Chapter 1 Quinn #2
I cut the thought off and shove it down where it can't touch me.
"It was an accident. It's over."
Leah sighs and grabs my elbow as if I were fragile and might break. She helps me up like I do my grandmother. I realize my knees are sore, but I don't say anything.
We walk in silence. The Quarter thins as we move away from Bourbon, the noise fading to jazz drifting from open doorways and the occasional burst of laughter.
By the time we reach our cars, exhaustion drags at my bones. Leah hugs me hard before she walks over to her car, and I drive home on autopilot. Talk about a dramatic ending to what was supposed to be a quiet cocktail.
I get to the café early because I always get to the café early.
I grab a corner table and have my laptop open with the notebook beside it before I sit down.
"Quinn," the barista calls to let me know my order is ready. The hum of the espresso machine and low conversation create a predictable rhythm that slots into place.
I pull up my calendar and start building the day piece by piece. Morning briefing at nine. Case review at eleven. Lunch that I'll probably skip. Afternoon calls with the DEA liaison and someone from the state attorney's office, whose name I should remember but don't.
Financial crimes make sense. Money leaves trails, numbers don't lie. You follow the pattern, connect the dots, and build the case one transaction at a time. Patience wins.
I take a sip of coffee and let the bitterness ground me.
"Jesus, Quinny. You look like you ironed your face."
I'm not sure if that is a compliment or if she thinks I look like shit.
Leah drops into the chair across from me, sunglasses still on, hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow looks intentional. She smells like Fruity Pebbles and barely concealed judgment.
I close my laptop halfway. "Good morning to you, too."
"It's eight-thirty on a Saturday." She pushes her sunglasses up and squints at me. "Who hurt you?"
"No one. I'm working. I start my new position officially next week, and I want to be prepared.”
"Of course you are." She rummages for something in her purse that she doesn't pull out and then leans forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands.
"You know what normal people do after almost dying?
They sleep in. Maybe cry a little. They definitely don't show up on a Saturday morning looking like they're about to brief Congress. "
"I didn't almost die. And why are you so dramatic?"
"Uh-huh." She taps my notebook with one manicured nail. "What's this? Your manifesto?"
"Case notes I’m reviewing about this task I’ll be heading up.” I drag the notebook closer.
“Fun Saturday.” She grins and bolts up when her name is called.
She returns with something pale and foamy that smells like dessert. "So tell me. How's the new gig? You settling in?"
Pride flickers warm under my ribs. “I’m still not officially on, but I think it’s going to be great. I'm really going to like solving this puzzle, and I get to do it all on my own. Intense, but good."
"Intense how?"
"Intense because there are a lot of nooks and crannies. Intense because there is no one else to take the blame if I flub this."
"That's where you'll shine. There's no one else to take credit for your hard work."
I wrap my hands around my coffee cup and let the heat seep into my palms. "True. It's just meticulous checking and double-checking, and I don't want to miss anything."
"You're a natural at that."
"Thank you. I want to do well at this."
Leah tilts her head, studying me over the rim of her cup. "You know what you could do? Run a search."
My stomach tightens. "What?"
"Mystery man from last night. You've got resources now, right? Databases and stuff. You could find him."
"Oh, my God. Will you stop with him? And no, I can't just run a search on someone, you doofus."
My response comes out sharper than I mean it to. My shoulders lift, and my grip tightens around the cup until the ceramic edge bites into my fingers.
Leah blinks. "I was kidding. Sort of."
"I know. But I can't." I force my hands to relax and set the cup down. "There are lines now. Oversight. I don't get to use professional resources for personal reasons. That's not who I want to be."
"Okay, okay, I hear you."
But her eyes linger on my face, reading something I don't want her to see. The truth is, I haven't stopped thinking about him, either. But there is no circumstance where I would try to find him using the FBI resources. If only I weren't such a rule-follower.
"Using an AI face recognizer online isn't a professional resource. Just saying."
I almost laugh, but my phone vibrates against the table first. I glance down to see a text from Nate.
Still on for our run tomorrow morning? 7 sharp.
"Nate?" Leah guesses.
"Yeah. Our usual Sunday run since he's going to be in town."
"Of course." She shakes her head, grinning. "You Mercers and your routines."
I pocket my phone and pull my laptop back open. "Routines work."
"If you say so."
The riverfront path stretches ahead, lined with oak trees that filter late-afternoon sun into dappled gold. My footsteps settle into a rhythm. Left, right, breathe. The noise in my head finally starts to quiet.
Nate runs beside me, breathing steadily, posture perfect even at mile three. He looks like he stepped out of a campaign ad with his athletic shorts that probably cost more than my car payment, moisture-wicking shirt in navy blue, and hair that somehow stays in place despite the humidity.
"Have you started your new position at the bureau yet?"
I adjust my pace to match his. "Not officially. Next week. I'm about to be really busy, but I'm excited about it."
"I'd expect nothing less. You've earned this, Quinn. Your track record speaks for itself. Caroline Mercer."
Heat blooms in my chest when he mentions my mom’s name. I wish she could see me now.
Nate's approval always means so much to me. And I love that he always keeps my mom front and center. He knows how much I miss her.
Nate is my first cousin on my dad's side, and we are the closest cousins in age. We're not only family, but we've been close friends, too, since we were babies.
He's also a US Senator, which makes him the pride of our family. The cornerstone promise of his campaign has been to revive our family's foundation supporting the veteran community.
"Thanks. I'm just trying not to screw it up."
"You won't." He glances over, and his smile is confident, certain. "You're exactly where you belong. Merit got you there. Service keeps you there. That's the Mercer way."
The Mercer way. The phrase wraps around me like armor. Purpose and legacy were drilled into us at an early age. The belief that we're built for something better than the ordinary chaos most people settle for.
We round the bend where the path splits toward the water. A couple walks their dog in the opposite direction, and Nate nods at them, the polite acknowledgment of someone who knows how to be seen without trying.
He was born to be a politician.
"You know," he drags out the oooo with his smooth drawl. "The Krewe of Argentum gala is coming up. It's a big one. We have several donors who are making our big move next month into the new office that will be there."
"Oh, fancy Senator Mercer, going to the exclusive Krewe of Argentum gala. Impressive."
"How about you come with me? I'd like them to meet you. Not to mention, it will be a fun night. It’s not every day you get a chance to go to that type of event.”
I slow my pace slightly, enough to look at him without breaking stride. "I don't do galas, Nate. I wear my Blundstone boots and cargos most days. I don’t care about fancy parties.”
He laughs warmly. "We can represent the foundation together. There's a good chance we could secure even more donations. Family, foundation, service, right?"
The words seamlessly fit, as though they were crafted for this specific instant. Harmless, meaningful. Something I can square with who I am and what I believe in.
Our grandfather started Southern Stars to support veterans. I've peripherally tried to keep it going, much smaller than its glory days. Nate promises to make it bigger than it ever was, which thrills me.
God, I don't want to go. Getting dressed up is akin to going to the dentist for me, but it's hard to turn down an invite to an exclusive party, especially when he qualifies it with the foundation.
"Nate, why are you doing this to me?"
"Hey, I'm just a poor guy going through a divorce. You don't want me to do it alone after my wife left me, do you?"
Twist the knife even further. He throws in his impending divorce and the family foundation as bait, and I'm a goner.
"If I have to wear heels, you owe me a charity tax deduction."
I can't believe I'm agreeing to this.
Nate's laugh comes easily as he bumps my shoulder with his. "It's going to be amazing. I promise."