I turned to look up at Quinn. “We need to get that watch appraised.”
His lips curled. “That’s your immediate thought, is it?”
“Well, I nearly died for it, so it better be worth what Edward White said it’s worth. It’ll … Quinn, that kind of money will change mine and Laird’s lives.” Excitement thrummed through me. “Think of the donations we could make.”
His eyes gleamed with tenderness. “I think Laird will probably want to make donations to his family first.”
“Of course.” I sat up, ignoring the dull thud of my head wound as I stroked Quinn’s cheek. “I could afford to give London Mum’s place.”
An arrested look fell over his face. “Does that mean … does that mean you’ll be living with me?”
Oh shit.
Oh, I completely jumped the gun. I winced. Too soon for that analogy. “Well, I mean … oh … well … crap.”
Quinn let out a bark of laughter and then cuddled me close. “At least give me a chance to ask you to move in.”
I buried my face in his chest and groaned with embarrassment.
“Taran Macbeth … will you move in with me?”
I stiffened. “Are you mocking me?”
Quinn shook his head. “I have never been more serious in my life. So … do I need to get a set of keys made?”
It would surprise anyone who came to hear this story that the morning after a deranged criminal shot a man, kidnapped me, and got shot by one of my closest friends, I’d never been happier in my life. “Definitely.”
His responding kiss was passionate but careful. When he finally released me, we just stared into each other’s eyes in contented silence for a while.
Until something else occurred to me. “Ramsay used to be a spy, didn’t he?”
Quinn’s chin jerked with surprise. Then he grimaced, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
Oh. My. Goodness.
He wasn’t denying it.
Everything from last year, plus the wee comments Tierney made here and there, and his “contacts” who tried to find myassailant with my phone … That and the military background just screamed international man of mystery. Also … the Austin Powers ringtone!
But I didn’t actually believe I was right.
“Holy shit, he was a spy …”
Quinn groaned again. “Mo luaidh, I can neither confirm nor deny your suspicions.” His expression was serious. “But I’m going to ask you to never repeat what you just said to me.”
Stunned, I could only gape and nod. “I promise.”
He relaxed in relief and cuddled me close again.
Perhaps five minutes had passed when I whispered, “He saved your life yesterday, so I really think it’s only fair you change that Austin Powers ringtone to the James Bond theme.”
There was a moment of silence from Quinn, then a snort, then another, and then he was laughing so hard, he followed it with a curse as his wound pulled with the mirth.
I grinned, grateful that this was our morning the day after such a trauma.
What’s His Face Pollock and Edward White would not win this one.
It was my turn.
