Page 14 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Thirteen

Quinten’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he merged onto the empty road, the faint scent of Raisa’s arousal still lingering in the car, heady and sweet.

It was the kind of fragrance that snuck up on him to remind him of her coming all over his hand that sent his settled dick back to hard in an instant.

Damn. He opened the window a crack, letting the cool night air rush in to clear his head. It didn’t help.

“Focus, Quinten,” he muttered, shaking off the warmth pooling low in his stomach. A distraction. He needed a distraction.

He pressed the hands-free button on the dashboard, the ringing tone cutting through the hum of the engine. Corbin picked up after the third ring.

“Quint? What’s up? It’s late,” Corbin’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Has something happened?”

Quinten glanced at the clock. 11:47 p.m. Late was an understatement. “Oh, shit, sorry bro. Did I wake you up?”

“No, no, actually I couldn’t sleep, and I was binge-watching Netflix.”

“Oh yeah? What series?”

“The Sinner. I’m halfway through season two. It’s awesome.”

“Awesome, huh?” Looking over his shoulder he made a left turn. “Given your preferences, it has a lot of murder and death, right?”

“Right.”

Quinten chuckled. “To each their own.” He preferred documentaries over fiction himself.

“So, what’s up, bro?”

Blinking, Quinten tried to remember why he had called in the first place. “Oh, right. You know that Detective Maloney got hold of some CCTV footage, right?”

Corbin hummed in acquiescence.

“I took Raisa with me.”

“Ah, Raisa.” Corbin’s tone shifted, teasing but laced with a brotherly edge.

Quinten exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget you’re my brother and teasing is your second job and focus. We watched the footage.”

Corbin laughed out loud before clearing his throat. “Yes, sorry. A normal guy takes his girlfriend to the movies, but Mister Documentary takes her to watch CCTV footage. Go on.”

“She’s not my gi—” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Raisa thinks it’s not Vanessa. Her car and coat—yes but not her.”

Quinten turned onto a quieter street, and the crunch of his tires over snow and salt indicated not many cars had driven here today.

Cautiously, he slowed the car. A man walking his dog came into view under the orange glow of a streetlamp.

The dog stopped to sniff at a bush, taking his time to find the right spot.

Maybe he was a little bit like the dog, sniffing at bushes until he found a scent that would lead him to the truth. He turned his mind back to the conversation. “Raisa pointed out the walk is off, oh, and the shoes don’t match.”

“The shoes?” Corbin sounded skeptical. “What does that mean?”

Quinten raked his dominant hand through his hair. “Have you ever seen Vanessa wear anything other than high heels?” The move brought him another whiff of Raisa still lingering on his fingers, and he almost cursed.

Corbin let out a thoughtful hum. “Not often, but she’s got to own sneakers or joggers, right? I mean, she must do something to maintain that stick figure, and you can’t run in stilettos.”

“True,” Quinten admitted, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “But then there’s still the way that person in the footage walked… I didn’t see it, but Raisa did. Said it didn’t was like the way Vanessa walked. I didn’t get half of it, but she was pretty convinced.”

“What do you think?”

“She could have a point. I... Hell, I don’t know.”

“What did the police say?”

“I didn’t speak with the detective or her partner Zanetti, there was some technician who showed us the tape. He didn’t look that much invested in the whole business. He was mostly bored, I think.”

Static crackled briefly, until Corbin spoke. “Okay. We need to talk with the detective. I mean, if it’s not Vanessa, then who? And why would someone pretend to be her?”

Quinten tightened his grip on the wheel. “I don’t have those answers. Not yet. It’s suspicious that she disappeared just as we discovered the tampering with the books. Anyway, I have an appointment with the detectives on Monday. Let’s see what their take on the whole thing will be.”

Another hum from his brother.

The dog walker disappeared into the shadows as Quinten passed another streetlamp. The road ahead was empty, stretching out into the quiet of the night.

“We need to figure this out,” Corbin said after a moment. “Why don’t we do a family brunch on Sunday? Get everyone together, go over everything. Bring Raisa.”

Quinten frowned. “Brunch? You think pancakes are going to solve this?”

“No,” Corbin replied, a hint of a smile in his response. “But putting our heads together might. Besides, you could use an excuse to see Raisa again.”

Quinten rolled his eyes, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re avoiding the fact that she’s got you tied up in knots,” Corbin shot back.

Quinten’s smirk faded as he pulled into his driveway, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “Sunday, then. I’ll let her know.”

“Good. And Quint?” Corbin hesitated, before he added with quiet conviction, “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

The call disconnected with a soft beep, leaving Quinten alone in the stillness of the car. He leaned back against the headrest and let out a long breath.

Raisa slipped into her home and shut the door quietly behind her. The night air clung to her skin, but the memory of Quinten’s touch burned brighter than the cold. She leaned back against the door, her fingers brushing her hips as a shy, incredulous laugh bubbled up.

What are you, seventeen? Making out in a car like some lovestruck teenager? Her lips curved into a smile. It had been reckless, impulsive, and entirely unlike her. But, oh my goodness, it had felt good.

“Raisa.” Nana’s frail voice from the kitchen was soft but enough to make her jump.

“Nana?” She started, her breath catching as she turned.

Her grandmother appeared in the doorway, a teacup in hand and a light blue robe draped over her thin frame.

The kitchen light cast a soft glow around her, turning her fine white hair into a delicate halo.

Raisa’s breath hitched at the sight—Nana had always been the strongest person she knew, but age had softened her, made her fragile in ways Raisa wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“You’re up late,” Raisa said, stepping toward her.

“So are you,” Nana replied with a small smile. “Want some chamomile tea?”

“Yes, please.” Raisa followed her grandmother into the kitchen and sat at the small, well-worn table, watching Nana shuffle around.

“How was it with Quinten?” Nana asked as she poured the tea.

Raisa froze, a jolt of panic racing through her. Did she see us? Her mind scrambled, piecing together alibis before it clicked—Nana meant their visit to the police station. She let out a breath, trying not to laugh at her overreaction.

“It was… interesting,” she said, cautiously choosing her words. “We watched some CCTV footage of someone who might be Vanessa. But… I’m not so sure.”

Nana placed a steaming mug in front of her and sat down across the table, her weathered hands resting on the edge. “Why not?” She pushed forward and cocked her head, looking like a little bird waiting to be fed.

This little birdie wanted information.

Raisa hesitated, wrapping her fingers around the mug for comfort. “The walk was off, for one thing. Vanessa has this confident sway, like she owns every room she enters. This person… didn’t. And the shoes—chunky sneakers. Have you ever seen Vanessa wear anything but heels?”

Nana chuckled. “Not once.”

“That’s what I mean. It doesn’t add up. But the footage is grainy, and I could be wrong.”

“You were always a good observer, child,” Nana said. “And your memory is flawless. If you say it’s not her, then it’s not her.”

Raisa blinked, a rush of warmth spreading through her chest. The absolute confidence in Nana’s words wrapped around her like a comforting blanket. “Thanks, Nana.” Her throat became tight with emotion.

Her grandmother stood, patting Raisa’s hand as she did. “I’m going to bed. I’m too old to stay up this late.”

“I think I’ll take my tea up to my room and write for a bit,” Raisa said. “I’m too wound up to sleep.”

Nana nodded, her eyes twinkling. “You do that, child. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nana.”

Raisa rose as her grandmother shuffled out of the kitchen, her slippers scuffling against the tiles. Once Nana disappeared into the hallway, Raisa moved to close the curtains, double-check the gas stove, and turn off the light, before taking the narrow staircase up to her quarters.

In her room, Raisa set the untouched mug of tea on her desk and opened her laptop.

She had intended to continue the story where she’d left off, but as her fingers hovered over the keys, her mind drifted back to Quinten.

To the way his lips had felt against hers, firm but coaxing, leaving her breathless and craving more.

Without a second thought, she began typing, the words flowing faster than her brain could catch up.

The love scene spilled onto the page in vivid detail—heated touches, whispered words, and a connection that was far too personal to be purely fictional.

She didn’t stop until she typed the final sentence with a satisfied sigh.

Raisa leaned back, staring at the screen.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks as she reread the scene, realizing how much of her own emotions had bled into the text.

She reached for her mug, took a sip—and grimaced.

The tea had gone cold, and she had left the teabag steeping, making the resultant brew bitter and far too strong.

She set it aside with a small shudder. With a quiet laugh, she saved the document and shut the laptop.

Her phone buzzed on the desk. The device’s soft light indicated the arrival of a new text. Her heart gave a small, involuntary flutter when she saw Quinten’s name.

I’ll pick you up at 11 am on Sunday. We’re going to talk with my family about the CCTV. Sleep well and dream of me.

Raisa frowned. Facing his family? She didn’t know if she was ready for that. After a moment, she typed a quick reply.

Okay. I’ll be ready. Goodnight, Quinten. Sweet dreams.

After dropping her phone on the nightstand, she went into the upstairs bedroom to get ready for the night. When she crawled into bed, she found herself hoping the morning wouldn’t come too quickly. For the first time in a long while, she didn’t mind losing herself in a dream.