Mia Darien - Good Things

Get your flipping head in the game, Cain, he harshly commanded himself.

“Max okay?” she asked.

He flicked a glance at both their mics, but the lights were off, so no one else could hear them. “Fine.”

“He hasn’t learned anything new. Has he?”

Cain kept his expression neutral as he turned back to the delegation hall beyond, where Max sat. “He’s making progress.”

“Liar.”

He whipped his head toward her to find her laughing at him.

“Thought that would get your attention.” She grinned, unrepentant.

He grumbled his irritation.

The smile fell from her lips as she sobered. “I know you’re trying to protect me, or save me worry, or some such thing. I’m a big girl.”

He’d noticed.

“Have we learned anything?”

“No.”

“Too bad we don’t have a true telepath on the team.”

“Yeah.” Cain often wished for that skill. The twins were telekinetic with different focuses. Usually, the combination of the four of men on the team was more than enough. However, when their primary duty was surveillance, like now, a telepath sure would come in handy.

“Time for a different tack, don’t you think?”

Cain frowned at the resolution behind her words. Only three weeks with Quinn and he could read her like a book. He refused to acknowledge the suspected reason for that. Now wasn’t the time. Yet. “What do you mean?”

“They’re trafficking supernaturals.”

He crossed his arms, already not liking where she was going with this. “So?”

“So it’s time to offer up bait.”

“You?” He tried to keep his gut reaction out of his voice but must’ve failed.

She cocked her head. “Why not?”

“I’ve seen what you went through last time you were slaved out.” Even now he had to control the rage which boiled through him at the knowledge. That he had been the one to save her, the man she’d kissed that night, the man who’d assassinated those who’d held her captive—a fact he’d yet to share with Quinn—made little difference. He despised himself for keeping her in harm’s way now. She was too…important…to him in a way he wasn’t ready to label yet. But no chance in hell was he allowing her to get close to those men.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m stronger now. Smarter. I’m not a seventeen-year-old girl anymore.”

That was for sure. “No.”

Like a rattlesnake striking, she spun to the desk and flipped on her microphone. She spoke softly in a tongue he’d never come across. She only got out a sentence or two before he managed to turn off the machine.

“What did you say?”

She tipped her chin defiantly. “That I know who they are and what they’re doing.”

He stood, both hands planted on the desktop and tried to reign in a mounting anger, a rock of pure fear weighing heavy in his gut. A glance showed the Mauritollan contingency not looking, but stiff in their seats. A couple of other delegations turned to stare up at the glass wall at the top of the room which hid the interpreters’ booths, probably confused by the odd language suddenly spoken in their headsets. Only Max, in his seat with the Bahamians, appeared relaxed. No doubt they’d heard her. “What have you done, Quinn?”

“Too late now.” She sat calmly, staring at him boldly despite the anger he was sure reflected in the scowl he turned her way. “You might want to stay at the hotel with the guys tonight.”

“Like hell.”

He spoke softly, but she still flinched. So she wasn’t oblivious to how furious he was with her.

“Once they have me, I’ll call and relay my location as we go.”

He clenched his hands at his sides. “And how will you do that when they take your cell phone?”

The woman smirked. “My ability includes cell phones. I don’t need to have one physically on me. I can hook into the cellular and wireless signals flying around.”

She grimaced, but he already knew because he’d experienced for himself…all those signals made the noises in her head, the ones she blocked out constantly, worse. His cell phone vibrated, and he pulled it out of his pocket to discover a text from her.

I can reach you from anywhere and send you GPS coordinates. I’ll be fine.

A hiss of breath escaped him as he put his phone back in his pocket. “Why couldn’t you just listen into their calls?”

“I’ve been doing that. Nothing turned up. It’s been weeks, Cain. We need to move faster.”

Cain crouched in front of her, not that his suit gave much room to do so easily. He placed his hands on her knees—the heat of her skin through the thin silk of her skirt warming his palms—and the same odd calming effect which happened every time he touched her settled him, if only a tiny bit, and despite the fact that he wasn’t using his power on her. “If anything happens to you because of me—”

“It won’t be because of you, but because of me. I chose to turn these goons in to Delilah. I chose to help your team out. I am choosing to be the bait. If I can keep what happened to me from happening to any other person out there, I will.”

He could see the resolve in the soft grey eyes that gazed steadily at him. Jaw tense, he rocked back on his heels and stood. “Do-gooder.”

“Who me?” She pointed at her chest, all wide-eyed innocence blended with pure mischief. A combination he found irresistible.

Cain huffed a laugh. Behind the tough, often sarcastic, exterior she presented to the world lay the heart of someone truly decent, as evidenced by the fact that every person who came into contact with her loved her. Quinn’s goodness manifested as small acts of kindness every day. Only this morning she’d snuck out of the apartment to get him the coffee he liked. Of course, he’d come down on her hard. What if she’d been taken? What if he couldn’t find her? Even now, panic spiked, despite what she’d just revealed about her ability to get in touch with him.

He leaned back against the desk, trying to put distance between them and gain perspective on the situation, and crossed his arms. “If they take you, no heroics. Use your powers to contact me and wait. Agreed?”

“You’re no fun,” she pouted.

Why did he want to laugh? “That’s not funny.”

She winked. “It’s a little funny.”

“Promise me.”

She scooted her chair over to her computer and shut it down, then stuffed it in her laptop bag. Standing, she scooped up the bag as well as her purse. “Ready?”

He remained where he stood and waited.

She shook her head at him. “Are you this overprotective with all the women you rescue?”

Just one. The one he’d rescued once already. The kiss that had haunted his dreams for six years. How he hadn’t recognized her when they first met, he’d never know. His only excuse being how dark the cave cell had been, and she’d been whisked away before he got a good look at her. Besides, six years and a happier life could change a person’s appearance.

“Fine,” she huffed when he didn’t budge. “No heroics. I promise.”

Cain laid down another hand and glanced at his phone, which sat, disturbingly silent, on the end of the desk. The hotel room only had the one piece of furniture they could use as a poker table, so they’d dragged the desk to the center of the room. Sawyer and Shaw sat on the end of the bed, using one long side. He and Max had grabbed the chair and stool and took the two short sides.

They dressed like they were off duty—jeans and t-shirts—which bugged him in a weird way. Quinn was out there, and he wasn’t even dressed to react quickly.

“She’ll be fine.” Max rubbed at the scar on his wrist hidden under the leather band he always wore. Clearly, he didn’t believe that any more than Cain did.