Read Online With a Twist by Deirdre Martin - Free Book Online

“I know you’ve always been attracted to me.”
    “Takes one to know one.”
    “Don’t flatter yourself,” Natalie huffed. “I find you amusing. That’s all.”
    “Yeah, right. You’d be furious if I stopped needling you.”
    “We were talking about Mason?” Natalie said coolly.
    “Yeah, your good buddy, Mason,” Quinn jeered. “Just watch out, okay? I’d hate to see you get hurt.” Shit, did that sound like a line of bull? No, this was definitely something one friend might say to another. Totally legit reason for bringing the subject up to her.
    “I appreciate your concern,” Natalie replied wryly, “but I’m quite a good judge of character.” She stood up. “Anything else?”
    “You seem to be fitting in really well here.”
    An odd look crossed her face, almost as if she were dismayed by his observation. “Thank you.”
    Quinn checked his watch. “It’s late. How are you getting home?”
    “Cab.”
    He was relieved. He didn’t want her on the subway at this hour. “Well, good night, then.”
    “Good night,” said Natalie as she began putting the dining room chairs up on the tables. Quinn headed toward the front door. “Have a good night, Bro,” he said to Liam.
    “Yeah, you, too,” Liam said distractedly.
    He was going to have to talk to his kid brother soon and find out what the hell was going on, since he seemed even more sullen than usual. But for now, he was content just to have spoken his piece to Natalie, even though it was clear she was somewhat taken by that Aussie poser. Jealous? Hell yeah. But he’d watch and see what happened. He wasn’t about to do anything about it. Not yet.
    The next morning, Quinn headed back to the newsroom after visiting the kid who’d been hit on his bike. He’d slipped into a coma. His parents were there, and Quinn, ever the reporter, knew it was his job to try to get some quotes from them, even though it was clear they were distraught. He always began with an apology when he approached them. “I know this is hard for you. But maybe . . .” Sometimes they wouldn’t talk, sometimes they would, especially if he could gently make them understand that the story was bigger than their grief and it was important that they spoke.
    The bastard who hit the kid wouldn’t talk to him, even though Quinn staked out his house for hours. The lawyer who’d repped the bastard wouldn’t speak to him, either. Not surprising. The injustice of it all made Quinn furious. He wanted this bastard to pay. He wanted the justice system to work . How naive.
    When he got home after leaving the Hart the night before, he tried to read, tried to watch TV, and then finally, tried to sleep. Years ago, a colleague had advised deep breathing to help him relax before sleeping. Quinn had tried it. What a joke. The only thing that ever worked for him when it came to sleep was pure exhaustion. Plus there was the little issue of Natalie and Clement keeping him awake. Just thinking about her being attracted to Clement made him clench his jaw so tight it gave him a headache. He didn’t want Clement to hurt her. Correction: he didn’t want Clement to have her.
    He couldn’t afford this kind of distraction, but he couldn’t help himself, and that bugged him. He was a man who prided himself on control.
    Durham walked into the newsroom, pausing behind Quinn to squeeze his shoulder. “How’s it goin’, pal? How’s the kid?”
    “In a coma.”
    “Jesus Christ. And the guy who hit him walked again?”
    “Yeah.”
    “You know, when I was growing up and my mother grounded me for something I thought was unfair and I’d protest, her standard reply was, ‘Whoever said life was fair?’ I hate that she was right.”
    Durham slurped down some coffee from a huge foam cup. “Your follow-up gonna be on the cover of the late edition?”
    “Depends what they decide at the three o’clock, doesn’t it?”
    Every day at three, the editorial staff at the Sent met to discuss what stories had