
“Now,” Barnes continued, “We all know what the news media has shown us about Terry King. But what Mr. LaForte has discovered is… Terry King wasn’t always his name. Good ole’ Terrence used to be Sean Williams — partner in crime and very good friend of Damien Wolfe.”
Renata’s eyes went wide, then refocused on the screen.
Wow.
“Sean Williams is just as bad as Damien Wolfe, far as I can tell,” Quentin said, taking over for a moment. “Grew up together, ran together, all of that. Mid-eighties, things shifted. Wolfe started to make a name for himself as a young guy in the drug trade. He wasn’t into slinging dope on the corner, he was college educated, wanted to sling it in the boardroom. That’s how he set himself apart. King — Williams — was a smart kid too. Pharmacology student, into chemistry. Neither of them had to do illegal things to make it, but… that’s what they chose. Mid-nineties, King was working as a scientist for AHI. But… he wasn’t just making drugs for AHI. He was also developing street shit, highly-addictive add-ins for weed, coke, whatever you can imagine.”
Shaking her head, Renata turned to Quentin. “How do you know all of this?”
Quentin smiled. “Well, thanks to Mimi getting into the house, we have access to King’s personal network. Homeboy likes to journal, and he keeps immaculate records of everything. It’s all encrypted, so I haven’t been able to get to it all yet, but we will. Those records are how we know that King abandoned a pregnant wife in the mid-eighties. It’s how we know that he had developed something, a hybrid drug that we know today as Triple-H, a mix between ecstasy and marijuana that leaves you hungry, horny, and high. He and Wolfe were supposed to make a lot of money off of that deal, but… King ended up cutting him out of it. He got in touch with our dads, gave them information on Wolfe, part of what they took to the FBI. Seems like he wanted to take Wolfe down completely, all at once, but Wolfe found out about it�
�� and we know what happened from there.”
Yeah. They all knew what happened from there. Wolfe had killed the three men he could get to — Marcus, Naomi, and Quentin’s fathers. Williams was apparently in the wind, and had changed his name to Terry King. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to go drugging young girls that same night. To work out his anger, to… shit. Renata didn’t feel like trying to figure out why Wolfe did the things he did, wasn’t really interested in rationalizing. That would imply that he was human, which… Renata really didn’t believe to be true. As far as she was concerned, he was just a monster in a human shell.
“So,” Barnes picked up, “A name change from Sean Williams to Terry King, and a bit of sabotage to drive down the value of AHI. He used the money he made — many millions — on that development and initial sale of Triple-H, and purchased the company. Did some building… and here we are.”
Naomi cleared her throat. “So now we know why King Pharmaceuticals.”
Barnes nodded. “Now we know.”
“Good. Now I don’t feel bad at all for helping take his ass down.” Inez leaned forward over the table. “I guess he feels like his philanthropy and everything today makes up for the sins of the past.”
“I disagree,” Naomi said, her voiced tinged with constrained fury. “He doesn’t get to come up with his own atonement. Do we have a plan now?”
“We do.” Barnes pulled up the next image, which was a composite sheet with pictures of, and facts about a new drug. “We’re going to do the same thing to King Pharma that he did to American Health Innovations.”
Renata frowned. “Wait a minute though… people died because of what he did to AHI. We can’t do something like that.”
“You’re right,” Barnes agreed. “We aren’t. We’re going to sabotage it before it ever hits the public market, and make sure the public knows about it. There will be email leaks, FDA payoffs, all kinds of things that will tank their value and their reputation with the public. Then, the lawsuits will come, once we prove that he caused those AHI deaths in the nineties, and possibly jail time. We went from trying to figure out how to take down a good guy with minimal damage, to taking down a criminal. It’s a lot easier to get money for that.”
Release Me If You Can Page 7
