“Bearing coffee and muffins, which I’m going to eat myself if you make me stand here much longer.”
No. It couldn’t be. He was in New York, and there was no way he could know which hotel we were in. I must have dozed off on the sofa and fallen into a dream.
More like a nightmare.
“Dee?”
I carefully slid the chain, trying not to make any noise as I fastened it. Then, cinching my robe, I cracked the door open the two inches the chain would allow. Quinn stood there, holding a coffee tray and bag, his brows arched, a smile playing on his lips. The smile grew as his gaze traveled down me.
“May I come in?” he asked.
“Sorry. I was getting into the shower. Just . . . Let me take the chain off and give me five seconds to get into the bathroom.”
“Um, even if you weren’t wearing the robe, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” His grin grew, eyes glinting. “And nothing I’d complain about seeing again.”
Wonderful. Quinn wasn’t just here at the worst possible time. He was here in the worst possible mood.
“Right. Sorry. I’m just . . .”
“Rough night? I heard. Which is why I’m here, though I’d prefer to be inside . . .”
“Right. Just a sec.”
I closed the door and counted to five, getting my thoughts in order. Call Jack. That’s what I had to do. Before he walked in with breakfast and a box of condoms. My phone was in my purse, on the floor, half spilled from last night.
Last night . . .
Ah, hell. Hell, hell, hell. Really, Quinn? Now?
“Dee?”
I snatched up my cell phone. Then I unfastened the door. I was backing away to let him in when I caught a glimpse of green lace by the chair. I managed to kick my panties underneath with a punt that would make a footballer proud.
Quinn walked in. His gaze traveled over me again. “Nice robe.”
“Um, thanks. I’m going to take that shower.”
“You want company?”
My cheeks flared.
“Sorry,” Quinn said. “I’ll behave. Go on.”
I was starting to leave when I remembered that half of my undergarments were still unaccounted for. I looked over and saw a bit of my bra strap on the armchair. As Quinn put down coffee, I tossed the throw pillow back onto the armchair, covering my bra. Then I scampered into the bathroom.
I locked the door, started the shower, and called Jack.
“Quinn’s here,” I said when he answered.
Silence.
“Not a joke,” I whispered. “I wouldn’t do that.”
Another moment of silence. “Fuck.”
“Exactly. I have no idea what’s going on. I’m holed up in the bathroom pretending to shower to explain why I answered the door in a robe.”
“Fuck.”
“Right. So just . . .”
“On my way.”
“Thanks.”
CHAPTER 39
I stuck my head into the shower and towel-dried my hair. Then I prepared to dress and . . . realized I had nothing to wear except, well, the dress. Which had a rip down the seam. Even my undergarments were in the next room. So I put on the dress and then I put the robe over it.
I walked out of the bathroom just as Jack was coming in. We made eye contact. I mouthed, “Fuck,” and his lips twitched in a smile. He fired a look across the room, one that suggested he was wondering how much I’d complain if he accidentally shot Quinn.
I walked out and cleared my throat. Quinn was on the sofa—having thankfully not chosen the armchair, a possibility I hadn’t considered. He glanced up and said a quick hello to Jack, who emptied his expression and grunted a return greeting.
“I, uh, I’m a little short of clothing,” I said to Quinn, waving at the robe as I walked to take a coffee from Jack. “We had some trouble last night, as you heard, and we had to switch hotel rooms. So all I have is what I was wearing, uh, on the job last night.”
Quinn looked at my bare legs and grinned. “Which appears to be a dress.”
“Yeah.”
“It looks like a short dress.” His grin grew. “Can I see?”
Jack’s look said he was no longer contemplating murder; he was now trying to figure out where to hide the body.
“Um, actually,” I said, “I know you just got here, but could you do me a huge favor? I saw a gift shop downstairs. Could you see if they have something—anything—I can wear? My dress got ripped while we were running around last night.”
“Sure, I can do that.”
I headed for my wallet, but he held up a hand. “I’ve got it. Jack? I’ll get you a shirt. Looks like you’re missing a button or two.” Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of candy. “Dee? I grabbed this for you, too. In case the muffin wasn’t enough.” He tossed the candy onto the table and headed out.
When he was gone, I latched the door and turned to Jack. “I have absolutely no idea how he got here or how he found out where we were staying.”
“That was me.”
“What?”
Jack set his coffee down. “Right after I left. Quinn calls. Says he needs our hotel address. Room number. Sending something over. Didn’t expect it to be him.”
“Well, I still don’t know what he’s doing here.”
“Saving you. Because I obviously can’t.”
“I don’t think—”
“He is. I called Evelyn about the cell phone.” He took a coffee and waved me to the sofa. We sat down. “Last night? She notified Quinn. About the botched hit. Didn’t want him complaining about being out of the loop. He was pissed. He thinks I’m not handling this. Don’t have what it takes. Obviously you need him.”
“So she let him come without warning us?”
“Nah. Thought she’d talked him down. Never knew he took off.”
I swore under my breath. “Okay, but if he seriously thinks you’re to blame for that near miss, then we’re going to have a talk, because I’m not exactly sitting around waiting to be rescued. You and I are both working this, as hard as we can, and he was doing a lot more good in New York.”
“He can’t impress you in New York. Can’t buy you fucking candy in New York. He got his second wind. Bouncing back. Flirting. Now he’s gonna fix this. Because I can’t.”
“I’ll convince him that he’s more help to us in New York.”
Jack exhaled. “No. I’m being an idiot. Just pissed off. In a way? He’s right. Evelyn says New York is stalled while Contrapasso considers him. We could use him. His skills. Crack that cell phone. Investigate Koss. Get his phone records. Track the dead guy’s aliases from his fake ID.”
“Evelyn can do all of that, too.”
“But she’s in New York. Stepping in with Contrapasso. Talked about that last night. Infiltrating Quinn? Too slow. She can move faster. Quinn’s better off here.”
“Um, that’s kind of . . . awkward. Once I tell him, I’m not sure he’ll stay.”
“Not telling him. No reason to.”
“But I can’t—”
“We’ll put it on hold. You’re not sure he’d stay? I’m sure he wouldn’t. To fix this? Use every resource I’ve got. Even Quinn.”
“So I’m supposed to let him help us, thinking it means we have a chance of getting back together? I can’t do that, Jack. I won’t.”
“Don’t have to. Just keep telling him it’s over.”
“Jack, I can’t—”
“You think he’d want to know? Now? No. Tell him later. Like it took time for us. Make it easier on him.”
While Jack was right, I knew he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Quinn’s feelings. He’d use whatever he could to convince me to keep quiet about us, if it might cost us Quinn’s help.
I sat there, looking toward the window. A half hour ago, I’d been lying on this sofa, happy, so damned happy.