Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
“What?”
“I bet you have no idea how sexy you are right now,” Shane said because he couldn’t help himself. And he was. Face flushed. Eyes wide and sparkling. Lips parted and damp from where he’d last licked them before starting on his rant.
Quinn’s cheeks darkened for a new reason and he audibly swallowed. He took one step backward and dropped into his chair. “What?” he croaked. He looked utterly stunned and confused.
“Never mind.” Shane gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. But you are gay, right?”
“Yeah.” Quinn’s voice was rough and barely over a whisper. He still had the “deer caught in the headlights” look.
“Like I said, never mind. Should never have asked that either.” He turned toward his computer and tapped the mouse to wake it from its slumber. “I’ll reach out to the mayor and see what I can get from him regarding the kids’ accounts as well as a list of anyone who has access to the Wi-Fi and household network.”
“Okay. That’s great,” Quinn said and turned to his own laptop.
Shane watched him out of the corner of his eye. He might be facing the laptop, but it took him almost two full minutes before he touched the keyboard.
Oh yeah, this was going to be interesting.
Chapter Four
Quinn had no idea how to compartmentalize Shane Stephens. He didn’t fit into any of the usual boxes he put people in. Generalizing helped him to understand a world he never quite felt a part of. He found most people to be insensitive and too unpredictable, so he preferred things that made sense. His computers made sense. His games made sense. Even his mother in her current state of dementia did on some level. At least he knew not to expect anything tangible out of her.
But Shane perplexed the hell out of him.
After working at The Merleau Detection Agency for a week, he couldn’t figure the man out. Nobody had ever unsettled him like this before. He didn’t fit any of the preconceived ideas Quinn had about accountants or private investigators.
Quinn snorted as he stopped typing and picked up his lukewarm coffee for a drink. He was just as guilty of the same thing he’d accused Shane of—believing notions brought on by movies.
The PI was different. Funny and irreverent at times, prone to blurt out what he was thinking no matter how awkward that made situations.
And the fucker was nosy, asking the most random, off-the-wall questions, then digging right back into his work like it never happened.
He supposed that was the perfect trait for his profession. He dug deeply into things and reveled in the process. Those brown eyes locked on to him, reading his every answer from more than just words. It would be hard to get something past Shane.
And the damn man liked to stand over Quinn’s shoulder and watch what he was doing. Quinn had trouble breathing when he did that, especially when he leaned close and the warmth from Shane’s body seeped into his. And he smelled so incredibly good, his cologne a mix of leather, wood, and spices. Quinn had started wearing button-downs over all his T-shirts, so he could keep everything untucked because he kept popping wood.
He still couldn’t compute that Shane found him sexy.
That knowledge was keeping him up nights. And making him wander down the “what if” path. He’d avoided that route for some time now. One bad experience after another tended to put him off more experimentation.
Shane suddenly strode into the office in dark jeans, a crisp white button-down, and cowboy boots, his dark, curly hair an appealing, disheveled mess on his head. He propped his butt on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “So where are we on the preparations?”
Quinn had to work to keep from staring at the boots. He’d noticed that the man had several different pairs. Who the hell wore those things outside of a ranch? And he’d looked the style up, too. Hybrid boots made for riding with durable slip-resistant soles for the rancher who needed more grip.
Just the fucking description had made him hard again. He turned back to his computer. This was becoming a real issue. It would be better if he finished with this job as soon as possible so he could get back to Ward Security. At least there everything made sense, even if it was chaotic.
“Quinn? You with me?” Shane stepped close, that damn spicy cologne hitting his senses. “Any progress?”
He cleared his throat. “Some. I know a few things…like the person is using onion routing.”
“Explain.”
Quinn regarded him over his shoulder for a long moment, the urge to smile at the order a tingle at the corner of his mouth. “This person’s message to the mayor is under layer upon layer of encryption, and it goes through a bunch of routers. Each peels away a layer of that encryption, and each onion router only knows the source of the last note. This way the original author of that message stays anonymous. It’s an old technique that still works well.” He rolled in his chair, turning it to face the PI.