Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) (8 page)

Ginnie scanned the crowd, automatically seeking out Lawrence.  It only took a second to find him.  There he was, the brunette wrapped around him, her face pressed into his neck.  And he was looking right at Ginnie.  And her unwelcome entourage.

Immediately, Ginnie’s face flamed.  A smile – visible even from the distance between – tipped up her former husband’s mouth, making Ginnie’s feet begin to drag.  Then they stopped moving completely once again. 

The guard on her arm gave her a little pull, but she couldn’t make herself respond.  He shoved her a bit harder, making Ginnie’s feet slip.

And a snarl from Quinn let her know that at last he’d reacted. 

Ten

Truthfully, Quinn had been holding in his fury and frustration since the second the short, stout man named Gilligan had grabbed him. 

Not because the man wore a gun he could probably yield, and not because TSA was the shit at the airport – and they were probably
more
than the shit at this tiny terminal – and sure as hell not because he was scared of any of them.

It was something more refined.

Professional courtesy. Respect.

Simple as that.

Even though it sucked to be hauled from the plane.  Even though he hated the way the passengers were scrutinizing them as it happened.  Even though the other man’s hand on Ginnie’s arm was making him crazy, he
continued
to hold it in.  He’d decided to wait until they got inside, wait until they were out of the public eye, then speak to them calmly.  Like colleagues.  Like equals.  Work out just what the hell was going on.  He knew he’d have an easier time of convincing them to tell him if he played nice.

But Quinn didn’t get a chance to follow through on his plan.  Halfway across the tarmac, he saw the guard shove Ginnie, and the girl stumbled.

What the hell?

It was too much.  His self-restraint and his training could only take him so far before protective instinct took over. 

Yeah, it was stupid and reckless.  Yeah, it was get-yourself-shot-in-the-ass-worthy. 

Quinn knew it and he didn’t care. 

Instead, he let emotion rule, allowed it to guide his actions as he spun away from the half-assed hold his own guard had on his arm and dove toward the man holding Ginnie.

In a heartbeat, Quinn had him pulled close to his body, had his gun out of his holster, and had dropped the weapon to the icy ground. 

Not so tough now, are you, jackass?

His smugness at his own quick move only lasted a moment.  A click behind him told him that one of the other guards had drawn a gun, and the little whimper from Ginnie told him the man must have it trained in his direction.  Then a rough grip closed on his collar and yanked him off.

The first guard – Gilligan – spoke in a low, measured tone, right at Quinn’s ear. “We’re a small town, and right now we have an audience. Not to mention that half those nitwits watching us also probably have their cell phones on video mode. I don’t want the bad publicity, so I’m not going to consider firing. But
you
don’t want to try my goodwill, either, so you’re going to step
back
from Mr. Jones, you’re going to step
between
Mr. Riles and Mr. Farisi, and the three of you are going to walk into the airport.
I
will
take Mrs. Michaels in separately. Are we clear?”

The man’s use of the word
I
instead of the word
we
placated Quinn.  At least for the moment.  So long as Jones-the-Asswipe kept his hands off of Ginnie.

“Are we clear?” Gilligan repeated.

“Clear,” he agreed gruffly.

Quinn stepped back, cursed his unusual lack of control, and shot Ginnie an apologetic look.  Whatever was going on was likely his fault.  She was holding very still, her face a mask of impassivity, an emotional wall up.

Shit.

Quinn tried to take a step toward her and Gilligan held him in place.  Quinn automatically bucked against being restrained, and when he tried to yank himself away, the other man slapped a pair of cuffs onto his wrists.  Tight.  Then he pushed Quinn to the snowy ground and shot him a frown.

“Dr. Michaels,” Gilligan said calmly. “I thought you told me we were clear.”

Quinn flipped his head toward the other man.

“I’m not Dr. Michaels,” he snapped.

For the first time, the guard looked a little put out. “You’re not Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence Michaels?”

“Do I look like a fucking doctor?” Quinn countered.

“In my business, experience has taught me that looks are often deceiving,” Gilligan replied.

Then Ginnie spoke up. “I’m Genevieve Michaels. But Quinn’s not my husband.”

Why the hell did those words make Quinn want to punch something?  Why did the tremor of embarrassment in her voice make him feel so furious?

“You wanna tell me who you
actually
are, then?” Gilligan asked.

“Nobody, apparently,” Quinn muttered, just barely shy of bitter.

Gilligan sighed irritably, then nodded toward one of the other officers, who moved forward to reach into Quinn’s pocket and pull out his wallet.  He held it open for Gilligan, who scanned it.  His eyes went from Quinn to the ID, then back again.

“All right,” he said with another sigh. “Mr.
Mcdavid
, you’re with Fasiri and Mrs. Michaels is with me. Jones and Riles, you can head back to your stations.”

As the senior officer stepped close to Fasiri to issue some hushed instructions, Quinn’s eyes sought Ginnie.  Her expression was now completely unreadable, and she refused to look at him.

“I’ll fix this,” Quinn vowed. “I’ll sort it out and find you.”

As soon as the promise was out of his mouth, he realized he meant it.  He had to protect her.  Far more than he had to keep his commitment to Jase.  Quinn was damned sure that he was directly responsible for the stiff way Ginnie held herself.  The fiasco in the bathroom was his fault, and he was determined to undo it.  As soon as possible.

Then the guard assigned to handle Quinn finished speaking to Gilligan, grabbed the cuffs and pulled him to his feet, then slapped his hand onto the back of Quinn’s neck, and began to guide him roughly across the remainder of the tarmac.  He didn’t release him, even when they were well-within the terminal.  Instead, he led Quinn through the airport and past the little crowd gathered there.  Then kept going even farther.  Across the dated linoleum floor, wide around the baggage carousel, and all the way to a corridor marked
Emergency Exit
in bold red letters.  They took a few steps into the hall, then finally stopped.

Quinn’s anger dissipated into momentary confusion, and he frowned. “What the hell is this?”

“Waiting on instructions,” Fasiri told him.

“Here?”

“I just do what I’m told.” Then the guard snapped his mouth shut and focused his gaze anywhere but Quinn.

Conversation over.

Quinn tapped his lip ring, frustration nearly overriding common sense once again.  He’d been on both ends of this deal before, and he knew the stoic-faced guard wouldn’t be budging on his silence any time soon.

If it was Jones-the-Asswipe…

That would’ve been a different story.  Self-important people like that guy – criminal
or
cop – could be goaded into giving away almost anything.  It almost made Quinn wish Gilligan had sent the hothead with him instead of Fasiri.

Just a minute or two went by, and then a nervous-looking flight attendant approached them, Quinn’s bag in tow.  She set it down, then hurried away.  Quinn’s eyes flicked from his luggage to the retreating woman’s back, then to the guard.

They’re letting you go.

Which made no sense.  Quinn’s frown deepened and he bit his lip hard enough to hurt.

“What the
hell
is this?” he repeated, sounding as puzzled as he felt.

“This is us, keeping our town safe.”

The statement came from behind Quinn, and he spun to see that Gilligan had joined them again.  He stood just a couple of feet away, his arms crossed.

He was noticeably alone.  No Ginnie.  No Jones-the-Asswipe, either.

Worry spiked Quinn’s temper and his jaw tightened. “Where the  – ”

Gilligan cut him off. “Relax, Mcdavid. Mr. Jones is still occupied, and Mrs. Michaels is in holding, supervised by one of our female TSA officers.”

“She’s – what?”

Gilligan inclined his head toward the other guard, and Fasiri took his silent order in stride, disappearing back up the corridor.  Once they were out of sight, the stocky agent dropped his arms and moved so that his body blocked the way back into the main part of the terminal.

“Mrs. Michaels is going to be questioned in regards to some items in her baggage.
You
on the other hand, are being escorted to the hotel.”

“She’s not really
Mrs. Michaels,
” Quinn corrected irritably, clueing in for the first time that whatever this was, it might have little to do with him. “She’s
Miss
Silver. And there’s no way in hell she has anything questionable in her bags.”

“You know her well?”

Quinn considered lying, then thought better of it.  He was dug in far enough.  No need to hand the TSA a shovel.

“No,” he replied. “We actually just met.”

“So you weren’t travelling together, then?”

“Not officially.”

“Unofficially?”

“I thought you weren’t holding me.”

“We’re not.” Gilligan’s voice remained impassive, but he also showed no sign of letting Quinn go by.

“So you’re not holding me, but you’re questioning me?”

Gilligan echoed Quinn’s own words. “Not officially.”

“And you’re not going to let me talk to her?”

“No.”

Quinn ran a frustrated hand over the buzz-cut side of his head. “What the hell could you possibly want with her?”

“Do you know her husband?”

“
Former
husband. And also no.”

What the hell did that douchebag have to do with this particular situation anyway?

Gilligan wasn’t telling him. “Those tattoos of yours…They have a special meaning? The knife, maybe?”

Quinn refused to allow himself to lift his hand to cover the dagger on his wrist.  There was no shame in the life that he’d lived.  Everything he’d done had been in pursuit of justice.

“Don’t worry. I’m retired,” he stated.

“I’m aware. And if I believed that you posed a threat, I wouldn’t be ushering you out the door.”

“Then why
are
you trying to get rid of me?”

Gilligan shrugged. “I’m thorough. I have good access to records. And yours tells me your loyalties are skewed, your temper is hot, and keeping you around would just plain be a bad idea.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes.  Was the man implying he knew something about his undercover role?

Unlikely. But also not the point of this conversation,
he reminded himself.

“Where’s Ginnie?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose any further information, Mr. Mcdavid.”

“Of course you aren’t,” Quinn muttered, then added, “Who
is
at liberty?”

“No one.”

“Then I’m staying right here until you’re done with her.”

The TSA officer sighed, showing his first true sign of impatience. “Listen to me, Mr. Mcdavid. You may think you landed your ass in some Podunk town and that I’m some hick cop with little to no authority over you, but you’re wrong. Just the fact that you laid a hand on one of my colleagues give me reasonable cause to toss you in lockup.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time behind bars,” Quinn retorted.

Gilligan crossed his arms and said softly, “No. But it would be the first time you were behind bars and your
roommates
were aware of your actual occupation. And we don’t have a big place here. Just a wide open cell. Wanna guess how long you’d last in there once they found out how little allegiance you have to that tattoo of yours?”

So the man did know about the police work.  And about Quinn’s association with the gang.  He was eight steps ahead of everyone else, then.

How had he found out?  The records were sealed.

Then a very recent, very irresponsible memory crashed down on Quinn.

The ticket agent. The goddamned retirement-issue badge.

Right.  Quinn had whipped it out – and not in a flash-her-from-behind-a-trench-coat kinda way either. 

Shit. Yet again.

Quinn knew perfectly well how convicts dealt with cops, and he sure as hell didn’t have a death wish. 

Could he leave Ginnie, though?  Even to protect himself?  Not that he’d be any good to her if he was bleeding out on a concrete floor in some small-town jail.

The bigger question was…Would this guy
actually
rat him out?  He didn’t have the high-on-power vibe that Jones-the-Asswipe gave off, but he was quietly authoritative.  More genuine.

Yeah, he’d turn you in,
Quinn decided as he examined the other man’s cool expression.
But he might feel bad about it.

Which Quinn could relate to. 

Damn.

This thing with Ginnie, a girl he barely knew, was throwing him the curviest of curve balls.  He opened his mouth to tell Gilligan he would take his chances, but the other man beat him to it.