Chapter 3 #6
It was habit now for them to keep hiding their friendship, even though neither of them had ever thought that Sebastian would be connected to Quinn once more, no matter how loosely.
Sebastian just knew that Riley was going to call him about this.
Or maybe he would visit him in person. That would be loads of fun.
“Stop interrupting me.”
“Fuck off, Hunter.”
“His father is Superintendent Simon Sinclair. You know, the big guy at the top?”
“I fucking know what a superintendent is.” And he knew who Riley’s—and by extension Peyton’s—father was.
“Bloody hell, Sebastian,” Caleb said, groaning.
“I didn’t know who they were!” Sebastian protested.
He hadn’t asked for fucking credentials when he’d picked who he wanted to get naked.
Nothing in the guy’s stance had said law enforcement, and Sebastian was usually pretty good at picking up on it.
And Peyton certainly hadn’t said military sniper.
There had been a brief thought about possibly military, based on the tattoo Peyton had on his chest, but he hadn’t recognised it; it could have been anything—including just a cool tattoo—and he'd been highly distracted. “Besides all that, why is this important? They’re very impressive, good for them. Why are we caring about that?” Sebastian wasn’t going to think about the fact that their resumes were making them hotter to him instead of putting a “do not touch” stamp on them.
“We care because it means that they won’t let this go.
This is personal for him and for Quinn Hughes—before we even add an ex with a grudge to that list—and any number of other people in law enforcement and the military that you can think of.
You picked the two people in Sydney that have enough high-level connections that they can bury you without breaking a sweat.
And there’s nothing I could do about it. ”
“Great,” Caleb said. “Fucking hell, Seb.”
“I didn’t kill anyone!” Sebastian sputtered, sitting upright again. “Quinn doesn’t have a grudge against me—try the other fucking way around—and there’s nothing to bury.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m more concerned about why Mason was killed and why his body was found anywhere near me.”
“I’m looking into it.” Hunter stood and straightened his jacket. “In the meantime, watch your six.”
“Why do I need to, when you keep such good tabs on me?” Sebastian said sarcastically. He was getting a headache. He needed a holiday. A ten-year holiday.
“I can’t always be watching.”
“Are you going now?” Caleb asked, pushing himself off the desk. “Such a shame. You’re always such a joy.” He went to open the door, but Hunter placed a hand on it, palm flat above Caleb’s head.
“Were you there?” Hunter asked.
“At Seb’s threesome? No, I’m not as hardcore, and I saw enough of his naked ass in college.”
“Fuck off,” Sebastian said testily.
Caleb winked, and Sebastian resisted the urge to throw a stapler at him.
“You don’t already know that?” Caleb asked.
“You weren’t mentioned in any reports. That means you weren’t at the apartment. That doesn’t mean you weren’t at the club.”
“I wasn’t. So…?”
They both knew that Hunter didn’t ask random questions.
“You weren’t part of Mason Delgrade’s case. But if you were seen with Sebastian at the club, you may be considered to be involved now.” He brushed a strand of hair from Caleb’s forehead. “Be careful.”
Caleb blinked in surprise.
“Both of you, get out,” Sebastian groaned.
Maybe his luck was turning around, because after Caleb told him not to forget his meeting in half an hour, they both left him alone.
The silence wasn’t much of an improvement.
Quinn had known when he’d joined the police academy—more years ago than he’d like to acknowledge—that police work involved paperwork. As a detective, that seemed to have increased triple fold.
“Okay,” Grady said from his desk opposite Quinn’s. “Daughter-in-law says it was the mum, mum is saying—”
“Daughter-in-law did it,” Quinn guessed.
“Bingo.” Grady flipped his manilla folder shut with an exaggerated slam of his palm. “I say we lock them both up and throw away the key.”
Quinn smirked and shook his head. It was tempting but would lead to a lot of questions that Grady would answer with excessive swearing. Amusing but pointless. And then they’d have Riley’s wrath, and Quinn had enough issues with headaches; he didn’t need to add more to the list.
“It looks like a generic breaking and entering,” Quinn said. “Whoever did it grabbed what they could fit in their pockets and left. If it was an inside job, they would have been smarter about it.”
The likelihood of them finding the culprit, since the fingerprints found on the scene hadn’t turned up a match, was slim.
“We’ll put out an alert to all the pawnshops in case they take anything in to sell.” Quinn shrugged. “Not much else we can do without a description of the thief.”
“Perfect. Who gets to call them?” Grady glanced around before his eyes locked on their rookie. Henry was staring intently at his computer monitor, like he was trying to make it combust with his mind. Quinn had personal experience with that look.
“No,” he said automatically. He’d been partners with Grady for too many years to not already know where he was going with this.
“It’s a good learning experience,” Grady said.
He tried to make it sound perfectly reasonable, and if it had been anyone else, Quinn might have agreed.
But “Grady” and “reason” didn’t belong in the same sentence.
“Just call them yourself.” He checked his watch and noted they still had at least half an hour before Parker showed up for his interview.
It had been cowardly, but Quinn had left Grady to interview Peyton by himself.
He’d needed time to gather his thoughts.
Maybe if he had another fifty years, he might actually manage to gather them.
Grady just grinned and headed right for Henry.
Quinn sighed and went back to his report.
Being in this precinct—surrounded by Grady, Greer, and Riley—was a trial by fire.
Henry would stay afloat, or he wouldn’t.
Grady was an asshole, but he wasn’t cruel.
If it looked like Henry was struggling, Grady was the first person who would step up to help.
The asshole behaviour wasn’t a front, but it was only a small facet of who he was.
Greer was the one that walked around like the world owed him something and was the last person Quinn would ever have paired with a rookie.
Angela, another detective at the precinct, stopped at Quinn’s desk and leaned her hip against it.
She handed over the manilla folder in her hand.
“This is everything we have on Delgrade. He wasn’t a saint by any means, but he was trying to turn his life around, and he gave us some useful information. He didn’t deserve that kind of ending.”
No one deserved that kind of ending. “Did he provide any information worth killing over?” Quinn asked, flipping open the folder.
“All information is worth killing over to the right person.”
Touché. “Anything stand out to you?”
“Not that I can think of,” Ange said. “Gideon, get over here.”
“God, woman, I divorced my wife so I didn’t have to take orders anymore,” Gideon complained as he pushed his chair back and stood.
“As if any of us believe that,” Ange said. “Lucia left you because she’s a smart woman.”
“The love of my life,” Gideon agreed. “She deserves bigger and better.”
Quinn wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.
Gideon and Lucia had been perfect for each other, and as far as he was aware, they were still deeply in love with each other.
Perhaps not romantically, but the love they had was still as strong as it had always been.
Whatever had happened between them, whatever reason they had split, wasn’t any of his business.
Ange likely knew, but they were partners, and partners shared everything.
“Can you think of anything Delgrade shared with us that might be worth murdering him over?” Ange asked.
“You mean other than the inside info for certain drug organisations that allowed us to arrest key players in the business?” Gideon said. “Nah, can’t think of a thing.”
“Point taken,” Quinn said dryly. “Were you working on anything with him recently?”
“Not recently, no.”
Quinn’s attention diverted as Detective Greer walked into the bullpen, his head buried in his phone. He looked up, locked eyes with Quinn, and then flicked across to Gideon and Ange. Quinn braced himself when Greer came their way.
“You’d think I was the only one that did any work around here, seeing how much you all just stand around,” Greer said.
“We’re talking about the slumber party we’re having tonight, where we’re going to paint each other’s nails, watch chick flicks, and eat popcorn,” Gideon said.
“I’m bringing the wine and cheese,” Ange said.
“I got chip duty,” Quinn said.
Greer sneered at them. “There was a message left for you and Angela last night,” he said. “Something about a guy that needed to talk to you.”
“Wow, Greer, thanks for that extremely useful message,” Ange said, pursing her lips.
She looked like she was two seconds away from punching him in the face.
Quinn hoped he wasn’t going to have to break up a fight because today had been shitty enough, and if Greer got the shit kicked out of him, the guy would be in a foul mood and make sure everyone else knew about it.
“Someone named Manson? Mandy? No. Mason? Whatever. He said he had something to tell you; I told him to come back today to see you.”
Quinn’s lips parted in surprise as Ange gave him a “what the fuck?” look.
“Unfortunately, he can’t,” Gideon said.
“And why not?”
“Because he’s dead ,” Ange said. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?”
“I was busy doing my job. It doesn’t involve being your office bitch.”
“I’m about to make you my—”