Sloe Ride (22 page)

The detective reared his head up, his shoulders thrown back, then replied, “We’re not here about me, Morgan. I’m here because I need to verify your alibi for the time of LeAnne Walker’s murder—”

“You think I killed her?” Quinn didn’t realize he’d stood until he found himself eye to eye with the tall detective. “You think
I
did
that
? Why? Who the
hell
would—”

“Detective Morgan’s pointed out a recent string of unfortunate events happening around you, and I’ve got to wonder if he’s clouded his judgment because you’re his brother,” Ziortza replied hotly. “Lots of chaos seems to be following you, Morgan, and no one’s bringing up your less than stable mental state—”

“
Fuck you
.” Quinn stepped up into Ziortza’s face, snarling as he spoke. “I will
not
be stigmatized because some fucking mouth breather of a cop’s got some issues. There’s nothing wrong with me. I might be wired a little bit different, but I’m not
wrong
, Detective, so you can take that badge you’re wearing and shove it up your ass—”

“Hey, Q, rein it in.” Kane hooked his arm around Quinn’s waist to pull him back. “Ziortza, step off. You’re over the line.”

“Let me tell you what’s over the line, Detective,” Ziortza spat. “I’m looking at a dead young girl cut apart like she was a piece of meat, and I’m seeing your brother over here with a history of mental shit. You’re telling me I’m stupid for looking at him for this?”

“Yeah, I’m telling you you’re stupid.” Kane’s words were icy drops on Ziortza’s heat. “Quinn’s alibi is solid. Which you’d know if you hadn’t walked the fuck away.”

“Shaky. Liver temps are iffy, so don’t give me this shit about TOD. I know we’ve got cut security feeds, and your boy here is already tangled up in one investigation where his brother’s the primary.” The detective ticked his points off on his fingers. “I did some sniffing before I got on scene, and wouldn’t you know, the college pushed hard back on me when I started to poke around a certain leave of absence Morgan took when he had issues with another teacher here, a Professor Kappelhoff.

“Tie that in with the mental issues some birdie dropped into my ear about your brother and the fact Kappelhoff was carved up a few days ago. I’m perfectly within my rights to be looking at Doctor Morgan,
Detective
. Or are you primary on the Kappelhoff case just so no one
will
look at your brother?”

“I went to Ireland.” Quinn spoke up. “If you’d asked, you’d have found out I’d been planning to go to Ireland
with
Simon. I wanted him to meet my gran and the rest of the family. He didn’t want to go. Hell, he didn’t even want people to know he was dating me or that I was gay. It’s why I broke it off with him. We didn’t want the same things.”

“It was a loud and ugly breakup. Cops were called.” Ziortza’s sneer stretched over his face, a parody of a clown’s grin over a scarecrow’s face. “And there was your brother, Kane. Already picking up the pieces. I skimmed the report. The incident at your house could have been staged so when you did Kappelhoff, it would look like you’re at the center of a shit storm.”

“And I somehow murdered LeAnne in the twenty minutes I had between seeing my last student and calling the cops?” Quinn held his hands out, showing the detective his fingers. “No way I could have done that and stayed this clean. Unless I changed my clothes and scrubbed down? It takes me five minutes to brush my
teeth
. God, I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Sounds like you spent more time digging crap up on my brother than you did the victim or Quinn’s schedule,” Kane muttered, shifting his feet apart. “Your partner’s talking to the students he saw before he walked down here. The two students manning the hall’s info desk said he passed by them and said hello about ten minutes before he hit 911 up. Figure in the minute or two he used to call
me
because he was rattled. That would have given him eight minutes to walk down here—a pretty long stretch even at a full jog—kill Ms. Walker, arrange her on the car, and then clean up after himself.”

“He’s smart—”

“Smart doesn’t equal speedy. And yeah, I love my brother, but having shared a fucking bathroom with him growing up, I can tell you Quinn does
not
do speedy in a shower—especially since the closest one to the structure is on the second floor of the hall behind us.” Kane ground his teeth. A deep, rumbling engine drew Kane’s head up, and his eyes followed the progress of a vintage Chevelle cruising up to the edge of the police barricade. “What the fuck? What’s he doing here?”

“I called him.” Quinn shook off Kane’s hand. “Are we done here? Because I can’t—I need to get some space from this.”

“Don’t decide to take any trips out of the country just yet, Morgan,” Ziortza ordered, stabbing a finger at Quinn’s chest. “I’m not done with you yet. Either of you.”

“Morgan!” Sanchez called out over the short wall. “Kane! Not you, Quinn. ME wants to talk to you. Bring Ziortza if he can break himself away from his witch hunt over there.”

“Fucking unprofessional assholes.” Ziortza shot Quinn one last warning look, then ambled up the slight rise to the parking structures.

“Go someplace and wait for me, or tell Rafe to be useful and take you back to my place.” Kane pressed Quinn’s phone into his hand. “I’ll call you when it’s time to leave. They’re going to impound the car for Evidence. College is probably going to want you to take a leave of absence whether you want one or not. There’s going to have to be some damage control.”

“I didn’t kill her, Kane.” Quinn grasped his older brother’s arm, squeezing gently. “I
didn’t
.”

“I know that. They do too. It’s just how things are, Q-bert,” Kane reassured him. “Just don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of you.”

“But I don’t want you to take care of me,” Quinn grumbled loudly as his brother walked away.

In the waning hours of the afternoon, Rafe Andrade looked like a god coming through the fading sun to find him. A very disreputable god with dirty-blond hair pulled back from a strong, handsome face and wearing a pair of torn and stained jeans barely on the side of wearable, but a god just the same. Earthy and sensual, he’d moved quickly through the blockade of people, murmuring something good enough to get him through Sam the security guard’s tightly held perimeter. Kane’s frown pushed his eyebrows into a thick storm over his blue eyes, and Quinn spat at him, a hard Gaelic reproach.

“
Damnú ort
, Kane. Don’t be a dick. I don’t need anyone—”

“Hope that doesn’t include me, babe, because I’m pretty sure I broke a few laws of physics to get here.” Rafe smiled as he jogged up to Quinn’s side. “How are you doing, Q?”

“You—you’re different. Kane can go to hell, for all I care right now.” Quinn let himself be folded into Rafe’s arms, reveling in the heat he’d been longing for. Rafe smelled of sweat, sugar, and weariness, but Quinn held on tight, wishing he could fall into Rafe’s body and stay there until all of the shadows lapping at his feet went away. “Gods, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, I got you. Tell me what’s going on,” Rafe muttered into Quinn’s hair, slowly letting him go. He didn’t go far, about an arm’s length away with his hands resting on Quinn’s hips. “What happened?”

The more he told Rafe, the harder Quinn had to fight to keep his stomach where it belonged. Halfway through, his knees gave out, and Rafe caught him, easing them both down to the bench. He got to the anger he felt when Ziortza accused him of murder when Rafe pulled Quinn back into a tight hug.

“Fucker. What a fucking asshole.”

Rafe’s hug tightened, and Quinn nearly squeaked from his lungs being squeezed out of his throat. Loosening his embrace, Rafe muttered an apology.

“I’m glad you called me. Fuck this.”

“I don’t want to deal with Kane. Call me a chickenshit, but I just… can’t,” Quinn confessed. “No way the dealer’s going to give me another car after this, so I’ll be stuck in that damned brick box until I get a rental. And I am fixated on that instead of blowing my mind apart about LeAnne. What is wrong with me? Might as well put me in a straitjacket.”

“Okay, what have you got over at Miki and Kane’s place?” Rafe asked.

“Clothes, books, and well, Harley.”

“The cat, right?”

“Yeah, she’s a cat. Mostly,” Quinn amended. “Why?”

“Think the Chevelle can hold all of it?” Rafe let Quinn go to eye his car. “Trunk’s huge. The amp’s up against the firewall, so that’s not an issue. Couple of boxes maybe? Suitcases?”

“And a kennel. Harley’s cat litter box.” Quinn cocked his head. “Again, why?”

“Because you, magpie of mine, are going to come live with me for a bit.” Rafe stood, tugging Quinn to his feet. “I’m your only hope.”

Quinn’s already abused stomach lurched, and his tongue swelled, sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Um, the cat… and Kane… shit, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of Kane.” Rafe nodded to the parking lot where a large black Hummer rumbled past the police cars. “Better decide fast, ’cause I think once Connor and your dad get here, chances of them letting you do anything other than breathe hysterically into a paper bag are slim to none. You up for it?”

Connor swung out of the Hummer, and Quinn nearly bit through his tongue when he saw his father get out of the car’s passenger-side door. The light struck Donal’s badge, winking at Quinn as Donal authoritatively strode through the packs of uniforms clustered at the parking structure’s main entrance. Quinn gave himself three minutes at most before he was bundled up like a stray and tossed into the back of Connor’s Hummer where the family could keep an eye on him.

He was tired of his family’s swaddling. As much as he loved them, Quinn was sick of their coddling, nudging, and eggshell walking whenever something ruffled him. It was a mutual game of do not wake the baby whenever he was near, and the murders only kicked their protectiveness into overdrive. He needed space—to think, to breathe—and if Kane and the others got their way, he wouldn’t be able turn around without banging his elbow on someone he was related to.

Enough was enough, and Rafe was waiting for him to say something—anything—to the offer he’d made to give Quinn what he needed the most.

“Yeah, sure.” Quinn nodded curtly. “Just let me go pack up my cat, and I’m all yours.”

Gator sausage, dirty rice

Johnny Lee begging not to go

Cheap ass whiskey sours

Getting ready for the show

Can’t think of you right now, baby

Can’t remember the taste of your lips

Made you a few promises

Shook those off when she rattled her hips

Hope you don’t go thinkin’

I’m the man for you

Not worth your time or money

’Cause I’m looking for something new

—
Bad Dog Blues

R
AFE
’
S
PENTHOUSE
looked nothing like him.

The guitars on the walls, definitely Rafe. Their orderly march down toward the back of the penthouse, not so much. A yards-long view out through a wall of crystalline windows was fabulous, and Quinn caught a glimpse of the marble-and-steel patio outside, perfect for an elegant al fresco dinner or hot coffee and croissants during a clear-sky sunrise. The penthouse’s warm colors were mostly Rafe, and the furniture looked comfortable, but as Quinn took in the sleek cabinets and pristine floors, he was amazed at how little the place looked like its owner.

Sterile, Quinn thought. That’s the word. And if there was one thing Rafe Andrade was
not
, it was sterile.

There should have been more clutter, more vibrancy, more… everything in the space. Instead it was a pristine picture-perfect magazine spread with little to do with the hot-blooded, passionate man standing behind him.

Quinn was almost afraid to take his jacket off and toss it on an ottoman and ruin the layout.

Rafe had no problem. He shimmied out of his leather jacket, draping it over the back of a couch when he got his arms free. Harley howled her displeasure from the safety of her kennel, a chittering yodel sharp enough to send shivers up Quinn’s spine. Rafe merely laughed and patted the plastic cage as he went by.

“Let her out. Where do you want me to set up her litter boxes? Bathroom? Laundry room? Middle of the kitchen?” he called out from the foyer as he dragged the rest of Quinn’s things in.

“She’s not picky. Any place she can find them.” Quinn fumbled with the catch, murmuring at his cat. “Don’t eat him. He’s nice. We like him. He is not food.”

Harley slunk herself out of the kennel, her long legs stretched out behind her. Sniffing imperiously in Quinn’s general direction, she shook her head lightly, getting her ears situated as she looked about the living room.

“I put one in the laundry room, and there’s a guest bathroom off the hall we can—holy shit, what the fuck is that?” Rafe stopped dead in his tracks, bobbling a half-full container of litter. “Seriously, dude. What happened to your cat? She looks like she’s from Chernobyl or something.”