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Right. I nod and accept this. My best friend is a sociopath. At least it comes in handy. “But the case is closing. Once Maddox is found, that’s it.”
“Yeah. It wraps up real nice and tidy, doesn’t it? Maddox murders a girl, a pro, and the Alpha conceals it until Maddox is no longer needed. It’s clean, it closes the case. With or without Maddox, the Commonwealth and FBI have enough to pin on McGregor for him to never see the outside of prison again.”
Which means that Quinn is taking this into his own hands. “What if the Alpha just left, Quinn? Just up and poof. Vanished.”
He shakes his head. “We can’t let that happen.”
“Because he’ll always be a threat. To me.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the downturned press of his mouth, the hard glare in his eyes, says enough. So much for keeping our secrets at bay for a night. I head to my purse and unearth the evidence bag from the bottom.
“This came to my office today.” I hand him the letter, conscious of the tremble in my hand. I give him a moment to read. “Whatever you and Sadie are hatching, I think I have one better.”
Silent fury builds within him, until he’s clutching the letter with a fisted hand. “Why didn’t you tell me—?”
“I’m telling you now.” Before Quinn can start in again, I hold up my hand. “I’m not doing this here. Take me to your apartment,” I demand, unable to get the image of Wells inside my home out of my head.
He slips the letter into the inseam of his jacket and heads to the door, caged anger rolling off his tense body. “Fine.”
I follow behind, shaking my head. “I should’ve known there was something wrong.” When he looks at me curiously, I say, “You knew I’d pick my home.” He let me have the illusion of it being my choice, but he knew—he wanted to see my journal for proof.
His guilty expression is all the confirmation I need.
“Damn detectives.”
9
Slow Burn
Quinn
The Alpha made contact with Avery.
She doesn’t grasp the magnitude of this. Ever since the auction bust, we’ve been on the defensive. Waiting for the Alpha’s next move. He played us, using my team to frame Dorian McGregor. For weeks now I’ve been on alert, my only objective to keep Avery safe.
The worst possible scenario would be to send her out into the field, and damn if that’s not exactly what she wants. And fucking worse, it’s what the Alpha wants.
I won’t let him use us to get to her.
“I’ll hand the letter over to the Feds before I let you risk your life,” I tell her. Fist clenching the bag, I damn near tear the letter.
Avery notices and eases the evidence bag from my grasp. Sets it on the table. “It’s no different than using me in The Firm,” she says, crossing her arms.
“It’s completely different. There, you were disguised. You’re talking about using yourself as bait now.” I shake my head, anger seeping through every poor. “No.”
“The Lair is safe. You’re using it tonight, in fact, with Carson and Sadie.” She raises her eyebrows, daring me to argue her point. “Do you really think those idiots who kidnapped me will lead you to the Alpha? We set up a whole bust…and ended up arresting the wrong man. I’m sorry, but this has to end. And if the Alpha wants me, then it’s the only way to draw him out.”
I sink against the edge of the couch, thoroughly over this fucking conversation. I should’ve informed Bell after the bust that McGregor was a scapegoat. Not that it would’ve done any good, she’s hell-bent on closing the case with misconstrued facts, but at least my conscience would be clear enough to hunt down this fucker with the full backing of my department. Feds or no Feds.
The matter stands, however, that the Feds can’t be trusted. We don’t know who the Alpha has on the inside. So it’s us against everyone else. A regular old showdown. I’d laugh at the cliché if it wasn’t so damn pathetic.
“Sadie will help me,” Avery says, spiking my blood with renewed anger.
I march toward her and grip her arms. Rougher than I intend, and she windmills her hands. “This isn’t sparring practice. I’m not letting you go.” I latch on tighter.
A glint of defiance sparks in her dark irises. “Practice? Don’t take it easy on me, Quinn. I’m not going to with you.” Then she stomps on my toe and yanks free. I curse at the throbbing pain radiating through my foot.
She grabs her bag and the letter, taking off toward the door. I’m there before she can open it, my arms anchored around her little waist and lifting her into the air. Kicking feet aim for my body, but I maneuver her to the side, carrying her like a duffle bag to my bedroom.
