He grinned. "Love to." He crossed the room and opened his suitcase. "Even brought sweatpants. I've been trying to get out a few times a week. I'm not up to your five miles yet, but I don't get your quiet country lanes. Or your clean air."
I tossed the grin back. "So that's your excuse?"
"Absolutely."
I took my duffel and headed for the bathroom, then stopped, leaned out and looked at Evelyn. "Catch up later, then?"
Her lips tightened. I smiled and closed the door.
For the first half of the run, I said little, feet pounding the pavement hard, knocking thoughts of Evelyn from my mind, letting myself get caught up in Quinn's chatter instead, commenting just enough so he knew I was paying attention.
Having now finally passed that first-date exchange of information - "What's your job? Ever married? Any kids?" - seemed to open the floodgates for Quinn. He talked about his family. They seemed close. Enviably close, and I was happy for him.
Mostly, though, he talked about his job, including a couple of cases he was currently working. While he avoided identifying details, he still gave me more than he should have. I knew that was intentional. It was his way of saying he trusted me, and he knew I didn't quite trust him yet, so here was a bow-wrapped package of confidential information, proof he had no plans to flip on me.
By the halfway mark, Quinn's chatter had banished Evelyn from my mind, and I began to share my own story, starting slow, with my family and my dad, and how I grew up, then moving into what I knew he really wanted to hear: how I shot Wayne Franco and what happened afterward.
For the first time in seven years, I told my story to someone who understood. Really understood. I'd had people say, "I see how that could happen." I'd had some - cop friends - who said it and meant it. I'd had plenty of people who tut-tutted at the media for ruining my life. I had people who were outraged at it and fired off letters on my behalf. But the one thing I never had was the one thing I needed most, and Quinn gave it to me.
He understood what it meant to me to lose my job. Others said it was a shame, but I'd only been an officer for a few years, and I got a good buyout, so no harm done, really. Quinn understood that, for me, the end of my career was more devastating than all the front-page photos in the world. I'd grown up to be a cop, and now I wasn't, and I don't think I'd ever stop feeling the loss, ever stop grieving.
The more we talked, the more I realized that Evelyn had been right. You couldn't find a better match for me if you tried. And if I screwed this up, I'd never forgive myself.
When we were a block from the hotel, I stopped at the mouth of an alley. Quinn got a few more strides in before realizing I wasn't beside him and circling back.
"You okay?" he asked. "Did you -?"
I wrapped my fist in his sweaty shirt front and walked backward into the alley.
His eyes danced. "I meant what I said. No need to rush. I'll give you all the time - "
"I've had more than enough," I said, pulled him to me, and kissed him.
Chapter Forty-two
I unlocked the hotel room door with my card.
"Breakfast is served," Quinn called as he slid his tray onto the table. He took mine, laid it beside the first, gestured for Evelyn and Jack to dig in, then swung around to face me. "Flip for first shower?"
"You go ahead. I'll talk to Evelyn."
He sailed toward the bathroom. Halfway in, he spun. "Dibs on the strawberry cream cheese. Anyone else wants it, they gotta arm wrestle me when I get out."
Jack glanced over at me. "Good run, I take it?"
"I think the exhaust fumes go to his head."
"Bouncy, chipper hitmen," Evelyn murmured. "I despair for this generation."
I pulled the coffees from the cardboard tray. "The cream and double sugar is Quinn's. Black for Jack, cream and sugar for Evelyn..." As I handed them out, her blue eyes bored into mine.
"So we're done playing games, I take it, Dee?"
I forced a smile. "I never started."
She eased into the armchair, stirring her coffee. "Getting confident, aren't you? Of course, it's easy when you have a bulldog at your back, ready to snap my hand off if I look at you the wrong way. With that kind of backup, even the most timid mouse isn't afraid to bare her teeth."
I turned to Jack. "Could you give us a moment?"