Another somewhat restless night followed, sleeping next to the gorgeous Brigitte, waking up curled against her perfect form, my arm thrown around her waist, nuzzled against her back. I pretended I was still asleep so I didn't have to move. I heard Conor whimper downstairs, and Brigitte immediately leaped from the bed, though she didn't grab her gun.

"He's here," is all she said.

"Quinn?"

"Yes."

I had pajamas on, so I didn't bother trying to dress, but followed Brigitte downstairs where Conor had shifted and was letting someone in the door, Quinn, I imagined.

Quinn was even taller than Conor, more muscular, dark and brooding. He had a scar,...