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I turned to go upstairs when Jericho stopped me in my tracks. “Not that it’s any of my business, but why is the US government spying on you?”
I spun around to face him. “The US government? What makes you think it’s the government?”
“That tech is specific to the US alphabet agencies, far as I know. We came across it at an embassy in a country that shall remain nameless. Found out the DEA had decided to surveil some lower-level targets without the courtesy of informing us ahead of time.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Got our asses chewed for destroying the tech when we found it because it costs a shit ton of money.”
I wondered out loud. “In this case, it looks like the DEA’s enemies got their hands on some of it. Probably found it like you did and repurposed it for their own ends.”
“You mean a drug boss found it in his mansion and then used it to spy on someone else? Nah. It’s not that simple. Ask Hux. Having the cameras and listening devices aren’t enough. You have to have access to the back-end software, and that shit is locked down tight.”
I stared at him for a minute, possibilities swirling through my mind.
Jericho studied me. “Tell me a square like you is in trouble with the DEA. I’ll laugh my ass off.”
“Not officially, no. But we’ve got an agent breathing down our necks regardless. He wants something related to a client of ours, and he thinks we have information we’re not sharing—”
Jericho frowned. “Yeah, but if your agent had probable cause to install surveillance equipment, he’d have probable cause to get a warrant to search your computer systems or bring you in for questioning. That doesn’t play.”
He was right. Fuck. So it was the cartel’s MO but the DEA’s technology? Where did that leave us?
“So… do you?” Jericho asked.
“Hmm?”
“Do you have information you’re not sharing?” he teased.
I realized just how little I knew about Jericho. There was a strong possibility he was in this up to his ears. It was time to stop being so trusting.
“A ‘square’ like me? Nah.” I shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for the heads-up and all the incredible work on the house.”
It wasn’t until later, after I’d gathered a few fresh T-shirts from upstairs—T-shirt-related thefts were definitely on the rise in the Thicket—and was driving back to Riggs and Carter’s place that I cringed as I recalled Jericho’s words about Quinn.
It was true I hadn’t brought Quinn to the house, and I knew he’d noticed it. He’d mentioned it more than once, especially back in the beginning. But why would I have brought him to a construction site when his place was so comfortable and tidy? It wasn’t important to have him over just for the sake of it, and surely Quinn understood that…
I nearly stopped short on Walnut Street, and Elmira Byrd waved to me from her front porch.
Hadn’t I had nearly the same thought about Quinn last night in the van on the way to search the farmhouse? That surely Quinn understood that my business was important?
Maybe the issue wasn’t that Quinn didn’t understand how important my business was or how unimportant my house was. Maybe the issue was that I hadn’t been clear about how important he was.
I didn’t know exactly what we were—Sleeping together? Dating? Friends with benefits?—but I knew I wanted him around. And the thought of not having him in my life filled me with anxiety. Lots of anxiety. Which was a new concept for me.
I’d meant what I’d said to my team. Quinn had me twisted up inside. I had a new kind of nervous feeling when I was away from him, something I’d never felt when I was with Vince. It made me want to stay with Quinn or at least know where he was and whether he was safe and happy at all times.
He’d made it clear many times that he wasn’t a relationship guy, and fuck knew I’d made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t either. Both of us had really good reason to feel that way.
But the way Quinn had come to Champion Security last night to yell at me—that was not the action of a man with no skin in the game. And the way I was obsessing about him right now… well, that suggested that shit had changed for me too. So maybe that meant…
Maybe it meant that I needed to fucking talk to Quinn instead of deciding things myself for once.
When I parked the truck, I realized I hadn’t, in fact, returned to Riggs’s place to work. I was parked outside of Quinn’s showroom, exactly where I wanted to be.
Taffet Events was a hive of activity. Two women exited the front door, happily chatting and carrying a white paper gift bag I recognized as Quinn’s new-client welcome pack. I’d helped him put his logo stickers on the front of them one night after an epic round of sex on the antique chaise in his front room.
