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His grip on his gun tightened.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the stranger said, “but it looked like you needed some help.”
The only one who needed help was the man in cuffs, but the newcomer was looking right at Quinn when he said it.
Recognition flared. He’d seen this man at Sebastian’s.
“We’re doing just fine,” Quinn replied, not lowering his gun. “This is police business. Turn around and leave.”
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction, Quinn Hughes,” was all he got in response. No one wanted to listen to Quinn today, it seemed.
Quinn’s finger snuck down to his gun’s trigger. “Identify yourself.” Associating with Sebastian didn’t automatically put him in the “safe” category.
“I’ve been watching your career quite closely, and I have to say I’m impressed with your professionalism.” The smirk widened. “But this impresses me more. Breaking and entering? I see why Sebastian’s head has always been so thoroughly turned by you.”
“Hunter,” Quinn guessed.
Hunter didn’t acknowledge whether Quinn was right or not, but he knew he was.
A second man came up behind Hunter. Brown hair that hung to his shoulders. Light-blue eyes. Same frat-boy attire, this time with dark jeans and a black hoodie. A half head taller, leaner. Another predator. This time a John Wick-lookalike predator.
Fucking hell.
“It’s a veritable party in here,” Grady remarked. “What fun company you keep these days, Quinn.”
Quinn shot him an unamused look. He didn’tinvitethem here. If it was up to him, he’d keep himself, and all his men, away from Hunter and anyone associated with him.
“This is Jericho.” The corner of Hunter’s mouth lifted further. “But you already knew that.”
Quinn knew how to add two and two.
Jericho went around Hunter and came further into the room. The dark hoodie he wore made his blue eyes pop. It felt deliberate, like he wanted people to notice the eye-catching colour. Quinn had conducted enough witness interviews to instantly guess at its purpose: it would confuse other details if a witness was asked to remember anything.
“You move fast…” Jericho ran his eyes down Quinn’s form in a blatantly obvious perusal. “For a suit.” His voice was deep with a soothing hint of gravel. The kind of tone that Quinn would associate with a smoky jazz singer.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“You tell me.”
The idea that they were being watched and they hadn’t noticed was unnerving. How long had the two of them been there?
“As entertaining as this eye-fucking is, how about someone takes these cuffs off me, so I can be on my way?”
Hunter chuckled. He stepped inside and closed the back door with a quiet click. The snick of the lock sliding into place was loud. “What makes you think you’re leaving?”
“Not even dirty cops could explain this away.” The man sneered.
Jericho crouched in front of him, somehow managing to look menacing despite his attire. Quinn wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley, even with those ugly sneakers.
“Then I guess today just isn’t your day,” Jericho said. His eyes locked with Quinn’s. “There are no dirty cops in this room.”
Quinn couldn’t look away even as his brain screameddangerat him. “Another compliment?” he asked dryly.
“It’s someone’s lucky day,” Jericho replied suggestively.
Quinn didn’t know what to do with thatorthe way his body was reacting to that voice. His gun lowered a fraction. Jericho’s smirk was softer than Hunter’s, a slow slide of his heart-shaped lips. His lower lip was bigger than his top lip. And there was something else in it, something that Quinn couldn’t identify. Or didn’t want to, maybe. Refused to. The reasoning all led to the same place:danger.
Hunter leaned against the nearest counter, cocking his hip as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Who killed George, David?”
