Page 15 of Dirty Quinn
“Smile like what?” I play dumb. Not sure why. It’s not like Daria is a secret. Except, I guess she is. Just because she is finally willing to give it another try doesn’t mean I’m any less employed by the FBI or that she’s not still guilty of a million different crimes. To validate my own decision, I realize the less Andrews knows, the better.
It’s not that he’s a bad guy or even a bad partner. It’s that he’s not Reed. And even though I had a hard time with Reed’s fastidiousness in the beginning, working with the same person for six years makes an impact. You get used to them, their mannerisms and habits, and you start to sync in time. And when that person is gone, you’re left wanting. Regardless, I need to try not to take it out on Andrews. It’s not his fault Reed jumped ship and moved to UC without a word. I rub a hand over my chest to soothe it. Eventhinkingabout Reed leaving still stings my heart.
Andrews just shakes his head in response to my question and looks back down at the file he’s reading. We are still on the Tremblay case, even though he’s dead, because his being gone changes nothing about the missing women. And now we’ve got solving his murder thrown into the mix.
“What’re you working on?” I ask him.
“Just reviewing what you had collected, making my own notes, getting a feel for what’s gone down.”
“Well, short of scouring the dating apps and following every single guy looking for love, I’m not sure what all we’ve got to go on with our only two leads dead,” I say, even knowing it’s not true. I mean, it’s true as far as the FBI is concerned, but it’s not true as far as ID’ing potential suspects with Daria’s help. She’s got leads she’s still following up on that turned up in all the stuff she pulled on Tremblay.
Addresses to hunt down, IP addresses to track, payments to trace. While the FBI is still combing through the wedding guest list to see if anything flags. Not to make the FBI sound incompetent, just that it can take longer to get things done when doing them legally. I shoot a text off to Daria to let her know to keep me posted on where Quinn is, and return my attention to the aforementioned guest list.
I could send this off to research and records, but there can be a keen satisfaction in completing the legwork yourself sometimes. Plus, I think I can draw parallels just as well, if not better, than they can. I make some notes to that effect and look down when my phone buzzes again with a text.
DARIA: Call me as soon as you can.
I grab my phone and am walking into the hallway as I dial.
“Mack?” Her voice sounds shaky and not at all like how she usually sounds.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“Can you meet me at Quinn’s? I’m on my way there now from the bar.”
“Do you want me to pick you up? What’s going on?”
“Just meet me there, please. I need you.”
“I’m on my way.”
I run down the steps instead of waiting for the elevator and am in my truck in a matter of minutes. Not once since I’ve known her has Daria ever said that sheneededme. Wanted me? Sure. Tolerated me? Absolutely. But needed? That’s just not in her make-up of personal verbs.
I drive fast enough and break several traffic laws to shave four minutes off the fifteen-minute drive and am pulling up in front of Quinn’s place at the same time as Daria. Before she can even park, I’m out of my car and racing toward her. I have this pressing need to make sure she’s okay. That she was just calling to ask me for help and not because something happened to her or she’s hurt. Yanking her driver’s side door open, I unfasten her seatbelt and pull her from her car in almost the same move.
“Baby? Talk to me. What’s going on?” I pat down her hair and face, then run my hands along her body checking for anything that may be amiss. Satisfied that nothing is wrong, I pull her in for a quick, hard hug before releasing her to answer me.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But Alyssa tracked Quinn’s phone here. Or the last time it pinged the towers, it was right around here. There’s no signal coming from it now.”
“Here at her house,here?”
“Yes. And she’s not here. I checked the entire apartment when I was here earlier. Her car is here, but that hasn’t changed from before.” She looks off to the side, as though weighing what she’s about to say next. “And I’m going to break into her car and take a better look around the property. But I didn’t want . . . I can’t be . . .”
She pauses again. She’s feeling vulnerable and needy. Neither of which are easy for her to handle. I don’t blame her. This is her best friend we’re talking about. Not that I would blame her anyway if it wasn’t. I could never judge Daria for being human. For having the same basic emotions the rest of us experience every day without something catastrophic happening.
“I’m here, Daria. Okay? Whatever you need. I’m here for you. This is what we do now—you and I—we show up for each other. No matter what. No matter why.”
She nods and smiles, but it’s weak. “I don’t know what we’ll find. I hate to be alone if...” She doesn’t finish her sentence. Again. It doesn’t matter. We both know what she was going to say anyway, and sometimes voicing the thought aloud is almost as bad as having it happen.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think to do this when I was here the first time. Stupid.”
“Hey.” I pull her by the shoulders to face me. “None of that talk, okay? It’s a stressful time, it’s impossible to think of everything. And besides, who would have thought she’d go somewhere and not have her phone turned on. That’s very un-Quinn-like behavior.
“True.” She pulls a little device from her pocket and has the car beeping its cooperation in a matter of seconds.
“That’s handy.” I reach my hand out for it, wanting to see what it is she used.
“It is.” She smiles devilishly and pockets the device without letting me see it.
