Calculated Risk (Blackbridge Security 5)

“Quinten,” I whimper as he releases me, but when I turn around to suggest we do something about that problem in his sweats, he’s walking out of the room.

“We’re heading to the police station in an hour. I’m glad you’re in a better mood.”

I’m left standing in the kitchen, no longer needing a cup of coffee to wake me up.

Was he teasing?

Does he want me to follow him to his room?

Is a good time all he sees me as?

I hate being this unsure about everything.

I’m ready in forty-five minutes, but it’s the full hour before Quinten reappears from his bedroom. When he does, he barely makes eye contact, even though his hand finds my lower back on the way to the elevator. He stands at my back like a massive guardian on the ride down and I’m so focused on the heat of that huge hand that I don’t notice the other person in the garage.

“Parker,” Quinten says, forcing my eyes up.

My brows furl as I see my best friend unlocking her car.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“I… umm… I was coming to see you, but I just got called in early for work.”

Quinten chuckles, a low rumble from his chest making me realize that he’s pressed to my back with his arm around my lower stomach.

“Coming to see me?” I know immediately it’s another lie. Her hair is a mess, finger-combed instead of brushed to sleek perfection like usual. Her clothes are wrinkled, making it pretty evident that this is probably the second day she’s been wearing them. Her eyes are tired, unfocused, and refusing to meet mine head-on.

Parker loves to have a good time and I begin to wonder if she’s in trouble. If she’s using drugs or tangled up with a married man or something as equally morally questionable.

“After what happened yesterday…” she says. “Are you okay?”

“What? But I didn’t—”

Her phone starts to ring. “I have to go, Hayden. I’ll call you later.”

In a blink, she’s pulling out of the parking spot and driving away.

“That was weird,” I mutter, my eyes looking up at the number space she was in. “I’ll tell her that these spots are reserved. I don’t want whoever is in number twelve-ten to have her towed if she parks there again.”

Quinten chuckles again as he guides me to his truck. “I get the feeling he wouldn’t mind.”

I turn my head to ask who it is, but then his hands are back on me, his fingers lingering in a way that nearly leaves me breathless as he lifts me into the cab. He lingers in the open doorway. His mouth is so close and level with mine and I lean in closer when he begins to close the distance. If the man is toying with me, trying to get me revved up for another round back at his condo, it’s working. My body is fully on board. My mind is the only thing I can’t get right. I’d give myself over to him fully if I had any assurances that being with me for more than sex was what he wants.

“Seatbelt, Hayden,” he says, right before I hear the click of it sliding into place.

“Right,” I all but pant as he steps away.

The man is seriously driving me crazy. My body doesn’t know which end is up.

The ride to the police station is quiet, the only sounds are the world happening around us. Neither of us reach for the radio buttons or open our mouths to make small talk.

We walk into the police department, me a little timid and scared, him with so much confidence people don’t even look his way because he has the air of belonging around him.

The woman at the front counter smiles, her eyes trailing from his face and starting to angle lower when he clears his throat.

He’s succinct in his request for a police officer I’ve never heard of, which isn’t a surprise because I don’t make a habit of needing police help. The only personal interaction I’ve had with the police was when my house was broken into.

The officer, or detective I should say with the way he’s dressed—more business casual than in uniform—walks up to him and shakes his hand.

“Hayden, this is Detective Jason Augley. Augley, Hayden Prescott.”

He shakes my hand as well, and I don’t miss Quinten’s eyes on the contact as if he’s trying to judge the man’s intent through the two business-like pumps before releasing me.

“Follow me.”

Dutifully, Quinten and I follow the detective through the building until we get to a small, sterile-looking room.

“This can’t be done somewhere more comfortable?” Quinten asks the second he gets a look at the interrogation room.

My hands begin to shake, and once again I wonder how much trouble I’m in. I know people can’t just get away with shooting others.

“Do you plan to sit in while I talk to her?” Detective Augley asks in a bored tone as if he already knows the answer.