Talk of the devil.
We watch his Corvette as it comes along the drive from his place, eventually coming to a stop beside mine, the window sliding down.
“What’s she doing here?”
“Cleaning up,” I snap out, fucking annoyed by his attitude. It’s not like I don’t have to talk to Emily all the damn time. I certainly don’t need to ask his permission to bring someone here.
“Charming,” she mutters. “Is your security always so pleasant?” I look at her, bemused. “You pay them a little too well.” She looks over the Corvette, a rise in her brow. “I’d concentrate on teaching them some manners first.”
“This is Quinn. My brother.” Quinn waves his fingers like he’s six steps ahead of everything, which makes me flip my eyes between the pair of them.
“Oh.” She frowns then smiles a little, something I’m not aware of amusing her as I grab her case out of the trunk. “Very good. Clever.”
I hand her the keys to my place and shake my head at what passed between them, pointing her in the right direction along the path. “Go help yourself.” She nods at me and looks back at Quinn briefly, a slight snarl forming as she walks off. He chuckles. I’m not sure what at.
“Bet that’s a handful,” he says, watching her go. He’s right.
And I think she just became a whole lot more of one.
“What do you know about Andreas Alves?” I ask quietly. His brow raises, face turning back to me as the engine cuts off.
“A little. Why?” I look back to her, watching her open the house door and go inside.
“Sister.”
“Ah. Semi relevant player from what I’ve heard. He controls the south docks in Miami. Climbing the ranks, slowly.” My eyes narrow in thought, part of me wondering how small he really is given her abilities in million-dollar diamond hauls.
“I need more than that, Quinn.”
“You’ll fuck her and bring her here, but you don’t trust her?”
“Careful.” He chuckles again and starts the engine, seemingly bored with my annoyance as he rolls his neck around. “I want to know what she was doing with Marco last night, more than I already do anyway.” He nods and looks at my place briefly, a typical scowl dropping into place now he’s questioning shit. “Something’s not right.”
The car pulls away after a pause, not another word spoken between us. It’s not surprising now I’ve got his blood pumping with intrigue. He might seem cool, but he’s not. I know my brother too well. Rottweiler in heat springs to mind as I watch the dust kick up and follow the lines of the car out of the drive.
At least he’s occupied.
A smile spreads across my face as I walk down the path to find her. Perhaps I’m comforted by the thought of my place having her in it, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s beguiling me into wanting more of something I shouldn’t want.
Mysterious little thing that she is.
“Gabby?” I call, turning into the kitchen.
Nothing comes back to me, only the silence that always echoes in this house, but I smile again as I notice her handbag and coat dumped on the breakfast bar. She’s either got nothing to worry about in there, or she trusts me enough not to care. Both considerations make me more comfortable than I’d like to admit, regardless of the conversation we need to have. One neither of us is going to like.
I turn and start making coffee, choosing to let her shower and come back when she’s ready. Fucking some more isn’t going to make this easier, and if I go and find her, that’s exactly what will happen. Talk is what we need now, a conversation about how we make this work, or if we make it work at all. And food. Fuck, I’m hungry.
A quick call to Maria has a lunch laid out by the time she ambles back into the kitchen, hair twisted up in a towel, my dressing gown drowning her, and all makeup removed.
“Someone’s been busy,” she says, eyeing up the spread of food.
I fold my newspaper and look at her, about ready to go for round two of last night’s session, but I refrain and keep myself seated away from the table.
“It wasn’t me. I don’t cook.”
“Me either.”
My fingers run over my lips, eyes searching hers for something I can’t put my thoughts to as she wanders around the table picking at food.
