My mind is whirling with information and I can’t shut my brain off.
The rat is still out there, trying to build something as they try stealing from us. The picture is forming but it's not complete yet, and I'm not moving until it is. Moving too early with the wrong name does more damage than waiting.
Marco is digging into Quinn's history in the Delaney household. There’s so much about that family and their dynamics that doesn’t make sense. Not to mention, the buried incident involving Geraghty and a girl that we uncovered today. And there's an engagement party in four days where I'm going to have to stand next to Quinn Delaney in front of the entire Syndicate and present this as a settled, functional alliance while running the separate investigations in the background.
Fine. I've managed worse.
I reach for the investigator I use for this kind of work. My father has used her for years. These days, she's one of the few contacts he's entrusted entirely to me. She moves through the Delaney social network without creating ripples, an old contact, someone whose discretion I've tested personally over several years. I want what Marco can't get from the outside. The internal version. What people who know the household say privately about the Delaney daughters, about Bridget, about the way that family actually operates behind the performance of it.
I send the request and close the laptop for the night.
The office is quiet.
I think about Quinn and the fact that she still hasn't asked for anything. She came into my house, negotiated nothing, demanded nothing, and asked one question, and that question was what I needed from her, not what she could get from me. That still doesn’t sit right with me.
In my world, everyone is calculating their angle. Everyone wants something and the question is just how far they're willing to go to get it. Quinn Delaney came in and asked how to make things easier for me.
Either she genuinely doesn't have an angle, or she has one I haven't found yet.
Then there's the bruise. She had it at the dinner and she has it nearly a week later. She didn't mention it. She didn't look at me like she was waiting for me to notice so she could say something. She just covered it and moved through the room and handled everything that needed handling without once reaching for what she had.
In my world, information is currency. A bruise caused by her own father, documented and shown to the right person at the right time, could have been leverage. She's smart enough to know that. She didn't touch it.
I don't know what to do with that. I don't tolerate unknowns, not in my business, and not in my house. If Quinn Delaney is hiding something, I'm going to find out what it is.
But if she's not hiding something, if this is simply who she is, then I'm bringing something into my house that I haven't seen enough of in this world to immediately know how to account for it.
I stand, button my jacket, and kill the light.
I'll figure it out, I always do.
Sitting behind my desk, I'm trying to focus on the reports and the problems that need solving. There's a cold, half-empty cup of coffee beside me and a stack of paperwork that should have my full attention.
Instead, my mind keeps drifting to Quinn, it's annoying. I've got enough on my plate without wasting time thinking about a woman I'm due to marry in five weeks: The rat is still out there, the leak still needs plugging, the situation with Geraghty and the dead girl is raising more questions than answers.
I should be focused on that. Instead, I find myself thinking about the bruise on Quinn's face, the fact she never mentioned it, or looked at me like she expected me to do something about it. Quinn covered it with makeup and carried on as though it didn't exist.
I don't know what to make of that.
I look down at the report in front of me and realize I've been staring at the same page for five minutes without reading a word. For fuck's sake. I shove the file away and lean back in my chair.
The engagement party is in four days, four days until I have to stand beside Quinn in front of the entire Syndicate and pretend everything is settled.
The thought should irritate me. Instead, I find myself wondering what she's doing.
A knock sounds at the door. "Come in."
Marco steps inside carrying his tablet device and a folder. I gesture for him to continue. "The Waterfront issue has been resolved. Caruso's recommendation checks out. Materials should start arriving tomorrow morning."
I nod.
"The investigator got back to me regarding the Delaney household."
That gets my attention. "And?"
"Nothing significant yet. A lot of conflicting information. Most people are willing to talk about Bridget and Dáire. Nobody seems particularly interested in talking about Quinn."
I lean back in my chair. "Keep digging."
