Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (28 page)

Thirty-Eight

Quinn was disgusted with himself.  One tiny kiss, one small nod, a few pitying tears, and he’d turned into an animal.  He was
still
panting,
still
half-turned on, even though he’d been sated and even though he’d disentangled himself from her embrace.

He slunk across the room and sank into the armchair there.  He could feel her eyes on him, feel the hurt they exuded.

Fuck. What kind of person am I?
He didn’t like the answer.
The kind who’ll take his fix any way he can get it.

Forgetting that a dangerous as hell man was in the next room and satisfying his own need instead.  Ravaging Ginnie because she was as addictive as any drug.  Because he didn’t know if he would ever get another chance.  And quite simply…because she let him.

“Quinn?”

Her voice was wobbly.  Small.  Worried.  It dug straight into Quinn’s heart, and he couldn’t lift his eyes to meet hers. 

“I’m so sorry,” he managed to get out.

“Sorry?” she repeated.

“I know I don’t measure up. I can think of a hundred reasons why you were right about that. I lied by omission when I left out the stuff about knowing Jase, and I’m not rich or tied up in a pretty package. I know I’ll always have my past – hell, right now it’s even my present – making things darker, and I can’t change that. So I
am
sorry. But if you let me try, I think I could make you happy. I was a good man. Every day, I’d work on it. Work on us. Make you feel worshipped. Needed. You’d never want for anything, I promise you.”

He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

Christ. Any way he could get it, all right.

He hazarded a look at her face.  She still stood across the room, leaning a little on the wall.  Her green eyes were wide, her hair a wild mess, her lips swollen from his rough kisses and dropped open in surprise.  She was stunning, as always.

God, he loved her.  More than enough to warrant begging.

“Even if you’re going to say no to
me
, say yes to letting me get you out of here. I need to know you’re safe.”

For another long second, she stared at him silently.  Then her eyes flicked toward the door and Quinn remembered.

The money.

“However much it is…it’s not worth dying for,” he said softly.

“Quinn…What are you talking about?”

“Whatever you think he owes you financially.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Is that what you think I want?”

“Isn’t it what you
said
you wanted?”

She shook her head. “No. I mean, yes. I said that. But Quinn…I’m not here for Lawrence or his money.”

“You’re not?”

Hope buoyed Quinn’s heart, but it came crashing down when she spoke again.

“But I can’t say yes to you.”

“Please, Ginnie, just – ”

She cut him off. “I came here for you. Whatever mess Lawrence got you into when I overreacted and kicked you out…I’ve got to save you from it.”

Quinn felt his eyebrows shoot up, and his tongue came out to give his lip ring a single, solid tap. “Save me?”

Her cheeks went a bit pink. “It’s not as silly as it sounds.”

“Silly?” Quinn shook his head. “It’s not silly. It’s crazy as hell. You risked your life to save
me
? Why would you do that? You were free and clear.
You
were safe.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She took a deep, deep breath, squared her shoulders and set her beautiful eyes on his face. “I love you, Quinn. So I can’t leave until I’ve done what I came to do. And don’t try to fight me on it. You won’t win.”

“You…” He trailed off, stunned.

Saving him was preposterous.  But she wanted to.  Holy hell.  Quinn felt like a ton had been lifted from his shoulders.

My knight in soft, pink cotton.

At the thought, a tiny smile played on his lips.

Ginnie’s eyes narrowed.  Her chin was lifted defiantly and her hands were on her hips…And she fucking
loved
him.  In spite of it all. 

“Baby,” he said, but whatever else he’d been about to add was lost. 

The bedroom door flew open and Doctor Lawrence Douchebag Michaels burst in, shotgun in hand.  The desperate look was back on the other man’s face.  He glanced around the room wildly – looking for Liv, probably.  When he didn’t find her, his sights set on Ginnie, and he didn’t look happy.

This time, when the familiar, run-on sentence hit Quinn –
letmeatthatmotherfuckersoIcanbreakhisface –
he didn’t stop it from taking over his body.  He leaped from the chair, moved forward, and followed the motion through with his fist.

It was a good, clean punch.  A satisfyingly thorough shot.  As Quinn’s knuckles met Lawrence’s chin, the man went flying.  He crumpled to the floor in a stunned, barely conscious heap, and the gun slipped from his hands.  Quinn didn’t have time to relish taking the other man down, though.  Just as he reached down and his fingers closed on the weapon, PJ came limping in.  He had a black eye and a sour look on his face.

In one hand, he held a pistol.  And in the other…he held Quinn’s badge.

Shit. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s mine. Maybe he thought it was Lawrence’s. Maybe –

PJ held the badge out, cutting off Quinn’s uncharacteristically frantic thoughts.

“I believe this is yours,” he said casually, then cocked the pistol, far too casually.

Quinn remained motionless.  Expressionless, as PJ looked from Quinn to Ginnie to Lawrence’s still form, then back to Quinn.

“
Now
it makes sense,” the other man stated. “This thing isn’t about favors at all. It’s about a girl.”

Quinn adjusted his position, putting his body between PJ and Ginnie.  Between Ginnie and the gun.

“What’s the story, PJ?” he asked cautiously.

His former boss offered the badge again, and when Quinn didn’t take it, he shrugged and set the wallet on the dresser.  Then he sat in the armchair Quinn had recently vacated and rubbed at his bruised face with his free hand.  The other stayed gripped on the gun, and the gun stayed aimed at Quinn.

“Your ‘friend’ tried to rat you out.” He glanced down at Lawrence. “Guess you took care of punishing him for that. By the way, you can drop the gun any time, Mcdavid. Fucking thing’s not loaded anyway.”

Quinn didn’t let the claim affect him, and he made no move to let Ginnie out from behind him.  PJ noticed immediately.

“Her name’s Liv?” he asked.

Ginnie spoke up before he could stop her. “Genevieve Silver. Formerly Michaels.”

“Aha,” PJ said. “Married to the doctor who just tried to out your secret identity to me.”

“Yes,” Ginnie said.

“Hmm.” PJ turned his attention to Quinn again. “Married to him. But
you
love her.”

“More than my own life.”

“Well. Holy shit. This whole time, I thought you were an even more heartless bastard than I am.”

“Apparently not,” Quinn replied, then waited for his former boss to get to the point.

PJ sighed. “I have a confession to make. I’m not alone out here for fun. I’m in mourning.”

“All right,” Quinn replied. “I’ll bite. In mourning for…?”

“Myself. I’ve got six months. Fucking lung cancer. Never smoked a day in my life, but I guess my other vices more than made up for it.” The other man let out a short, bitter laugh. “You’re my one good thing, Quinn.”

“How do you figure?”

“Eight years ago, you walked in here with the same look on your face that you had today. Something to prove. Something to win. I’ve known you were a cop since the second I laid eyes on you.”

“If I
was
a cop – hypothetically,” Quinn said. “And – also hypothetically – if you knew it, why would you let me work for you all that time? And why let me go so easily at the end of it?”

“Hypothetically – why would I even let you
live
?” PJ countered agreeably.

“Hypothetically.”

“As far as letting you go…” PJ offered up a shrug. “I really
am
a self-centered bastard. My own life means that much to me. As far as the other stuff…You were different, Mcdavid. Most low level guys, they give off a desperate vibe when they’re trying to climb up the ladder. The ones who come in from the cop shop, they’re even worse. They all try to pretend like they’ve got nothing to lose and it’s all bullshit. It’s like I can smell it. Not you. No desperation. Like you really
did
have nothing to lose. At the beginning, I admit, I thought I could use you. Counter intelligence, maybe. Then I got to know you, and damn if I didn’t actually like you. And you were fiercely loyal to me from the get-go. To the Black Daggers, too. I’ve thought about that a lot over the last few days. A good man, maybe a bit damaged. Was that an act?”

Quinn was careful not to glance behind him as he made the admission. “No. It wasn’t an act.”

PJ made a satisfied noise. “Why?”

Quinn hesitated.

Now or never.

This was the true reason he wasn’t good enough for Ginnie.  The true reason he knew he could never fit tidily into a box.  But honesty was his only chance of getting them out alive.  Quinn could feel it.

And she loves you.

He latched onto the sincerity in her voice, the certainty in her face when she’d said it. He used it to shove aside his self-doubt.

Then he closed his eyes and spoke slowly. “I was alone. Lonely. My parents were dead. The drunk driver who killed them got off on a technicality. I couldn’t connect with anyone at the academy. Even my training officers knew I didn’t fit the mold. When I went undercover… The guys inside the Black Daggers didn’t care if I was hurting. They didn’t pity me or worry that I might snap. I was accepted. For the first time in forever. I still did the police work. I still reported when I had to and had guys arrested. But…”

“Things weren’t black and white.”

“Exactly.”

“We gave you a fucking purpose. Something to lose. And that, my friend, is why you’re my good thing. And the less self-centered reason I had for letting you go. Thought maybe you’d put a little good into the world.”

PJ focused his gaze just to Quinn’s right, his eyes on Ginnie, who’d come around and placed a hand on Quinn’s elbow.

“So now you know it all,” PJ said. “And do you still love him?”

“I do.” There was zero hesitation in Ginnie’s reply. “It might even be
why
I love him.”

“The doctor’s wife on the outside,” PJ commented thoughtfully. “But not on the inside.” PJ shot a decisive look Quinn’s way. “
Now
we’re close to square.”

For a second, relief flooded Quinn’s body.  Then Lawrence groaned from his spot on the floor, and Quinn remembered that the doctor had an outstanding debt to pay, too.

Ginnie spoke again, and it was obvious that she remembered as well. “Do you like the Bahamas, PJ?”

“I don’t hate them,” PJ replied.

Ginnie smiled. “Because I know a guy whose got a house there. And I know a guy who can make it yours.”

PJ smiled.  Then he picked up Quinn’s badge again and held it out.  When Quinn took it, PJ flipped the gun around and offered that to him, too, butt-end first.  After just a moment, he took the weapon.  It was a sign of trust.  And a perfect representation of Quinn himself.

One unregistered gun and one symbol of justice.

He had a feeling that PJ knew it, too.

His former boss offered him a nod, then turned back to Ginnie, his smile widening.

“Keep talking. And don’t scrimp on the white sand.”

And Quinn finally felt like he could breathe again.

Thirty-Nine

The Humvee rode smoothly along the desert highway, the light of Vegas beckoning closer and closer.  Quinn was quiet, and the only noise came from the backseat, where a very bruised and very sullen Doctor Lawrence Michaels muttered the occasional semi-conscious curse.

It was Ginnie who spoke first.

“Did that really just happen?”

“Did what really just happen?” Quinn’s reply was far too innocent.

“Did we really just uses my brother’s illegal hacking skills to steal my former husband’s house, then trade it to a terminally ill drug dealer for our lives and a big, ugly truck?”

“Oh. Well.” He kept his eyes on the windshield, but Ginnie spied a little smile. “The truck isn’t
that
ugly.”

Ginnie rolled her eyes. “What are we going to do with Lawrence?”

Quinn’s smile grew dark. “What are my options?”

“You already gave him a black eye,” Ginnie pointed out. “And I did steal his house, so…”

“We can drop him in a hotel then. Maybe even a three-star.”

“And call the real Liv?”

“If you think she
wants
to be called.”

“I think she does.”

“You think so?”

“She loves him.”

“And love makes you crazy?”

“Definitely.”

***

She sounded so damned sure that Quinn knew she meant it.  Not just for Dr. Douchebag and Liv, either.

That’s it.

He yanked on the wheel, hard.

Ginnie let out a surprised shriek that made him grin as he turned toward her.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?”

“Marry me.”

She blinked, those green eyes sweetly puzzled, sweetly overwhelmed. “Quinn...”

“Now.”

“Right this second?”

“Yes. You’ve got the white dress and we’re a mile in any direction from an Elvis impersonator. Hopefully one without visible butt crack.”

“Ew. And the dress is
pink,
not white.”

“Semantics.”

“Colors aren’t sem – ”

“Marry me.”

“You’re crazy.”

Quinn grinned. “Just like you said. That’s what love does. Makes people crazy. And quite honestly, Genevieve, I don’t want to hear Leila the ticket agent call you
Mrs. Michaels
one more time.”

Ginnie smiled back. “That makes two of us.”

“So…”

She offered him an exaggerated sigh. “And I guess eloping would be better than hearing Jase tell the story of how we met during his best man speech.”

“Is that a yes?”

Ginnie’s face grew serious. “Are you sure about this?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything. I love you, Genevieve.”

He saw her little shiver, and he knew he had her.