Page 4 of Alaskan Blackout
“Are you always this tough on people?” he asked as he stood. His height and breadth suddenly taking up more space than she’d remembered. “I mean, yes, I should have recalled that Clay had a stepsister. But considering I never spent much time with him since he rarely returned to Silent Spring after he turned eighteen and neither did I, I’m not sure you can hold that against me.”
And whose fault was it that Quinton didn’t know Clay at all? Although his words reminded her that Quint was the brother who’d moved to Silicon Valley as soon as he’d graduated high school and started a tech company while he was in college. He probably hadn’t lived that far from her when she’d been in San Francisco.
She hated to think about that time in her life. And she wasn’t going to argue with this man about his lack of effort to know his own family. Her throat had gone a bit dry at the sight of him looming over her and she hated herself a little for that. She returned her attention to her fleece jacket, punching her hands into the sleeves.
“I don’t. But I also don’t appreciate that you don’t take no for an answer.” She yanked the zipper as high as it would go, almost pinching her chin in the teeth. “You called here enough times to be aware that I wasn’t about to give up your brother’s whereabouts to the likes of you. So why come all the way out here just to make me tell you the same thing in person?”
“So you admit that you know where Clayton is?” Quinton’s low voice circled around her as he took a step in her direction, his long, oilcloth duster slung over one arm, a leather bag—like a portfolio for papers—tucked under the other.
Had she done that? Admitted something Quinton hadn’t known?
“What does it matter if I do? You’ll never find Clay unless he wishes to be found.” She yanked a red wool scarf from one of the pockets of her jacket and wound it around her neck.
“Are you sure those are his wishes?” One of Quinton’s dark eyebrows cocked in question. “Or yours?”
A shiver ricocheted through her at this man talking about her wishes in a space that suddenly felt far too intimate with just the two of them.
McKenna forced a grim smile, but probably only managed to bare her teeth. “Doesn’t matter, since you’re not finding him either way.”
For a long moment, he only studied her in the dim light.
“A tough break for me,” he said finally, lifting his coat and shrugging his way into it, his big shoulders flexing. “But since you’re my only hope of finding him, it looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other until you change your mind.”
His movements stirred a scent that was smoke and leather. And male.
The subtle notes of it distracted her, making her brain stutter as she tried to take in his meaning.
“Excuse me?” She stuffed her hands in her pockets now that she didn’t have anything left to do with them. The wary anxiety that filled her didn’t have an outlet.
“I’m not leaving Alaska until I find my brother,” Quinton explained slowly, emphasizing every word. “So you can count on me being here every day until either Clay gets in touch with me himself or you help me find him.”
Her stomach dropped a little.
Not that he intimidated her.
But damn it, this day had been stressful enough having him in her bar. What would it feel like, day in and day out, if he were to really follow through on that?
“That’s not happening,” she said finally, edging past him to head for the door.
She needed to put this argument—and him—far behind her.
But Quinton beat her to the door somehow, opening it for her so she could step outside ahead of him. She hesitated only a moment at having to pass beneath his outstretched arm. Then she darted past. Thank God the rain had stopped.
“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow, McKenna O’Brien.” He nodded at her as he stepped into the damp air swirling around from the storm’s aftermath.
She stared at him, stone-faced, before turning to lock up behind them. When she pivoted back toward him, a truck was pulling into the muddy parking lot.
“This is my ride,” Quinton explained, sliding his phone into a breast pocket of his coat. “Do you need a lift home?”
“From you? Not a chance.” She marched toward her own vehicle, telling herself that Quinton Kingsley wouldn’t last a week in the Aleutian Islands, far from his rich family and fancy home. She shouldn’t care one bit what he said about returning to the bar indefinitely.
“Good night then, McKenna,” he called good-naturedly, sounding far too amused for her liking. “See you tomorrow.”
Not if she could help it.
As she slid into the driver’s seat of her four-wheel-drive SUV, she noticed that Quinton’s ride didn’t leave the parking lot until she was safely inside her vehicle. Yet the small display of gentlemanly instincts didn’t diminish the fact that he was a man used to having his own way.
This time, however? McKenna planned to show the Kingsley interloper that no amount of money or influence could budge her into betraying the one person she still called family.