waiter over to order a Moscow Mule.
I gave Donna a look. That was good. When Quint moved for Scotch right off the bat, it was a bad sign. A Moscow Mule was middle of the road for Quint-stress. Although the lines spreading out from his eyes and the tense set of his jaw still worried me. “So. What’s new?” I retook my seat.
His grin eased some of my worry. “I’m fine, cousins. It was a bad one and we found a few bodies, which always sucks. But Zena is the best.” He planted a hand on the dog’s head, and she rewarded him by flopping down over his feet.
Donna cleared her throat. “I thought I’d also give you the heads up that Chrissy has been on a few dates with Trick.”
I gaped. Trick was a distant cousin, and Chrissy was Quint’s ex. “She has not.”
Donna nodded. “Yeah.”
Quint accepted the Moscow Mule from the waitress and drank it in three gulps.
Tessa winced.
I kept stoic. “She wasn’t right for you, anyway.” I liked the woman, but she just wasn’t it for Quint. He had a dangerous job, and she made him feel guilty about it. If you loved a guy, you had to let him be himself. “You’re better off single.” But he wasn’t. Quint was the type of guy who liked being with somebody, and he was a good partner for sure.
“You’ll find somebody,” Tessa said, patting his hand.
He looked down at his dog. “I have somebody.” Then he grinned. “Zena’s the best.”
On that note, we ordered way too much food and enjoyed it way too much. By the time we finished with dinner, we were all nicely buzzed and thought going to Dunphey’s Bar in town was a good idea. I was the best to drive because I’d been careful with the wine, so everyone piled into my small Fiat, and we wound along the lake road into town, where Dunphey’s was hopping. I parked by the curb.
Quint untangled himself from Tessa and fell out of the car. “Why is the bar so busy on a Sunday night?”
“Beer Bingo,” Tessa said, sliding her arm through his as she stood.
I followed them inside with Donna on my heels. We miraculously found a tall table toward the back, grabbed bingo cards, and ordered a couple pitchers of beer and a carafe of wine. The place smelled like wood, sawdust, and beer. Comfortable and homey.
Quint seemed better already, and the cute waitress kept flirting with him, so that was good.
I drank a couple glasses of wine and realized I wouldn’t be able to drive anybody home, so I texted Aiden to see what he was doing.
The bartender rang a bell. “Shots only a dollar for five minutes.”
I jumped up. “I’ll get them.” Who knows what Quint would’ve chosen? So I wound my way through the crowd to the bar and leaned over to speak to Joey, the bartender. “Four shots of Fireball.” It was the safest bet.
“Sure thing.” Joey was about fifty with a bald head, huge muscles, and an intriguing scar over his clavicle. He always had a smile for us, but nobody knew much about him. Well, except that his last name was Dunphey.
I managed to twist my fingers around the shot glasses with two in each hand and turned around to nearly run over Sasha. I paused. “What are you doing here?” It was then that I noticed the two women flanking her. Both wore black tank tops with the Lorde’s logo on them and very short, way too short, jean shorts. They were in their late twenties, one blonde and one brunette—both taller than me. I kind of recognized the brunette as the old lady of one of the Lorde’s members who’d been caught up in the drug bust and was now probably in jail. “Sasha?”
She elbowed closer. For tonight, she’d changed out of her fancy outfit into a jean skirt and low cut dark blue blouse. Her hair was sprayed high and a black choker wound around her neck. Her makeup was minimal except for the bright red lipstick. “I heard you were fucking around with my man while I was back visiting my dying grandma.”
I’d had too much to drink to follow that. “What are you talking about?”
The two women with her sneered almost identically at me. Their glares trickled awareness through my very pleasant buzz.
Sasha leaned in, grabbed my hair, and yanked my ear to her mouth. “Go along with this. I’m sorry. When I punch,