A Private Affair Read Online Free

was completely blocked off from traffic. Police cars and ambulances crowded the street. Swirling blue and red lights dotted the night sky. He spotted the meat wagon and immediately knew what that meant. From the look of all the uniforms that blanketed the street, the unfortunate victim was a cop. Guiltily, he released a sigh of relief.
    Quinn was directed by a beat cop to move on. He made a wide U-turn and headed back down the way he’d come, passing a Channel 7 Eyewitness News van headed for the scene.
    Quinn stepped on the accelerator. He’d catch it on the news.
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    Quinn arrived at B.J.’s a little early and was surprised not to see Turk behind the bar. He kept walking and stopped in front of the gray door, to be met by Smalls.
    All eyes turned to him when he entered, but this time instead of refocusing on the poker game the stares remained fixed on his face.
    He strolled past the gambling table, ignoring the odd looks. Halfway across the room, he spotted Sylvie heading in his direction. Her usual sunny smile was missing, her butterscotch face a portrait of sadness. When their gazes connected her eyes widened in surprise. An unnamed fear coupled with a rush of adrenaline snaked its way through his veins.
    â€œOh, Quinn. I’m so sorry.” Sylvie pressed her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around his stiff body.
    He wouldn’t panic. Something had obviously happened to Remy. He would handle it. Gently he clasped her shoulders, peeling her away from him. He looked down into red-rimmed eyes. “What are you talkin’ about? Sorry for what?”
    Sylvie blinked several times before realization struck. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, my God.”
    Just then Remy stepped from the back room and Quinn’s pulse escalated its beat. “Hey, man, you know you don’t have to be here. I wouldn’t expect you to—” He caught Sylvie’s warning look.
    Quinn looked from one to the other. “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, but somebody better damn well tell me somethin’—and quick.”
    Remy put his hand on Sylvie’s bare arm. “Lemme have a minute with Quinn,” he said softly. Sylvie nodded and stepped aside as Remy put his arm protectively around Quinn’s wide shoulders. “Come on in da back, son, where we can talk private like.”
    Quinn threw off Remy’s hold. “Talk about what?” he demanded. His heart started beating like crazy.
    â€œJust come on, man. Come on.” Remy ushered him into the back room.
    All eyes trailed the pair as they walked into Remy’s office and shut the door. Moments later, the door flew open with such force that everyone in the room flinched and held their breath. Quinn stormed out, his eyes glazed, with Remy hot on his heels.
    â€œQuinn, wait. I’ll go wit you,” he called.
    Quinn threw up his hand to halt Remy’s pursuit. “No!” There was no room for argument. Suddenly the decor, the drab, stark nakedness, the shadows, the familiar scent of the back room, overwhelmed him.
    Quinn raced from the building. His mind whirled in horrified disbelief. Of course it was some macabre mistake. They were wrong. Everyone was wrong. It happened all the time.
    The Beamer assumed a life of its own as it hurtled down the darkened streets of Harlem, darting in front of cars and terrifying unsuspecting pedestrians. His entire life rolled before his eyes as if projected on some sort of larger-than-life screen.
    He pulled to a screeching stop in front of the precinct house. For several moments he just sat there, staring at his hands that gripped the wheel to keep from trembling. Calling on something deep inside, he forced himself to get out of the car and put one foot in front of the other.
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    The rest of the night was a series of nightmarish snapshots taken from a house of horrors photo album—from the drive to the medical examiner’s