Page 76 of Playing with Fire

I made it to the ground floor before I realized I’d forgotten to ask about the CDC’s proposal for employment. While I could use a job, in a way, I was grateful I hadn’t stuck around. The idea of working for someone who viewed me as a thing with monetary value left a sour taste in my mouth. If I’d been treated like a person rather than a commodity, I never would have needed to marry Quinn in the first place, although I had zero regrets about having done it.

We’d figure it out, and I suspected Sylvester was onto something with his comment about the best sex of my—and Quinn’s—life. Mary’s belief in the bright side of things worked sometimes. Quinn drove me crazy in all the right and wrong ways. The longer I was with him, the more time I wanted to spend with him, in and out of bed.

Quinn, Perky, and Nilman were where I’d left them. The three had their heads together, staring at Perky’s phone. One of them giggled. “Not to interrupt your play time, but we can leave now. I delivered the papers. No one was assaulted.”

“Sneaky,” my husband muttered. Then he giggled. My eyes widened.

Why was Quinn giggling? What were they looking at on Perky’s phone? I frowned, circled their table, and peeked over Quinn’s shoulder. A video of a kitten playing with a scrap of paper enthralled the three men. Narrowing my eyes, I twisted around to get a good look at the cafeteria, homing in on the cafe portion. A stamp featuring a pixie marked the upper left corner of the sign.

“I leave for half an hour, and you three get high on pixie dust?”

A chorus of giggles answered me, even from the older cop. My husband flashed me his best smile. “You slipped off while I was working. You only have yourself to blame.”

I eliminated a light dusting of C-grade dust as the culprit; it put Quinn in a better mood but didn’t change his base personality. A full dose of C-grade made him more likely to smile and take it easy on those around him. I had found the change disconcerting enough I hadn’t wanted to give him B or better.

“You shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to your phone, then.” Would Quinn turn out to be one of those who people were determined to make everyone around him as happy as he was? If B or better turned him into a giggling, kitten adoring mess, what would A+++ do to him? My curiosity would lead us to a dark—and sexy—place. I’d need a lot of neutralizer before I experimented with felony-level drug administration on my husband. “Can we go home?”

Quinn leaned back in his chair so his head rested against my stomach. “Yes, we can leave. Up for driving the rest of the way? We can work if you’re driving.”

Oh boy. Three cops high on pixie dust trying to do serious work would likely lead to hilarity at the station later. Hilarity I hoped I would get to watch. “Seems fair since I slept on the way to Richmond. I might stink the station out if I don’t get a shower, though.”

The smoldering look my husband shot me made me want to drag him somewhere semi-private. “I can help—”

Nilman jabbed Quinn in the ribs with his elbow. “No, sir. You can’t help her.”

“But—”

Perky joined in, slapping Quinn upside the head. “No.”

Kitten video forgotten, the three degenerated to elbow jabs, finger pointing, and kicks under the table, giggling the entire time. I opened my mouth, snapped my teeth together with a clack, and waited. Waiting didn’t change anything. I suspected they had rules to their odd brawl. They remained seated, their faces were off-limits, and they seemed intent on some goal.

It took me a few minutes to determine they were trying to tickle each other and failing miserably at it.

I checked their coffee cups to discover them empty. Leaving the men to their play fight, I disposed of the cups, headed for the cafe, and dug out my CDC identification card, holding it out to the young woman at the counter. “I’m the responsible adult driving the three idiot cops home. What grade did they take?”

The barista chuckled, looked over my card, and handed it back to me. “A+, ma’am. A gentleman was in here earlier and paid for their coffee, asking me to dust their drinks.”

Considering one of Quinn’s grandfathers was upstairs, I had my suspicions. “Did the gentleman happen to lack a head?”

She grinned, put her finger to her lips, and nodded.

Damned angels. “Thanks. I’ll make sure they make it home without menacing someone.”

“They’ve been very well behaved.”

I cast a doubtful look at the three men engaged in a tickle battle. “Well, they’re very happy now, that’s for sure.”

“The pretty one was very anxious after you left. He needed a little liquid joy.”

Good old pixie dust, controller of depression, easer of anxiety, tester of patience. “Good to know. Thanks. Have yourself a good day.”

I returned to the table and sighed. “Come on, then. I need to get you three to work.” Would the dust wear off in time? If it didn’t, what would I tell the other cops at the station? The complaints would come in early and often. A slightly happy Quinn unnerved me. A giggling one skewed my perception of reality and stirred all sorts of bad thoughts. If I ditched Perky and Nilman, I’d regret it sometime after I got Quinn somewhere alone.

They ignored me. I made a mental note to suggest the CDC classify A+ pixie dust as a controlled substance rather than a devilishly expensive one. Then again, I knew how much Sylvester had paid to make my life interesting.

“Worth it,” the angel murmured in my ear.

Too startled to scream, I whirled around. “You!”