CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) by Kemmie Michaels Page A

rough," she admits. "When all the girls did big hair, mine was too straight to get the job done."
    I chuckle. "No big hair? That's your big awkward phase? Sounds more like a blessing."
    She smiles so genuinely. "Looking back, sure. At the time, I was devastated."
    Her eyes shadow behind her irises for a quick moment before they brighten again. The ring takes the brunt of whatever emotion fleeted through her. I wish I could bring myself to look up her background, but respect keeps me from doing so. As much as I once considered her a mission point, she has moved far from that station.
    "What about you?" she asks, still smiling.  
    "Never," I grin. "I've always been the physical embodiment of confidence."
    I have no doubt she sees through my brush-off, but apparently our respect is mutual. Conversation moves from our childhood, much to each of our relief. I doubt we revisit the topic soon. Quinn seems to have her own demons no matter how subtly she lets on.  
    On another date we dine at Ledger's newest property. On yet another we visit a hot dog stand while we walk through the city.  
    This weekend we rented a paddle boat for the lake in a nearby park. We had so many laughs on that little boat, that afterward Quinn climbed onto the dock with a playful glint in her eye.
    When we got to the parking lot, she jogged behind me and hopped on my back. I laugh as the two of us walk to the car like a couple of college kids at a fraternity party, regardless of my quadragenarian status. I was sure we looked ridiculous, and I couldn't have cared less.
    My time with Quinn is mostly happy aside from all the guilt and confusion over Evvie. Quinn's fussing with her ring doesn't seem to have anything to do with guilt, simply a nervous habit. The only pattern of conversation which guarantees she spins her ring is family, childhood, and jail.  
    The most contact I'll allow myself is to hold her hand and offer her the occasional, chaste kiss. She's too beautiful not to touch, but keeping contact at a minimum helps to assuage my guilt. Still, growing close to Quinn brings a tiny corner of my psyche a degree of peace. She seems to rely on me for her own hint of peace, as well. Her life is surrounded by the evil at the jail, and her face carries no stress when we're out together. She's more beautiful every time I'm with her.  
     
     
    Every quiet time during my days following my evenings with Quinn marks me with constant thoughts of the women in my life. Shelby's hurt, Evelyn's death, and Quinn's absorbing presence all bring my head closer to my heart.
    My head, however, is something which requires my focus. I point my thoughts in favor of my vengeful project, and continue along a perusal of my gathered jail information. A clear strategy has developed, and I'm close to achieving my goal. Two months for an operation as detailed as this is decent turn-around time, particularly when I'm in the mission without tactical support, as well as infiltrating the target as myself. Extra precautions must be taken in an overt role such as this.  
    Those same days include another shift at Stoneridge, and another meeting with Quinn. I'm not sure how much more insight I can offer or gain in spending time with her, but we seem to use the excuse to see each other. Residual guilt remains in my gut, but I promise Evelyn's ghost revenge as I ask for her understanding.
    At home again, I return to my guest room for a last gathering of details. As I begin to finalize my plans, a knock at my door breaks my concentration. I close the door of my guest room to hide the prison blue prints I've been mapping to match the details of the interior I've collected from the structure itself.  
    I get to my door as quickly as I can, only to see Quinn's tear-streaked face looking back at.
    "Quinn?" I ask in concern.  
    This beautiful woman walks into my arms and sobs.

CHAPTER SEVEN

    I've never seen Quinn as anything but strong. Infallible . I can't imagine what could have happened