Page 162 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“At this hour?”

“She’s sick,” Moira said. “She said she was fine, which, given that it was Quinn, seemed like evidence to the contrary, especially when she was feverish and coughing and looked like death warmed over.”

My ears started ringing, and I couldn’t make sense of the room around me. Laptops. Files. The low hum of the conference screen. The investigator waiting on the call. Everyone looking at me.

None of it mattered as much as the empty chair.

“How long ago?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Moira said.

I picked up my phone and texted Quinn.

Me: Are you home?

No answer.

That didn’t improve the situation.

Helena watched me carefully. “Rafe.”

“She lives alone,” I said.

“She has Max.”

“Max can’t open medicine bottles.”

Moira’s mouth twitched despite the worry in her face. “No. But he would if he could.”

I looked down at the unanswered message.

Quinn would insist she needed nothing if she were actively on fire. She would make a joke, find a way to be useful, and then collapse somewhere inconvenient because her body had finally overruled her principles.

That wouldn’t do.

I stood.

Helena’s gaze sharpened. “The meeting is scheduled to begin in two minutes.”

“I’m going to need to reschedule my portion. Please keep working without me.”

I stood alone in the hallway, phone in hand, and searched for Avery Teddington. It took less than a minute to find the number for Teddington Working Dog Rehab. I called before I could decide whether this qualified as overstepping.

A woman answered on the third ring. “This is Avery.”

“This is Rafe Virelli.”

“Wow,” Avery said. “To what do I owe this… happenstance?”

“Quinn is sick.”

The silence changed.

“How sick?”

“She was sent home from work. Feverish, coughing, pale. She’s not answering her phone.”

“Yeah, she won’t if she’s sleeping. Or if she thinks answering will make someone ask whether she needs something.”