Exposing Ethan (Cassidy Kincaid Mystery Book 4)

but she had the feeling that the decision wasn’t quite settled. “Maybe if I go see it one last time.”
Quinn finger-combed his wet hair from his forehead, his playful blue eyes softening with compassion. “Want me to go with you?”
Cassidy shook her head and stepped back inside. “No, I’m okay,” she replied, though she wasn’t sure this was true.
After showering, Quinn barbecued his signature chicken and Cassidy made a salad, which they carried to the balcony with a beer each. The softening light of late evening cast a warm glow over the street and sidewalks below, the sound of passing cars creating a background hum of city life. It was a nice change from her hotel stay in Hawaii, where the thick walls swallowed all sound and the windows were locked shut.
“Hey, check this out,” Cassidy said as they dug in. “Guess who paid me a visit at the TV studio?”
“Mark?” Quinn asked, forking a giant bite of salad into his mouth.
“Well, yeah, he was there,” she said, ignoring the jolt of anxiety brought on by Mark’s invitation to get a beer. Why couldn’t she just enjoy his friendship? “Preston Ford.”
“Izzy’s father?” he asked, reaching for his beer.
“He said something weird,” Cassidy continued, pausing with her beer halfway to her lips. “It’s about Dad.”
Quinn’s expression soured. He set down his beer bottle and cut her a look.
Cassidy took a sip, her gaze drifting to the opposite building where a woman was hanging clothing over her balcony railing. “He said that Dad was the reason he was in Seattle. Does that make any sense?”
“Did they used to do business together?” Quinn asked, forking another bite.
“No idea.” Cassidy tried to remember where her father’s advertising accounts were located. Could there be some link in Seattle—one of her dad’s clients?
“Have you looked into it?”
Cassidy shook her head. “I just thought you might know.”
“Look up what was going on in Seattle yesterday. Maybe there’s something in the news. Like a building he dedicated or something.”
Cassidy tapped bites of lettuce onto her fork, thinking about this. Her father had been dead for sixteen years. “But why would Dad be involved in some kind of ribbon cutting now? There’s no way it’s taken that long to build something.”
Quinn chewed a bite, his face set in thoughtful contemplation. “What about a charity or nonprofit? Dad always gave to the Special Olympics, remember? I think he won an award one year for the amount of money he raised.”
Cassidy combed her memories but got nowhere. “I think I was too busy being a hell raiser then.”
“Oh, yeah,” Quinn replied, nodding. “You started wearing black eyeliner and snuck off to smoke pot with the cool kids.”
She gave his shoulder a shove. “Good thing it didn’t last.”
“Yeah, you’d be in jail, probably.”
A tightness pulled at her chest. “I was afraid they were going to put me in jail today.”
“Cooperating probably helped.”
“I think Agent Harris wanted to hang me up by my toenails.”
“I guess it’s good that she’s ruthless. It means she’s going to get these guys.”
“You’re right,” Cassidy replied, cutting a bite of chicken.
“Why don’t you invite Bruce to come out tonight?” Quinn asked.
Cassidy frowned. “Why?”
Quinn shrugged but she could see he was downplaying whatever was on his mind. “I just thought he might need to blow off some steam, too. You’re probably not the easiest job he’s taken on.”
Cassidy stifled a laugh. “Me? I mean, yeah, I’m stubborn, but I’m not dangerous.”
Quinn’s face darkened. “He called me, you know, when you didn’t answer him.”
Cassidy chewed her bite slowly, then washed it down with a sip of beer. “It was his job to track me down, so of course he would call you.”
“He was really worried. Hell, I was worried.”
“But I answered your calls.”
He shot her one of his you-are-not-listening-to-me looks. “Let me rephrase that. I am worried, as in present tense. You’re now tied to that criminal, and whatever sinister stuff he’s orchestrating. You crossed him, and you’ve seen his face. You can connect him to the goings-on at that warehouse.”
“But he’s in Mexico.” Even as she said it, the words felt hollow.
“Not forever.”
Hot prickles erupted on her skin. “Stop, okay?” Cassidy said, dropping her fork on her plate. “This last week I had to push it all out of my mind so I could work, so I could sleep at night. And now, Bruce has made it sound like they’re going to get him, they’re going to bring it all down.”
“But you’ll still have to testify.”
“Of course, but he’ll be behind bars then.”
“I just don’t want you taking any more chances. I’m sure Bruce told you the same thing, but I want you to hear it from me, too.”
Cassidy was going to protest that he was being overly protective, but his deadly look stopped her cold.
“Promise me,” he said.
“Okay, okay, I promise,” she replied.
By the time they arrived at Drift, the line at the bar stood three rows deep and the noise nearly knocked her off her feet. Quinn led her to the bar, elbowing his way through the crowd and snagging a stool just as someone vacated it.
“Jer, this is my sister, Cassidy,” Quinn shouted over the noise at the bartender filling a line of beers across from them. “Make her whatever she wants.” With a “be right back,” Quinn left her side to make his rounds.
Alone with the noise and crowd pushing into the space around her, Cassidy took in the familiar dark wood of the bar top, the hundreds of bottles lit up on the shelves, the bartenders and servers with their classy black button-down shirts and long white aprons.
“What’ll it be, doll?” Jer asked her, tossing down a coaster, his rolled-up sleeves revealing a tribal tattoo on his left arm.
“Manhattan,” she replied.
“You got it,” he replied, and spun away.
Cassidy watched him work, his movements efficient and swift. The two other bartenders on either side of him engaged in similar actions, moving back and forth, hands reaching for glassware or pulling beer taps or scooping ice,