Nail Down (Men out of Uniform Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t think it’s your real work,” she murmured.

  Maybe he was getting soft, complacent, too fucking comfortable. Hell, when had he become so transparent and easy to read? Of course, his life didn’t depend on those skills anymore, but still…

  “High consequence threat management,” he forced out.

  Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he could almost hear her brain working, cogs turning. “Was that even English?”

  He shrugged and starting walking again. He’d needed a minute, but stopping hadn’t done him any favors.

  “You mean, like…security?”

  He ground his back teeth together. Most people just went blank, nodded or changed the subject. Most people got the message that he wasn’t into this getting-to-know-you bullshit.

  “Something like that.”

  It was too simple, but boiled down into its most basic form, that’s exactly what his firm did.

  “Sounds dangerous,” she murmured.

  “Not compared to what I used to do.”

  Shit. Where the hell had that come from? He didn’t talk about himself. Ever.

  “What do you do, Ms. Smart Ass?” he asked, before she could drill him on that slip. Her mouth had already been open for another question.

  And that was another thing. He didn’t ask people about themselves either because he really didn’t give a shit. Usually.

  “Oh crap.” Quinn glanced at her watch, her eyes wide. “I gotta go. My kids will be waiting for me.”

  Wait. What? Kids?

  “You have kids?”

  And why the hell did the thought of that twist something deep in his gut? Something dark and ugly. Because really, what business was it of his and why should he even fucking care? He shouldn’t—no way, no how—but his gut said otherwise.

  “Yep. Twenty-seven of them.”

  He was already frowning at that when she stopped next to her car and he realized he’d walked with her, instead of straight for the gym next door. The backseat was jam-packed full of stuff.

  He frowned. “Are you living out of your car?”

  She laughed. “Of course not. They’re just…spares.”

  “Spares?”

  “Yes, you know, for mishaps.”

  God, this was seriously starting to hurt his head. “What kind of mishaps?”

  “Really, you have no idea what things can happen in the course of a day. I need a spare everything. Just in case.”

  He gritted his teeth. “In case of…?”

  “Mishaps. I’ve got to run.”

  “Right.” Of course. Mishaps. Why the fuck had he even asked?

  Chapter Two

  Quinn knew what was going to happen, knew, but couldn’t do anything to stop it. Unfortunately, that was pretty much the story of her life. Perhaps it would even be engraved on her tombstone one day. It happened as usual as if in slow motion. And as usual she seemed to be paralyzed, unable to change the course of what was about to happen.

  Unfortunately for her, this time it meant she ended up wet. And nasty.

  “Shit. Quinn. Are you okay?”

  She glanced up at Ward. Even with another pair of sunglasses and the same black skull cap he’d had on yesterday, she could see his frown. She lifted her hands and shook the water off them, trying not to grimace. “Um…yeah.”

  I think.

  The water was a lot deeper than she’d thought. And murkier. And stinkier. And the bottom felt soft, slimy and urgh. Thankfully, she’d managed to keep her head from going under. Just. Didn’t matter much. She was still soaked, soaked with stinky duck pond water and God knew what else.

  “How the hell—” Ward shook his head. He stood with his hands on his hips, showcasing his spectacular biceps and rocking another t-shirt that threatened to split its seams around his arms. “You fell into the pond.”

  “Yeah.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes before she realized her hands were gross. She tried not to breathe in through her nose. “It happens.”

  “Not that I’ve ever been aware of.”

  “So, I’m not much of a multitasker.”

  Doing star jump thingies while moving from left to right hadn’t seemed that much of a big deal. At first. God, now to get out without looking like a complete idiot. Or an uncoordinated klutz. Oh, wait, that train had already left the station.

  “Here.”

  Ward held out his hand. His expression was grim except for the slight smile that lifted one corner of his mouth. Of course, he’d probably seen the entire thing. Hype stood next to him and damn if the dog didn’t seem to have a smile on his face as well.

  Great. She’d become their morning amusement.

  “Traitor,” she muttered under her breath to the dog, who stepped forward as if he were going to help as well.

  Quinn grabbed for Ward’s hand before she thought about doing something else stupid…like insisting she could get out on her own. She tugged at the same time her foot slid out from under her. She tried to let go, she swore she did, but Ward’s grip around hers tightened just as she lost her balance and fell backward.

  The large splash Ward made when he hit wet everything she’d managed to keep dry. She’d kept her head above water again, but Ward hadn’t tried to stay upright. He’d just gone straight down and under. And hadn’t come right back up. Quinn made a grab for him, tried to find him under the water, tried to get a grip around his neck, tried to—

  He surged up, sluiced water off his face in an easy, practiced move and glared at her. “Jesus, what the hell are you doing?” he growled.

  “I— Well, I didn’t know… For all I know you can’t swim, so…”

  “It’s two and a half feet deep. If that. I was trying to find my fucking sunglasses.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. That would be pair number two. Besides, I used to be a SEAL. I think being able to swim is pretty much a requirement.”

  Quinn couldn’t miss the sarcasm. Or the harsh undertone. Or the element of something else in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

  “Where have I heard that before?” He flicked her a quick glance as he stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “Oh, yeah. Yesterday.”

  Quinn cringed. “No, I mean for the fact that you don’t do that anymore.”

  He stilled, frowned down at her, his look pretty much unreadable. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So you’re not sorry for pulling me in here then?”

  “I—”

  “This is not a coincidence is it?”

  She gasped. “You think I did it on purpose?”

  “No. I think these kinds of things happen to you. A lot. Am I right?”

  She sighed. “Maybe. I really am sorry. Let me help you. I can—”

  “Don’t. Help me by not helping me, okay?”

  Quinn swallowed back the sudden sting at the back of her throat. Yeah, why did that sound familiar? Perhaps because she’d been hearing that or something similar for most of her life. The fact that he didn’t know that didn’t make it hurt any less.

  Ward locked one leg and used the other to take a big step up and out onto the edge of the pond. He turned and offered his hand. His mouth was drawn in hard, tight lines, his dark eyes glazed.

  She frowned. “Are—are you sure?”

  “No. Grab on to my forearm this time.”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath when she looked up. His pants and t-shirt were plastered to him. All over. Every. Where. Holy…

  Quinn focused on his hand rather than the muscles outlined by the wet shirt. Or his flat stomach. Or the large ridge in the front of his pants.

  She made sure her feet were firmly grounded before she reached out to wrap her hand around his thick wrist. She’d planned to take it slow, easy, but before she had a chance to wonder what he was going to do, he’d lifted her up enough that she could step onto the edge of the pond. Sort of.

  No one could ever accuse her of being graceful, that’s for sure.

  He let go as soon as she had h
er footing, almost as if he didn’t want to touch her longer than absolutely necessary.

  “We need to get cleaned up,” he ground out. “Come on over to the locker room at the gym.”

  Quinn had never liked being the center of attention, but everyone from the group was standing around looking at them. They all had equal amounts of horror and humor on their faces. And why not?

  Great. Just great.

  She tried to ignore the squelching of her shoes as she took the first couple of steps. They’d been bright white. Just a few minutes ago. Now they were an unexplained shade of green-brown.

  She sighed. Her goals today had been so simple. Don’t whack anyone with anything, don’t break anything. Try not to be the biggest fool in the room. Or park. And what do you know? Epic fail all the way around. It was a miracle she’d even turned up again to the boot camp. Her muscles had totally been on board with a sleep in. Bummer there weren’t any brownie points just for showing up. And she’d asked. It’d been worth it just to see the smile Ward tried his best to hide.

  The good news was she’d made it through another round of exercise. Somehow she’d managed to convince herself it would get easier each time. Yeah, Quinn bet whoever said that never had Ward as their instructor. Or maybe no one had ever said that and it was just wishful thinking on her part. Quinn had twinges and aches in muscles and places she didn’t even know she had and then some she did, but had obviously never used before. Was that even English? See? Exercise had turned her brain to mush. Or maybe it was the duck pond water.

  She took a deep breath. This early in the morning there was a crispness to the air, a freshness that would be a distant memory once the sun got going. Who knew?

  From the outside, the main gym building looked pretty much like a warehouse. Inside there were concrete floors, black steel beams and exposed lighting. Dark carpeting covered the equipment area but did little to mask the clang of machinery and weights. It looked rough, rugged but cutting edge industrial. Downright cool.

  The guy at the front desk looked up when they walked in. “What the hell—”

  “Can you get someone to finish up the session?” Ward bit out. “And you don’t let anyone in here.”

  Ward walked to one of the two doors behind the desk. Both had “Staff Only” written on them.

  “Got it?” Ward ground out, when the guy just continued to stare at them.

  The young kid swallowed and nodded. “Ah, sure. Sure.”

  “Stay.” Ward motioned to the dog she just now realized had followed them in. Quinn mouthed “sorry” to Hype as he sat. Yeah, Quinn would have done the same thing if that tone had been directed at her. She’d injured Ward—again—destroyed a second pair of his sunglasses and no doubt pissed him the hell off. So maybe it would be.

  They’d barely made it through the door of the locker room before Ward hefted a gym bag over to the bench in the middle of two rows of lockers and dropped it on the floor with a loud thump. He grabbed his t-shirt at the back of his neck and tugged it off.

  Quinn stopped right where she was. She barely got a glimpse of a hard, muscled back before he turned, showing off a wide chest and a set of sculptured abs she’d only ever seen in pictures.

  “Shit,” he muttered as he toed off his shoes and yanked his pants down to his thighs, before sitting down on the bench. She was pretty sure he swore under his breath as he sat, but she couldn’t make out the words. He pulled the pants the rest of the way off with quick, jerky movements.

  Her mouth went chalk dry. He’d stripped down to his underwear before she’d even had a chance to register what he was doing. He wore black boxer briefs, his skull cap and nothing else, sitting on the bench, legs spread, as if this were just any other day and he hadn’t just tilted her world on its axis with his almost naked perfection. Holy God, the guy was built. Big and broad. Corded with muscle covered by miles of smooth skin. Even his feet were big and powerful looking and his legs, God, they…

  “Oh my God, what happened to your leg?”

  Ward’s jaw flexed, his fist clenched and Quinn knew she’d gone and put her foot in her mouth, big time. It wasn’t the first time and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but while she stared at the mangled mess that was his knee, she saw what should have been obvious if she’d just taken a second. The damage wasn’t new.

  “You know,” he drawled, one side of his mouth lifting. “Most people are a bit more diplomatic than that.”

  Shoot me now.

  She groaned. Whatever had caused his injuries had clearly been serious, very painful and had left him horribly scarred and duh… He was likely to be sensitive about it.

  “That’s what I hit yesterday.” Her voice sounded flat and not like her at all. She could have tried to shrug it off as nothing, but it’d be pointless at this stage. Besides, she’d never perfected the art of diplomacy, much to the disappointment of her family.

  “Direct hit.”

  She let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah.” Ward grabbed the t-shirt he’d tossed on the floor and flicked it up and over his knee.

  There was a twinge in her chest at the gesture. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “No? Most people can barely look at it. Or can’t stop staring.”

  Quinn dragged her gaze up and met his. “I’m not most people.”

  Yeah, wasn’t that the truth.

  Ward focused on breathing through his mouth in long, even pulls. Pain was a comfort zone he knew well, but he wished that once, just once, he could live in someone else’s skin. Just for a few minutes. Getting out of that pond had just about killed him. If his leg was bad before, now it was on fucking fire and later…he was going to pay for it.

  He hesitated a second before he tossed the t-shirt back on the floor with a flick of his wrist. He couldn’t take his fucking pants off anymore unless he was sitting down and today it annoyed him more than usual. Besides, it wasn’t like him to really give a shit what anyone thought anyway. Why he did with Quinn was a mystery. He’d taken off his wet clothes in front of her without thinking about it. It’d been a hell of a long time since he’d had an audience, but still, what the fuck was up with that? Not a lot he could do about it now. He smiled to himself. There’d been dead silence while he’d stripped down to his jocks. Quinn speechless was a beautiful thing. Even if it had only lasted a minute—tops. He’d be willing to bet that didn’t happen very often.

  He rested his forearms on his thighs, bowed his head and waited for the pain to stabilize, to become the constant he could deal with. For the pounding and the flashes of light behind his eyes to subside. For him to stop feeling so fucking lightheaded. He clenched his hand into a fist when it meant he was looking right at his messed up fingers. Something he deliberately avoided.

  “Ward, I…”

  “They wanted to take it off, you know,” he muttered.

  Now, where the hell had that come from?

  “Your leg?”

  “The knee was a mess, the flesh mangled, the bone…” He shrugged. “The doctors were worried about infection and if I’d ever be able to use it again.”

  “So, what happened?”

  He looked up at her then. “I told them to fuck off and do what they needed to save it.”

  Actually, that was the tame version. He’d threatened their lives, parts of their anatomy, that he’d rain terror down on them for as long as he lived. If he did. He caught the slight smile on her face.

  “Right,” she drawled. As if she knew—exactly—what had gone down. “Of course. Rehabilitation must have been…”

  Grueling. Endless. Hell on earth.

  He took a moment to shove back the memories, the images, shocked that she’d even go there. What the hell was he thinking? This was Quinn, after all, and to her? She didn’t seem to have much of a filter and he’d guess nothing was off-limits.

  “Yeah,” he forced out through clenched teeth.

  Quinn titled her head to the side, her gaze still fo
cused on him. “Oh, I didn’t mean for you, although it must have been tough. I meant for everyone else around you.”

  He barked out a laugh. God, he never knew what was going to come out of her mouth. Most people were predictable, easy to read. Not her.

  “You’re not easy on people, are you?” she added. “Even those who love you.”

  Those who loved him? He didn’t think in those terms. Not anymore. He sighed. “I’m not an easy kind of guy, Quinn.”

  “What’s this?” She leaned in and he realized at some point she must have moved closer. She touched his shoulder and he stilled, held his breath at the contact. The touch was light, fleeting, but it reminded him how long it’d been since he’d let anyone this close. Since he’d let a woman this close. “It looks like a hole,” she murmured.

  “Yeah. Bullets tend to do that,” he managed.

  Her gaze snapped back to his. He knew she waited, expecting some kind of reaction, some kind of clarification, but he just watched her—steadily.

  She cleared her throat. “So, ah…how many times have you been shot?”

  He raised his eyebrows but didn’t ask why she’d even ask that. “Three.”

  “And…stabbed?”

  Yeah, she’d probably noticed some of the other scars. They weren’t exactly hard to miss. Some chicks liked to hear about his injuries, got off on it, the more dangerous he made them sound the better. And yeah, a long time ago he’d been grateful for the benefits he could reap. It made things a lot easier and was a hell of a lot better than meaningless small talk.

  Based on the white, pinched look on Quinn’s face she wasn’t one of them, he’d bet his life on it, so why the twenty questions?

  Of course it depended on your definition of “stabbed”, but… “I’ve sustained…multiple knife injuries. Some worse than others, but they all hurt like a bitch.”

  Her eyes went wide. This wasn’t some form of morbid curiosity. It wasn’t any kind of turn on for her. She looked… Fuck if he knew, but it looked as if she might actually want to know. About him. Go figure.

  He ignored the burn in his stomach and yanked off the wet black skull cap before he chickened out. The thing made his head itch like crazy sometimes, not to mention when it was hot, but he wasn’t the ball cap type. Still, it pissed him off enough when people stared that he put up with it. He made sure his gaze was laser-focused on Quinn. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to miss anything about her reaction.