Shelby Quinn

Logan Nash is a formidable man, Southern with a sexy Texan drawl and straight up with a no shit matter of fact manner.. I can see from the way he carries himself, squared shoulders and head high, that he is a man of confidence, more than aware of just how drop-dead gorgeous he is and to cap it off if everything Iris has told me is true the guy is a genius.. Literally..
Logan Nash possesses an obvious and intimidating intellect that I'm sure makes him used to getting his way..

The way he looks at me, as though he can see straight through to my thoughts sets my nerves on edge.. Automatically making me feel defensive..

He is a strange combination of passive and commanding.. Friendly, yet aloof.. There is a confidence there that I can't help but find appealing, but also something else.. Something evasive, something hidden, a mystery I want to solve..

Never one to allow myself to be intimidated by anybody, let alone a devilishly attractive cyber-criminal I square my shoulders determinedly and follow after him as the elevator doors ping open and he sets off in long strides across the lobby, forcing me to hop-step double-time beside him in order to keep up, taking two and a half paces for his every one of his own.. "Mr Nash, I really think we got off on the wrong foot, maybe if you would just--"

He stops abruptly at the glass doors, tugging one open and stepping aside for me to go first he holds up a hand..

"If you call me Mr Nash one more time, Barbie--" His icy tone is mocking, maybe even a little rude, like he wants me to leave him alone..
Obviously, he has made it clear that he doesn't want to help me..

But I need him..
He is essential to the mission.. People are counting on me..

"You'll what?" I try to smile, but it probably comes across as sarcastic and snide, as almost everything I do seems to.. I don't know why I rub people the wrong way.. I always have.. Too blunt a mouth on too pretty a face perhaps.. Too opinionated, too driven, too loud, too brassy..
I have been called all of these things over the course of my decorated career, and sure, for the most part I try to rise above it..

But sometimes I can't help but wonder what my life would look like if I were softer.. More feminine or whatever.. And I don't mean in appearance..

Maybe I wouldn't be so lonely.. Maybe I wouldn't have made so many mistakes, alienating myself frim everybody who ever cared about me.. Maybe I'd have a completely different life.. Id be married by now with the perfect husband and the kids.. Maybe I'd just be happier in general..

Then again.. Maybe not..
Still, nobody can accuse me of not trying.. I definitely had.. That is the worst part..

I had tried.. And I had failed..
I always fail..

I had spent the better part of my teens and early twenties in beauty pageants to please my grandmother, rest her soul.. I would smile and wave and walk across the stage as if I were perfect, all the while slowly dying inside.. After her passing I was free to choose my own path.. In a wildly contrasting leap.. I chose the Corps..

Logan shrugs with a wry chuckle as he pulls out his phone, refusing to make eye contact with me as he taps away at the screen.. "Who knows.. But you probably won't like it.."

I plant my hands on my hips, standing tall with my shoulders back, even though he has a good foot and a half in me, I know how to handle myself.. "Is that supposed to be a threat? You know, I'm not afraid of you, Logan.."

He smiles politely, glancing up from his phone to feign confusion.. "Of course not, why would you be?"

"Ugh!" I groan, stepping out onto the street, zipping up my tight leather motorcycle jacket and he follows, tucking his cell into his pocket before brushing off the sleeves of his impeccably cut, charcoal grey suit, the chilly breeze bristling his neatly trimmed, dark honey-blonde hair..

The man is beautiful, tall and tan with his broad shoulders and lean muscle, its undeniable and more that a bit distracting..
Frustratingly so..

Just because he is handsome, that doesn't give him the right to be such a dick!

"You are impossible.. Do you really not care about anything at all?" He makes me feel petulant.. Argumentative.. Its ridiculous..
And judging by the amused gleam in his golden flecked butterscotch eyes, I'd say he is enjoying himself in the process of pissing me off..

He cocks his head to one side, his curious gaze passing over me.. "Yes, I care about a lot of things.. I care about the War in Strysak and the gang violence plaguing the city.. I care about the corrupted officials and dirty departments letting it all happen.. I care about the kids on the Southside being slaughtered, the ternion flooding the streets with guns and H, the disappearances, the riots.. I care, Sargent Quinn.. But-- Blackstar-- Naw.. I don't want any part in that mess.. And if you're half as smart as you are gorgeous, you'll leave it well alone.."

He nods once curtly, turning and setting off again down the sidewalk leaving me to pick up my jaw and chase after him..

Okay, so yeah.. He's clever.. Compassionate.. Damn cute and more than a little arrogant.. But he's something else too.. Something that makes me burn with irritated curiousity..

"Mr N-- Logan! Wait.. Slow down, would you?" I call after him, speeding up again to chase him..

He heaves an exasperated sigh, but he complies, slowing down for me to catch up.. "I really don't have time for this--"

"They have my dad, Logan.." I blurt tactlessly, sick of playing games with the man..

He frowns unaffectedly.. "So?"

My temper heats a at his complete indifference, but I bite back on the frustration.. "He took a contract at Blackstar six months ago and nobody has seen or spoken to him since.."

He winces, sucking a hiss of air between his teeth in sceptical consideration.. "I'm sorry, Shelby, but--" His tone softens to sympathetic, consoling even and I know what he is thinking.. He knows that people who have been missing for that long have very little chance of being found again..

He believes that my father is likely dead..
I will admit, the thought has crossed my mind more than once..
I just refuse to accept it..

"No, he's alive.. I know he is.." I assure him..

"How?" He looks over at me, faint interest painting those handsomely carved features..

"My father is Hendrix Quinn.. He's much more valuable to Blackstar alive.." I practically mumble the name because it is one that has overshadowed me my entrie life..

Impossible shoes to fill.. An unreachable standard of success..

Logan's head jerks back a little in surprise..
"Hendrix Quinn.. The scientist? The Nobel prize winner?" I see him suddenly become animated with intrigue...

"Yeah, that's the one.." I tuck my frozen hands into my jeans pockets..

"Why would he take that job?.. He must have known what Blackstar does.. Doesn't seem like he'd be the chemical weapons manufacturing type.." He eyes me suspiciously, as if I have any idea what Hendrix had been thinking.. My father is an enigmatic character, brilliant and what I would fondly refer to as eccentric..

Others would simply call him a mad man..

"So you admit you have heard of Blackstar.." I smirk, having caught Logan in his lie..

He rolls his gold speckled eyes.. "Keep up, Army Barbie.. You've got my interest now.."

I hum, pleased to be making some headway with the guy and irritated by the patronising nickname.. "Mmh.. Well, I don't know why he took the job.. But there must have been a reason.. My father is an academic, not a war-hawk, he had some pretty strong opinions about my joining the Corps, so none of it makes a whole lot of sense.."

He shrugs again, beginning to look bored once more, his cool indifference returning to disintegrate his interest.. "Hm.. Well then they had some sorta' dirt on him.."

I shake my head firmly.. "That's impossible.. My father is a good man--"

"Everyone's got secrets, Shelby." He stops beside a sleek black Dodge Charger, taking his keys from his pocket..

"Not my father.. Not from me.." I watch him guardedly, feeling more exposed than I have in a long time.. I very rarely allow myself the weak indulgence of vulnerability, but its difficult not to feel naked when I'm practically baring my soul while begging a condesinding but beautiful genius for help..

He smiles sympathetically, as if I am some naive little damsel and I hate it.. I hate the judgement and the pity.. I hate him.. "If you say so.." Logan leaves me on the sidewalk, circling the muscle car and pulling open the driver's side door..

I take a following step to detain him just a little longer, I didn't go through telling him my plight just to have him refuse me.. If he isn't convinced, I won't be letting him leave until he is.. "Wait, so are you going to help me?"

"Like I said.. I'm interested.." He shrugs with a sinful smile that I shouldn't appreciate quite so much.. "I'll see-ya around, Sargent Quinn.."

"Wait.. Don't you need my phone number?" I ask in an air a little too argumentative..

Logan chuckles and shakes his head.. "I know how to find you, Beauty-Queen., Don't you worry.." With a sly smirk he slips into the car and my mouth drops open at his suspiciously informed taunt..

I don't have time to ponder my past before the grunt of the engine roars as he peels away from the curb, leaving me dazed and dumbstruck on the sidewalk..

'Beauty Queen', he called me..

Is that a coincidence.. Or does he already know who I am?
How the hell did he do that?!