Page 55 of Remote Access

“I heard. I’m so sorry. Did you know him well?”

Quincy nodded. “Yeah, he was a good man who took in Gareth as a kid. He was single and estranged from his sister, but he didn’t hesitate to step in and take over raising Gareth as his own child. Before he got sick, we used to work on cars with him. He restored them, giving them fancy paint jobs and more. Showed them. Gareth spent half his life at car shows and ironically enough, he’s not into the things at all.”

“Shows or cars?”

“Both. Gareth wanted to be a cop his whole life.”

Lane had to look away. “You know, if you guys turned in all those files, you’d be heroes.”

Quincy came back to stretch out on the blankets and tug Lane on top of him. Lane propped his chin on his hands on top of Quincy’s chest. “I don’t need to be a hero, Lane. I just want to do what’s right. I feel in my gut that what you guys are going to do here is the right thing.”

“We could easily go through legal channels and get all those items returned to the rightful owners.” But that would mean jail for him, Helix, and the others. Shelli could possibly be the only one who didn’t go, but he had no idea what all she’d done for Hayrick.

“There’s a poetic justice in doing it your way.’

“Can you live with what we did here today? You shot a man. Helix shot two. And I…”

“I’ve lived with worse, Lane,” Quincy whispered, tugging him higher on his body until Lane’s face was hovering over his. “You did what you had to today and I know it’s sitting heavy on your soul, but rest assured. He would have killed us all.” He stared up at him, his gaze roaming Lane’s eyes, nose and mouth. “Promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks. I like knowing this gorgeous freckled face is in the world.”

Lane opened his mouth to answer but was suddenly too choked up to respond. Instead, he memorized every feature of the gruff face below his and wished with all his heart that Quincy wasn’t leaving him. When he could finally speak, his voice came out hoarse and gritty. “Let’s make the most of the time we have left.

This time, when they made love, they never took their eyes off each other.

Chapter Nineteen

Quincy sat in the booth next to Gareth as Liam and Carter slid in across from them. Isaac pulled up an outside chair. They were a familiar group at this bar so the servers didn’t get upset about the chair blocking their walkways. Framed posters of famous Oklahoma actors and singers filled the walls and the booths held comfortable faux, stuffed leather seating. A mix of old rock played over the speakers.

Sandy, a cute, redheaded server who’d been working there as long as they’d been coming, came up to the table missing her usual sunny smile.

The five of them had met Gareth’s uncle often there, so all employees knew what their suits meant. Sam’s funeral had them all feeling nostalgic for the old days when Sam had been a part of their group, with his preference for Bud Light and marathon dart games that left Quincy’s shoulder sore the next day. His absence was felt keenly and it showed in Sandy’s expression.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she told Gareth as she set down a heaping plate of wings and handed them four beers. “A round of Sam’s favorites on the house tonight. We all miss him.”

“Thanks,” Gareth said, offering her a small smile.

Liam picked up his beer bottle and held it up in a toast. “To Sam, who was always there for any of us who needed a hand. Who fixed all of our cars in exchange for cheap food. And who never, not once, hesitated to gloat horribly over his ability to kick our asses in darts.”

They all lifted their bottles this time, the smiles genuine.

Liam ran his hand through his curly brown hair. He looked good in a charcoal suit which fit his tall, lean body like it had been tailored. His partner on the force and best friend in life, Carter, sat next to him. The other man was good-looking, darker-complected and though his own black suit was more rumpled, he still looked handsome. He’d been in their group the shortest time, so he’d mostly known Sam after the man had fallen ill.

Gareth shifted next to Quincy in the booth, both of them too big to be sharing the space, but it had been the only table left in the popular bar.

Isaac mumbled something about napkins and abruptly left the table. He’d never been good with handling the harder emotions when it came to group situations. Or private ones either, really. The man kept himself under tight wraps.

“I need a change of subject,” Gareth said, his voice barely sounding over the noise of the music and packed bar.

Because the last year of Gareth’s life had been taken up by the stress of losing his job and watching his uncle slowly die, Quincy certainly understood. It still broke Quincy’s heart to see the new lines around his eyes and mouth and he couldn’t help but feel partially responsible—no matter how many times Gareth reassured him none of it had been his fault. But Quincy was the one who’d wanted justice for his cousin’s death. That was another source of his guilt. Seemed he’d be carrying guilt for a lot of mistakes in his life.

When the music was abruptly turned down, Quincy breathed a sigh of relief, though the noise in the bar was still welcome with what he needed to discuss. “I wanted to bring up a possibility to you all.” He didn’t need to wait for Isaac because he’d already run this by him on the phone when he’d still been in Maine. “What I’m proposing will break so many laws, it’ll make your heads spin. But just hear me out.”

Carter abruptly stood and slid off his suit jacket, breathing a sigh of relief when he sat back down. “It’s way too fucking hot in here for that thing and I have a feeling whatever you’re going to say is gonna make me sweat more.”

Quincy grinned, sincerely doubting it. Carter was the one member of their group who really chaffed under the rules. He’d become a cop for the same reason Quincy had, losing a relative to crime, but he had always been the sort to seek out adventure. “Probably. I’m proposing we don’t turn over all the paperwork we found in Letsen’s house. We drop all leads we got from investigating the man, too.”

“Holy shit,” Liam breathed. “Seriously? You do know that we’ve managed to shut down two of his antique shops already. There’s a warrant out for him now.”

“Doesn’t matter. And yes, what I’m asking you to do is highly illegal and, in a sense, immoral.” He’d helped cover up murder—so he was well aware of his own hand in the latter. “But what will come from this will help wipe out a lot. There’s a poetic justice in everything that man built being used to right his wrongs and the people doing it are good people who don’t deserve the jail time they’d get for their parts in his crimes.”

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