Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (24 page)

Thirty-Two

Quinn eased his back away from the hallway wall of the hotel room he’d shared with Ginnie for the last two days.  Some of the best hours of his life.  He’d been standing there for a good ten minutes, furious as hell, fighting the underlying hurt.

The pain in his chest was overwhelming, the crush of everything under his ribcage threatening to suffocate him.  He tried to latch onto the anger, tried to hold it and use it as a shield against the burn of rejection, tried to use it as fuel for the fire of hatred.

But he couldn’t hate her.  Her words, the sting they left, his own insecurity brought to life…those he could hate.  But Ginnie?  Hell, no.  He was man enough to know that if he hated her, he wouldn’t care so fucking much about what she thought of him.  And apparently, what she thought of him was so very little.

She has to be lying. Has to be.

Unless she wasn’t. 

Because wasn’t he the one who’d told himself that
not
sharing his connection with Jase was a bad idea, one that would piss her off and hurt her and jeopardize everything? And hadn’t he also been the one who’d said he wasn’t good enough?  The one who’d pointed out that his past would shape him, haunt him, not just right then, but always?  All Ginnie had done was realize it, too.  Or maybe she’d simply known all along and just needed an opportune moment to throw it in his face. 

So why can’t I move away from this wall?

He realized he’d pressed himself back into it, his hands flat against the wallpaper, wondering desperately what she was doing on the other side.  He closed his eyes and let himself imagine her soft cheek pressed to the door, her thoughts on him, too.

No.

Even if she
was
lying…it didn’t matter.  In fact, it was worse.  It meant she took what would hurt him most and used it anyway.  He didn’t need that kind of bullshit in his life.  He didn’t need
any
kind of bullshit.

Quinn pushed himself away again, this time a little more forcefully.  As he did, the familiar cock of a gun made him freeze.  And he found himself staring into the crazed eyes of Dr. Lawrence Michaels.

Calm. Keep it calm.

Quinn repeated the mantra to himself and held very still.

The man across from him was clearly unstable.  Possibly still drunk. 

Or maybe drunk
again
.

Most importantly, he had the weapon trained on the hotel door, right where Quinn had pictured Ginnie just moments earlier, his finger on the trigger.  Any tiny move, any tiny slip…No.  Quinn wouldn’t let himself consider it.  No matter how badly he was itching to flatten the other man.  Because he’d recognized the look on the doctor’s face for what it was. 

Desperation. 

Reason and hope had been pushed aside, and the man might not be crazy, but he clearly believed he had nothing to lose.  Quinn had underestimated the man once before.  Now that he knew why, he wasn’t going to do it again.

Calm. Keep it calm.

But try as he might, his words – spoken low enough to not be accidentally overheard by anyone behind any door – betrayed his true feelings. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t jump you, take that gun, and shoot you with it right now.”

Lawrence smiled. “Just because you
look
stupid doesn’t mean I believe you
are
stupid. We both know you won’t jump me. I’m one little bump away from firing. Do you know where she is in the room?”

Both of Quinn’s hands balled up into fists.  The idea of the other man lying in bed with Ginnie made him sick to his stomach.  And the thought of him accidentally firing at her…There weren’t words for that particular emotion.

He forced himself to keep an even tone.  “Let’s move this conversation out of the hall. Have a discussion where an accident is less likely.”

“And lose my one bit of leverage?
I’m
not stupid either.”

Quinn gritted his teeth.
Leverage? She’s a fucking
person.

“Dr. Michaels,” he said stiffly. “I give you my word that I won’t lay a finger on you. My only condition is Ginnie’s safety.”

Lawrence gave him a considering look, then – very, very slowly – he moved the barrel of the gun to Quinn, who never thought he’d be so relieved to have a pistol pointed at his chest.

Thank god.

“What is it you want, Dr. Michaels?” Quinn asked, and he braced himself for the answer.

Don’t let him say Ginnie. If he says he wants her back, I’ll – What? Risk her
life just to keep her? No. Hand her over like a commodity? She’s not even mine to –

His thoughts cut off as the other man spoke. “Relax, Mr. Mcdavid. All I need from you is a favor.”

Quinn tapped his lip ring and narrowed his eyes.  Favors came with a price.  Always.

“What kind of favor?” he replied cautiously.

“You have to come with me to Las Vegas.”

“What the hell for?”

“I want you to help me broker a business deal.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Dr. Michaels, but the very last thing I am is a businessman.”

Lawrence smiled. “Quinn Mcdavid, former member of the Black Daggers. Small-time drug dealer for a mid-level gang. Up close and personal with that gang’s number one man. You’re the exact kind of businessman I’m looking for.”

“What kind of – ” Quinn cut himself off mid-sentence as his mind – one-part experienced criminal, one-part trained cop – made the only logical jump. “
You’re
selling drugs.”

“I prefer to think of it as repaying a debt. Creatively.” The other man paused, then added. “PJ James.”

Quinn saw no point in denying his association with his former boss.  Dr. Douchebag obviously had that part of his past locked down already. For all Quinn knew, PJ himself had shared the information.

“What about him?” he asked.

“A while back, I ran into some trouble. Gambling debt. An associate of PJ’s, as it happens. And PJ, well, he’s the one with the creativity.”

Debts and collections.  Yeah, those made the man creative all right.

“What are you asking me to do?”

The asshole doctor shrugged. “Simple. Intervene on my behalf. Explain to your former boss that I didn’t intentionally lose his prescription pads. Then ask him to forgive the debt.”

Quinn resisted an urge to roll his eyes.  PJ was a lot of things.  Being forgiving sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

“You seem to have missed the significance of the word
former,
” he said. “I severed my ties to PJ and the Black Daggers a long time ago.”

“Un-sever them.”

“It doesn’t work like that. Jumped out is jumped out.”

“My understanding is that you took a bullet to get out. Is it going to take another to convince you to get back in?”

Something in Quinn’s gut twisted.  How the hell did the man know the specifics of his circumstances?  He opened his mouth to ask, but another guest ambled past with an ice bucket and a friendly wave, forcing a temporary silence.  Lawrence shoved the gun into his coat pocket, but Quinn could still see the outline, see that it was still trained on him.  Would the other man fire with an innocent stranger in the hall?

Probably.

Quinn wasn’t going to chance it, either way.  He waited until the sleepy-eyed man had filled the bucket and strolled away before he brought his attention back to Lawrence, who drew the weapon out and started talking again.

“I did the math,” the other man said. “Conservatively speaking, those prescriptions Ginnie lost were worth a half a million dollars.”

Quinn worked to keep his face impassive.  Inside, he was cursing the doctor’s sheer stupidity.  Repeatedly and loudly.  A half a million dollars wasn’t something PJ James would walk away from. 

He barely managed to keep the growl from his voice as he replied. “You’re still a licensed physician, right? Make some more money, or get some more prescriptions.”

“Not a chance of the latter. I reported those prescription pads stolen. Five of them. That’s five
hundred
fucking sheets. Nothing puts a doctor on police radar faster. If I reported
more
missing…” He shrugged. “And as far as the former is concerned, the bastard will just keep extorting me, won’t he?”

Quinn couldn’t deny it. “Pick option C then. Jail time sounds a hell of a lot safer than whatever
creative
punishment PJ’s gonna hand out for not paying him or for refusing to go along with his plan.”

“You think he couldn’t get to me in there anyway?” Lawrence shook his head. “I’m not going to jail and I’m not paying him back, either. Because you
are
going to help me.”

“And if I don’t agree, you’ll do what? Go to jail for murder instead?”

“No. If you don’t help me, I’m going to turn you in.”

Quinn gave the other man an incredulous stare. “For
what
?”

“You should be more concerned with
to whom
.”

Quinn’s eyes flicked to the hotel room door. “She already knows who I was.”

“I don’t mean to
her
,” Lawrence said. “I mean to PJ.”

Quinn’s blood went cold, but he maintained his steely mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your real job, Mr. Mcdavid.”

“I still don’t know what – ”

“Cut the bullshit.”

The doctor reached into his pocket, and what he pulled out was far worse than the gun.

My retirement badge. Oh, Christ.

The leather wallet dropped open mockingly, its gold sending an accusing, invisible shot straight to Quinn’s stomach.

“Where the hell did you get that?” he demanded.

Lawrence gave another of his irritatingly nonchalant shrugs. “Your coat pocket. Saw it sticking out while I was with Ginnie in the elevator yesterday, so I grabbed it.”

The goddamned elevator. The kiss. Motherfucker.

Quinn drew back a fist and launched it halfway at Lawrence before he stopped himself, shouting internally that the man in front of him held his life in the balance.  His.  And Ginnie’s.

Dr. Douchebag smiled like he knew it too. “Took me a bit to figure all this out, so bear with me here. A couple of weeks back, my benefactor – PJ James – casually mentions a man who saved his life – Quinn Mcdavid – and it strikes me as familiar, but I can’t place why. I don’t even bother to try, if I’m being honest. I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate. A recent split from my wife. An insatiable girlfriend. And the doctor stuff.” He chuckled. “Believe it or not, that takes up some time, too. So, I let it go. Fast forward to Friday when you say your name on the plane and again, it rings a bell, but I’m with my girl and your face isn’t familiar. Then I found the badge and it
hits
me. I was
at
the hospital that day they brought you in, Mcdavid. Hell of a situation. Cops made a big show of locking you to the bed even though you were unconscious and lucky to be alive. I remember it well because I was sweating bullets with all that blue around. I’d just done a few not-entirely-legal things in the name of online poker and well, that doesn’t matter. Because it was
you
. No doubt about it.”

“It’s a stretch,” Quinn lied, his voice strained.

Lawrence shook his head. “Tell yourself what you have to. But I guarantee you this. PJ’s not going think it’s a stretch. Not enough of one that he doesn’t look into it anyway. And when he finds out it’s true, he’s going to get creative again. Probably with Ginnie.”

Quinn’s nails dug so hard into his palms that he was sure he was drawing blood.  No part of him wanted to admit the other man was right.

Except he is.

Quinn took a steadying breath and forced his fist to uncurl.  PJ was a ruthless bastard.  He’d want to make Quinn suffer for the betrayal.  But he owed him his life, too, and wouldn’t straight up kill him.  That kind of twisted logic was what made PJ tick. But hurting Ginnie – the one person Quinn cared about – was the gangster-logical thing to do, and he knew it.

So just kill Lawrence.

Quinn shoved down the dark suggestion.  He might have a lot of gray parts in his soul, and more than his share of black ones too, but he wasn’t a coldblooded killer.

“Vegas,” he agreed gruffly. “On two conditions.”

“Are you really in a place to ask for conditions?”

Quinn ignored the other man’s smug reply.

“One, I want my badge back,” he said. “And two, after this is done, you walk away and you stay the hell away from Ginnie. No calling in later favors, no showing up at the door looking for help, no telling her I helped you out of your fuck-up. Or I promise you, I’ll show you how creative
I
can be.”

“You get your badge when it’s done,” the asshole replied, sticking the wallet back in his pocket. “And you don’t get to tell her anything either.”