Quinn’s Battle (Team KOA Bravo #4)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

On the short drive to pick up the rental motorcycle, Quinn and Dahlia tossed around thoughts and ideas about Steen, Morton, and the counterfeit cash situation. Quinn was convinced that passing those bills had been deliberate, but he didn’t see the benefit in that strategy.

“I’d really like to catch them exchanging a car full of money,” she said. “Assuming that’s what the cars are about. Maybe the cars aren’t related at all.”

The cars were an important clue. “You believe in that level of coincidence?”

She rocked her head side to side. “Well… No.”

“Catching them with a trunk full of fake money would be too easy. We need to give Cassie and Hawk time to scour the surveillance video for any other suspicious activity near the cars at the resort and the bar.”

“And what do we do while we wait?” she asked.

“Hang out? Whatever we want as long as you stay safe,” he replied.

She snorted. “I grew up here, remember? Keeping me safe in my hometown won’t be very exciting. That can’t be how you want to spend your time here.”

He laughed. She had no idea how much fun boring could be after operating for months in remote locations, constantly at the ready. And being in Hawaii was exciting in new ways—from the sheer magnitude of the geography to the people they’d met and worked with. “I’ve had plenty of excitement,” he assured her. “A little routine to go with the relaxation efforts wouldn’t hurt.”

“Protecting me is routine?” She was grinning. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“I guess it doesn’t sound like one,” he agreed. “Sorry about that. Nothing about you is routine.”

He fought the urge to reach over and hold her hand. Did that small affection go along with making out? It felt too personal. Except this was personal. Maybe holding hands was too tender for what was going on here.

“I’m allowed to hope that things don’t escalate,” he said. “Although, I’m prepared if they do.” When she didn’t reply he glanced over, catching her staring at him. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No.” Her lips curled into a tight smile. “I appreciate the clarity. And was sincere about taking orders.”

He swallowed, his mind drifting to places it didn’t belong. “Yeah? When did I ever give you an order?”

“Last night in the parking lot,” she reminded him.

He thought back and remembered the moment. “That hardly counts.” Though he was glad he hadn’t needed to make a big scene about it.

“If you say so,” she said. “I still don’t understand why everyone’s concerned that Steen or Morton are after me . Of course, it makes sense that no one wants me poking around their meetings anymore. But it’s not like I saw anything or know any specifics. There are lots of folks who’ve seen both men around the resort. The bar too, for that matter. I’m not unique.”

He disagreed a hundred percent. Dahlia was unique from head to toe. Not just her exceptional observational skills or her talent for making every customer feel special. She was exceptional from the sparkle in her eyes to her generous curves to her sharp wit balanced by a warm kindness.

Although he wasn’t about to go blurting that out and making things weird.

“I can’t vouch for the opinions of Hawk or Cassie, but the big red flag for me is Steen showing up at both places where you work. Is being the manager at Ohana common knowledge around the resort?”

“With employees, sure. Not with customers, obviously. Plenty of people at the resort know that my main job is Ohana’s.”

Which left plenty of locals who could have told Steen where to find her. She claimed Steen had backed off when flirting with her failed, but what if the man was still dialed into her? His intensity in the parking lot hadn’t felt personal, but what did Quinn know about that crap? All his relationships had failed.

“We need better intel,” he muttered. “Someone should check with the resort to see if the same counterfeit cash has been used there.”

“Counterfeits show up all the time,” Dahlia replied. “Twenties are the most common. It’s a serious problem. Don’t they have experts who can determine whether the bills from Ohana match any bills used at the resort?”

“They must. Cassie or Hawk can probably run that down.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel while they waited for a traffic light. “You haven’t come across any bills at the resort?”

“Not so far. I’m not the one who usually cashes out, so the fakes would’ve needed to be passed to me directly.”

That wasn’t much comfort. The light changed and Quinn shifted gears as traffic moved forward. He was running his mind in circles over this whole thing. He just didn’t see the benefit of Steen going after Dahlia. He understood the guy being a jerk. He understood the guy passing funny money. The intensity of Steen’s focus on her in the parking lot worried him.

“Tell me where we’re headed once we pick up the motorcycle,” he said, changing the subject.

“Good question.” She sat up a little straighter in the seat. “When was the last time you rode a motorcycle?”

“Well, I have one at home.” He thought about the time away. “Last time I took it out was probably five or six months ago.”

“And you feel like you’re still sharp?”

“I am.” He managed not to laugh at the question. Staying sharp in all things was a requirement of an active-duty SEAL, although it seemed arrogant to point it out to a civilian.

“Did you also rent the helmet?”

“Yes.” She was such a rule-follower under that easygoing exterior. “I promise I’m all equipped to ride well and safely.”

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me,” she countered with mock indignation. “This island is my home and I like the roads clear of any blood or guts you’re inclined to spill.”

“Duly noted,” he said as seriously as possible.

He thought it was hysterical that he had to answer similar screening questions when he rented the motorcycle. But at last, the paperwork was signed and he was approved by both the rental agency and Dahlia to enjoy the motorcycle during his stay on the island.

The rental agreement required Quinn to be the sole driver of the bike, so Dahlia drove the loaner from the ranch while they retraced the route back to her house. It bothered him that she was up there alone. Technically he was close enough, had a good view of the area, and was prepared to intervene should a threat pop up.

But back here, he couldn’t talk with her. He’d enjoyed their conversation and was eager to listen some more. He couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed talking with anyone other than the guys. One more thing that set her apart.

His annoyance was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have plenty of time together. She was his assignment and he took that seriously. Although he didn’t have all the intel for a clear picture, he could sense there was trouble ahead.

Out of habit he scanned the road looking for any signs of a tail. So far no one seemed concerned about them. How long would that last?

Steen was throwing around fake money at a local bar. Quinn didn’t believe that was a coincidence. It was as if they were daring Dahlia or someone at Ohana to do exactly what they’d done: report the fake bills.

If moving counterfeit cash was the goal, why draw attention?

Those answers wouldn’t come until they could pin a motive on Steen or tie him to some other criminal activity. And that wasn’t Quinn’s area of expertise. No, he shined at the tip of the spear, the well-trained weapon who executed orders on a specific target. His focus had to be Dahlia. The others would handle Steen, Morton, and anything else.

And then what?

Where did that leave him with Dahlia once this current situation was resolved? Hawk and his team were not the kind of people who wasted time. From what he’d heard, the same held true for Cassie and the security agency she worked for. Between the two groups, they’d find out what was going on with Steen and Morton and take the necessary action.

Would that give him a few days with Dahlia without any of the pressure or responsibility of protecting her? He sure as hell hoped so. He found himself craving the time to relax and get to know her, as a person, not as a bartender or a friend of a friend. She drew him in, made him want a connection he usually avoided.

As they waited for a stoplight, he caught her watching him from the rearview mirror. Flipping up the visor, he gave her a smile. Where would she take him on their tour? It didn’t matter much. Everything he’d seen of Hawaii was incredible so far. And they’d be together, but separate.

That was a shame. The idea of having her on the bike with him, her body pressed close to his, made his pulse jump in anticipation. Dahlia had no idea the effect she had on him. Probably better if it stayed that way. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t go down this road again, and yet he didn’t want to stop this particular journey.

It seemed one kiss had him hooked on her.

They both slowed as they returned to her neighborhood. Up ahead he noticed the flashing lights of emergency vehicles, not far from her home. He was instantly on high-alert, searching the area for any potential threat to Dahlia.

Rounding the corner, he realized the first responders were gathered in Dahlia’s driveway. One police car, a fire truck, and an ambulance crowded the street. Someone had called 911 with an unspecified emergency.

Dahlia pulled to the curb, parking as close as she could get. Quinn parked the motorcycle right behind her. She was out of the vehicle, her focus on her house, and he had to shout to keep her from running off ahead of him.

His years of combat had him thinking about diversion tactics. He didn’t know her neighbors on sight. Had no idea which of the bystanders belonged. Any one of them could be waiting for a chance to harass her or do her harm.

“Dahlia! Wait for me.” He dropped his helmet into the old Jeep and took her hand in his. Unfortunately, the contact wasn’t about tenderness or connection, simply control and protection.

“Quinn.” She tried to rush ahead. “They’re at my house.”

“I see that,” he replied.

Her steps faltered and she stared up at him. “What the hell, Quinn?”

He stopped as well, blocking her from the folks on the other side of the street. “What?”

“You.” She tapped his chest. “You’re all…”

“What?” He was searching the closest homes for obvious doorbell cameras.

“Quinn.” She thumped his chest again. “Look at me.”

He did as she commanded. Her eyes were swimming with concern. But why? He was here. No one would get close enough to harm her. “Do you recognize someone?” He didn’t see Steen or the fancy car.

“I don’t recognize you ,” she snapped. “Can you dial down the big bad warrior so we don’t piss off the cops?”

She made him sound like some nasty beast out of a fairytale. This probably wasn’t the time to point out that warriors got the job done when it counted. He inhaled, slowly, noticing something in her gaze drifting too close to fear. She never needed to fear him. Her fist, resting on his chest, relaxed.

“I know how to work with other units.”

“Do you?”

He brushed the back of his hand along the curve of her cheek. Her breath caught as he held her gaze. “Yes.” His self-discipline was off the charts. And until they knew the scope of the problem, he could dial down the warrior the Navy had trained him to be.

For her.

For now.

“Firefighters are loading up.” He directed her attention back to the first responders. “No fire.”

“Hooray for one good sign,” she muttered. With a purposeful stride, she aimed for her driveway and the police officer standing there.

“Do you happen to know the general response time for a 911 call in your neighborhood?”

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “No.”

She acted as if no one paid attention to that information. “You know the response time for the bar,” he stated, confident in her answer.

“Yes.” Her chin came up. “That’s different.”

He let it go. If Hawk didn’t have that information, he could find it easily enough. “Do you know the general schedule of your neighbors?”

“Vaguely,” she admitted. “I don’t snoop or anything and I definitely don’t want to stand here and talk about them. I want to know what happened at my house.”

In her shoes, he’d be equally focused. He glanced around again, hoping the neighbor who called this in would reveal themselves.

Dahlia introduced herself to the officer standing in the driveway. “Hello.”

“Please stay back,” he replied. Looking up at Quinn, his gaze narrowed.

Dahlia introduced herself. “This is my house. What happened, Officer Welton?” she asked, reading his badge.

“Do you have any ID?”

Quinn managed to keep his opinion of this interaction to himself. She was worried about him cooperating? This officer was puffed up for no discernible reason. With nothing else to do, he tried to see the problem. It looked like her carport storage area had been broken into. What would anyone hope to find?

Dahlia kept her cool as she removed her wallet from her purse and showed her identification. “Do you know Detective Emery McClane?”

The cop gave her a strange look. “Yes.”

“She’s a close friend of mine. She can vouch for me.”

Quinn admired her for using the tone she applied to customers bordering on belligerent: steady and calm, completely non-reactive. And it seemed effective as the officer lightened up.

“Your identification is enough,” Welton said. “We got a call about someone nosing around in your carport. Now that you’re here, you can confirm whether anything was stolen or damaged.”

“Of course.”

Welton led them deeper into the carport, where the damage was immediately obvious. Dahlia stopped short, her hands covering her mouth as she stared in horror at her motorcycle.

The seat—a custom leather work of art—had been shredded.

A sob leaked out and Quinn spun her around, tucking her close to his chest. “Breathe.”

He’d seen the seat up close a few times. He didn’t know if it had been a gift or an investment, but the hand-tooled design had been a masterpiece. Quinn, furious for her, silently vowed to find the vandal and deal some hard justice.

First, though, they would need to find a motorcycle repair shop. She would need something temporary right away. Though she had an old Jeep she used occasionally, she preferred the bike.

Unless… His stomach sank. “Will you need to take the motorcycle as evidence?”

Dahlia groaned into his chest before she turned to face Welton. “Please say no.”

The officer suddenly looked out of his depth. “I-I’m not sure. The techs will tell us once they arrive.”

Beside him, Dahlia sagged. He pulled her close. “We’ll figure it out.” He offered up a blank check of assurance, determined to minimize her inconvenience and distress.

And if it wasn’t handled before his leave was up?

Not today’s problem. He’d burn that bridge if and when he got there.

“So, the motorcycle is not how you left it.”

Dahlia shook her head.

“And the storage space?”

A busted latch was on the ground, far from the doors hanging open. Shelves were broken and various garden tools were scattered about. Anything that might have been on a shelf at one time was now on the floor.

“It was locked when we left.” The tremor in her voice made him long for a target. Preferably the bastard that made the mess. “I always keep it locked,” she said.

Officer Welton took notes as Dahlia examined the mess. “At first glance, it doesn’t look like anything was taken.”

“Just trashed,” Quinn muttered to himself. A major inconvenience that would take time and effort to put right.

Would the same hold true for the rest of the property? Her gate had been torn off its hinges and Quinn worried that there was more damage inside the house. It was all he could do not to ask about it.

Not for the first time, he was grateful that he worked with SEAL teams and other people had to deal with the legalities and evidence after his part was done. As long as he did his job according to mission parameters, he could hold his head high.

“Do you want me to call Hawk?” he offered when Welton was distracted by the arrival of the forensic unit. “Or one of your friends?”

“You’ll need to call Hawk anyway, right?”

The misery in her voice made his chest ache. “True.” As her official protector, the folks concerned about her welfare needed to know about this.

“Then go ahead. I can tell the others later.”

He nodded, feeling helpless. “How long did you save up for that seat?”

She pressed a hand to her chest right over her heart. “I didn’t.” Her voice cracked. “It was a gift.”

“From someone important,” he guessed.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Welton said. “Was anything else out here damaged?”

She shook her head and pointed at the gate. “Did they get into the house?”

“No.”

It wasn’t the most comforting of denials.

“What did they do?” Quinn demanded. He marched toward the busted gate, braced for the worst.

“We were only a few minutes ahead of you,” Welton said, scrambling after him. “I cleared the scene, but the damage was done.”

Quinn digested that, wondering about the timing. Whoever broke in must’ve thought they had plenty of time. “And who called it in?”

Welton scowled. “It was anonymous. The caller claimed to be a neighbor, but didn’t give a name or an address.”

That didn’t make Quinn feel any better. He figured Cassie could find out the origin of the call faster than he could, so he made a mental note to ask her once they were done here.

“Show me,” Dahlia said, glaring at the gate.

“Yes.” But Welton hesitated. “We’ll need to clear the rest of the property so the ambulance can go.”

Understanding, Quinn moved into the backyard with Welton, Dahlia trailing. Someone shouted her name and they all turned. Emery was running toward them, Flint at her side, matching her stride.

They hadn’t wasted any time becoming a team, Quinn thought, admiring the ease between them.

Emery caught Dahlia in a hug. “Are you okay? I heard the address on the scanner and had to come.”

Flint exchanged a long look with Quinn and the two of them stepped aside. The fire in his friend’s gaze did more to restore his equilibrium than anything else. Dahlia might’ve thought he’d been out of control, but the opposite was true. He only needed a clear target.

“You guys weren’t here?” Flint asked.

“No. Away on an errand,” Quinn said.

Flint looked around and swore. “How long were you gone?”

“Just over an hour.”

Flint whistled, taking it all in. “This sucks.”

“Big time,” Quinn agreed. He confirmed that Emery was with Dahlia before turning his back on Welton. “Aside from the wrecked seat it feels like a prank,” he said. “Y’know, someone making a mess to keep her busy. This doesn’t look like a search.”

Flint took another hard look around the carport. “You’re right, they could have done a whole lot of damage. Hopefully they didn’t get inside.”

Quinn agreed. “The front door is fine, we’re about to check the back.” He heard Dahlia swearing and knew things had gone from bad to worse. He ran into the backyard, Flint on his heels.

Dahlia’s shoulders were rigid as she stared at the back of her house. Emery gripped her hand. “They didn’t get in,” she said over and over.

“That’ll be a comfort soon,” Dahlia grumbled.

Quinn was close enough to see tears of fury gathering in her eyes, spiking her lashes. If anger made him cry, he’d be sobbing an ocean about now.

Someone had taken spray paint to the back of her home, scrawling the words “bitch” and “thief” in red spray paint. The paint was still wet in places and little rivulets trickled toward the ground.

It took a minute before Quinn found his voice. He caught Emery’s attention. “Get her out of here.” He turned to Flint, “Take her to your cabin at the ranch. Call me when you get there. I won’t be far behind.”

“What are you thinking?”

Too many things, none of them adding up to anything good for Dahlia. “Later.” He wanted privacy and time to consider the theories in his head.

Flint shrugged. “As long as you fill me in.”

Quinn jerked his chin in the affirmative. “Go. Now.”

Dahlia protested, “I can’t leave. I need to clean up.”

He stepped close and gripped her shoulders firmly. “This is an order. Go with Emery. Right now.”

She started to protest again. He shut her down with a hard look. “You gave me your word.”

Her lips firmed and her tears evaporated. A host of questions filled her gaze, but she let Emery and Flint escort her away.

Welton tried to stop her. “I’m not done,” he said. “I need more answers.”

“Don’t we all.” Quinn blocked the gate, giving his friends the time they needed. “You probably need my statement,” he volunteered. “I can tell you whatever you need to know about where we were. And I have all the contact information. Obviously, we weren’t here when this went down.”

“Yes.” Welton scowled at his notebook. “But the report should be complete.”

“Take all the notes and pictures you need for documentation. She will press charges if you find the vandals. But I’ll be cleaning up this mess today.”

“Sir, you really shouldn’t.” Welton spread his arms. “It’s a crime scene?—”

Quinn rolled his shoulders back, daring the man to challenge him. Dahlia wasn’t here to disapprove or claim he was unrecognizable. “I’m cleaning this up today.”

She’d worked too hard for this house. He didn’t know the full story of how it came to be her home, but he knew her. He understood her dedication, commitment, and the way she handled challenges with grit and courage.

Dahlia didn’t believe in taking without earning. She believed in hard work. She was honest and loyal to the bone. She didn’t deserve this crap. And she did not deserve to see her house in this state ever again. He would fix it. Today.

If he’d learned anything over the past few weeks, it was that she would go to the mat for her friends. And they would do the same. He wasn’t surprised Emery had shown up. He was grateful Dahlia had supportive friends.

Grateful he could say the same.

While the police did their thing, Quinn called the local hardware store and placed an order for the supplies needed for the clean-up and repairs. Then he called Carter and Bowie to pick up that order and help him get the borrowed Jeep back to the ranch.

Waiting gave him time to prioritize the tasks, send text updates to Cassie and Hawk and review his theories of the situation.

His gaze kept returning to her motorcycle. Was tearing up the seat a lucky guess, or did the vandals have a more personal vendetta against Dahlia?

Of the two options, Quinn figured it was more likely the decision had been a stroke of inspiration in the moment. That seat had been too beautiful to ignore. Anyone could look at it and know the seat meant something special to the owner.

If that act was random, did that mean the goal had been the carport storage? What would anyone expect to find?

The spray paint wasn’t a random gang tag. Those words were personal and accusatory. Direct strikes against Dahlia where she lived.

His jaw closed hard, clenched tight. It took a serious effort to relax those muscles before he cracked a molar.

He tried to estimate exactly how much time it would have taken one person to tear up the locked storage cabinet, destroy the seat, rip through the gate, and scrawl those words across her house with paint.

Returning to the backyard, he studied the homes behind hers. Had one of those neighbors seen the vandalism and called the cops? A vandal could’ve hopped up the back fence and darted away, easily hiding in some of the overgrown plants and trees between the homes.

Officer Welton walked up, his gaze intent. “Have there been a lot of instances like this lately?” Quinn asked.

“Break-ins you mean?” Welton frowned.

“Break-ins with graffiti,” Quinn clarified. “It seems like an odd combination.”

“First one I’ve seen,” Welton said. “Break-ins happen plenty, though it’s rare in broad daylight. And this neighborhood is usually trouble free.”

A bad feeling crept along the back of Quinn’s neck. He hadn’t really believed this attack was random and now the cop all but confirmed the culprit had deliberately targeted Dahlia.

Which led Quinn’s thoughts right back to Steen and those friends of his at the bar last night. He texted Hawk with the little information he had. He was about to ask Welton if he knew anything about Rowdy Steen when the tone of the chatter between the technicians changed. One of the crime scene techs had found something.

Quinn followed Welton to the carport.

“What’s the problem?” Welton queried.

Over the cop’s shoulder, Quinn could see the stack of bills in the technician’s gloved hand. No doubt at all where that had come from. Steen had been here. Or one of his new associates. Suddenly the break-in made sense, assuming they’d staged the scene to plant counterfeit money and bring suspicion down on Dahlia.

Maybe Steen wasn’t supposed to have tossed around the funny money last night and this was an attempt to explain away the bills that showed up at the bar.

But why target her at all? She wasn’t an eye-witness to any wrong-doing, despite her efforts. All she’d done was notice the meetings between Morton and Steen at the resort. It was a public place. Quinn was sure any number of other staff members could remember the pair, if not together, then at least in the resort on the same day.

Welton spun around and glared at Quinn. “I need to speak with the homeowner right now.”

“I’ll make sure she gets the message,” Quinn replied.

“That’s not good enough. Right now,” he repeated. “Where is Dahlia Palmer?”

Quinn stood tall, willing to use all his intimidation tactics for her. “She’s out. I’ll let her know you have questions.”

“The tech says the money is counterfeit,” the cop shouted.

Quinn suppressed the wince. Did the entire neighborhood need to know? “I’m sure it is. Do you think that’s why whoever trashed her place left it behind?”

Welton opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, thinking.

Quinn pressed the advantage. “Emery, Detective McClane, filed a report of counterfeit bills that turned up at a bar where Dahlia works last night.” Quinn gave the name and address of Ohana’s. “You should check for any reports of counterfeit money at the resort where she picks up shifts.”

“You hear yourself?” Welton challenged. “You’re telling me that she’s putting counterfeit money into circulation.”

“I’m telling you the opposite,” Quinn said. “If this was some typical break-in, would there be graffiti? Does that fit anything going on in this area right now?”

“No,” Welton allowed. “It doesn’t.”

“And what kind of thief leaves a stack of cash like that?” Quinn asked. “A typical break-in, this time of day, you’d think kids, right?”

Welton only glared.

“Kids wouldn’t know counterfeit money when they touched it. If they found a stack of money, they’d take it and run.”

“Fair point,” Welton groused.

Finally, they were getting somewhere. “Look, I know you’re just doing your job. But so am I,” Quinn continued. “Dahlia and I have been together since last night. After she found the money while closing out her cash drawer, I decided to stick close. She’s my friend. She’s Emery’s friend. Something is off with this entire scene but it is not Dahlia’s doing.”

“I hear you,” Welton said. “Doesn’t change much. I need to talk to her.”

“At this point you’ll be going through her lawyers.”

“Lawyers or not, she needs to cooperate. We need information.”

“I understand. I’ll make a few calls and get things moving,” he assured him.

Welton wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t arguing anymore, so Quinn prepared for the cleanup in the backyard, starting at the gate. He hoped to convince Dahlia to stay somewhere else, but she wouldn’t tolerate leaving her home unsecured. He didn’t blame her.

When he was alone, he texted Hawk asking for some extra security cameras to beef up Dahlia’s current system. If whoever broke in came back, Quinn wanted to know about it. Before the neighbors could call it in.

If that was what had happened. An anonymous tip made him wonder if Steen or the vandals had called it in themselves, just to make sure Dahlia would get busted.

At last, the police and technicians left, giving Quinn time to start organizing what could be salvaged and stored back in the storage cabinet and move the vehicles into her driveway.

When Carter and Bowie showed up, Quinn immediately relaxed. Together, the three of them would have this cleaned up in no time.

“Good grief, man.” Bowie walked up the drive and planted his hands on his hips. “This explains the weird purchases. What happened out here?”

“We ran out for an errand and came back to this mess,” Quinn said. “The cops took a bunch of evidence including a stack of counterfeit twenties.”

In the shade of the carport, Carter pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. “Someone planted funny money in her place? Not cool.”

“The cops suspected her immediately.” Quinn let his frustration show. “Eventually, I talked some sense into the responding officer, but the cops still need to talk to her. Emery’s with her now. I think Hawk and Cassie will manage the legal side of things. Probably Cassie,” he added as an afterthought.

“Why go to this much trouble?” Bowie wondered, echoing the pervasive thought running through Quinn’s mind. “This was just mean.”

“They’re setting her up, I guess.” Quinn shook his head. “But for what? To explain away a few bills that wound up in a neighborhood bar?”

Carter looked around. “If that’s it, they put in a lot of effort.”

“Agreed.” Quinn jerked his chin toward the yard. “And they tore the gate off and spray painted the back of her house.”

Bowie swore, hustling back to take a look. “We’re cleaning this up right?”

“Yes. I want this gone and the gate secure before we leave. Hawk is sending someone over with some extra security cameras too.”

“No sweat. We can get this done,” Carter assured him. “What about the bike seat?”

That left Quinn with some regrets. The torn-up leather looked even worse after being dusted for fingerprints. “We need to figure out who can reproduce that for her.”

“Let me call Mia,” Carter volunteered. “If she doesn’t know, one of her clients probably will. She might even know where Dahlia got it done the first time.”

Quinn hadn’t thought of that, and he should have. “She said it was a gift.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “She didn’t get time to tell me the story.”

Undeterred, Carter pulled out his phone and made the call.

Bowie and Quinn dealt with the gate first. Between the supplies Quinn ordered and the tools Dahlia had, they were able to fix it up so it locked again.

Quinn was hot and sweaty by the time the gate was secure and they still had the spray paint to deal with before the additional cameras were dropped off.

“Man, in your shoes I’d be so pissed off I’d be spitting rocks.”

Quinn stared at Bowie. “You think I’m not?” He was furious, but fury alone wouldn’t get the nasty paint off her house.

“You’re always chill,” Bowie said, “but this is a whole new level of calm. I’m a little scared. Did you take something?”

“Hell no.”

“Then I’m a lot more scared.”

“Why?” Bowie wasn’t making any sense. They’d known each other too long for him to have any doubts about Quinn’s commitment to an assignment.

“C’mon.” Bowie looked around as if he expected to see spies lurking in the bushes. “The calmer you get, the deadlier you are. And you like Dahlia. What the hell are you planning for the people who did this?”

He hadn’t made a plan. Not yet. He’d entertained a few dark, lethal ideas, but that was it so far. Once he had a target… “Whatever needs doing,” he said at last.

“There it is.” Bowie drilled a finger into his chest. “That is why I’m scared. We aren’t SEALs right now and those aren’t the words of a man on vacay.”

“We are SEALs,” Quinn insisted. “Vacation or not, we are.” There was a pinch between his shoulder blades. He wasn’t ready to be officially cut off from the teams, even in thought. He needed what that commitment represented now more than ever. Training, skills, control, and someone trustworthy covering his six. “We always will be.” No matter what he and the guys decided about going back, they were brothers. That was a forever thing. Non-negotiable. They were SEALs with or without the teams.

“You know what I’m saying,” Bowie grumbled. “Stop being an ass about it.”

Quinn wasn’t at all sure he knew what Bowie meant. Probably best to forget it until later, when he was thinking clearly. “Are you going to help me with this or not?”

“Of course I am. I’m here.” He spread his arms wide. “You need me. You need all of us.”

Quinn grunted. He couldn’t argue with that. He walked over to the outdoor faucet and started filling a bucket with cleaning solution. “I’m glad you guys are here. And it helps knowing you have my back.”

“Always. Even if that means bail money,” Bowie joked. “Though I’m really hoping this remarkable self-control lasts long enough to keep you out of jail.”

Quinn stopped and stared at his friend. “You really think I’ll go ballistic on this jerk when he’s found.”

“Hell yeah, I do. She’s hurt. Maybe not physically, but this was a direct strike.” Bowie slapped him on the shoulder. “That bugs the shit out of you. I get it. I’d do the same—or worse—for Moana. I’m sure you’ll take down whoever’s behind this with a big smile and zero remorse.”

Leave it to Bowie to cut to the chase. Bottom line, his friend wasn’t wrong. He and Dahlia weren’t exactly in a relationship, but he did care about her. He would take any action for her. “You didn’t see his face last night. This guy isn’t playing.”

“I barely saw your face last night.” Bowie started scrubbing at one end of the mess.

Quinn took a long-handled brush and stepped to the opposite end of the house. They’d work their way toward the middle.

“Quinn,” Bowie said with a lick of impatience. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Tell us both,” Carter said, joining them.

Quinn lowered the brush. “First tell us about the seat.”

“Mia did know where Dahlia takes her bike for maintenance. And the guys there knew the shop that made the seat for her. I went ahead and called them. They have a replacement seat they can put on while they remake the custom seat.”

Quinn imagined her delight when she learned she’d be able to ride her motorcycle again right away. That alone would take the sting out of what had become a lousy day off. “How late are they open today?”

Carter grinned. “How much do you love me?”

Quinn leaned on the long handle of the brush. “Depends on what you did.”

“Watch,” Carter said to Bowie. “this guy’ll want to marry me.”

“But you’re already taken,” Bowie reminded him with a laugh.

Carter flicked that away. “The shop was so pissed when they heard what happened, they decided to come over here and do the repair. We can take the bike to her once we’ve restored order here.”

Quinn had no intention of ever proposing to anyone again. Still, he could’ve kissed Carter for pulling this off. Better to save his kisses for Dahlia. “You’re right. That’s huge.” His voice felt rusty in his throat. “Thanks.”

He didn’t know what he’d do without his friends. His brothers. For years now, on duty and off, those three men were his unfailing stability. He could see the writing on the wall. Carter, Flint, and Bowie were all starting to behave more like content civilians. He didn’t blame them at all. As Dahlia so rightly observed, he wanted them happy.

And damn it all, he wanted to find a way to be happy too.