With a Twist (25 page)

Quinn sat at
his desk at the
Sent
, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets in sheer frustration. He’d arrived at the warehouse only a few minutes after the cops, where they all gathered the same information: the owner was a guy named Dominick Tallia, and he’d been found, bloodied and semi-incoherent, by one of his workers on the early morning shift. Both the cops and Quinn talked to the worker, who claimed not to know anything. The poor bastard looked so rattled Quinn knew he was telling the truth. Either that or he deserved an Academy Award.

Leaving the warehouse after they’d gleaned all they could, both he and the cops headed over to Roosevelt Hospital, where Tallia had been taken by ambulance. Beating wise, Tallia was far worse off than PJ, but like PJ, three hooded thugs had attacked him. The cops asked if someone had been extorting him. Turned out he hadn’t even been offered that option; he was told by one of the masked thugs that someone wanted the warehouse and his business, and if didn’t like it, he’d find himself chopped up in a Dumpster in Red Hook. To bring the point home, they beat him up.

A few more questions, and he passed out. Quinn and the cops left Tallia to languish in peace, and then Quinn headed over to the
Sent
. He hated it when he didn’t have enough info for a story beyond “Business Owner Threatened, Found Beaten in Hell’s Kitchen Warehouse,” though he did mention the mysterious torching of Sweeney’s Hardware Store. And at least Tallia was willing to talk about it, which was more than he could say for PJ. He wrote it up, which took all of five minutes, and then he called his brother.

“We have to stop meeting this way,” Liam groused, sliding into the booth at Longo’s, where Quinn sat waiting for him. Technically, Quinn could have waited until later in the day to talk to Liam. Hell, he could have waited until later that night, when he and his pals descended on the Hart. But Dominick Tallia’s beating was eating at him. Natalie said Liam couldn’t come to dinner at her place yesterday because he was doing something with Tommy. While Quinn was fairly certain that “something” wasn’t beating up a middle-aged Italian warehouse owner, Quinn’s craving for any possible tidbit of Whitey-related information, be it large or small, was overwhelming. And so he’d called Liam and lured him to Longo’s with the promise of lunch.

The senior Longo waddled over to the table as soon as Liam sat.

“Afternoon.” He playfully pushed Liam’s shoulder. “What, you only come here when you’re with your brother?”

“I usually eat with my folks, Rocco.”

“So bring them, too, sometime. I won’t tell them you stole those mints from me when you were a kid.”

Liam chuckled.

Quinn pointed at him. “One of your famous omelettes for this man here.”

Liam held up a hand and put the other to his stomach. “Actually, I’m fine. I already had some soda bread at Mom and Dad’s,” he explained to Quinn.

“Coffee?” the old man asked.

“Hell yeah,” said Liam. He turned his gaze to Quinn.

“You don’t have to buy me off with food, you know. I told you I’d tell you if I found out anything.”

“I’m not buying you off,” Quinn replied, offended. “I was just trying to be nice. Christ.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Liam muttered. Clearly he was in one of his moods. Maybe he was still wary of Quinn and their newfound relationship.

Perhaps sensing he was being a prick, Liam switched to a more amicable tone.

“I hear it went great at Natalie’s yesterday. Mom and Dad really like her. And Mom even liked her sister, despite the whole church flap.”

“Yeah, it went great.”

“So, this is the one, huh?” Liam asked as he gratefully accepted his cup of coffee from the old man.

“I guess,” Quinn mumbled.

“What?”

“It’s early days yet, you know? We’re taking it slow.” Quinn felt pensive as he took a gulp of coffee.

“She know that?”

“Of course. It’s not like we’re planning a wedding or anything,” Quinn scoffed. He tried to imagine being married and couldn’t, at least not right now. And Natalie had made a point a few weeks earlier of saying she had no interest in marrying him. Which irked him.
Which is it, Quinnie boy,
he asked himself.
Can’t have it both ways.
See? He was already starting to worry about losing his edge. Not good. Not good at all.

“Mom say anything else?” Quinn pressed.

“She busted my balls a bit about not being there, but I’d already explained to her I’d committed to this thing with Tommy.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“I figured.”

“Tell me what you got.”

“He asked me if I wanted to come hang at a party a friend of his was having, some guy named Gerald who I’ve met a few times.”

“One of Whitey’s guys?”

“Oh yeah. Works for Shields Brothers. Big surprise, huh? You should have seen this guy’s apartment.

“Anyway, some of the other guys there were suspicious when I came in, because they have no idea who the hell I am, despite my walking in with Tommy. Morons. But once Tommy explained that I was his best friend and Gerald said I was cool, it was okay. Everyone was talking about mundane stuff at first, the Mets, the Blades, blah blah blah. But once Tommy had a snootful, I was able to get some info—kind of.”

Quinn took a deep breath. “Like—?”

“Well, he asked me if I was sick of living in my crappy little apartment—which I don’t think is crappy, by the way. When I asked him why, he said one of the warehouses in the neighborhood was being turned into luxury apartments, and if I wanted, he’d see if he could have one set aside for me, since he knows the owner. Like it’s hard to figure out who that is, right? I asked him how the hell he thought I could afford a luxury apartment, and he just smiled at me and walked away. He’s such a feckin’ idiot when he’s drunk.”

“No, he’s a useful idiot, at least to me.” Quinn gulped down more coffee. “Some warehouse owner had the shit beaten out of him last night. Same situation as PJ—three masked assholes.”

Liam frowned. “Not surprised.”

“You get anything else?”

“Hell yeah. Whitey Connors was there. He asked about you.”

“I can’t wait to hear this.”

“I’m standing on the terrace talking to Tommy and some other goon, and Whitey comes out. Asks how tending the bar is going. Asks about Mom and Dad. Then asks about you. ‘Still working hard as a reporter? Still got his ear to the street?’ ” Liam sucked down some coffee. “He knows, Quinn.”

“Of course he fuckin’ knows.” Quinn shrugged dismissively. “It’s not a big deal. Stupid as he is, he’d never kill a journalist. Threaten? Sure. Beat up? Maybe. But kill? No. I don’t need to worry.”

“Well, maybe you don’t, but I’m sure Natalie will. She know what you’re working on?”

Quinn frowned. “A little. And before you even ask, yeah, she’s worried. But it’s not like I’m going to stop.”

“Mom and Dad know?” Liam asked.

“What are you, crazy? They’d drive me up the friggin’ wall with worry and tell half of Manhattan.”

Quinn leaned forward. “Look, Li, I really appreciate you keeping your ear to the ground on all this stuff.”

Liam looked uncomfortable. “No problem.” He drained his coffee cup. “You comin’ in tonight?”

“Probably. Depends. Gotta help keep up Rogan and Shep’s spirits, you know?”

“You surprised you weren’t axed?”

“A little. But like it or not, they still need some hard news runners around.”

“Clement likes Natalie.”

Quinn scowled. “No shit. But he had his shot. I really wish he’d find somewhere else to hang out. He does it on purpose just to irk me and the guys.”

“I think he does it to see Natalie.”

“Are you deliberately trying to piss me off? Because you’re doing a good job.”

“Jesus, relax. It was just a bartender’s observation.” Liam shook his head. “And they claim I’m the moody one,” he said under his breath.

Quinn changed the subject. “You headin’ back to the Hart?”

“Yeah, of course. You know there’s always a ton of shit to do. You coming with? Say hi to Mom and Dad?”

“Not today. I have some poking around I need to do. But like I said, I’ll probably be in tonight.”

“Okay.” Liam stood. “Well, thanks for the coffee.”

“Thanks for the info,” Quinn said gratefully.

“No problem. I just hope it doesn’t result in you getting beaten up.”

“Quit being such an old lady. I told you: there’s nothing to worry about.
Trust me.”

25

TWO MONTHS LATER

“You’re still up? ”

Quinn glanced up from his laptop to see Natalie in the doorway of her dining room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. It was 3 a.m. He’d been plagued with insomnia for three weeks running. Just as he’d feared, trying to balance his job and a relationship had caused him to lose his edge as a reporter. Sometimes he found himself distracted, daydreaming about making love to her when he should have been focused. Sometimes he found himself watching her when he should have been listening to what his friends were saying. They’d kid him about it, but it made him feel bad. To top it all off, his parents were dropping hints about marriage.

Quinn had come back to Natalie’s place every night since they’d first slept together. He hated that it felt obligatory. Not that he didn’t love her, but it was making him feel roped and tied.

He had to tell her the truth, even though it risked wounding her. If he didn’t come clean, his unease would turn into resentment, which was the last thing he wanted.

Natalie came and stood behind him, tenderly rubbing his shoulders. “Work. Always work.”

“Yeah, well, that’s me.” Quinn turned around to look at her. “We need to talk.”

Trepidation rippled through the room as Natalie slowly dropped her hands. “Can we go where it’s more comfortable?” she asked quietly.

“Of course.” Quinn playfully tugged a strand of her hair, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t sound so afraid. It’s not bad.”

Natalie was silent, leading the way to the living room. Quinn made sure to sit right beside her as she curled up on the couch. Even with her face a little puffy from sleep and her long brown hair somewhat of a tangled mess, she looked beautiful. In fact, this was one of the ways he liked her best: no makeup, unguarded, just pure, unvarnished Natalie.

Despite his telling her not to be fearful, there was no mistaking the anxiety in her eyes. “What is it?”

Quinn took a deep breath and blew it out. “I need a little more space for myself.
I’m feeling a little—pressured.”

Natalie drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins.
She looked like a vulnerable little girl. “Pressured?”

“Nat, I told you when we got together that my work is extremely important to me. And sometimes, to do it well, I need to be alone. To think. I don’t feel like I can do that when we go home together every night. You think I don’t see you bristle every time my phone rings?”

“Because you work too hard. Because you never stop working.”

“It’s who I am.”

She was quick to disagree. “
Non. Non
. It’s who you choose to be.”

“All right, it’s who I choose to be. Especially now, working on this story.”

“Yes, the story that will get you killed.”

Quinn suppressed his exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you? It won’t get me killed.”

“When will you be done with it?”

“Soon.”

She looked hopeful. “And maybe then—?”

“Maybe then what?”

“You’ll cut back a little?”

Frustrated, Quinn ran his hand through his hair. “You’re not understanding me. I can’t cut back.”

“Not even a little bit? Why can’t you compromise?” she asked plaintively as she feathered her fingertips across his cheek. “I love you, and I’m proud of what you do. But it’s difficult sometimes, knowing that in the back of your mind, even when we are out to dinner or just relaxing here, you are always thinking about work. You’re obsessed with it.” She looked sad. “I wish you were obsessed with me, even if it was just a little bit.”

“I am obsessed with you,” Quinn said, trying to express his misery and confusion. “That’s part of the problem. I find myself thinking of you when I should be focusing on my work. I’m not paying attention to my friends when we’re hanging out at the Hart.”

She looked wounded. “Because of me.”

“Because of us,” Quinn said softly. For someone who worked with words, he was having a hard time coming up with the right ones. “I don’t want to lose you. I just need a few nights a week to myself so I can concentrate on my work.”

“Let’s say we do that,” said Natalie, sounding reasonable. “Does that mean the nights we are together you’ll turn off your cell phone? Mmm?”

“I can’t right now,” Quinn said bluntly. “Not until I’m done with this story.”

“Is this what’s been keeping you awake? This story? Or not having time to yourself?”

“Both. Plus, I’ve always gone through spells of insomnia. I try to use it, though. Do research on the Web. And sometimes the pieces of a puzzle come together in the middle of the night when I least expect it. I do crash eventually.”

“Precisely what I’m afraid of: the word
crash
.”

Quinn wrapped his arms around her. “I need you to try to understand this.”

“I’m trying to understand, truly I am. It’s just hard when I feel envious of your job.”

“Envious or neglected?”

Natalie looked thoughtful. “Not neglected exactly. More like”—she fluttered her long, pale fingers in the air, searching for the right word—“second best. I can’t compare to the excitement I see in your eyes when you run out to cover a story.”

Quinn felt terrible. That’s not how he wanted her to feel, but he knew she was right. She had every right to ask him why he couldn’t compromise a little bit. He knew the answer: he was an uncompromising bastard, which was why he was such a success at work and so crappy when it came to relationships. But maybe it was time to bend. Just a little.

“Look,” said Quinn, brushing a silky tangle of hair away from her face. “All I need is a few nights a week on my own, and things will balance themselves out. I swear.”

Natalie looked skeptical.

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“
Chere
, don’t be offended when I say this, but I’ll believe it when I see it. In the meantime, how do we work this? Do we come up with a schedule for when you’re here and when you’re not? Or do I wait for you to walk into the pub or call me late at night to tell me whether you’ll be coming home with me or not?”

She sounded angry.
Bend, you selfish bastard. Bend.

“I would never leave you hanging. You decide on a schedule, if that’s what works best for you.”

“I get you on my two nights off, Monday and Wednesday, and Saturday and Sunday during the day as well.”

“Agreed.”

She looked satisfied and rubbed her nose against his. “Are you coming to bed?”

“In a little bit. I promise.”

Natalie clucked her tongue. “You are so exasperating.”

Quinn grinned. “I do my best.”

“You succeed admirably.”

They rose, Quinn taking her hand, pausing when they came to the bedroom door. “Sleep tight,” he murmured, kissing her gently. He wished he wasn’t so wide-awake so he could lie down next to her, spooning as they both drifted off together.

“Please try to get some sleep,” she begged. “Even if it’s just a little.”

“I will. I promise.”

He kissed her again, continuing on to the dining room, where his laptop sat waiting for him. He sat down, reflexively taking his cell out of his pocket. He stared at it a moment, then turned it off, even though it killed him to do so.
With that, he got down to work.