any of them, her father and Parker included, but I think Bitchzilla and her demonic daughter spawn probably made Etain’s life a living hell while she lived with them. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when they find out she’s snagged the owner of Aesirs.”
Sean laughed again. “And Saoirse.”
“True.” There was immense satisfaction in imagining them seething with envy and fuming at her good fortune—until Derrick considered how they would no doubt do their best to make Etain out to be a whore.
Not that it would matter to Etain. She didn’t travel in their social circles.
That would change because of Cathal and Eamon.
Fear edged in, a milder form of the one he’d felt earlier, that he could lose her. He shook it off, going quiet as Sean typed another name into the law-enforcement database.
The results came a few moments later, Tony
“Always possible they’re back in town,” Quinn said.
“Can’t discount it.” Sean typed in another name.
The results came back noting a sealed juvenile record for Torrey Baker. It was the same for Luis Galvez, while Jose Estrada, LaQuann Terry, and Marc Ruiz had done time in jail as well as in juvie.
Derrick felt himself getting defensive on Etain’s behalf again. “They’re not all friends or people she ran with. Some of these she met at the shelter and tattooed because Justine asked her to. They’ve gotten right and want to stay out of trouble.”
Sean took a pair of scissors from the desk and separated the images so instead of six sketch pad pages there were twelve. “Etain give you anything on the guy who was the target of the drive-by?”
“Anton Charles. No. But he’s gotten a lot of work done at the shop.” Derrick pursed his lips, deciding against sharing the delicious secret of how Anton had helped identify the Harlequin Rapist. That was need to know, and unless Etain said otherwise, not something to blab.
“Is Anton affiliated with a prison gang?” Sean asked.
“Probably.” Derrick hesitated. “I don’t know for sure. He doesn’t have gang tattoos, at least not that I’ve seen and noticed. Jamaal would know. Etain too. Can’t you just do a search?”
“The Curs are too hot right now.” Sean gathered the pictures of the men currently in prison and set them on his desk along with the scissors. He reordered those remaining, leaving a wide space between the two groups, three pictures against four.
“Guys whose home turf is San Francisco on the left, those from Oakland on the right. I’d expect retribution by now if the Curs thought they knew who was behind the bar invasion.”
“Unless this is Curs against Curs, like Vontae’s grandmother thought it could be,” Derrick said. “And those responsible are in hiding.”
Sean nodded. “True. It doesn’t track that way for me. But this hit makes zero sense. It’s like something that would happen across the border, in the cities where the cartels are battling for territory.”
He checked the time. “It’s late. I’m good with wrapping things up for the night. Tomorrow I’ll do some face- to-face time with cops on the Oakland side. See what I can learn, and if I’m lucky, find out if Baker, Estrada, and Terry are still in the area or if there’s word that Jimenez has slipped back into the US. If you’re not needed at home, Quinn, why don’t you concentrate on the three from San Francisco?”
Derrick straightened, his shoulders going back. “I can help.”
“No,” Quinn said, a growly answer that sent a little thrill through Derrick.
He imagined his lips zipped because this wasn’t the end of it, though there was nothing to be gained by arguing in front of Sean. And besides, he wanted to bask in Quinn’s protectiveness.
Quinn made copies of the relevant drawings, adding notes before the two of them left the boat. Derrick’s heart fluttered in his chest at having Quinn’s muscled arm go around his waist as soon as they were on the dock.
“I’m leaving later than I intended,” Quinn said. “I can’t—”
“I understand.” Derrick’s heart sank momentarily then buoyed at remembering what they’d done earlier. “I’m partly to blame for your being late anyway.”
Tall, Dark, and Predatory wasn’t on his boat. There were no lights. No doubt Mr. TDP was on the prowl, and not in a gay bar. His loss. He didn’t know what he was missing.
They reached the bike far too soon as far as Derrick was concerned, but despite Quinn’s need to get home, the first goodbye kiss wasn’t rushed. Nor was the second, or the third.
He was breathless by the fourth, aching for so much more than a good fuck by the fifth, though he’d welcome that too.
“I really can help you and Sean investigate,” he said, nibbling along Quinn’s jaw. “And it’s not just an excuse to hang out with you. I know people, I can—”
“No.”
Derrick pouted. “You don’t think I have the cojones.”
Quinn’s laugh was husky. “Oh, I know you’ve got balls.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not just a pretty face.”
“Definitely not.”
Quinn’s mouth covering his prevented further argument. The rub of tongues and press of cock to cock elicited a moan from Derrick, taking the fight out of him but not draining his determination.
“I’ll call you,” Quinn said, finally stepping back so their bodies no longer touched. “If you want to do something, keep tabs on Etain. Okay? That seizure was really bad.”
“I’ll check on her tomorrow.” He’d do more than that.
Quinn turned and walked away. And with Quinn’s back to him, Derrick touched the pocket containing his copies of the drawings. It was time for him to step up. And thinking about the picture of Marc Ruiz, he knew just where to start. There was something in the eyes that reminded him of Emilio Delarosa, not that he’d ever imagined visiting that asshole or asking for a favor but…
Derrick tugged on his helmet. He’d do what he needed to do. Emilio no longer had the power to hurt him.
Cage approached Saoirse with caution, though that caution had little to do with the young human loitering up ahead. He kept expecting to feel the sting of Elven wards or perhaps even the cool edge of an assassin’s blade against his skin, not that such a thing could easily penetrate his natural shields.
Few blades could, and many of them had already been found and made part of his hoard, including the one he wore at his back. Kestrel.
He smiled at what the elders of his race would call his foolishness. Or perhaps his arrogance, though even he had been tempted to find a way to destroy the blade when he’d finally located it.
Kestrel woke hungry half a block away from the boy. And as if sensing it, the teen turned, his gaze clashing with Cage’s, the blade’s judgment validated by what Cage saw in the boy’s face. There was no innocence remaining. This child had already been consumed by a culture of violence and drugs and the power both offered him.
In centuries past, Cage had killed humans as young as this one. He would prefer not to do so tonight, though he played out the deadly game of chicken, his path taking him close to the boy.
The teen did not reach for the gun Cage smelled in passing. And the blade’s hunger for blood was not met. Nor would it sleep again until it was sated.
He’d known the likelihood of it awakening. But he enjoyed not just collecting the arcane, but using the things in his possession rather than merely hoarding them.
His puzzlement returned as he crossed the street to Saoirse. The mystery of Etain and whatever game was being played here had deepened after watching the news reports of a drive-by shooting at a homeless shelter.
Now that mystery was made even more tantalizing as he entered the club. There were no wards here either.
