“Good morning. How is Quinn? Does she want coffee? Toast? Croissant? Or I could run down to the café and get her a muffin? Bagel?”
She gaped at me, her eyes wide, her hands suspended halfway to the cupboard. “Oh my God. You love her.”
It sounded like an accusation.
Shrugging, I filled the coffee machine with beans. “I do. So what?”
Freya gasped, then put a hand over her mouth. “I mean, I knew you cared for her, but I thought you were just passing the time until you had to get married.”
“When have you ever seen me waste time on a woman? Quinn is different.”
She dropped her gaze, tracing the tiles with the toe of her socked foot. “I guess it wasn’t a good idea that I helped Quinn get to the airport last night, then?”
My grip on the bag slackened, and beans spilled out onto the counter and floor. “You. Did. What?” My voice rose with each word, my anger shooting up to explosive.
Freya backed up, face pale. “She was devastated when she found out you were engaged.” She visibly swallowed. “She’s my best friend. I had to help her.”
“You missed an important piece of information in there.” Putting down the almost empty bag, I calculated how much of a head start Quinn had. “Iusedto be engaged.”
“What? Impossible. You signed a contract. And Russians don’t let you out of contracts.”
“Good thing Gabriel took over as head of the family, then.”
She blanched. “He did what?”
“He’s the new boss.”
Rushing to my bedroom, leaving a blinking Freya behind, I pulled out jeans, a shirt, and boxers. I was only in my sweatpants and hadn’t had a shower yet, but that could wait. As long as I was dressed, I could go after Quinn.
“So you’re serious about her?” my sister asked, having followed me. She was leaning against the frame of my dressing room. “No games?”
Halting my frantic search for socks, I looked at her to make sure she saw how sincere I was. “Definitely no games. She’s it for me. And I’m going to get her back.”
“Okay. Then I’ll help you.”
Brushing past her, I raised a brow. “You can start with telling me when her plane takes off.”
“It’s already in the air. Don’t rush out. Take a shower. Make yourself look pretty. And then I’ll tell you all there is to know about Quinn Lombardo.”
I sank down on the bed, knowing she was right and that there wasn’t much I could do to stop a plane that was already in the air.
“Well, start talking then.”
Pulling into the quiet neighborhood,I craned my neck to be able to make out the numbers on the mailboxes. It was dark, the streetlights sparse, making it hard to read anything. It had taken me all day to track Quinn down, because instead of going to San Francisco like she told Freya, she’d gone back to Ferguson.
When I’d arrived at Quinn’s apartment and she wasn’t there, I’d called Freya. She’d been with Gunner, who’d reluctantly admitted that Quinn hadn’t stayed in San Francisco but instead had gone to her parents’ house. One of his men was watching her and reported to him every hour.
Freya had been serious when she said she’d help me. I now knew how Quinn had gotten the scar on her chin, and that she didn’t like olives on her pizza but loved them on a cheese board.
Freya had basically given me a handbook on what to do to get Quinn back. I’d always excelled in my studies and didn’t plan on slacking now.
Parking on the street, I didn’t care who saw me. The house was dark, the curtains drawn, making it impossible to look inside. Freya had told me that Quinn used to live in the apartment above her parents’ garage. That would be my first stop. If she wasn’t staying there, I’d have to find a way to get into her parents’ place.
Getting out, I went up to the car parked on the street, one of Gunner’s men inside. The window lowered as I got closer, revealing a grinning Carter. “You finally made it.”
Putting a hand on the roof, I leaned in. “She in there?”
“Hasn’t left the house since she came back.”
