Inked Destiny

He opened his eyes. Easy to blame Cage. Easy to parade out the discussion of servitude, and what he read into it every time Eamon made a reference to humans, but this was really on him. He’d told Etain no regrets, but then lost track of what that meant. Keeping the attack and Cage a secret from Etain and Eamon was like an open door to distrust and paranoia.

A quick visit with his father, then time to come clean. And afterward…hopefully kiss and make up.

Or make out. Etain’s words after Eamon’s apology.

Cathal smiled. Feeling more light-hearted than when he’d climbed into the Hummer.

Sean reached out, turning up the volume of the police scanner that had been going in the background. Several blasts of conversation later he turned the sound down. “Drive-by shooting in Sureno gang territory here in Oakland. Victim status unknown. Shooter was African American. Second hit today. The victim of the first one is still alive. Time to get back to work and hope Etain’s leads go somewhere and some arrests will keep this from erupting into shades of LA.”

“You’ll run with the phone later tonight?”

“As soon as I can. No promises remember? Quinn didn’t make it in today so I’m going to check out the names I handed off to him.”

Cathal froze in the act of reaching for the door handle. “Quinn okay?”

The question earned him a look, Sean picking up on vibes again. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s with his family. His dad had a chemo treatment this morning, apparently a rough one. I told Quinn not to sweat this, it’s easy enough for me to handle.”

* * *

Quinn’s gut burned. He hated feeling helpless. He hated the sense of waiting, the uncertainty of the outcome.

He snuck another look at his father sitting eyes closed, swallowed up by the recliner in front of the TV, his once muscular body now thin and gaunt. His strength depleted so he slept and woke, one History Channel program ending and another beginning as Quinn checked to make sure he still breathed.

“I can still kick your ass when you need it,” his father said, sensing the sneaked glance and the worry.

“You can try.”

His father opened his eyes and looked at Quinn, the love in them making his throat go tight. “Some treatment days are rougher than others. I’m going to change the locks if you’re going to hover every time there’s a bad one. Go bother your sister. I’m not going to throw in the towel today.”

Quinn pushed himself off the sofa. I love you, Dad. He said it with a touch to his father’s shoulder in passing, neither of them wanting things to descend into maudlin. “I’ll see what she’s up to.”

He detoured into the kitchen, drawn by the smell. His stepmother picked up a long spoon, brandishing it. “Don’t even think about touching anything on the counter.”

He grinned. “First Dad threatening bodily harm, now you.”

He closed the distance to get a better look at what Jada had going in the skillet. “How long until we eat?”

“Half hour. Longer if you get in my way.”

“Is that Hamburger Helper?”

She popped him on the shoulder, hard enough he was damn glad the tats were healed even if his mind shied away from exactly how impossible that was.

“It’s a secret recipe that’s been handed down in my family for generations I’ll have you know.”

No surprise considering her family owned several restaurants, including the one where she and his father had met. He gave her a hug. “I’m glad he’s got you.”

He’d been just shy of eighteen when his father married Jada, but he’d wholeheartedly approved, the race issue a nonissue for him. And then Jahna, his baby sister had come along, making going undercover so much harder. There’d been no way in hell he was coming back home wearing Aryan Brotherhood tats.

Jada slid her arm around his waist. “Your being back is good. He worried about you, not that he ever let on just how much. It scared him, the idea of one day having some stranger show up at the door delivering bad news. I hope this job with your friend Sean works out and you enjoy doing it. You don’t hear about private investigators getting shot or disappearing and turning up dead.”

“True enough.” Quinn hugged her, tempting fate by reaching for a slice of pear.

The spoon struck his hand with laser precision. “Hey!” he yelped.

“Out of my kitchen!”

“I’m going. I’m going.”

He jogged up the stairs, halting in the open doorway to Jahna’s bedroom. She said “Enter” without turning from her desk to look at him or pausing the flow of her pencil on a sketch pad.

Quick strides took him to where she worked and then he stood transfixed. Gaze traveling hungrily from magazine spread to the open pages of a book, to magazine, to book, to magazine, his attention captured and held in the grip of glittering bracelets with the commonality of gold.

Slender fingers waggled in front of his face. He growled and snapped with enough force his teeth clacked.

Jahna’s peals of laughter did what her gesturing couldn’t, released him to focus on her.

“Finally!” she said. “You totally spaced.”

“Inspiration for your next project?” He risked a quick glance at her reference material, pride in his talented sister keeping him from becoming ensnared again.

“I’m making something for Mom’s birthday.”

He’d been deep undercover for five long years. But some of the memories he cherished were ones of taking her to the craft store to buy beads and string so she could do up jewelry to give to her friends. Now she had a workbench next to their father’s, complete with machinery to grind and polish rocks, and he was betting not much about her jewelry-making was cheap anymore.

He leaned over her but she snagged the tablet and held it to her chest, hiding the design she was working on. “Sorry. Top secret. You know all about that.”

“What if I cover some of the cost? Could I see it then?”

“No can do. The work has already been commissioned by someone else.”

“Commissioned?” The word made him grin. “How old are you?”

She scowled. “Old enough to know you’re dissin’ me with that question.”

“Oh man. Home only a few days and already on my way to the dog house.”

“Like you could fit. Besides, Versace doesn’t even have a doghouse.”

Versace, hearing his name, got off the bed and pranced over to Jahna. She pushed her chair back and the Chinese Crested jumped onto her lap.

Gray skin with a smattering of pink patches, bald except for hair on his head, feet, and tail, he was a little king sitting on his throne. Cute, Quinn’d give him that, though petting him felt like touching a hot worm.

“I do have some availability,” Jada said, taking on an accent to go with a jewelry designer to the stars persona, “if you’re interested in commissioning me, for say, an engagement ring or something.”

Quinn’s pulse sped up in a rush of anxiety over the conversation he hadn’t yet had, the big reveal that the special someone they would meet, soon, was male. He needed to do it. Hell, in his heart, he knew they’d accept it and move on, but finding the right time…Hard to do with the worry over his dad’s health.

“Let’s just stick with or something. A piece for your mom, say, for Christmas. I’ll talk to Dad and see if he’ll throw in with me.”

Quinn’s throat tightened, an ache spreading through his chest with the possibility his dad wouldn’t be there for Christmas.

No! No! No! Positive thoughts only!

Derrick’s imagined voice cut through the fear and worry, bringing with it a surge of possessiveness and a whole lot of discomfort at not having line of sight on him. Not new feelings, but he was coping and it helped knowing Derrick was at work and safe at Stylin’ Ink.