Liam Davis & The Raven (Love Inscribed 1)

“That’s The Raven!” Jack screamed, trying to jerk away from the officer. “The one you want on countless cases of assault!”

“Raven?” I asked, pulling out my notebook with my descriptive account of the moments leading up to Jack firing his gun. “I have most of the details here.” I offered the page with my notes to Goatee Officer. “I’m a journalist; it’s my job to note the particulars. I didn’t see The Raven.” He glanced over it, and I pushed up my glasses. “Though that would have made a fantastic angle for my next party page piece for Scribe.”

“Liar. He’s a friendless fucking liar!”

The officer turned back to Jack, changing his grip on him. “Doesn’t look friendless to me.”

Quinn shifted his weight, pressing his arm lightly against mine. “He’s no liar. I didn’t see The Raven here, either.”

Hunter piped in, “I also didn’t see The Raven. Why, is there a bounty on him or something? I could’ve used the cash.”

Goatee Officer glanced back at Shannon, who was blinking hard.

She said, “I thought I wanted The Raven to come and save us when he”—she pointed to Jack—“held his gun at me, my brother, my best friend.” She tucked blue hair behind her ear, peeking toward Quinn, her other hand tight on Hunter’s chair. “But we managed without them, and now I think it’s better that the police are handling it.”

“Liars. All liars! I can prove it, I have pictures at home.”

No, he didn’t.

“Some of us have experienced quite the trauma this evening; I think a trip to UPMC is in order . . .”

Perm Officer was back with a grim smile. “No can do. We can send in the EMTs to treat you, but you’ll have to wait for the detectives so we can sort this all out.”

Sorting it all out took a couple more hours of being separated and questioned by the detectives, but by midnight we were free to go.

Outside, Quinn was still tenderly touching his head. “UPMC,” Shannon ordered.

Hunter agreed, insisting he was right as winter rain, so we took his van.

I didn’t even glance up at the Scribe offices across the road as I clambered into the van after Quinn.

The vehicle roared to life and Hunter drove us to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. “How’s your head?” I asked Quinn, the streetlights outside making a silhouette of his profile.

“Dizzy,” he admitted. “But I’ll be all right.”

“I remember the last time we were doing this,” I murmured, slipping my hand over the middle to his.

Quinn rested his head against the headrest, his pinkie playing with mine. A small smile cupped his mouth. “Yeah, you called me your angel.”

“I’d been going for angle, but turns out that was close enough.” I leaned forward and poked Hunter’s shoulder over the front seat. “I like that we’re friends, Hunter, but I want a relationship with Quinn.”

Quinn’s hand squeezed around mine, and he shifted sharply in his seat. “Liam?” he said under his breath.

“Ahhh,” Hunter said, peering through the rearview mirror at me. “Did I get hit on the head and not know about it? What do I have to do with you dating Quinn?”

Shannon snorted in the passenger seat. “Hunter just doesn’t get it sometimes.”

“Get what?” Hunter asked, swerving around a bend that had me toppling toward Quinn. “And be sensitive, the guy I was dating turned out to be friends with a homicidal maniac. I already know I lost a clue or two.”

Shannon groaned. “Hey, my date was the homicidal maniac.”

Quinn was undoing his seatbelt and shuffling into the middle, closer to me. Having had far too much experience with Hunter’s driving, I grabbed the middle belt and looped it over his waist for him to buckle in.

Shannon stared at her brother, shaking her head, fondness in her gaze. “Liam doesn’t want to lose you if things don’t work out with Quinn.”

“Not a problem,” Quinn said to the whole car, slipping an arm around my shoulders. “I’ll make sure things work out.”

I pushed up my glasses and met his gaze. “Statistically—”

Quinn’s mouth covered mine. “No, don’t. And look, even if things don’t work out—which they will—I’d never pressure my friends to ditch you. Besides that, if I tried, Hunter would tell me to go take a walk off a plank.”

“Into shark-infested waters,” Hunter agreed.

Quinn grinned, his cheek dimpling the way I liked so much. “And rightly so.”

Our conversation short-circuited as the van came to an abrupt stop outside UPMC emergency entrance. “Out,” Hunter said. “I’ll meet you in there soon.”

Things moved smoothly inside, just like they had the last time we’d been there, and soon Doctor Carter was finishing up Quinn’s assessment. “Up to you,” she said, scribbling something onto her clipboard of paper. “You can be admitted overnight for observation, or I can sign the release forms on the condition one of your friends here checks in on you regularly.