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CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Alex glanced at the clock. Four thirty. They’d been sitting around Joe’s kitchen table for the past hour, discussing what-if scenarios and strategies for how to tackle each one.
Well, to be honest, Quinn and Joe were talking.Shewas worrying. And as the minutes ticked by, her anxiety skyrocketed.
The men fell silent as Roxie barged through the back door and into the kitchen, cell phone at her ear, arms loaded with bags.
“Memorial Day weekend?” Roxie said into her phone, setting the bags down on the counter and then rummaging through a drawer. “And Fourth of July?”
Quinn tossed her Joe’s notepad and pen, and she shot him a thankful smile as she furiously began scribbling. “Andthe mayor’s birthday party... Got it.”
A few clarifications later, Roxie ended the call and pumped her fist into the air. She spun around and turned on the oven, then unloaded the bags onto the counter. “You won’t believe the catering order Bonnie Green just placed with me.Threeparties! And earlier today, I had four other people put in catering requests.” She turned to the group. “Stroganoff or manicotti?”
“Manicotti,” Quinn replied.
At the same time, Joe said, “Stroganoff.”
With a slight tilt of her head, Roxie smirked at Joe. “Though the childish part of me says your opinion doesn’t count worth a—”
Alex cleared her throat. Loudly.
She appreciated Roxie’s distracting chatter, but not when it led to a name-calling match.
Roxie took a deep breath and turned to her. “You’re the tiebreaker. What’ll it be?”
Petty squabble averted, she eyed the two men. Her gaze settled on Quinn, and she crooked her finger. “Come here.”
Without hesitation, he leaned forward. She ran her fingers through his hair, and her insides went gooey when her engagement ring caught the light and twinkled. She pulled his head in for a quick kiss.
“I love you,” she told him. Then she pushed him back and looked at Roxie. “Stroganoff, please.”
Joe and Roxie burst into laughter.
Quinn stared at her in disbelief. “Damn. That was cold, sweetheart.”
“Stroganoff it is.” Roxie shoved the dish into the oven and set the timer. “I’ll go put this in your freezer,” she said to Quinn. Gathering the dish of manicotti under one arm and answering her ringing cell phone with the other, she walked out the back door.
As the aroma of stroganoff began to tease the air, Alex grew restless. She glanced at the clock again and sighed.
Joe had been on the phone for the last ten minutes, and when he finally hung up, she pounced. “Any updates on where Preston is?”
Joe sat back in his chair. “Downing’s jet touched down at Boeing Field. As I mentioned, we put a couple agents there. They said that when Woodsworth arrived, he was met by a car. They’re now heading south.”
“South?” Quinn asked. “But we’re north.”
“I don’t know, man. The agents have been following him for about twenty. Maybe he’s driving around the Sound and taking the Port Townsend ferry over.” Joe shrugged, the crease between his brows deepening. “They’ll call the second his car changes directions.”
Quinn nodded, but uneasiness clouded his expression. “I talked to Gavin. He and his crew are on standby.”
“Who’s Gavin?” she asked.
“Gavin Frazier. He runs a private security company. They have an office up by Cade’s gym. He and his crew are a bunch of retired special ops guys. Good group. They can provide whatever backup’s needed.”
“Any of your deputies on this?” Joe asked.
“All of them. I’ve got a couple down at the ferry dock here, and another over at the Whidbey dock with one of Gavin’s guys who was already there.” He rubbed his neck. “I don’t know, Buchanan. Something feels off, and I don’t like it. They shouldn’t be going south.”
“I hear you. Of all the route options, that’s the one that takes the longest to get here.” Joe rose from the table and began to pace. “My Spidey-senses are in overdrive right now.”
