“Aye, you’re right. Are you sure you know the way back?”
“As if.” She dropped the keys into her handbag, pulled out her phone, and called someone. “Hi, it’s Elizabeth Shields. I’m terribly sorry to bother you so late at night, but we’re at the Temple. Quinn has had far too much to drink, and I’ve had wine. I’m not sure I can drive without wrecking this vehicle. Thanks so much. We’ll be here.”
“Who the bloody hell was that?” Quinn wasn’t feeling so good.
“The security desk at the Fortress.”
“You called fuckin’ British Intelligence to give us a ride back?” The whole thing suddenly struck Quinn as hilarious. He laughed, a deep belly laugh. “I bet that’s the first time they’ve been called out for that reason.”
Elizabeth shook her head, her mouth a grim line. “Based on his reaction, I’m guessing not.”
“Och, are you angry wi’ me, Lilibet?” He didn’t want that.
She glared up at him. “I was having a great time with you tonight until suddenly I wasn’t. You drink too much, Quinn.”
He opened his mouth to deny it—but closed it again, afraid he was about to get sick in front of her.
17
Elizabeth steered Quinn through the door to the flat, turning to face Nigel. “Thanks for coming out so late to pick us up. Thanks, too, for getting the car safely back here. We’re both grateful.”
Nigel grinned. “We’ve all been there. Work hard, play harder. Isn’t that right, McManus?”
“Aye.” Quinn had been quiet the entire way home.
He walked into his bedroom and disappeared into the bathroom for a good ten minutes, probably throwing up, leaving Elizabeth to wrestle with her emotions.
She kicked off her heels, peeled off her pantyhose, and went in search of every bottle of booze in the flat, starting with the new bottle of whisky he’d picked up today.
Tonight had been wonderful—at first. Seeing him in the kilt, watching him sing to her, knowing that he meant every word of it. Her heart had melted.
But when he’d come off that stage, he’d behaved as if emotional demons were chasing him. He’d slammed down shots, one after the other, seeming agitated on the dance floor, almost getting in a fight over nothing.
Anyone watching Quinn tonight would assume he was an alcoholic. Elizabeth might have believed that, too, if she hadn’t known that he went for weeks and sometimes months without drinking a drop.
Cobra did not allow drinking on missions.
No man had ever made Elizabeth feel as cherished as Quinn. Most had been too busy competing with her, trying to prove that they were better at the job than she was.
But Quinn had never once put her down or tried to one-up her. His respect for her was evident every day on the job. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him. The fact that he was also big and ripped and handsome as hell hadn’t hurt. Now she knew that he fucked like a god, too.
None of that would matter if he couldn’t control his drinking. She couldn’t build a life with a drunk.
The thought took her by surprise.
Was she thinking of this as a relationship now?
You’re in deep trouble, girl.
Maybe so, but now it was her turn to show him how much she cared.
She carried the bottles to the kitchen, opened them, and dumped their contents down the drain. She was so wrapped up in watching the amber liquid disappear that she didn’t hear Quinn walk up to her.
“What the bloody hell are you doin’?” Quinn’s voice boomed through the flat, startling Elizabeth, making her jump. He yanked the bottle out of her hand, the blind fury on his face making her take a step backward, her pulse skipping. “You cannae just dump a man’s Scotch down the drain! You’re no’ my fuckin’ ma!”
Tears pricked Elizabeth’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “Keep it—if that’s what’s important to you. But you and I don’t stand a chance if you keep drinking like this. I won’t get into a relationship with an alcoholic.”
He jerked as if she’d struck him.