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“Look. There’s Quint.” He pointed toward Mason’s friend and college roommate who’d come east for a visit, and ended up attending a wedding. He was an officer with the San Antonio Police Department and Chief of his own SWAT team in Texas, who’d become a remote, honorary member of Downeast SWAT. Quint had helped Mason’s team out regarding a lot of bad shit lately, but the most memorable interaction had been his part in the stunt they’d pulled on Kyle in Vegas. The joke still had them all laughing and wondering when Kyle would retaliate.
Bottom line? Quint was a great guy, and along with his wife Corrie, he’d become a welcome face at all Downeast Swats’ get-togethers.
Doug went along with Mike’s attention shift from his wife to Quint. It was clear something was going on with the LT that had him uptight. Doug would ask Talia at some point, but for now, would leave it alone.
“Hey, Quint,” Mike greeted the man cheerfully, as if his face hadn’t just been sour a few seconds before. “When did you get in?”
“Last night,” Quint told him, giving both Mike and Doug a brief man-hug before guiding his wife into the conversation circle.
Doug did an internal fist-pump because he hadn’t even flinched at the contact.
“You remember my wife,” Quint said.
“Hi, Corrie,” Doug and Mike greeted, simultaneously. As if anybody could forget Quint’s kick-ass wife who ran the man ragged. In a good way.
“Mike. It’s nice to see you again.” It was amazing how Corrie, being blind, could so easily tune into everyone’s voices. “And Doug. How have things been going since you were in Texas?”
Doug had gone down to keep Kyle company after the team’s prank had concluded.
“Great. I, uh, have a girlfriend now.” It was time to start saying the “G” word in public so he could get used to the sound of it on his tongue.
“Oh? Is she here?”
“Yeah. She’s Talia’s older sister, Pixie, so she’s inside with the LT getting the boss all duded up.”
Corrie snickered. “I heard through the grapevine that Talia wanted to get married in her turn-out gear, but your miracle worker, Pixie, stopped that train dead on its tracks. Which means I highly approve of her. If Pixie can stand up to Talia, she must be a force to be reckoned with.”
Doug chuckled, liking that Corrie had called Pixie, his. “That she is. She’s had a lot of bad shit go down in her life lately, but she’s come out stronger because of it.” Doug knew he didn’t need to watch his language in front of Corrie. Quint had one of the most expletive-laden vocabularies of anyone he’d ever met.
“What the fuck’s been going on?” Quint asked; in a blink, becoming all cop.
Doug went over the list of things that had befallen Pixie, beginning with an explanation of the assault that had happened so many years before, and ending with the asshole parent of her student who thought he could threaten Pixie into silence.
Doug saw two men’s jaws tighten. Mike, of course, had already been briefed on what had happened, but bringing it back up still seemed to set him on edge.
“If you need any additional help—” Quint started.
“Okay everyone.”
Quint was cut off by Mason’s mother, who clapped loudly from the stairs and let out a shrill whistle. You could tell the woman had raised eight boys. “Find your seats. We’re ready to get started.”
The crowd moved quickly and in an orderly fashion to the chairs, then everyone stood with their backs to the bus where the action would take place, waiting and watching for the bride to appear on the farmhouse steps.
But Doug’s mind wasn’t on Talia. It was on Pixie. He hadn’t seen her for a full day and a half, and realized he was jonesing to set eyes on her ASAP.
When the door finally opened, Doug recognized Sandrine and Briar walking serenely out, first. They were squad leaders of units C and F, and were good friends of Talia’s. Doug noted they looked damned sharp dolled up in dresses; something he’d never seen either one of them wear before. But…
Doug sucked in a breath he hoped didn’t make any noise.
Pixie had just walked out. And she looked like a fairy princess.
Her fine, platinum blonde hair had been left loose to halo around her pretty face like rays from the sun. Her face was made up; something Doug hadn’t seen before but put down to having to cover her bruises. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes looked huge, framed with darkened lashes and smoky brown on her lids. The dress… Oh my God, the dress. It was a wispy piece of nothing in a color he could only describe as café au lait, and it hugged her petite waist before flaring out into a delicate fan of material that swirled just above her knees. The plunging neckline reminded him of what lay within, those nipples he’d dreamed about last night. And the high-heeled shoes… Holy shit. Doug had always heard the saying “fuck-me-shoes”, but in his avoidance of all things women, he'd never understood the implications. Until now.
What would it be like to strip her out of that dress, and…leave the shoes on? Would he be able to do anything but gawk? Would he manage to worship her body as Pixie deserved? Doug’s dry mouth, his trembling hands, and the hard-on that was trying to make a showing again, said that he would. And his gut suddenly felt like molten lava; a far cry from the frigid nausea that normally tormented him.
“That’s Pixie?” Quint nudged him.
“Uh, huh,” Doug managed.
