Sloe Ride (Sinners, #4)

“You ever think that for him, it’s his normal. We’re all the fucked-up ones. He’s making concessions for us. And he doesn’t got the clues.” Rafe made a face. “What’s worse is our chaos isn’t his chaos. And if there’s one thing Quinn Morgan hates, it’s when he figures something out, then it goes and changes.

“Think about it, K. He was drowning in change, and he’s not good about change. Hell, he’s still not good at it. People are dying around him, and he doesn’t want to see it. Q likes routine. Even as much as he veers off in his own little chaos, it makes sense to him. It’s routine for him.”

“Like a fucking Escher painting, maybe,” Kane snorted.

“Yeah, he’s a bit Goblin King-ish,” he conceded. “But it’s his chaos. And he understands it. But with Q, the shit we get all hung up on, it’s like adding two and two for him. Because that’s how his brain works. Cuts right through the noise and shit we have to wade through and gets right to where he needs to be.”

“This thing with his student… big fucking change. How’s he doing with that?” Kane took a sip of his coffee, making a face at its bitterness, but he kept drinking it. “Simon, I figured he’d be shaken but okay, but the girl? That one… I worry Q’s going to lose himself over it.”

“Okay,” Rafe murmured. “He had a nightmare. That’s a problem for him, you know? His mind picks things up and replays it all for him, over and over. I think it’s less now than before. Shit, he used to beat himself up over things he thought he’d fucked up. Doesn’t seem to go over things until it twists him around, but yeah, she—her murder—gutted him.”

“Blames himself?” Kane paused as the bartender came back over with a pot of fresh coffee. He waited until his cup was refilled, then packed the greasy sludge with sugar. The dollop of cream he followed up with barely tinged the black, eaten up by the pitchy liquid. “Yeah, Q would. He will. Probably until the day he dies.”

“I just don’t want him to relive this shit. And that’s what I’m thinking about. How the hell do I help him with that? Because I’m all in here, Kane. Fucking all in. You might not believe me—”

“I believe you, Andrade.” Shaking his head, Kane continued, “I know you. First time in your life… our lives… I’ve seen you this focused. Even with the music, you were always reaching… wandering about. But right now, Quinn’s got you wrapped up tight and moving forward. Not just… around.”

“Him and that Simon guy? Tight? Close? What happened there, really?” he pressed. “Quinn gave me some song and dance about how they drifted apart a bit. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they were ever even together.”

“Kappelhoff… Simon… never fucking liked him.” More cream followed the first dribble, but Kane’s coffee refused to give up its stygian ways. “Guy never took Quinn home to meet his family. Not fucking once.”

“Did he get to any of the dinners?”

“A couple of times. I think the longest he stayed was about an hour.”

Kane grimaced, and Rafe figured his sour expression was less about the shitty coffee and more about Kappelhoff.

“He dropped Q off a couple of times. Picked him up once by driving up and honking the horn.”

Rafe jerked his head up, and Kane nodded knowingly.

“Thought Da was going to lose his shit. He didn’t say anything, but you know how he feels about that. You come to the house, you get out of the car and ring the bell. No matter what. Last time Simon came by the house. I think Quinn was…. Pretty sure that was Quinn’s last straw.”

“I’m sorry he’d dead, but shit, Quinn deserves better than that.” Rafe sighed. “I’d want that no matter what. Any leads on who killed the guy? Anything?”

“Not a damned thing.” Kane tapped the edge of his mug, scanning the bar’s occupants again as if he could find Simon’s murderer among them. “Same with Quinn’s student. Everything on them was wiped down. Hell, Q’s rental’s being gone over with a fine-toothed comb just in case, but it’s too clean. We pulled nothing up from the hood. Hoping we can find something on the campuses’ cameras. The parking structure’s ones were taken out with something heavy, bashed in like a raw egg. So whoever’s doing this, guy’s strong.”

“But why Quinn? See, that’s what doesn’t make sense. Unless there’s something you’re not talking about. Threatening notes? All of that shit.”

Kane barked a short laugh. “God, I wish. That would at least be helpful. Quinn’s got nothing. Not a damned clue. No past student threats. No one on staff he argued with. Doesn’t make one damned bit of sense.”

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