he said. “And you’re right. I’m sure I can use the help. But I want to think this through before we rush up there. And we are going to rush up there. No later than tomorrow.”
“I’m game,” Kristine said. “Let’s find somewhere private to discuss this.”
They crossed a wide driveway, passing the main gate into Ft. Lukman.
Quinn was leading Kristine to someplace they probably shouldn’t go: his apartment in the Bachelor Officers Quarters. If anyone saw them inside the building, it might appear as if they were fraternizing, and that was a military no-no. She wasn’t a commissioned officer. He was.
In a world where things were fair, their roles should be reversed. She had told him she was career military and had planned it that way forever. She had trained to become a nurse, then had enlisted. She had been in the service for a few years and was now a staff sergeant.
She should be his superior officer.
He was the newcomer, and yet because of who he was—no, what he became when he shifted—he’d come into the service as a ready-made officer, outranking her.
As a result of all that, she could be his aide but not—officially, at least—his date. Let alone someone he snuck into his quarters. Not that he gave a damn about that kind of prohibition, but she would.
And she was right. He needed her help—as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself.
“Glad to see things are quiet around here,” Kristine remarked as they started up the sidewalk in the direction of the BOQ. He glanced down at her. She’d slowed a bit, and he figured she, too, was thinking about the military taboo they might be about to violate.
Fraternizing. That suggested more than holding a meeting to plan their approach to Bar Harbor and learning what happened to Simon and Grace.
Not that he intended to seduce Kristine—although the idea was far from repulsive. Instead, while alone in his quarters, they would discuss what they’d do to help find Simon and Grace.
To start with, Quinn needed to do some more online research, using some of the resources already programmed into the laptop computer in his room.
“Here we are,” he told her softly, using a key to open the BOQ’s side door nearest his apartment. Good thing they could get in through a side door that was relatively remote and sheltered by its nearness to the next-door parking garage. They would definitely give the appearance of fraternizing later, if the plan that had been forming in his mind reached fruition. But it would be worse if they were caught around here, where others could see.
Soon, they were inside his unit with the door closed. As far as he knew, no one had seen them.
He had an urge to take the lovely, determined Kristine into his arms and kiss her. Only out of relief, of course.
But that was a bad idea. And she was already checking out his place. It was filled with government-issue furniture and not much else. He hadn’t been there long. He’d never been sure how long he would stay in the military, even if he hadn’t been about to undertake this unofficial mission. A lot depended on whether his appreciation for the shifting elixir outweighed his unease at being a soldier and following orders.
But one thing he did know. They would head to Bar Harbor tomorrow—and before they left, he had a lot of online investigating to do.
Kristine pulled a chair from the kitchen into the well-lighted alcove that Quinn used as an office in his small apartment.
She had been in BOQ units before—mostly Grace’s. It was larger than this. But Grace had been in Alpha Force for a while, had proven herself as excellent military, as well as a shapeshifter. She’d clearly been entitled to a comfortable place to sleep.
Sleep? Kristine had purposely not even glanced through the door that apparently led to Quinn’s bedroom. Sleep—and what else people did in bedrooms—weren’t why she was here.
Even though her body throbbed just a little at the idea of joining Quinn, with that amazing body of his, in bed.
That wouldn’t happen.
Instead, she sat determinedly beside Quinn, who had already booted up the small computer that lay on a shelf that acted like a desk in that alcove.
First, though, he pulled out his smartphone. “I’ve tried this before,” he said, “but I’ll call each of them again, just to see if they answer.”
They didn’t. Nor did they respond even now to any of the many text messages and emails he’d sent. He had even resorted to trying to contact them through Twitter and Facebook. Nothing.
Quinn and she had asked both Major Connell and General Yarrow if they’d continued to try to reach Simon and Grace. They had—also to no avail.
The last anyone had heard of them—or so it seemed—was a call Simon had made to Quinn while sightseeing along the Mount Desert Island coast just after they had reached the Acadia Park area.
Which made Kristine fear the worst. Were they dead? If not, were they ignoring calls because they were, indeed, guilty of the mutilations and murders?
She didn’t want to think about either. But they had to know.
“So what are we looking for?” she asked Quinn as he sat and began typing in a web address. His home page had wallpaper depicting a big question mark in the center of it.
Interesting. Was that because he was a private investigator by background, used to answering questions?
“Okay, first I’m putting on my P.I. hat,” Quinn said, not surprising her. “I’ve already checked to see when my bro or his bride last got into their bank accounts or used their credit cards. I found nothing useful, but I’ll do it again before we decide what’s next.”
He had typed in the web address of a major credit-card company and now inserted a number and password. Had he already known Simon’s account information, or had he used his investigation resources to learn it? He next did the same with Grace’s account—and he was less likely to have been given her info than his brother’s.
He checked not only on this site but a couple of others, apparently knowing data on multiple accounts, including a bank where he said Simon maintained checking and savings accounts. “Grace and he have already opened a joint account here,” Quinn told Kristine. But after scanning the latest page of each, he shook his head. “There’s a charge for a bed-and-breakfast in Bar Harbor and some meals, ending a couple of days ago. Then nothing. Not even a visit to an ATM for cash.”
“Oh,” Kristine said sadly. That gave no further answers. But it did suggest that something awful had happened to the newlyweds.
If the suspicions expressed at the earlier meetings were true, that they’d planned this attack to undermine Alpha Force somehow, they could have started new accounts under assumed names.
But at least they could still be alive.
No. She wanted to believe they were okay, and she knew they wouldn’t—couldn’t—be responsible for the attacks.
“I’ll check some news sites next,” Quinn said,
