Chapter 4
Quinn
After a day spent arguing with contractors, I can’t face another evening holed up in a tiny room in Poulton Springs’ one and only guesthouse.
Walking along Main Street, I scan the store fronts and cross the street towards the liquor store.
Light’s fading and so is my confidence. Barrett’s deadline is looming, but it’s not the completion of the building work that worries me. It’s what comes next.
I can do this, I tell myself, inhaling the sharp February air and pulling back my shoulders.
And I will do this – just as long as Barrett doesn’t fire me in the meantime.
He wasn’t pleased when I told him how I’d invited a Griffin onto his property, and although that particular conversation was two weeks ago, his voice still rings in my ears.
“How long was he in my house? Where did he go? Did you search him before he left?” Barrett had asked, barking each question and not giving me the chance to reply. “Could he have planted a bug while he wandered around the place unsupervised?”
“It was only a matter of minutes, and yes, I searched him before he left,” I’d said while my thumb skated over the finger I’d pushed into Reid’s mouth. A shiver ran down my spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Were you thorough? Did he resist?”
I pushed my hand between my thighs and squeezed. No, he’d clearly enjoyed it. “I was holding him at gunpoint.”
“Oh,” Barrett replied, slightly taken aback. “You have a gun? Well, that’s fortunate.”
“And it was Clara who helped me escort him off the premises,” I said, needing to give the housekeeper credit for containing the situation.
There was a pause, broken only by a long hiss. “You involved other members of staff?”
“Just Clara.”
“Oh, great. It was only the grieving widow who lost her husband at the hands of the Griffins. That makes it alright then!”
“She’s OK,” I said. “She handled herself really well.”
“She shouldn’t have to, Quinn,” he hissed.
Nor should I, I’d wanted to add. I didn’t go looking for any of this.
And maybe Barrett is another of Ilya’s gullible victims, but he bears some responsibility for the decisions he’s made.
I know he lost his mom recently, and there’d been some fight over a woman with one of the older Griffins, but he invited trouble to this poor town.
I swallowed my bitterness. Whatever my opinion of Barrett, I needed to remind him that I was part of the solution, not part of the problem.
“Barrett, I’m sorry this happened, and I will make it right,” I said as calmly as I could. “I’ll find another consultant to do a full sweep of the mansion.”
“No, you won’t,” Barrett said. “I’ll make the arrangements myself. There are people I can trust to do the job properly. What you can do, Quinn, is speak to the firm supplying our security guards. We’ll have to retain them for now, but I want the idiots on duty fired.”
I opened my mouth to object, but stopped myself. Even if Reid was carrying a false ID, the guards should have checked, but I can’t ask for them to be fired. I’ll just ask for them to be reassigned.
The one thing Barrett can’t berate me for is delivering his damn build project.
The construction phase has now completed, and the interior designers have been set to work.
Their job is to transform the house into a home, but the flashiness Barrett has planned feels wrong when you consider what horrors will take place on the outskirts of the estate.
Slipping into the liquor store, I grab the nearest bottle of rosé. I’m looking forward to spending the evening with Clara. A home-cooked meal and good company is just what I need to escape my thoughts.
Back on the sidewalk, I hear a car pulling up behind me.
I don’t pay it much attention until I notice how the sound of its engine doesn’t recede as I continue on my way.
I check my reflection in a store window.
Behind my inconsequential frame, there’s a dark SUV.
I can’t see who’s driving, but it’s going to be someone bigger and stronger than me.
It always is when a woman is being stalked.
My pulse quickens along with my pace as I assess my situation.
There are stores I could seek shelter in, or I have my gun in my purse.
Fight or flight? It would be easier to make a decision if I knew who was following me.
I can’t completely discount the Russians, or the Irish for that matter, but my guess is it’s one of four brothers.
If they were planning on abducting me, there are far better places to try. There are too many witnesses on Main Street, which means this has to be intimidation, pure and simple.
When I reach a hardware store, I pause to rummage through the baskets lined up outside.
The SUV keeps rolling until it’s level with me.
In the store window’s reflection, the SUV’s black paintwork gleams in the low sun.
I can just make out the outline of the driver through the tinted glass.
He’s looking at me, and I know that profile.
Of all the brothers, Reid is taller, leaner, and his hair is tightly cropped except at the crown, where it’s long enough to thread my fingers through.
Why the hell did that thought pop into my head?
Fuck this! And fuck Reid Griffin!
I pick up a small can of paint from one of the baskets and pretend to read the label. It’s not heavy, but heavy enough, and as I spin around, I launch it at the driver’s window. The can bounces off the toughened glass. It doesn’t leave a scratch.
The SUV’s engine cuts off. There’s a clunk as the locking system disengages and the driver’s door opens. Reid’s smiling as he gets out of his car, oblivious to the townsfolk who have come to a sudden stop around us.
“Hey, Quinn,” he greets me. “I guess you remember me then.”
I reach behind me and grab another can.
“Jesus!” he cries out as he dodges the second missile. “That one could have–”
His words are cut off as the additional can I’d picked up finds its target, glancing off his forehead. Reid takes cover behind the driver’s door he’d had the good sense not to close.
“You’re not welcome in this town!” I yell at him. “And if you stalk me again, I’ll put a bullet through your window.”
“The glass is bulletproof,” he says, remaining out of sight.
“I still hit you though, didn’t I?” I remind him.
I’ve spent the last year taking various self-defense classes. I know how to use a gun, and I have knife skills. I never thought to practice throwing cans, but all my tutors remarked on my good aim.
“Yes, you did,” Reid says as he risks breaking cover.
He has a hand pressed against his forehead, and blood trickles through his fingers. I don’t feel in the least bit sorry. When he sees I’m not holding any more missiles, he closes the door and steps towards me. This man does not know when to quit.
“I just want to talk, Quinn. Maybe we could go out for dinner, make a night of it?” When I don’t deign him with a response, he continues. “I know you think I’m your enemy, but my guess is you have enough of those to contend with already.”
“Maybe I have,” I stupidly admit. “But I don’t need more friends either, not if they’re like you.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you well enough.” Including what his cock feels like pressed up against me. Is that why Reid’s back? “And I’m not about to become someone’s new play thing.”
Reid’s face breaks into a smile, and the corner of his mouth catches the rivulet of blood running down his cheek. His wound is bleeding quite heavily now. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Unless you’ve been dreaming of it too?”
“You just contradicted yourself,” I point out. “You can’t say you haven’t dreamt about it, then ask if I’ve dreamt about it too.”
“Hmm, you would have made a good lawyer.”
Against my better judgement, I dig into my purse and pull out a pack of Kleenex. I fight a smile when I see him flinch. He thought I was reaching for my gun. Not the reaction I’d expect from a cold-blooded killer, unless it’s simply an act so I’ll drop my guard.
I toss him the Kleenex. “You would have made a good lawyer too,” I say. “It’s almost a shame you chose to side with evil.”
Reid presses a clump of tissues to the gash on his head. “I wish you’d give me the chance to explain.”
I sigh. “So you can tell me again how you help people in need? How exactly do you do that, Reid? Do you show the mafia the best way to distribute drugs, or are there other ways you help peddle their misery?”
“No, we…” His voice trails off. “If you want a flavor of the things we’ve done for communities like this,” he says, gesturing up and down Main Street. “Have a look online. You might be pleasantly surprised.”
I swallow back a laugh. “You don’t exist online.”
“Tonight, we do,” Reid corrects me. “We’ve lifted the curtain. Just for you.”
Goosebumps prick my skin, and I pull my padded jacket tight around my chest. He’s doing that for me? I’m almost flattered, but then I remind myself of who I’m dealing with. “I’m more inclined to believe your brother’s set up an elaborate web of disinformation for me to find.”
“I promise you it’s all genuine. This is an act of faith, Quinn. Not faith in you. In me,” he explains. “My brothers are trusting my judgement.”
He takes a step closer so we’re within touching distance. I don’t back away.
“I think you’re a good person,” he says, then stops to check how much blood the Kleenex has soaked up.
“A little violent perhaps, but we all have our faults. Mine is seeing the good in people. And all I ask is that you look for the good in me too. This battle is too big to pit ourselves against each other. I want to believe that you’re not working for the Russians, or if you are, it’s under duress.
Please, just take a look online. We stand a better chance of bringing down Ilya if we can work together. ”