Quinn I (Undaunted Men #1) (3 page)

“Let me get this straight. I’m supposed to go hiking, and peek under every bush along the 2,000 some odd miles of the Appalachian Trail in highly dense woods, looking for a needle in a haystack? Do you have any idea how much ground that is to cover?”
 

“Yes and yes,” he says in all seriousness. “My gut tells me she’s there, and not too far in.”

I let out a laugh, and shake my head in disbelief. “A gut feeling? Gut feelings could take weeks…hell, it could take over a month, Moretti. You do realize that, right? What if she’s not on the AT? What if she switched cars with someone and drove in another direction? What then?”

“She’s there. I know she is,” he counters with heavy conviction lining his voice. “My intuition and gut feelings are
never
wrong.” He then lets out an audible growl in frustration. “My men are street men, not Ranger Rick, dammit. Quinn,” he warns, “you owe me.”

As I rub the back of my neck, I feel the tension creep up and over my shoulders, knowing I’ve been arguing in vain. “I’m going to need at least a day to get my shit in order,” I reluctantly concede, my way of telling him that I'll take the job on.

“I need you on this sooner than that.”

“No can do,” I firmly state. “I have to assemble gear, map out the trail, and tie up loose ends. It’ll be tomorrow morning before I can cut loose from here.”
 

“If I know you like I think I do, you already have a bug-out bag on the ready,” he argues back.

“Yeah, well, it takes a little more thought than grabbing a survival bag and running out the door.”

“This happens today, Quinn.” The finality in his voice when he says my name makes me grit my teeth. I fall silent, knowing the warning in his voice is one to take heed of. I’m the kind of guy who likes to do calculated planning, and not have to assemble my equipment on the fly. But since when do rescues and emergencies grant anyone time to be prepared?
 

“Fine,” I agree, my voice reflecting the fact I’m not happy about this deal.

“Very good. I will email you all the particulars, including her most recent photograph. You’ll have them all in five.”

“Yeah…all right.”

“Oh, and Quinn?”
 

“Yes?”

“Thank you. She’s my baby.” Sincere relief lines his deep voice. “Besides her mother, she’s everything to me. You get her back safely, and I’ll most likely owe
you
one. That’s how important she is to us.”

“No, Moretti, we’ll be square.” There is no way in hell I want to get involved with this group any more than I have to. Once is enough. I don’t know how else to respond to his gratitude, and I don’t want it to get awkward. “I’ll be in touch.” With those words, I disconnect the call.
 

I close my eyes and think of the ten million things I have to do to prepare for this excursion, when suddenly my one-night stand slips into the computer room and wraps her arms around me from behind. She starts planting kisses along the side of my neck, and maybe because I’m in a foul mood now, I’m repulsed. “Come back to bed, Quinn.” Her soft, sultry voice tries to invite me. Abruptly, I pull away from her and stand up.

“Can’t. It’s time for you to go, sweetheart. I’ve got some pressing business I have to attend to.”

“Well, when can I see you again?” She steps forward, slides her arms around my waist, and then gives me a pouty lip.
 

I unwrap myself from her arms and push her back a step. “You’re not,” I gruffly state.

She shakes her head, not liking last night’s arrangement, in which she soberly agreed to. “I don’t understand,” she softly whispers, pretending to be confused.

Why do women do this shit? I’m honest and upfront with each and every one of them, telling them every damn time if we tango, it’s only for one night and nothing more. It can never be anything more.
 

At first, they’re just fine with the arrangement, until they aren't. They want more of me, either because the sex and the personal connection were so stellar, or I’m a challenge they want to conquer. Then, before I know it, they’ll want me trapped in a relationship in which I have no desire to participate.

My lips thin as I grow more irritated. I take her by the elbow, backing her out of my computer room, shutting the door behind me. I don’t like anyone in this room, it's off limits, especially to one-night stands.
 

I rub at the five o’clock shadow along my jaw, wondering what her retorts are going to be, because she doesn’t look like she’s going to give up easily. I believe I’ve officially heard every excuse in the book, as these women always try to cajole their way into one more night with me. I'm not being arrogant; I'm simply stating facts.
 

I’ve learned to just rip off the Band-Aid and tell them point blank, “The night’s over, babe. You were good for one run, and now it’s time for you to leave.”

“Really?” she scoffs, and her eyes are wide with both insult and disbelief. I’ve learned from past experience - I always have to be rude to them to drive my point home.
 

“You have no suave,” she hisses out, highly offended.
 

“What the fuck is suave?” I ask in all honesty.

She places her hands on her hips and provides me with an indignant huff. “It means you have no class, asshole.”

“Oh, I think I gave you plenty of
that
last night, sweetheart,” I chide while wearing a sly grin, knowing that’s exactly what I gave her.

Her eyes narrow on mine. “You’re such a pig.”

I can’t help it. I bust out laughing at her insult. “That’s not what you were screaming out only a few hours ago. You’re just pissed you can’t sway me.”

“Ugh…you asshole.” She stomps her foot, turns around, and storms up the stairs in a tantrum to go gather her things.

And here we go. Her reaction is like clockwork. It seems to be the same scenario every damn time I bring a girl to my house. They have to leave pissed off. I’d go to a hotel, but they’re so damn unclean I usually wind up here. I would love to give up women and spare myself the morning-after drama, but I love partaking in the female body too much to do that.
 

I stand and wait by the front door so I can ensure she actually leaves. Even at this point when I’ve insulted them, some of the women would still try and dig in their heels. As she makes her way back down the stairs, I note she’s wearing a pair of my sweat pants and an old t-shirt. I bite my lip, forcing myself to refrain from fighting her. I don’t have the time or the inclination to argue. If it were any other day, she’d be leaving my clothes here. I open the front door for her as she hits the bottom of the steps.

She eyes me as if she’s waiting for me to say something about her wearing my clothes, but I never do. “You know, it’s a shame.”

“What’s a shame?”

“You’re a good man, Quinn. It’s sad whoever it was that broke your heart, and blinded you to the kind of love a real woman could give you.”

“My heart isn't broken,” I counter defensively.

“You’re right; you do have a whole heart, but it met with a third degree burn. You’re scarred, and you won’t get near the fire again for fear of the flame.”

“Nice. I hear the philosophy department at NC State is now hiring.” I just love it when a woman, who has met me once, thinks she’s got me pegged.
 

“Why can’t you simply accept yourself for the promiscuous woman you are? Because…yeah…a one-night stand from a bar…that’s real marriage material right there,” I facetiously remark.
 

She shakes her head at me in disgust and narrows her eyes. “You’re unreal, you know that? I actually feel sorry for you.”
 

I’m done here. She only wants to banter with me, and she’s wasting my time. I smile that special smile I’m known for, and then sweetly end the conversation. “Have a nice life. Don’t be such an easy mark next time. Go somewhere other than a bar, and then, maybe, you might find someone for more than a one night fuck. Oh…by the way, you can keep the clothes, you know…as a souvenir.” I calmly shut the door in her face and lock it.

I lean my head back against the door and let out an audible sigh of frustration. Bitch did peg me after only one night. I shake the thought from my head. I don’t have time to think about her getting under my skin. I have too much shit to do this morning in order to prepare for this rescue plan of Moretti's. I push off the door and head toward the kitchen.
 

Going grocery and supply shopping on the fly for a mountain rescue hike is going to be about as much fun as shitting in the woods. I’m not sure I can even call this a rescue if the distressed party doesn’t want to be retrieved. The fact her father is talking about needing to keep her from getting into the wrong hands means she’s neck-deep into some serious shit. This girl might have the right idea after all, going off grid. Something niggles at the back of my mind, telling me this isn’t going to be a simple, straightforward search and rescue.
 

~ The day before ~

My hands were still shaking from this morning’s confrontation with Vince. I couldn’t believe he had made a power play by using my horse against me. I had taken today off, making for a long three day weekend, wanting to relax and spend time riding my horse, Griffen. Of course, when I got there, he was laid out flat on the ground and drugged. Reliving the memory had me slamming the kitchen cabinet door with such force, I swear I’d heard the faint sound of wood splintering. I half-cringed at the thought of causing damage. I had recently bought this little house of mine from my own hard work and monies, and I had every intention of keeping it in pristine condition. But dammit, I was on a war path, my fury uncontainable.
 

“Where the hell did I put the Vodka?” I mumbled in irritation, needing something to take off the edge. I’m not much of a drinker, except either socially, or on that rare occasion I had a stressful day, and today surpassed the sucky-rotten-day meter. Cataclysmic was more like it. Even more frustrating, I don’t know what the hell I was going to do to get out of the mess I had found myself in.
 

Hooking my fingers onto the underside of the cabinet’s edge, I place my knee on the countertop and pull myself up on the kitchen counter. Balancing myself carefully, I stretched my arm out, reaching over the top of the refrigerator to open the cabinet doors. “Ah-hah, there you are,” I said out loud, relieved to have found a new bottle of Vodka. I grabbed the bottle with a satisfied smirk on my lips and clamored back down to safety.
 

My mouth watered just thinking about how delicious my cranberry Vodka was going to taste, and more importantly, how much it would calm my anxiety. I then frowned, knowing it would only be a temporary fix, but right now I didn’t care; I needed to get lost in something, even if it was for a day.

Mixing the ingredients of my favorite cocktail, the swizzle stick clanked against the glass and ice as I stirred. I watched the liquid continue to swirl in a whirlpool fashion as I brought it to my lips and took a large sip of the cool drink. “Ahh,” I sighed in relief after I swallowed.

Willing my hands to steady, I took a gulp this time, not even bothering to savor the sweet, cool liquid as it slipped past my throat. All I wanted was for this concoction to infuse itself into my blood stream and dull the ache in my chest.

I’m so sick of Vince always controlling me. He always manages to preside over my every move without me knowing about it ninety-nine percent of the time. My stomach muscles contorted just thinking about Vince. I clutched my stomach with one hand and promptly took another swig of alcohol to assuage my frayed nerves.
 

What the hell am I going to do? I know freaking out isn’t going to help; unfortunately, that is all I wanted to do. I bit my thumb nail in nervous thought. My brain wasn’t wired to solve these types of complex problems, and even if it were, there was no solving the complex puzzle Vince had created for me.
 

With me being related to the mafia, you’d think I would be impervious to the authorities, but I’m not. I’m backed in a corner with nowhere to run. I took in a deep, shaky breath, and then blew it out slowly. Even though the alcohol had finally begun to dull my senses, I still felt as if I was in panic mode. I’m honestly surprised I wasn’t running around in hysterics right now, trying to cover my tracks and erase anything that had the potential to point the evidence at me.

I tilted my head back, letting the coldness of the ice cubes fall to my lips as I greedily sucked in every last bit of liquid from the bottom of my glass. I decided I’m going to need another drink, and then another right after that one. Just as I placed more ice cubes in my tumbler, the doorbell rang. I stiffened and wondered who could be at my front door in the middle of the day. Then, a feeling of alarm shot through me. What if it was the police coming after me already?
 

“No, Lexi,” I told myself, breathing through the fear, “not yet.” Vince wouldn’t have tipped them off just yet. He wasn’t done toying with me. With that knowledge, I forced myself to relax my shoulders. I shut the freezer door, and decided I would just pretend I wasn’t at home, ignoring whoever it was. Eventually, they would give up and go away.