Quinn gingerly slid the photo toward the boy. “That’s him there with his sister, Teresa.”
The boy looked at Quinn, then the picture. He slowly reached out and then snatched it. He looked down at the picture and put his small finger to it, a smile coming onto his face.
“Gatito.”
“Sí,” Quinn replied with a smile. “A Julián le encantan los gatitos. A ti también?”
It looked like the small boy loved kittens as much as his nephew. It also looked like he didn’t speak English. Quinn continued to speak in Spanish. He asked the boy for his name. It was Paolo. With a warm smile, Quinn extended his hand, telling Paolo he wanted to help him. Paolo said he didn’t have a mommy and didn’t know where his daddy was. His uncle was taking care of him. After a few words, Paolo finally came out from under the bed. He gave Quinn the photo, and Quinn returned it to his pocket.
Lifting the small boy into his arms, Quinn was informed the house was clear. All the subjects were cuffed and on the ground.
“I’ve got a little kid. I’m bringing him out.”
He left the room, holding the boy close to him, one gloved hand covering his head as he quickly headed for the front door.
“Hijo de puta!”
Quinn spun on instinct, hunching his body and using it to shield Paolo. The kick from the AK47’s bullets hitting his vest sent him reeling just as a searing heat tore through his calf in several places. He called out, twisting his body as he fell so as not to land on Paolo. The side of his body slammed against the tiled floor, his helmet immediately following.
The room burst into a symphony of noise and gunfire. Paolo’s uncle. Quinn rolled over, covering the boy’s ears. He fought the encroaching darkness, refusing to give in until he knew Paolo would be safe. His ears were ringing, but he could hear someone’s muffled voice shouting his name. His calf was burning, or so it felt like. The sudden pressure had him crying out. Someone dropped to their knees beside him, frantically calling his name. Manny?
“Quinn? Can you hear me?”
Quinn’s vision blurred, but he struggled with a fierce growl when someone gripped his arm and attempted to remove it from around Paolo. It was only when he saw Manny nod to him, his nearly inaudible words assuring Quinn, that he released the child in his arms, and then the darkness came for him.
“THIS IS
sad, man. What is it with you and brownies?”
“These aren’t just any brownies,” Spencer stated proudly as he removed his latest batch of baked chocolate decadence from the oven. “These are Nutella caramel brownies with nuts, made from scratch. These are orgasm-in-your-mouth brownies.”
“Not really sure what to think about that,” Danny muttered, eyeing the brownies dubiously. “Seriously, dude. The only orgasm you should be chasing is the one waiting next door. This is your perfect chance! He’s defenseless.” Danny reached for a brownie, but Spencer slapped his hand away before he could pilfer one.
“I have to spread the Nutella and top them with walnuts. Also, I don’t know what I find more disturbing: that you think I should take advantage of the poor guy in his defenseless state, or that you believe the only way I’ve got a shot is to take advantage of him in his defenseless state.” He stopped and turned to his pouting best friend. “And FYI, defenseless is what babies and puppies are, not huge-ass mountain men in possession of heavy artillery. I ran into him once, literally, and it’s like he’s made out of fucking granite. He’s got an eight-pack. An
eight-pack.
”
Spencer had never seen an eight-pack outside of cyberspace. Until his sexy neighbor, he’d questioned their existence, much like Bigfoot. The sighting had taken place one morning on his way to get groceries. Quinn had been on his way to their gated community’s pool, sporting nothing but low-riding swim trunks and flip-flops. He’d stepped into the elevator next to Spencer, and the heat outside had nothing on the heat that had spread through Spencer’s body. Luckily Quinn had been too busy texting to notice Spencer’s Human Torch impression.
“I have… I don’t even know what this is.” Spencer lifted up the hem of his apron and the Hulk T-shirt underneath with a frown. He ran his finger down a groove along his torso as he sucked his stomach in. “Does this look like muscle definition to you?”
Danny reached over to pat Spencer’s pale belly. “Looks like you need to stop baking brownies. And get some sun, man. Look at you. You’re not even white. You’re like, transparent.”
“That’s harsh.” Spencer lowered his clothes. “I don’t tan like you. I burn. You couldn’t lie to me? Besides, what am I supposed to say to him? ‘Hi, remember me? I’m the guy who’s been living next door to you for the past year. We pass each other in the hall every day, take the elevator together, have parking spaces next to each other, have mailboxes next to each other, do laundry in the same room together, and shop at the same supermarket. No? That’s okay. Excuse me while I die of embarrassment.’” Spencer walked around the kitchen counter and flopped down into a chair, waiting for the brownies to cool. “The guy doesn’t know I exist. He’s freakin’ Miami SWAT. He’s probably an overbearing, misogynistic asshole with a giant ego, anyway.”
Danny took a seat next to him, his expression filled with concern. “You don’t know that. Besides, since when do you judge people?”
Spencer narrowed his eyes at his friend. “No one likes a smartass.”
“Says the guy who got a ticket for mouthing off to a police officer.”
“I wasn’t mouthing off. I was being witty and adorable. The guy just had no sense of humor. Besides, I was nowhere near that fire hydrant. He was clearly behind on his quota. Bet that wouldn’t have happened to Quinn.” Was he pouting? Oh God, he was. Danny was right; he was sad.
“Probably because he’s SWAT and can park his ginormous truck wherever the hell he wants.” Danny went to the glass doors of the balcony overlooking the parking spaces and started laughing.
“What?”
“You know how they say dogs look like their owners? I wonder if the same applies to cars.”
Spencer joined Danny at the window, letting out a low groan. His tiny yellow Fiat gleamed cheerfully in the morning sunlight beside Quinn’s monster black Chevy Silverado. “It looks like a sunspot.”
Danny’s giggle turned into full-blown laughter.
“I don’t see what’s so funny. Do you know how hard it is to find decent parking in this city? And by decent I mean a parking spot that won’t lead to your car getting scratched, dented, crashed into, broken into, or stolen. You’d think you could find a spot in a shopping center at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, but no.”
“Here we go,” Danny sighed, heading back to the counter to make a second attempt at snatching a brownie. Again he was thwarted by Spencer, who was a lot faster than he looked.
“Seriously, man. It’s like bumper cars. The winner is anyone who happens to get their damn car between the lines.
Two
lines, not four.”
Danny shrugged. “There are a lot of retirees here.”
“And a lot of douche bags.”
“You could have stayed in Jersey.”
Spencer removed his apron and hung it up on the hook by the fridge. “I couldn’t stay there and let my mom move down here on her own. You should have seen how excited she was about living in the land of perpetual sunshine. She’s happy here.”
“And you’re miserable.”
“I’m not miserable. I’m just… having trouble adjusting. I went from having four seasons to living on the surface of the freakin’ sun. Thank God for air conditioning. Do you know how hard it is to put Christmas lights on a palm tree? My mom had me help her decorate last Christmas, and I almost broke my neck. Not to mention it was eighty degrees in the shade.”
“Quinn could help you adjust.”
Danny wriggled his eyebrows, and Spencer groaned. His friend never let up.
“Yeah, adjust my face with his fist,” Spencer mumbled. Just because Spencer had accidentally stumbled across Quinn sucking face with some guy leaving his apartment a week after moving in next to him, it didn’t change the fact Quinn was out of his league. At the time he’d thought it was Quinn’s boyfriend, but he never saw the guy again after that. The new guys he occasionally saw coming out of Quinn’s place never seemed to stay very long. Spencer’s stupid crush on Quinn didn’t mean he was looking to be Quinn’s next one-night stand. He’d learned a lot about the guy over the past year, which made the whole thing even sadder. Quinn didn’t even know Spencer’s name. He’d never been rude, and he said hello when he saw Spencer, but it was clearly an ingrained courtesy rather than an actual acknowledgment of Spencer’s existence.
Danny stared at him. “You saying he’s gonna punch you in the face for saying hi?”
“Why don’t
you
date him, then?”
“Because he’s a dude. Now if Quinn was a sexy lady cop, I’d be over there in a heartbeat.” He held his wrists out with a wide grin. “I’d be all, ‘Cuff me to your bed, baby.’”
Spencer arched an eyebrow at his friend. “Don’t you have a job to go to?”
“I’m on the evening shift, remember?” Danny checked his watch. “Damn. I promised my sister I’d pick up her Chihuahua from the groomer. Hate that little turd. It always bites me. You should see it—it looks like a loaf of bread with tiny legs.” He ran to the apartment door and paused to give Spencer a pointed look. “If you don’t go over there and say something, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, and neither of us wants that.”
The thought terrified Spencer. “All right, just give me some time.”
Danny nodded and was off. Spencer lay on his couch thinking about how he might approach Quinn without scaring the guy. Did he really want to get involved with him? Even if he stood a chance, which was unlikely, Quinn had a dangerous job. Spencer remembered how he’d felt sick to his stomach watching the news report of the showdown, the report that an officer had been shot and rushed to the hospital. He’d been beside himself when he found out it was Quinn. They’d posted a photo of him in his uniform, smiling and looking both handsome and intimidating. It had been one of the worst feelings Spencer had ever experienced, and they weren’t even friends.
“Okay, Spence. Time to grow a pair.” He sat up and told himself off. Was he really going to sit back and do nothing? If the most he got out of his attempt was Quinn’s friendship, it was still worth it. The guy had been holed up in his apartment since he’d come home from the hospital. At first there had been plenty of movement and people coming in and out, but after a few days, the visitors stopped. Quinn wanted to be left alone. Spencer had heard him arguing loudly with someone about it—he wanted to be left alone to recover in peace. The guy was grumpy, no doubt about it. Of course, he’d just been shot several times.
Gathering his courage, Spencer got up and went to the door to put on his sneakers. “You’re just going to say hello and ask if he needs anything. That’s all. You’re being a good neighbor.” Okay, he could do this. He grabbed his keys and paused. “Come on, man, you’re just striking up a conversation. You’re not asking him to prom.” Spencer left his apartment and was heading for Quinn’s door when he spotted a tall, handsome Latino in a navy blue suit and white shirt knocking on the door. “Hi.”
Shit. Quinn had a boyfriend.
Of course he has a boyfriend, you idiot. Just because you haven’t seen one around doesn’t mean there isn’t one.
“I’m sorry. I, uh, I just came by to see if he was okay and say hi.” He lifted a hand up. “Hi.”
“Who are you?” the man asked warily.
“I’m Spence, Spencer Morgan. I live next door.” He jutted a thumb behind him in case the guy might have trouble finding it. Man, he was such a dork. He should get out of here before he really made an ass out of himself.
“You’re a friend of Quinn’s?”
“Um, not really. We don’t, um, get to talk much.”
At all, actually.
“He’s a busy guy, you know.”
Doesn’t know I exist.
“Anyway, I was just going to let him know that if he needed anything, I’m just next door, but I see he’s got you, so I’m sure he doesn’t need me. I mean my help, not me,
me
,
personally.”
Crap, crap, crap.
“I’m gonna go now. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“Wait, you think I’m—” The guy let out a laugh, brandishing perfectly straight bright white teeth. “No, I’m Rick.” He held a hand out to Spencer, who took it. “I’m Quinn’s brother-in-law. Quinn doesn’t have a boyfriend. Not unless he’s hiding him from us, or from his mom, which is possible, but we would have found out by now. Well, she would have found out by now. I swear the FBI goes to
her
for information.” Rick motioned behind Spencer to his apartment door. “So, you’re his neighbor?”
“Yeah. I moved in last year.”
“Listen, I’m glad you’re here. I came by to drop off his painkillers, but he’s not answering his phone or the door. He’s probably out for the count. Would you mind if I left these with you? I’m running late for an appointment.” He handed Spencer a white paper bag from Walgreens.
“Yeah, sure, no problem.”
“Thanks. I’ll give him a ring later to let him know you’ve got them. I should probably get your number, if that’s okay.”
“Okay.” Spencer relayed his cell phone number, one hand holding the prescription bag while he shoved the other into his pocket, pretending he wasn’t excited about the possibility of getting to see Quinn, even if it was just to give the guy his meds.
“Great. You don’t mind if I pass this along to him, do you?”
Spencer blinked at him. “Give him my number?”
“Yeah.”
Snap out of it.
“Uh, sure, go ahead. I work from home, so he can ring anytime and I’ll bring them over.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.” With a pat on the shoulder that was sure to leave a bruise, Rick was off, leaving Spencer to wonder if the rest of Quinn’s family was equally good looking and ridiculously fit. Just his luck, they probably were.
Rick waved at him as the elevator doors closed, and Spencer waved back before shuffling to his apartment. He stuck the key in the lock, muttering as he let himself in. “I need some brownies.” What the hell was wrong with him? This was not him. He marched over to the kitchen and placed the prescription bag on top of the fridge so he wouldn’t misplace it.