The Fixer Read online

  It was back to that normal tomorrow, but for now, I could just curl up in this bed, and process what had just happened.

  I had a feeling I was going to need more than just a couple hours to do so.

  But I would have to take what I could get.

  FOUR

  Quin

  What a fucking day.

  And it was only a third of the way over.

  I hadn't slept in close to thirty hours, but, luckily, that was not so unusual that my body or brain was giving up on me about it. I just felt sluggish and slower than usual as I moved back downstairs after depositing Aven in one of the rooms.

  It was a clusterfuck of uncertainty, her case.

  Thankfully, we specialized in clusterfucks.

  The not knowing the body was what was the most pressing concern as I banged on doors as I moved down the hall, calling everyone into my office.

  Finn was still over at Aven's place. Meticulous to the core, he would scrub every last inch of that place with bleach after vacuuming. Then he would put down a new floor in Aven's room, using the stained wood beneath her carpet as kindling to set the whole mess of evidence ablaze in a giant bonfire that only he would know the location of. The body, well, that would be melted. They always were. It was the only way to ensure that they wouldn't be found, and someday link back to who did the deed.

  "This about the pretty girl with the bruises?" Kai asked as the men gathered in.

  "Pretty girl with bruises?" Smith asked, curious. He had been the one to take her call in the first place. When I wasn't around, he was in charge. The General, the guys around the office called him, thanks to his ex-military training. He was tall and solidly built with a wide jaw, hazel eyes, and brown hair that he kept just slightly longer than his military days.

  "Aven Armstrong," I agreed, reaching for the pile of file folders that Jules had dutifully gotten on my desk without my having to ask. She needed a raise on her already obnoxious salary.

  "With the stalker?" Smith asked, brows drawn together.

  "Last night he escalated to potential rapist, and likely murderer. He didn't get the chance, though, since Aven walked her ass down to The Henchmen compound when we wouldn't help, and got herself a gun."

  "Finn over there now?" Smith asked as he flipped through the pages in his hands.

  "Yeah. There was a lot of fucking blood," I explained. "And this perv liked to jack off onto her windows. There is possible DNA all over that place."

  "He should get fucking hazard pay for that shit," Lincoln, known affectionately as The Middle Man, remarked, lip curled up in disgust. Lincoln was as tall as Smith and Kai, but somewhere between their body types. Where Kai was almost thin, Smith was a wall of muscle. Lincoln was fit and strong, but more compact. With a Jamaican father and English mother, he had medium skin tone, with a bald head, and brown eyes that had a strong copper undertone.

  "Our main priority," I went on, ignoring the comment since we all knew Finn got paid exactly how much he wanted, "is to find out who this guy is. Finn has a picture. He will bring it in when he's done, and Jules will print off some copies. We just need to make sure he isn't connected in any way. Where are Gunner and Miller? On cases?" I had been gone too long to know exactly what was going down and when and where. While I controlled the operation as a whole, if the team had a case that they could handle alone, they did. I assembled a good team of people with very distinct skills. They didn't need me breathing down their necks and approving of every move they made.

  As for Gunner, he was known around the office as The Ghost. Miller was The Negotiator. And our final member of the team, Ranger - AKA The Babysitter - while he had an office in the building, maybe only saw it once or twice a year. He was off in his woods, doing his thing until we needed him.

  "Yeah, Miller has to work out some shit with the Russians and the Mexicans over in the city. Gunner is, well, off the grid."

  "Alright, so for now, it's us. Smith, Lincoln, I need you on this until we have answers."

  "And me, boss?" Kai asked, clearly between jobs for too long if he was looking for work. Kai was who we called The Messenger. Which was pretty self-explanatory. He had all the charm of a Golden Retriever, but he had one of the most dangerous jobs out of all of us. Not many men would sign up to walk into an unknown situation to deliver news that would likely lead to guns in their faces, but Kai did. Kai thrived on that shit.

  "You, I want you around here, digging up information on the client."

  I didn't usually give a shit about digging in people's dirt. That was part of the package when you came to me. I aired out all your dirty laundry. I unearthed all your skeletons. I made sure that you in no way threatened me and mine. Like it or fucking lump it, that was part of the package.

  And when it came to being invasive, my team dug deep enough to know who took your virginity and when was your last one-night-stand. Nothing was left to chance.

  But somehow, just this one time, I didn't like the idea. I didn't like having to dig around in the life of someone who had already had someone know too much about her.

  And he did know way too fucking much.

  Because the pictures that seemed to be the night before he finally tried to attack her had been from inside her bedroom while she was sleeping, her slinky white nightgown twisted around her upper thighs. She was on her stomach, one leg cocked up Captain Morgan style, letting the material slip up over her ass cheek. You could make out the lacy line of her light blue panties. Then the next picture, her skirt was lifted completely. It didn't take a genius to figure he had done that himself, revealing her ass just barely contained by her panties. The next picture seemed to be much later that night, almost morning judging by the light. Aven was on her back, and the buttons that had likely been fastened before she went to bed were undone, allowing the sides to fall open, and one of her breasts to be on perfect display, the dusty pink nipple slightly hardened by the cool fall air from the cracked open window.

  Too exposed.

  She had been way too fucking exposed already.

  It bothered me to expose more of her personal life.

  But this was the job.

  This was what needed to be done.

  Even if I didn't fucking like it.

  I simply couldn't bring myself to be the one doing the digging. I knew Kai. And Kai loved women. He would do a thorough search, but be delicate about it, only sharing with the team what he deemed relevant, and locking the rest of it down, so it never got out.

  "Anything, in particular, you want me to focus on?"

  "I don't know much. She works as a waxer in town."

  "Kennedy's," Lincoln mumbled, drawing my attention.

  "Say what?"

  "My last girl. She said the only place in town to get waxed is Kennedy's."

  Smith looked over then, brows low. "Kennedy. As in Pagan's Kennedy?"

  Pagan.

  He was a member of the local Henchmen MC, a long established group who traded arms all up and down the East coast. His girl owned a full-service salon in town. Where, apparently, Aven worked.

  "I don't figure that is relevant. Seems like it is just a job. She has no friends - or so she says - so I doubt she's close with her coworkers. But look into it. And her life before she moved here. It doesn't sound like she's been here very long. I'd like to know what she was up to before she made the decision to move here, of all places."

  Navesink Bank, from the outside, wasn't a bad place. You had the shitty area, where I chose to set up my business for a multitude of reasons. But you also had the extremely wealthy side full of McMansions. There was also the in-between where all the normal people lived. The locals tended to refer to parts of the town with directions. Oh, I live in East Navesink Bank. Where the crime rate was higher, and no woman felt safe walking alone at night. Then the others would say I live in West Navesink Bank with their noses up in the air, thinking they're better than everyone else.

  There was the beach right around the corner. There was shop
ping. Apartment buildings, townhouses, and free standing homes. There were parks and good schools.

  If you were moving in from, say, the city, it made sense to check out Navesink Bank.

  It also made sense to move here if you were in some sort - really, any sort - of illegal activity. You could shack up with a local crew, and be back to work in no time.

  It didn't make sense, however, to move here from halfway across the country.

  So we needed to figure out why Aven was here in particular. Did she follow a boyfriend? Was there family here that died, or moved away? Was it supposed to be a stepping stone to New York City, and some harebrained dream of being on Broadway?

  "Got it, boss," Kai said, flipping his folder closed.

  "We'll meet back here to discuss around seven. Aven will be sitting in as well. Give Jules your order for Chinese." Which I may or may not have chosen because I had seen a stack of Chinese menus on her counter like she ordered from the same place often.

  With that, the men moved out to get to work.

  I sat down to deal with the pile of paperwork that had accumulated while I was away on business, then checked in with Finn who was almost done at the house.

  And I didn't, I absolutely did the fuck not, think about Aven one floor above me. Literally. Her room was over top of my office. I had even heard her move around like she was pacing, before there was nothing, not a peep for hours. She had likely passed out.

  It meant, though, that she hadn't lost it, cried, purged whatever was inside her regarding the whole situation.

  That wasn't good.

  That meant that sometime down the road, and there was no telling when this might happen, she was finally going to crack, and it was all going to come rushing back.

  Killing wasn't easy. Hell, the most ruthless of killers out there struggled here and there. Nightmares, flashbacks, compulsive tendencies, rage issues. There were no perfectly well-adjusted killers in the world.

  Even the people who accidentally hit a pedestrian tended to struggle with guilt their whole lives.

  Aven would not get through this unscathed. This was going to give her nightmares and trust issues and be something that would always exist at the back of her mind. When she saw sirens behind her when she was driving. When she saw a shadow outside her window. When she tried to get close with a man, and share her secrets like you would normally do, but she would know that this one, this would have to go to the grave with her.

  It would be better for her to get it out here, in privacy, with people who would understand just a floor below, who wouldn't judge the swollen eyelids and red cheeks.

  Christ.

  What was wrong with me?

  I didn't worry about clients this way.

  I worried about them in general, of course.

  And I sure as shit worried about if their loose lips would spill the secrets, if their actions would seem suspicious, if anything they did to screw up their lives could lead back to me.

  But this felt different. This felt oddly personal.

  This felt like a rolling in my gut that I did not get with regards to work unless there was a gun pointed at me.

  I was invested.

  Which would not stand.

  I needed to get my head on right.

  I needed a good meal, my own place, and some decent fucking sleep.

  I would feel normal again then.

  Or so I was telling myself.

  --

  "Quin," Jules's voice called, a little sharper than usual, like maybe she had called me once already without a response. Which, given how zoned out I felt, that was possible.

  There was a first time for everything, I guess.

  "Yeah?" I asked, whipping the chair around to where she was standing at the edge of my desk, a coffee in one hand, a file in another. One of her deep red brows were lifted. "Yeah, I know. I'm off my game today," I admitted before she could call me on it.

  "That wouldn't have anything to do with the pretty brunette with blue eyes sleeping right above your head, would it?"

  "Normally, I love your sass, Jules. Today, keep a cap on it," I told her, not unkindly. She was smart and secure enough not to get offended when one of us was prickly. Anyone who said female coworkers had mood swings clearly never worked in an office full of guys before. There wasn't a day of the week when someone wasn't in a sour ass mood.

  "Alright, alright. Touchy," she said, smirking as she handed me my coffee. "Any idea what she might like from the Chinese place?" she asked producing a notebook. This woman always had a notebook and pen on her. Where the hell she kept it was beyond me since - more often than not - she was in a dress. "I already got everyone else. And I know what you like."

  "She seems to like the entire menu," I said with a shrug, having briefly noticed that she circled items on her menus before she ordered.

  Jules scribbled something down, then moved toward the door before turning back. "Hey Quin..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Thanks for taking on her case."

  "It was smart for you to press it," I shot back, and she took what was some of the best praise she could expect from me with a small lip curving.

  "Dinner should be here in thirty."

  After that, the men trickled in, all of them with the files I had given them before, but thicker thanks to their research.

  "Well," Kai said into the silence of the men scattered around the room. "Are you going to go get her or what?"

  "Oh, right," I said, exhaling.

  Seriously.

  I needed some sleep.

  The coffee was clearly not cutting it with my lack of forethought.

  I got up out of my chair, and made my way to the second floor, listening a little intently as I made my way down the hall, wanting to make sure I wasn't interrupting if she was finally letting the dam break.

  I knocked on the door three times, then called her name twice.

  Beginning to worry, I went in search of the override key, letting myself in. But she was okay. She hadn't fractured under the pressure and slit her wrists or downed the bottle of aspirin in the bathroom. That sounded dramatic. But it wouldn't even be the first suicide attempt this month.

  No.

  She was out cold on top of the bed, not even bothering to pull the sheets down to climb under. Her hair, now dry, was splayed over the pillowcase, shiny, soft-looking, the kind of hair begging you to run your fingers through.

  I found myself balling my hand up to avoid doing something that ridiculous as I approached.

  "Aven," I called, getting no response, making my focus go to her chest that was rising and falling evenly.

  Most people didn't sleep this well in new places. I imagined it was simply because she was completely worn out, body and mind. Her brain was just shutting it all down. And as much as I wanted to allow her that, I knew we had to get the meeting over with.

  "Aven," I tried again, touching my hand to her knee.

  You would have thought that I had poked her with a cattle prod. Her entire body shut upward on the bed as her breath drew inward on a gasp.

  "Easy," I said, keeping my voice calm, soothing. "It's me. Quin," I added, figuring maybe her half-asleep brain didn't put two and two together that quickly. "It's okay; you're safe," I tried when her unfocused eyes went huge, and her breathing got more hitched. "Breathe," I demanded as she rose a shaky hand to push her hair out of her face.

  "Sorry," she said, shaking her head at herself, clearly embarrassed by her reaction, no matter how ridiculous that was.

  "I knocked and called before I came in," I assured her, not wanting her to think I was overstepping, further treading on her right to privacy.

  "Really?" she asked, brows drawing together. "I never sleep that soundly. I mean, I sleep deeply. But a knock would normally wake me up."

  "You've had a rough couple of days, babe. You're not yourself right now."

  She nodded a bit at that, accepting the truth. "What time is it? Is the meeting now?"

 
"It's about seven. And yes. That's why I came to get you. All the guys are ready." A shadow crossed over her face, and I watched as her body went more and more tense. "Hey, this is just about the facts we have collected, and what they could mean. In the interest of full disclosure, yes, I had one of the guys run a file on you. But he will not be airing your dirty laundry out in front of everyone. What?" I asked when she snorted, and, if I wasn't mistaken, rolled her eyes at me.

  "I have no dirty laundry to air out. I have a boring little life. Well, I did."

  "Even if you didn't, don't worry. This isn't about attacking you. We just need to make sure none of this ties back to anything in your past. It is not personal. Even if it feels like it," I added, giving her a small smile, knowing what it felt like to be in her position. Because one of the tasks my men had to complete before I brought them on was to work up a file on me, dig up all my admittedly substantial dirt, get every little piece of information on me as possible. It was never comfortable to hear someone tell you all the women you had slept with, which ones you dated more seriously, and what ones you only had one night. It was unsettling to hear stories from your childhood brought to light, events you had all but forgotten had taken place.

  I got it.

  But this was necessary.

  "Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "Let's get this step over with," she agreed, putting her feet on the floor, slipping them into the flats Jules had given her.

  "The food should be here too," I told her as we were halfway down the hall, and I could make out the grumbling of her empty stomach.

  I led her down into the office, holding the door open for her, letting her move in first.

  She did.

  But as all the eyes turned to her, she went back a step, slamming into my chest, and not making a move to step away again.