Mile High Weekend (Opposites Attract Book 1) by Melinda Di Lorenzo Page B

consider firing. But you don’t want to try my goodwill, either, so you’re going to step back from Mr. Jones, you’re going to step between Mr. Riles and Mr. Farisi, and the three of you are going to walk into the airport. I will take Mrs. Michaels in separately. Are we clear?”
    The man’s use of the word I instead of the word we placated Quinn.  At least for the moment.  So long as Jones-the-Asswipe kept his hands off of Ginnie.
    “Are we clear?” Gilligan repeated.
    “Clear,” he agreed gruffly.
    Quinn stepped back, cursed his unusual lack of control, and shot Ginnie an apologetic look.  Whatever was going on was likely his fault.  She was holding very still, her face a mask of impassivity, an emotional wall up.
    Shit.
    Quinn tried to take a step toward her and Gilligan held him in place.  Quinn automatically bucked against being restrained, and when he tried to yank himself away, the other man slapped a pair of cuffs onto his wrists.  Tight.  Then he pushed Quinn to the snowy ground and shot him a frown.
    “Dr. Michaels,” Gilligan said calmly. “I thought you told me we were clear.”
    Quinn flipped his head toward the other man.
    “I’m not Dr. Michaels,” he snapped.
    For the first time, the guard looked a little put out. “You’re not Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence Michaels?”
    “Do I look like a fucking doctor?” Quinn countered.
    “In my business, experience has taught me that looks are often deceiving,” Gilligan replied.
    Then Ginnie spoke up. “I’m Genevieve Michaels. But Quinn’s not my husband.”
    Why the hell did those words make Quinn want to punch something?  Why did the tremor of embarrassment in her voice make him feel so furious?
    “You wanna tell me who you actually are, then?” Gilligan asked.
    “Nobody, apparently,” Quinn muttered, just barely shy of bitter.
    Gilligan sighed irritably, then nodded toward one of the other officers, who moved forward to reach into Quinn’s pocket and pull out his wallet.  He held it open for Gilligan, who scanned it.  His eyes went from Quinn to the ID, then back again.
    “All right,” he said with another sigh. “Mr. Mcdavid , you’re with Fasiri and Mrs. Michaels is with me. Jones and Riles, you can head back to your stations.”
    As the senior officer stepped close to Fasiri to issue some hushed instructions, Quinn’s eyes sought Ginnie.  Her expression was now completely unreadable, and she refused to look at him.
    “I’ll fix this,” Quinn vowed. “I’ll sort it out and find you.”
    As soon as the promise was out of his mouth, he realized he meant it.  He had to protect her.  Far more than he had to keep his commitment to Jase.  Quinn was damned sure that he was directly responsible for the stiff way Ginnie held herself.  The fiasco in the bathroom was his fault, and he was determined to undo it.  As soon as possible.
    Then the guard assigned to handle Quinn finished speaking to Gilligan, grabbed the cuffs and pulled him to his feet, then slapped his hand onto the back of Quinn’s neck, and began to guide him roughly across the remainder of the tarmac.  He didn’t release him, even when they were well-within the terminal.  Instead, he led Quinn through the airport and past the little crowd gathered there.  Then kept going even farther.  Across the dated linoleum floor, wide around the baggage carousel, and all the way to a corridor marked Emergency Exit in bold red letters.  They took a few steps into the hall, then finally stopped.
    Quinn’s anger dissipated into momentary confusion, and he frowned. “What the hell is this?”
    “Waiting on instructions,” Fasiri told him.
    “Here?”
    “I just do what I’m told.” Then the guard snapped his mouth shut and focused his gaze anywhere but Quinn.
    Conversation over.
    Quinn tapped his lip ring, frustration nearly overriding common sense once again.  He’d been on both ends of this deal before, and he knew the stoic-faced guard wouldn’t be budging on