A Brew to a Kill (32 page)

I studied Mike’s stony face, tried to meet his gaze, but the man was someplace else. So I took a breath, let it out, and told myself to hang in there and stay tough. Mike and I hadn’t been together in days, and this was hardly the reunion I’d anticipated, but things could have gone far worse tonight for me and Matt.

“Listen up, Allegro,” Quinn snapped, leaning across the table. “You’re not out of the woods yet. Not even close. You could still lose your warehouse, your business, and do hard time in a federal penitentiary—”

Matt pounded the table. “But
we’re
the victims here.”

“You’re the victims? Oh, great. So we’re going with the plea of choice for nine out of ten hotel heiresses caught with the wrong white powder in their compacts, otherwise known as the ‘that’s not my cocaine’ defense?”

“But it’s not!”

“Shut up and listen. I’ll hear your side of the story later, after we all get some sleep. But before we can close our eyes, I have to lay down a few rules. Obey them, or we’re all going to face some pretty ugly consequences for what went down tonight.”

The chair creaked as Matt leaned back again.

“As of this moment you both work for me. You’re assets, informants, snitches. You will cooperate with the NYPD in all matters pertaining to this investigation. Is that understood?”

I couldn’t nod fast enough, but Matt was, as usual, resisting.

“What do you mean, cooperate?” he griped.

“I mean you will do
everything
I tell you to do,” Quinn said. “In my absence, you will do everything
my squad
tells you to do. You will talk to these drug dealers when they contact you. You will pretend to play along. You will meet with them if I deem it necessary, and wear a wire at that meeting.”

“Didn’t you catch that article in the
Wall Street Journal
?” Matt replied. “The one about how tight neckties cut off oxygen to the brain?”

“And if you
don’t
want to cooperate with
me
, I can give you back to Weiss and Blanco and you can deal with them.”

Matt slumped in his chair. “My lifelong ambition is finally fulfilled. I’ve become a rat for the NYPD.”

“I don’t require that you like it, Allegro. But for all our sakes, you have to do it.”

Matt nodded, at last admitted, “I know.”

“Later today, I’ll meet with my squad and dole out new assignments. Everybody under me, and I mean every
body
, is going to be on this case. We’ll obtain warrants to tap your business and personal phones, and set up surveillance at the warehouse and here at the Blend. Everything should be in place by noon.”

“Geez, you work fast,” Matt said.

“I have to,” Quinn said, “and do you know why? Because we have maybe one week to clear this up. In ten lousy days
max
my deal with the powers that be will expire. If we don’t have a decent lead by then, you’ll end up in custody, and I’ll likely be swept up for internal review.”

For the first time that night, I felt Mike’s ice blue gaze fix on me. “You’re part of this, too, Clare. Buckman called me about the hit-and-run. The DEA told me about the shots fired—by the way, that’s why they moved in on you two so fast. They saw Brooklyn locals on the case and they didn’t want to lose the collar. Either way, your life is in danger, so until this is over, Sergeant Emmanuel Franco will be a member of the Blend staff.”

Matt groaned. “Oh, man… not
him
.”

“Train Franco, Clare, make him look convincing as a barista—”

“I can’t turn an amateur into a barista overnight. The training process takes three months minimum!”

“Do your best. If the barista thing doesn’t work, make him your dishwasher, or have him mop the floor. I don’t care. But Franco has got to look like he belongs there. And not just sitting at a table. Franco goes wherever you go, on duty and off. He’s your shadow and your shield. Don’t make a move without him.”

“Come on, Quinn,” Matt complained again, “why the mook?”

“One reason, Allegro. To annoy
you
.”

“That’s it!” Matt jumped to his feet. “I’m going home.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Those smugglers are going to contact you. Not Clare. And not me. I don’t want you partying in the Hamptons or clubbing in Soho when the call comes down. I want you close and ready.”

“The three of us are going to the mattresses together?” Matt said. “Like in
The Godfather
?!”

“Look on the bright side,” I said, remembering those
carnitas
. “At least we have enough food.”

“Fine,” Matt said. “So where do I sleep?”

“There’s a bed in the guest room,” Quinn said. “But then, you already know that.”

W
HEN
Matt disappeared, silence fell. For a long and terrible minute, Quinn and I sat together, sharing nothing. Finally, I spoke.

“So… how was your trip?”

Mike gave me an unreadable stare. Then he rose from the table, loosened his tie, and uttered one word—

“Bedtime.”

Taking my hand, he led me upstairs.

The master bedroom was dark, save the murky gray light seeping through the half-closed curtains. Quinn didn’t bother turning on the lamp or turning back the covers, just collapsed into the four-poster, pulling me with him. I tucked into his arms, inhaled his strength.

“Thank you,” I whispered on the exhale.

“You can thank me when this nightmare’s over.”

“You got me out of that interrogation room, which was loads of fun, by the way. I’ll stick by my very big
thank you
, if you don’t mind.”

Shifting on the mattress, I rubbed my sore wrists and realized
they weren’t the only casualties. My upper arms were bruised, too.

“Oh, man. What did they do to me?”

Mike examined the darkening welts, softly cursed. “After they cuffed you, your feet didn’t touch the floor, did they?”

“Not much. Everything happened so fast. My wrists were locked behind my back, they hoisted me by my upper arms and half carried, half dragged me all the way to the van in the parking lot. Why do they do that? Does it save time? Or just start the softening-up process for the interview?”

“Both.”

“Well, it sucks…”

His probing touches were tender, but they still hurt. “Ouch.”

“I’m sorry, Clare.” His voice remained clipped, careful, and a little bit chilly. The coldness upset me, but I had to hang in there. I had to wait…

Mike Quinn had been willing to wait for me. That’s why he’d given me the Claddagh ring instead of a diamond. He didn’t want to rush me, to scare me. He cared enough to put aside what he wanted. Now it was my turn to do that for him.

I cleared my throat. “So are you going to tell me how you accomplished what you did tonight?”

“It started with phone calls—lots of them.”

“That’s an explanation?”

“For now.”

“At least tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Who in the world is
God
?”

Mike paused. “That’s an existential question, Cosi. I don’t think I’m qualified to answer.”

“You’re being cute?”

“I’ll tell you soon. Not tonight.”

“Technically, it’s morning.” I gestured to the window where the sun was transmuting our bedroom light from desolate gray to the palest of yellows. The dawn was staking its
ancient claim, warming the night-shrouded earth, cooking away the dark.

“How about you answer me a question,” Quinn said.

“If it’s about Matteo, I promise you that he spent the night in the guest room. I was going to mention it during our conversation, but—

“
Did you miss me?
That’s my question.”

I looked into his eyes.
Yes, I missed you
, I wanted to say.
And I’m still missing you…

All night, Quinn’s gaze had been glassy as a frigid arctic pond. Silently, I moved my hand to his cheek, now rough with stubble, and held it there. Before my eyes, the ice began to thaw. In the privacy of our room, Mike’s frozen mask finally melted away and he came back to me…

“Ask me again,” I whispered.

His eyes were shimmering now, warm blue pools in the golden light. “Did you miss me, Clare?”

My answer wasn’t in words.

“O
OOH
…
Figaro! Figaro! Figaro!”

I rubbed my eyes. The late morning sun was strong through the partially closed drapes. My bedside clock informed me it was 11:52
AM
, and my ears told me Matt was in the shower.

“Oooh… la-la-la! La-la-la! La-la-laaaaa!”

My head was aching, my arms black-and-blue, my wrists raw, and when I rolled over, I ran smack into a wall of naked muscle. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming again. But no, this time Mike Quinn really was here—and he was pissed.

“Ah, che bel vivere, che bel piacere!”

“Is that your asshole ex-husband caterwauling?”

“Yes,” I said with a yawn. “He’s singing Rossini, and I think it’s a message for us…”

“For us?” Mike groused. “What’s the message?”

“The aria he’s singing is from
Barber of Seville
,” I informed him. “The
barber
part’s for me. The opera’s libretto is for you…”

“I don’t speak Italian.”

“Pronto a far tutto!”
Matt crooned.
“La notte e il giorno! Vita più nobile, no, non si da!”

“Ready to do everything,” I translated.
“
Night and day. A more noble life is not to be had.”

“That’s his message for me?” said Mike.

“I’m fairly sure he’s being sarcastic.”

“Aaaah… Figaro! Figaro! Figaro! A te fortuna non mancherà!”

“Ah, Figaro,” I translated. “You’ll never lack for luck.”

Mike groaned, and I knew exactly what he was thinking:
This is going to be one long week.

With a resigned sigh, I spooned in closer and rested my cheek against his broad back. He felt sturdy and warm and good—but then Mike was good, and good for me in so many ways…So why was that awful moment from last night’s interrogation still bothering me?

“You don’t really love the guy, do you?… Is that the point of that sappy ‘friendship ring’ instead of a real diamond? Does Mike have cold feet, or is it you, Clare?”

It was me. I knew that. But my reluctance to accept a diamond from Mike had nothing to do with not loving him. I loved the man with all my heart.

Then why haven’t I said yes to more with him?

The answer wasn’t simple. Though I didn’t doubt Mike’s love, I did doubt something… mainly the future—and all the things that might happen between us, painful things that could lead to the decline of our relationship, things I’d experienced with Matt and had no desire to relive.
How can I risk another commitment before God, when there’s a chance it could all fall to pieces?