A Perfect Storm
Page 83

“Candy?”
Oh, no. No way.
Luckily the bed was right there, because her backside landed on it before she’d even realized her knees were bending. “Yes?”
“It’s Quin.”
No reply came to mind.
“From the Green Goose.”
Her tongue felt thick when she said, “Quinto?”
“You gave me this number. On a note, in my pocket. Last night. Do you remember?”
Yeah, now she remembered. But until she’d heard his voice, she’d forgotten all about that. What did the call mean?
And what the hell had she been thinking?
“I am sorry to bother you,” Quin said with strained apology. “You were drinking, so you probably do not—”
Thoughts scrambling, Arizona interrupted him, anxious to keep him on the phone. “No, it’s fine. I’m glad to hear from you.” Trying for cheerfulness to cover her shock, wishing she could order her memories so that they made sense, she asked stupidly, “What’s up, Quin?”
Audible breathing, along with a lot of hesitation, filled her ear. “Since I will not be able to see you at the bar again, I wanted to thank you.”
Her mouth went dry as dust. Think, Arizona, think.
She cleared her throat. “Why wouldn’t you see me?” Oh, God, that sounded lame, not at all convincing. But was she supposed to know of the raid? Should she remain undercover? Hadn’t Dare busted that whole gig wide open?
Think, think, think.
Hoping for inspiration, she said, “Maybe you don’t know, but I got hired to work there. I report in tonight.”
She heard some shuffling, as if he’d muffled the phone, or his groan, then Quin whispered, “No, you do not.”
“Why not?” Somehow she knew, absolutely knew, that Quin was in big trouble.
“The police came, with others. You were a part of that, right?”
“The police?” She’d drunk so much that she couldn’t recall if she was supposed to be aware of the raid or not. Rubbing her forehead, she asked, “What are you talking about?”
Hadn’t she and Spencer covered their connection even then? Or, no, wait—they’d sort of fought together against a few of the rowdier drunks. Joel had been there, but far as she could remember, he hadn’t gotten hurt. Spencer’s bimbo had already split, so she hadn’t been around.
But Terry Janes…no, she hadn’t come across him again. She hadn’t seen Carl, either—not until he tried jumping her in the alley outside the bar.
She had no memory of Quin being about at all.
“The raid that shut down the bar?” Quin prompted. “You were with the artist, and with Mr. Janes. There was a fight, and then the police came.”
Oh, God. She didn’t know whether to trust him or not. He sounded like Quin, but the boy she’d met had been almost silent. She couldn’t imagine him calling her for a chat.
After chewing her lip, Arizona asked, “Is this really you, Quin?”
Flat, with no inflection at all, he replied, “Who else would it be?”
If only she had a few minutes to think, or if she’d anticipated this—but she’d gone straight from waking, to wanting Spencer, to indulging her first full-participant carnal encounter—with no time for configuring various scenarios about her performance of the night before. “I don’t know. What happened to Joel? Did he get hurt in the fight?”
“I can not say.”
“What about Terry Janes?”
“Again, I do not know.”
She chewed her lips, weighing his answers, trying to find the truth in them.
At her continued silence, he asked, “You did not want me to call you?”
“Sure I did.” But the circumstances had all changed. She didn’t need to get closer to him now, because thanks to Dare, it was shut down. Permanently.
Quin was safe. Or…at least he should have been.
Why hadn’t they gathered Quin into the net, though? Why wasn’t he in some kind of safe house, getting questions answered? Being reunited with loved ones? She’d thought—
“Candy? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” She had to get it together. Now. “Sorry. I drank way too much last night and I’m still a little hungover.”
“I know. I saw.” With sympathy, he added, “You had no choice but to drink, and I had no choice—”
“It’s okay.” Quin had to play along, or he’d be hurt. She got that. “So I don’t have a job?”
“You truly do not remember?”
“I remember I got hired.” Without any real despondence, she added, “Bummer that the job is gone.”
He drew a breath, then shattered what remained of her cool composure. “Do you think I could see you, Candy?”
Oh, no, no, no.
“See me?”
“We could meet somewhere. And…talk. I can tell you about the raid, explain all that has happened. I could even help you find another job. A better job.”
She needed a viable excuse, and she needed it fast. She needed a plan even more. “Umm…”
“It is important that I speak to you,” he stressed, and a certain strain sounded in his tone. A strain of desperation. “I…I need your help.”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll try.” To stall for time, she asked, “Will you give me a number where I can reach you?”