Page 21 of His Wisconsin Wallflower (Stateside Doms #25)

Chapter Nineteen

Quinten sat stiffly in his chair, the stunned silence in the room heavy enough to make his ears ring.

No one spoke, not even Raisa, who had gone beet-red.

Her gaze was locked on the frozen frame on the laptop screen, her lips pressed into a thin line.

He glanced at the detectives, waiting for them to say something, anything, to break the tension.

In the booming silence that felt like hours but had likely only been seconds, Detective Maloney started to speak like she was weighting her words.

“That actually makes sense. Thanks for pointing it out. We will revise our timeline.” Her expression stayed carefully neutral.

“We’ll keep looking for Vanessa. We’re not giving up on her. ”

Detective Zanetti nodded, closed the laptop, and folded her hands on the table. “This footage is only one piece of the puzzle. We’ll continue following the leads and gathering evidence. Your observations, Raisa, have been noted and will be taken seriously.”

Raisa glanced toward Zanetti but said nothing.

Detective Maloney rose from her seat, signaling the end of the meeting. “Thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch if we have any updates.”

Quinten stood, turned to Raisa, and reached for her coat that hung on the back of her chair. She didn’t look up, and her head was still slightly bowed. He held it open for her, and after a brief hesitation, she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

She moved for her scarf, but Quinten intercepted her hands and pushed them aside, wrapping the scarf around her neck himself.

“I’ve got it,” he said quietly, ignoring her small protest. He took his time, adjusting the fabric so it lay just right, his fingers brushing her skin as he worked.

There was something intensely satisfying about the act, a quiet intimacy that reminded him how much he liked taking care of her—not merely in the bedroom but in all the little ways that mattered.

“Thank you.” Her voice was muted. Where was the confident woman who explained selective perception in a way even a jock like him could understand?

He gave her a reassuring smile, resting his hand lightly on her back as they turned toward the door.

Before leaving, he glanced at Corbin and Gavin.

His brother gave him a nod, his expression steady and reassuring.

Gavin, however, seemed lost in thought, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more subdued.

He hadn’t said much during the meeting, and now he trailed behind them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

Quinten guided Raisa out of the precinct and held the door open for her. The cold night air hit them as they stepped outside. After the stuffy atmosphere in the police station, it was like a slap in the face.

Corbin followed him and gave Quinten a brief pat on the back as they made their way to the cars. “She’s sharp.” He jerked his head toward Raisa. “You’ve got a good one there.”

Quinten inclined his head in silent agreement, but his focus drifted to Gavin, who still hadn’t said a word.

His cousin trailed a few steps behind, his hands still buried in his coat pockets, his head bowed against the chill.

Normally, Gavin would’ve been making jokes or teasing Raisa by now, but instead, he gazed into the distance, his expression closed off and unreadable expression.

“Everything okay, Gav?” Quinten’s question came out unnaturally loud as it cut through the silence.

Gavin glanced up. His face was unnaturally pale under the streetlights. “Yeah,” he said dismissively. “Just… thinking.”

Quinten frowned but didn’t press. Instead, he turned to Raisa, who was fiddling with the strap of her purse, her gaze distant. “What about you? You good?”

She nodded, though she didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I’m fine. Only… tired, I guess.”

Corbin stepped up to Gavin’s side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s head out. It has been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured.

Quinten folded his arms as the two men went to Corbin’s car, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the streetlights. He couldn’t shake his suspicion that something was off with Gavin, but he didn’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with it right now. His focus was on Raisa.

Turning back to her, he gave her a gentle smile. “Do you want to come back with me, or should I take you home?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. “I think I’d like to see Nana.”

He nodded, opening the passenger door for her. “All right. Let’s get you home.”

Raisa sat stiffly in the passenger seat and stared out the window without truly seeing her surroundings.

Gavin hates me. He hates me!

The thought spiraled through her mind, leaving a fiery trail like she was carving it in with relentless precision. And what about that stupid ramble about perception?

Like they care .

Her cheeks flushed hot as she replayed her long-winded explanation in the precinct.

Why do I always spout stupid information like some walking thesaurus? Wikipedia Winslow. Ha—that’s another suited nickname.

She folded her arms tightly across her chest, pushing the fabric of her scarf up so it brushed her chin. The soft, warm fabric did nothing to soothe her.

The sudden touch of Quinten’s hand on her shoulder startled her so much her head nearly hit the roof of the car. She jerked around to face him, heart pounding. He was observing her. She frowned.

Shouldn’t he watch the road?

The thought came and went, only for her to realize he hadn’t even started the car yet.

“I want to ask you if you’re okay, but you clearly aren’t. And neither is Gavin.”

Her stomach clenched at the mention of his cousin. She flinched, and Quinten’s sharp eyes didn’t miss it. “Did something happen between you two?”

“No.” The word escaped too quickly. “Of course not.” Even to her own ears, the words sounded brittle and unconvincing.

“ Raisa .” He lowered his voice and infused that one word with enough menace to cut through glass.

Her resolve crumbled under the weight of that tone.

“He came into the shop earlier today,” she blurted, her words tumbling over one another.

“Corbin was with him, but Gavin… he made these comments. About how I should be sure about what I was telling the police, how I shouldn’t waste their time.

” Her throat tightened, and she glanced down at her hands, twisting her purse strap like a lifeline. “I think he hates me.”

Quinten’s brow rose, his expression unreadable as he listened without interrupting. It was like a dam had burst, and she couldn’t stop the flood.

“Back in there, he seemed almost in shock. And his behavior’s been so off since… I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Uh-huh,” Quinten said.

“What do we do?” she asked, her heart thudding heavily.

“There’s nothing we can do right now,” he said after a long pause, drumming his fingers once on the steering wheel. He started the car, the rumble of the engine filling the silence. “I’ll take you home.”

As he pulled onto the road, Raisa glanced sidelong at him, the streetlights played hide and seek with the shadows across his face. Something dark and dangerous flickered in his expression, tightening his jaw and hardening his eyes.

“You’re not going to confront him, are you?” she asked.

“I’d like to,” he admitted, “but I won’t. If he has anything to do with it, I don’t want to alert him.”

Relief washed over her, loosening the knot in her chest, but it came with a dose of apprehension she couldn’t quite shake.

The idea of Gavin—smiling, easygoing Gavin—being connected to something so sinister didn’t sit right with her.

Yet the uncertainty lingered, like a shadow stretching long and far in the back of her mind.

Quinten briefly lifted his hand from the wheel to rest it on her knee, which comforted her in a way she desperately needed.