Under the Gun (CEP Book 3) (9 page)

“Yeah?”

“Women problems,” Gunner murmured, wadding up his target and tossing it into a trashcan as they walked toward the exit.

“What’s up?” Quaid asked when they got outside, walking toward their vehicles to put their firearms away.

Gunner leaned his hip against his Camaro and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. “Don’t know, man. Fucking confused.”

“About?” Quaid leaned back against his truck, arms and ankles crossed.

“How do you know?” Quaid shook his head, not understanding. “I mean, fuck, how do you know if she’s someone you want to get real with?” Gunner asked.

“You’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Well, yeah, but not really anyone I thought too seriously about. I know that sounds shitty, but I just haven’t looked at them in that way.”

“And now you’re thinking seriously about a woman. Is this the little redhead that was at Oz’s the other night by any chance?” Quaid asked. Gunner nodded. “Hot little piece, that one.”

Gunner narrowed his eyes as he looked at his coworker. “She’s not a piece, man.”

Quaid held up his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, dude. Wasn’t implying anything.”

When he realized Quaid was being somewhat sincere, Gunner continued. “Can’t get her out of my head.”

Quaid chuckled. “I get that. And my experiment just now worked.” When Gunner frowned at him in question, he explained. “‘Hot little piece.’ You jumped all over that shit. Means you got it bad for her, man.” He snorted at Gunner’s pissed off look. “My advice? Fuckin’ go for it.”

“We’ll see, asshole.”

Quaid barked out a laugh. “And then some, buddy.”

“What’s your next job?” Chase asked.

“Fuckin’ background checks the rest of the week and an insurance scam. Gotta follow some asshole around to see if he really hurt himself lifting shit. Odds are I’ll catch him bench pressing eight thousand pounds with one arm while juggling bowling balls with the other. People are fuckin’ losers.”

“Damn. Why’re you in a such a pissy mood.”

“Fuck if I know.”

“This’ll put you in a better mood, Gunner. You’ll love my mom’s spaghetti sauce,” Julia, Chase’s wife said as she pushed a bowl toward him.

He was at Chase and Julia’s apartment because Julia had called him that morning inviting him to dinner and who was he to turn down amazing food. After one bite, he felt his friggin’ eyes roll back in his head.

“Fuckin’ amazing,” he said, still chewing.

“Mom would smack you in the mouth right now for talking with your mouth full,” Chase said with a big grin, mouth full.

Julia laughed. “I’ll smack you both if you keep it up.”

The evening went great until Julia asked him who he was dating and he and Chase shared a look.

“What?” Julia questioned.

“Nothing,” Gunner stated at the same time Chase said, “He’s having woman problems.”

It was all Gunner could do to keep from reaching across the table and strangling his brother.

“Oh, yeah?” Julia asked sympathetically. “What’s going on?”

Gunner sighed. Fuck. “Nothing’s going on.”

“You like her,” Julia decided.

Gunner threw his napkin on the table. “Thanks for having me. The spaghetti was amazing. I’m out.”

As he got up from the table, he saw Chase start to get up but Julia shook her head at him and put her hand over his stopping him. Well, thank God that someone had a fucking brain. He took the elevator to the parking garage and pulled his phone out while he hailed a cab.

“Yo. You got Boone.”

“No fucking shit,” Gunner muttered, hearing loud music and people talking in the background. Perfect.

“Damn. What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Pissed that everyone was commenting on his attitude these days, Gunner clenched his teeth before asking, “Where are you?”

“Clancy’s. Come have a bourbon or six.”

“On my way,” he answered, getting into a taxi.

Sitting in the back seat trying to ignore the staticky pop music coming from the cab’s speakers, he wondered what the hell was up with him lately. Did Quinn really have his head wound up that tightly? What he knew was that he hated the feeling and, by fucking God, he was going to do something about it.

“Look at that chick’s ass in those fucking yoga pants,” Brock said, nodding toward a woman who was bent over a pool table ready to take her shot.

“Fuckin’ nice,” Boone remarked, staring.

Brock pulled a fifty out of his wallet and slammed it on the table. “Yours if you take her home,” he said, looking at Gunner and grinning.

Gunner picked up what he believed to be his eighth shot—he’d lost count early on—moved it up in a “cheers” motion, downed it then said, “You’re on.”

Getting up from the table and heading toward the woman with a great ass, he noticed that she was blond. Would’ve been
so
much better had she been a redhead, damn it. He looked back at the table to see Brock and Boone watching him, both grinning, which made him annoyed. He turned back and when he was almost to the table, something clicked in his head making him do a one-eighty, and he quickly turned and headed to the restroom.

Fuck.

In the bathroom, he relieved himself then at the sink took a good long look in the mirror. “You’re fucked,” he mumbled, turning on the water and splashing it on his face. Grabbing a paper towel, he noticed a man looking at him. “You got a problem, man?”

The guy shook his head indifferently.

“Fuck you,” Gunner said and walked out.

“What the fuck’s your deal, Gun?” Boone asked when Gunner made it back.

“She’s blonde.” Gunner picked up a shot of bourbon and downed it.

“And that’s a problem because?” Brock queried.

“Because it fucking is.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take a shot at her?” Boone inquired, standing from the table.

“Fuck no. Go for it,” Gunner holding a finger up at the waitress passing by.

“Three?” she asked as she gathered the empty glasses from their table.

“Yep.”

Brock watched her ass as she walked away then turned his attention back to Gunner. “What’s going on?”

“Why the fuck’s everyone so goddamned interested in me all of a sudden?”

Brock shrugged and took a drink of Jack from his tumbler.

Gunner pulled out his wallet then threw a hundred on the table. “I’m out.”

Outside the bar, he got into a cab giving the driver his address pulling his phone out at the same time.

“Hullo?” Oz answered.

“Gimme Quinn’s number.” No preludes for him. He was drunk, he wanted what he wanted and he was going to get it.

“Hang on.”

Shit. It was almost as if Oz had been waiting on this call.

Gunner listened for a second then Tilly came on the line. Fucking hell.

“Hey, Gunner. You ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Tilly recited the numbers as Gunner mentally stored them then he thanked her and hung up. It wasn’t until he went to put them in his phone that he noticed it was after ten. No wonder Oz hadn’t given him shit and had also sounded like he’d been half asleep. But he knew better than to think Oz would let it go. No, he’d wait until just the right time to obtain maximum humiliation then he’d unleash the fucking beast and make Gunner look like an ass.

He looked so forward to that.

Yep. Couldn’t wait.

Chapter 9

Quinn sat uncomfortably behind her desk as she faced the grieving family.

“I’m so very sorry to hear about Ben, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. He was a good boy. Always so kind and considerate.”

It wasn’t unsettling that she was talking with them. No, the perplexing aspect was that Tommy, who now had to be around twenty-one, sat staring at her the entire time, a sneer pasted on his face.

“Thank you, Dr. McDonnell. We appreciate that and thank you for all your help. If only…if only I’d kept Ben in therapy…” As Mrs. Edwards broke down, her husband put his arm around her in an effort to comfort her.

Tommy sat motionless, his eyes still on Quinn, watching her.

Creepy as fuck kid.

Quinn looked sympathetically at the parents. “There’s really no way to tell if it would’ve helped. Ben was a troubled boy. I think we…I think we did all that we could for him.” Even though she thought they definitely could’ve done more by continuing to bring him to his sessions, she couldn’t say that. The parents felt bad enough as it was.

“We won’t waste any more of your time,” Mr. Edwards said, standing and helping his wife up from the couch. “Thank you again for getting us the files in a timely manner and for your kind words.”

Quinn stood too rounding her desk and following them as they left her office. But just before she got to her door Tommy turned to face her, a look of pure evil on his face.

“This is your fault, you cunt. If you’d kept your focus on Ben instead of trying to pull the rest of us into it, he’d still be here,” he hissed.

Needless to say, this took Quinn way off guard and she stood staring up at the foot-taller young man, speechless.

“You’re gonna pay for this, bitch.”

She didn’t get a chance to tell the asshole to get the fuck out of her office because he was gone, having caught up to his father and stepmother, turning one last time to give her a nasty look.

Huh.

But she couldn’t say the way Tommy behaved was unexpected. The kid was a complete and utter shit so what more did she expect?

“Justine?” she called to her secretary. “Gimme five minutes then send in my next client, please.”

Justine nodded and Quinn walked back into her office, closed the door, went to her private bathroom and looking in the mirror, burst into tears.

“I’ve made arrangements for the seminar in Chicago in June,” Daphne informed as she stuck her head in Quinn’s office that evening just after eight.

“Oh, good! Thank you. I’d forgotten completely about it,” Quinn replied.

“Since it’s at The Langham, I went ahead and booked us rooms. Posh as hell.” Daphne chuckled.

“So you’re telling me I should pack my tiara?”

Laughing, Daphne answered, “Hell yes. Bringing mine too and I’ll have Todd nab his scepter, see if we can stir shit up a bit.”

“I’ve never been in a Chicago PD jail before. Could be interesting,” Quinn said giggling.

Daphne giggled with her then sobered and asked, “You good? I know that was tough today.”

Quinn sighed. “It wouldn’t have been too bad if the brother hadn’t threatened me before they left.”

“What?”

As she explained what he’d said, Quinn saw Daphne’s face turn hard.

“That little asshole,” Daphne spit angrily. “Not as if you had enough to deal as it was.”

“Yeah.”

“Does this genuinely scare you? You think you should contact the police?”

Quinn shook her head. “No, no. I think he just wanted to wield whatever power he thinks he has, over me, you know? I know they’re all grieving. He was just acting out.”

Looking at her coworker, Quinn saw that Daphne understood, meaning, she understood things could go either way. The kid could’ve just been blowing off steam or he very well could’ve meant what he said. Only time would tell which.

“Keep me informed, okay? Remember, I’m off the rest of the week for Todd’s surgery,” Daphne said as she straightened the collar on her trench coat.