Chapter Two
Quinn rifled through the clothes piled in her suitcase. Where had she put those blasted things?
The chiming phone in her pocket interrupted her frantic search. She huffed a breath to stop the rising panic and checked the screen. A soft smile formed when she saw the photo of James smiling back at her.
She put the phone to her ear. “Hey.”
“Hey. I want to apologize for how awkward it got with my parents tonight. Ever since my mom left and opened that oxygen bar in Arizona, my dad has a hard time being in the same room with her. He’s still bitter.”
“Well, it hasn’t been that long. I’m sure her showing up at the rehearsal dinner with her new boyfriend didn’t help matters. How are you? Are you okay?”
He sighed. “I guess. I just wish she’d left Xander in Sedona. Him being here just adds to the drama. Mom and Kelsey are already hardly speaking to each other.”
Quinn had noticed the strain between James’s mother and younger sister. She wasn’t about to mention it now, though.
As if trying to shake off his melancholy, he sounded more upbeat when he said, “Just so you know, you made a good impression on Mom. She said you’re lovely and charming and I am lucky to be marrying you.”
“Well, duh,” she said, teasing him. “Seriously, though, that’s sweet of her to say. I hope I get a chance to get to know her better. Meeting your future mother-in-law for the first time the day before the wedding isn’t optimal.”
“No, it’s not. But with you in training at the Farm and me in Moscow, it couldn’t be helped. We were lucky to squeeze in time with my dad and Kelsey in Colorado after we got engaged and before I left.” James’s father, Steven, was a corporate lawyer in Denver.
“True. Speaking of parents, I saw my dad had you cornered. You kinda looked like you were about to be devoured by a grizzly bear.”
James breathed a quiet laugh. “That’s about right.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was proud to have me as a son-in-law and if we ever needed anything, we could come to him.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, it was a nice thing to say. But then he gave me this eagle-eyed stare and said in this bone-chilling way, ‘If you ever hurt Quincy, you’ll answer to me.’”
“Oh boy. Sorry about that,” she said ruefully. “He’s a little overprotective.”
“No worries. I get it. You’re his only daughter. I told him he’d have to wait until you got through with me first.”
She laughed. “I bet he appreciated that.”
“I think he did. He smirked a little, like, ‘Yeah, that’s my girl, all right.’ And then your mom came over and told him your grandfather needed to talk to him.”
“Grandpa to the rescue.” Her grandfather, a longtime member of the CIA and the man who had recruited her into the agency, never missed a thing.
“Like a superhero. After your dad left, your mom assured me his bark is worse than his bite.”
“It’s true. Just don’t tell anyone at Pendleton. He has a reputation to uphold.”
“My lips are sealed.” Shifting gears, he asked, “How are you? Ready for tomorrow?”
“So ready.” Quinn’s hotel room door opened and Nicole Park Baldwin, her best friend, matron of honor, and roommate for the night walked in. She acknowledged Nicole with a quick wave and said to James, “I’m kinda freaking out, though. I can’t find the earrings I was planning on wearing tomorrow. Grandma wore them when she and Grandpa got married.”
Nicole shook her head and rolled her eyes. She walked to the nightstand, picked up a small red box, and flipped open the top. Holding it out for Quinn to see, she said, “You mean these?”
With an embarrassed smile, Quinn answered, “Um, yeah. Those.”
Nicole snapped the box closed and returned it to the nightstand. “That’s it. You’ve officially lost it. Time for us to find you something to do.”
“But it’s late and—”
“It’s not that late. Tell James good night and you’ll see him tomorrow.”
Quinn shot her a defiant look. “Who said I’m talking to James?”
Nicole’s response was a flat stare.
“Okay, fine. I’m talking to James.”
“Who you left at the rehearsal dinner an hour ago,” Nicole stated.
“You’d better do what she says,” James said, amusement coloring his voice.
From the determined look on Nicole’s face, Quinn knew it was pointless to argue. “You’re right,” she said to James. “What are you going to do?”
“Madison and Monroe said something about taking me down to the bar for a drink.”
“Oh boy.” Her twin brothers were always up to something.
“Don’t worry. I won’t let Fred and George lead me astray.”
She grinned. Their shared love of all things Harry Potter made her incredibly happy. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait. I love you. Good night.”
“I love you, too. Good night.”
She’d barely ended the call when Nicole said, “Come on. Let’s go.”
Quinn stood firm and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you promise me we’re not going pole dancing again. You talked me into those lessons for my bachelorette party. Once was enough.”
“You should keep it up. You’re a natural. I bet James would love to install a pole in your apartment.” Nicole smirked when Quinn snorted. “And relax, would you? There’s a fro-yo place not far from here.”
Quinn cast a wary glance. “Frozen yogurt?” She looked over at the clock. “I guess we could go and get back before it gets too late.”
“Exactly.” Quinn caught her purse when Nicole tossed it at her. “Let’s go.”
A few minutes later, they were in Nicole’s car, driving along the streets of Los Angeles, crowded with people ready to blow off some steam on a Friday night.
Quinn didn’t say anything when Nicole drove past the first yogurt place. When they sailed past a second, she spoke up. “Is there some special fro-yo shop we’re going to? Because we’ve already passed a couple.”
Nicole peeked over at her and then looked out the windshield again. “We’re not going for fro-yo.”
“What? Where the hell are you taking me?” When Nicole didn’t answer immediately, Quinn’s annoyance was obvious when she said, “This isn’t funny, Nic. I’m getting married tomorrow. Take me back to the hotel.”
Nicole continued to drive, unfazed. “I’m fully aware you’re getting married tomorrow. Trust me. I understand exactly how you feel. Nervous. Excited. Jumpy. I went through the same thing myself less than a year ago. Remember?”
Quinn did recall the day, even through the fog of disappointment, when she’d been convinced James was about to break up with her. He’d proposed to her instead. “Yeah, I remember.” And Nicole described exactly how Quinn felt: nervous, excited, and jumpy.
“And to get you through the rest of this evening without going completely bonkers, we’re going to go to a karaoke place—”
“Nic—”
Nicole held up her hand. “Just for a little while, to take your mind off the wedding. Because, come on. It’s consumed your brain every waking minute for, like, the past month, right?”
Other than when she and James had been in Ziegler’s office during the op the week before, what Nicole said was true. “Okay, yeah.” Quinn huffed a laugh and confessed, “Not just when I’m awake. Last night, I dreamed I was driving myself to the ceremony and I couldn’t find the church. I drove all over in a complete panic.”
“See? Your brain needs this. It’ll be fun.”
The idea of not stressing about the wedding even for an hour or two was enticing. Quinn side-eyed her friend. “If we end up in jail, I’m never speaking to you again.”
Nicole laughed. “No jail time. I promise. And you’ve gone to karaoke with me before. Not once has it ended in incarceration.”
“True. Okay. I’m in, but just as a spectator.”
“Good,” Nicole said as she wheeled the car into the strip mall parking lot. “Because we’re here.”
Quinn got out and looked at the illuminated sign above the door that led into the unassuming bar tucked between a dry cleaner and nail salon. “You’ve got to be kidding. Sing and Swig?”
“Give it a chance. We’re librarians. We don’t judge a book by its cover.”
Quinn closed the car door and noted the darkened windows featuring a Coors beer neon sign. “Yes, we do and you know it.”
“Okay, bad example.” Nicole’s car chirped when she set the alarm. “If it’s a total dive, say the word and we’ll leave and go get fro-yo for real. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Quinn opened the door and was smacked in the face by a wall of sound. Every voice in the bar sang along with the man on the small stage sporting a beer gut and male pattern baldness. He pumped his fist in the air as he wailed the chorus of “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
As the crowd continued to sing along with the Bon Jovi wannabe, Quinn and Nicole meandered through the dark, crowded room to one of the few empty tables. “Gonna grab a couple of drinks for us. Be right back,” Nicole said.
“Just get me a bottle of water,” Quinn called out to Nicole’s retreating form. “She’s not going to bring me water,” she mumbled as she sat.
Quinn clapped for the man who’d just finished his inspired version of the rock classic while she inspected the room. It was unremarkable, with posters advertising various brands of beer tacked to the walls. And despite the fact any calendar would indicate it was the waning days of May, colored Christmas lights were strung along the walls. Lyrics scrolled on a large monitor attached to the wall behind the stage. As her recent training had drilled her to do, she also took note of the exits in the room.
The crowd was comprised mostly of professionals looking to start their weekends off with a bang. The largest single group was one of eight women, all in their mid to late twenties, crammed around two tables pushed together. Quinn and Nicole could have joined them and not appeared out of place. Three of the young women squealed and bounded to the stage when it was their turn. They launched into an enthusiastic rendition of “Shake It Off.”
Quinn tapped her foot to the beat and smiled when the women flicked their hands in the air as if literally shaking it off. Her smile turned to a scowl, though, when Nicole walked toward their table. In each hand, she carried a shot glass filled with pale amber liquid. A lime wedge had been placed atop the salt-coated rim of each glass.
“I hope both of those tequila shots are for you and the water is mine,” Quinn said, eyeing the plastic bottle clamped between Nicole’s upper arm and rib cage.
As she sat, Nicole set one of the glasses in front of Quinn. Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but Nicole cut her off before she could utter a word.
“I know. You don’t want to be hungover the day of your wedding. You know I won’t let that happen. One shot. That’s all I ask. It’ll take the edge off.” Nicole set the bottle on table. “Drink all the water you want after that.”
A blanket of nerves had covered her for days. Having it lift, if only for a little while, was tempting. “I guess one shot won’t hurt.” The second she uttered those words, she hoped they wouldn’t end up in the Words You Regretted Saying Hall of Fame. In one swift movement, she picked up the glass, downed the tequila in one gulp, and bit the lime. She slammed the glass on the table, shuddered, and squeezed her eyes shut as the tequila burned its way down her throat. The fire in her chest rapidly spread and warmed her to her fingertips. She opened her eyes and grinned at Nicole.
Her friend nodded in approval. “Better?”
Quinn rolled her shoulders. The knots that had been there for months untangled. “Better.”
Nicole slid the glass in front of her across the table. “If one is good, two is better.” When Quinn squinted at her, Nicole gave her a passive look. “I shouldn’t drink it anyway. I’m driving.”
Quinn considered her friend for a moment. “Last one,” she said and slammed back the shot. Her toes began to tingle. “Get me a couple more, would you?”
“I don’t think so,” Nicole said with a frown. “I promised you no hangover.”
Quinn cracked the top on the water bottle, tipped it back, and took several long pulls. “Good, because that was a test. You passed.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Q.”
“You’re welcome. And as a reward, I’ll go up there and sing something.”
Nicole’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“But only if you go with me, since you’re the karaoke maven.”
“Deal,” Nicole answered without hesitation and leaped from her chair. As Nicole made a beeline for the DJ, Quinn felt like she should worry that she had no say in what they would be singing in front of a large group of strangers. The thing was, she had a hard time caring. She’d learned long ago when it came to hanging out with Nicole, it was best to go with the flow.
The prim smile and glint in Nicole’s eyes told Quinn her friend was extremely pleased with herself.
“What did you do?” Quinn asked.
“Trust me. I picked the perfect song.”
“I’m beginning to regret my moment of spontaneity.” The number of cringe-worthy ditties Nicole could choose from was stomach churning. “I refuse to bark my way through ‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’”
“Won’t have to.” Nicole smirked. “You know how to do the Macarena, right?”
Quinn pushed back her chair and started to roll onto her feet. “I’m outta here.”
Laughing, Nicole grabbed her hand and tugged her back into her seat. “I’m just kidding. You’re getting married tomorrow. It’s perfect.”
“Now I’m curious.”
Nicole’s response was an inscrutable smile.
As they waited their turn, they watched and cheered for the parade of singers who took the stage. Some were surprisingly good. Some couldn’t to carry a tune if their lives depended on it and didn’t give a furry rat’s behind. And they were awesome.
The only performance that gave Quinn pause was when one of the well-dressed guys at the table next to them performed “Blurred Lines.” He preened. He strutted. He smiled and winked.
Quinn leaned over to Nicole. “If I thought he was kidding around, I might give him a little slack. But he’s just a prick, isn’t he?”
“Oh, for sure. He’s a complete douchenozzle.”
He finished his song and returned to his seat. Quinn rolled her eyes when she overheard him say, “I crushed it. I’m the best by far tonight.”
Quinn and Nicole were next. As Nicole towed Quinn onto the stage, Quinn expected her nerves to overtake her and send her scurrying back to her seat. They didn’t. Instead, she felt a little giddy. It was then she realized the tequila shots had taken hold.
Like the karaoke aficionado she was, Nicole snatched a microphone and announced, “My girl here is getting married tomorrow.”
Cheers and hoots erupted from the crowd. Quinn grinned and gave them a little wave.
“She really loves him—”
“Awww,” the crowd cooed in one voice.
“And they’re gonna get married.” Nicole paused and beamed at Quinn. “So they’re going to the chapel of love.” Nicole began to sing “Chapel of Love,” changing the pronouns on the fly as appropriate.
The crowd cheered when Quinn joined in. It wasn’t long before the entire room sang along each time the chorus rolled around.
Emboldened by the enthusiasm in the room, Quinn bopped and shimmied alongside Nicole as they sang together.
The song came to a close. Quinn and Nicole bowed to thunderous applause and shouts of “Congratulations!” and “Happy wedding!”
They bounded off the stage and slapped high fives with complete strangers on the way back to their seats.
Quinn flopped in her chair. Hot and perspiring, she gulped the rest of her water. “I need more,” she said to Nicole and wiggled the empty. “You want one?”
“Yeah.”
Quinn went to the bar while two young men made their way to the stage for their turn in the limelight. After receiving the bottles and the bartender’s congratulations, she returned to the table and tossed one of the bottles to Nicole.
Once Quinn was sitting again, Nicole twisted in her chair to face Quinn and tipped her head toward her. Her eyes flashed with aggravation. “The prick next to us is such a condescending crapweasel. I just heard him say the huge response we got was because you’re getting married and not our singing.”
“I hate to tell you this, Nic, but he might be right.” At Nicole’s fierce frown, she quickly backtracked by adding, “My singing, anyway.”
She immediately regretted giving the man the benefit of the doubt when she overheard him say, “I don’t know why any guy would get married in the first place. Why would I want a woman telling me what to do all the time? Besides, I can have any woman I want without all the nagging. I’m a stallion.” Heat crawled up Quinn’s neck and flamed hot on her cheeks when he snorted a derisive laugh and said, “Five bucks says the loser she’s marrying is totally whipped.”
Nicole’s pique vanished with one look at Quinn’s face. “Q,” she said in a warning tone. “He’s not worth the breath.”
Quinn eased her clenched jaw and exhaled. “You’re right. I don’t need to waste my energy on a troll.”
The opening guitar riffs of “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” filled the room. She forgot her annoyance with The Prick when someone shouted, “More cowbell!” One of the guys on stage yelled back, “If you say so!” He lifted the front of his shirt and revealed the cowbell and drumstick stuffed in the waistband of his jeans. He whipped them out and whacked the bell in time with the song. The crowd roared in approval.
The cowbell rang throughout the entire song, including the instrumental interludes when it should have been silent. No one cared. By the end of the song, everyone bobbed their heads to the beat.
The two men took deep bows as they received a rousing ovation. Even after they stepped down and returned to their seats, the room still buzzed with energy as the next singer, one of the women from the large group, took the stage.
She took the microphone in her hand and bowed her head.
The murmurs of anticipation rolling through the bar fell silent when soft, languid notes from a piano drifted from the speakers.
Quinn was drawn in by the rich, soulful alto who sang of a final night together before a breakup. When she sang the haunting chorus of “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” there was a palpable ache in the woman’s voice. Not once did she consult the monitor as she sang. The words flowed from her soul.
Witnessing such raw emotion had Quinn blinking back tears. Glancing around, she saw she wasn’t the only one affected. The singer’s friends swiped fingers across damp cheeks. Some in the room lowered their gazes, unwilling to intrude upon a moment of gut-wrenching pain and vulnerability.
Only the creep next to Quinn and Nicole seemed to be immune to the spell the young woman cast over the room. He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest and squirmed in his chair. When Quinn saw Nicole’s head turn toward The Prick, Quinn was sure he’d received a laser-like glare capable of burning a hole in his skull.
Quinn tried to block all that out and focus her attention on the woman on stage.
The singer lifted her head and poignantly sang her acceptance of her circumstance. In the morning, she would do the right thing. In her subtle movements, she stood a little straighter and her shoulders squared. With increasing power in her voice, she declared to her friends, to herself, and to the world she was moving on.
The final notes faded and the room fell silent. Spellbound, no one seemed to know what to do. Wearing a wistful smile, the young woman set the microphone down and stepped off the stage. One of her friends began to clap. Everyone in the room, save one, sprang to their feet and applauded her bravery and resolve.
The young woman received hugs from each of her friends, and when she sat, the rest of the room did as well.
It took a moment, but the constriction of Quinn’s throat loosened so she could speak again. She looked at Nicole, who was clearly battling a swell of emotions. “That was heartbreaking,” Quinn said. “It makes me realize how lucky I am to have a man who I know loves me as much as I love him.”
“I know. Me too,” Nicole replied. “She was just so incredible though. It about ripped my heart out.”
The Prick had apparently been eavesdropping. He guffawed and muttered, “Sure. It’s all about her.”
Nicole bristled. With a dangerously arched eyebrow, she twisted in her chair and faced him. “Excuse me?”
“No wonder he didn’t love her. She’s trying to make it all about her.”
Quinn rolled her eyes at the guy’s gargantuan case of projection.
“Dude,” his friend said to him. “Let it go.”
“Look, you asshat,” Nicole spat. “The girl’s clearly going through some stuff. Give her a break and shut the hell up.”
“Nic,” Quinn said in a cautionary tone.
Nicole leaned back when he rolled forward toward her. “All you bitches are the same,” he said. For the first time, Quinn noticed how his eyes didn’t fully focus on anything. The guy was blitzed. “You’re always bossing us men around and then complaining to your friends about how terrible we are. I’m not gonna take it anymore. So you shut the hell up, bitch.” He shoved Nicole on the shoulder.
Nicole jumped from her chair, her hands balled into fists. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she said in a scary calm voice. Quinn was on her feet in a split second.
“See?” he said, swaying a little now that he was standing, too. “There you go, telling me what to do.” He shoved her again. Nicole sprawled back into her chair.
Furious at the way he was treating her best friend, Quinn stepped right in front of him. He was at least a foot taller than her. She wanted to get in his grill, but having to stand on a chair didn’t exactly scream intimidation. “Step off and never lay a hand on a woman like that ever again.”
“Who’s gonna stop me?” He stretched to his full height and sneered down at her. “You? You’re gonna stop me from doing this?” He raised his hand to give her a push.
She clamped her right hand over his wrist, gripped his thumb with the other, and rotated the hand under his arm. When it forced him to bend over, she pivoted and put him in an armlock.
“Ow! Let me go, you crazy bitch!”
“Watch your mouth.”
He grunted in pain when she torqued on his wrist. “You’re gonna bust my arm.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t knee you in the junk, too,” Quinn said in an even tone.
Slack-jawed, Nicole gaped at her.
Quinn moved her shoulder and said, “I took a self-defense class.” It was true. She just didn’t mention it was at the CIA.
Her captive reached his free hand around and tried to claw at her. She cranked harder on his wrist and pushed up on his elbow with her other hand. From her own experience with the hold, she knew searing pain was radiating up and down his entire arm. He whimpered in distress.
By the time a bartender arrived, all eyes were on them. He slung a towel over his shoulder and surveyed the situation. Fighting off a smile, he asked, “What seems to be the problem?”
“He’s had a little too much to drink and wasn’t nice to my friend,” Quinn said.
The bartender looked to The Prick’s friend. “I think it’s best you take him home.”
He stood and tossed some money on the table. “Sorry.”
Quinn released the arm, but was fully prepared to put him on his back if he made any kind of aggressive move.
He took a couple steps back and rubbed his wrist. Glaring at her, he asked, “What are you? Some kind of cop or something?”
“She’s not a cop.” Nicole stood and, in a voice brimming with pride, said, “She’s a librarian.”