by Jaycee Clark
. . . only the brave venture forth . . .
Well, no one ever said the Kinncaids lacked bravery.
Chapter 3
New Mexico, October, the present
The man’s phone rang. Cursing inwardly, he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Figured. God only knew what it was this time, but after the incident at the Retreat, he should probably take it.
He smiled at his wife and their dinner guests, excusing himself. The Taos restaurant was busy and noisy.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” the voice asked.
He weaved his way through the noisy diners, wincing as someone dropped a glass on the tiled floor. The air was filled with chatter, laughter, flatware striking the plates as people consumed the various Mexican foods they’d all ordered.
The outside air brushed a chill across his face as he stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I’m in the middle of dinner.”
“Well, there’s a problem.”
He sighed. When wasn’t there a problem lately? Knowing his partner would get to it sooner or later, he waited.
“There are police all around the house in Albuquerque.”
He stilled. “Which house?”
“Labor and delivery, or that’s what we’ve mostly used it for lately.”
“What the fuck are you doing there? What the hell have you done now?” he whispered into his phone, walking farther away from the crowds and leaning against the wall of the parking lot.
Silence answered him.
“Explain.”
“I was trying to stop a major loss. Ella’s baby was sold and—”
“You did what?” he hissed. He’d already decided that no matter the money, he was going to let this one pass. Not the deal, but this particular baby. Something had told him a few weeks ago, she was just too much trouble. If the baby was already sold, they’d just give the winning parents another baby—who would know? There were too many questions already surrounding this woman. She’d blatantly said she wasn’t interested in adoption. Granted, he’d thought about it. Had even started an auction for her baby.
“You heard me. The perfect kid. And she was bolting. Or would have been. Her husband was coming. Just what do you think would have happened to our little commodity then?”
“What the hell did you do?”
“Took her. Drugged her tea, put her in my car, and drove to the house. Induced labor and everything went fine, for the most part.”
“For the most part?”
“Well, her placenta didn’t detach properly. Figured she’d bleed out and no problem.”
No problem. No problem? There were probably ways around it all, but Ella, he had learned, was rather connected.
Connected in a big way to people who might not let a sleeping bastard lie.
“And?”
“And apparently she got away or something. I don’t see any ambulances, but there are cops everywhere on the street and in the house.”
The house. Damn it all to hell.
“Idiot,” he hissed. “Why did you use the fucking house? There’s no way to keep it contained there. No way for—”
“We’ve used it before. If she’d woken up at the Retreat, we’d have had to get rid of a body more than likely or forge a death certificate for the baby.”
Yes, and clearly that had never been done before.
“Get your ass back to the Retreat and make sure there is nothing left of her ideas or worries at her place. Is she alive?”
“I don’t see how.”
He sighed. “If we’re lucky, she died. You have the baby?”
“I left her with Kevin.”
Great, got better and better. At least, though, there was the auction and he had a buyer on the line. Even if he upped the price just a bit. Price was stupidly high. Already it was at almost a quarter of a million. Most babies didn’t go for a fraction of that.
But then most babies weren’t as high end as this one. Perfect baby for perfect parents. It was what he did.
“Get your ass back here. Now.”
He tucked his phone back into his pocket and sighed, looking around. Should have just killed the bitch when he had the chance. If he was lucky, Ella Ferguson Kinncaid was in the morgue and not the hospital.
Chapter 4
New Orleans, February, earlier that year
Quinlan looked out over the crowd at the Café Du Monde and wondered if he should get a table or not. He glanced back and saw that there were plenty, so no, he’d just wait.
What if she didn’t show?
He’d ditched his brothers back at some bar on Bourbon Street, which was fine with him. They’d asked him where he was headed and he’d only flipped them off.
Of course, knowing Ian, he probably had some sort of tracking device on his ass so his brother could keep tabs on him. And everyone worried about him? Ian would do well with a dose of Paxil.
He glanced over to the cathedral lit up bright tonight, probably every night.
One more had joined their party earlier. Brayden’s brother-in-law, Joshua Montreaux. Joshua was Christian’s biological brother and a darlin’ of N’Awlins. Bachelor that he was, and his family owning banks all over the South with the headquarters in New Orleans, made the man every Southern mama’s dream son-in-law. The siblings, however, shared very few characteristics other than those wickedly pale eyes they both had inherited from a grandmother or something. Brayden’s brother-in-law was a diverse man of business.
The man had showed up with a limo and had taken them out to dinner. Then he said he knew a great place he wanted to take them. That was after most of Quin’s siblings had consumed various amounts of alcohol during the afternoon and well into the evening.
Avante Garde was a club Joshua owned.
Wonder-fucking-ful. In the heart of jazz and they’d listened to karaoke . . . in costume. Not Quin’s thing, but from the way the place was packed, a long wait line to get in, and the amount of booze and food flooding the time-warped venue, Joshua had apparently clicked on something.
Whatever. Quin was just glad to have left.
The boys had all protested when he’d risen and said he was leaving. His brothers wanted to have fun. Wanted him to have fun. His family needed to know that he was capable of having fun. Otherwise, he might what? Swallow pills? No.
He’d counted down the minutes until he could leave and get here. As his brothers were only a couple of blocks over, it had been within easy walking distance. Now he stood here on Decatur waiting, watching and wondering if she’d actually show up.
Part of him figured she would, she was daring—and quirky. Part of him figured she wouldn’t because she didn’t know him from Adam or Jack the Ripper. Then again, maybe she figured with his gimpy leg, he wasn’t that big of a worry. Hadn’t she heard of Bundy? He walked a few paces one way, then the other, scanning the crowd and listening to the street musicians around Jackson Square.
He saw her first, walking down the sidewalk toward him with a group of friends.
He smiled. She came and daring won.
Her pale blue hair seemed almost white under the streetlights and he almost laughed outright as she wobbled on impossibly high shoes.
She was dressed in some sort of short, flowy, dark sundress, and he figured she was cold. But it wasn’t that cold, just sort of chilly. The shoes though . . .
He laughed, it was a wonder she didn’t break her neck. They were tall platforms with straw or cork or something. He knew women called them something specific but he couldn’t remember. He just liked the way the dark ribbons from the shoes laced and wound around her ankles and up her calves. Toned calves.
She broke away from the pack and came toward him, smiling, her dimples winking at him.
“My friends wanted to make sure I got here safely,” she told him as she stopped in front of him.
He nodded to them and the girls hooted and hollered, encouraging her, and waved at him.
“They look like my b
rothers.”
She glanced over. “Your brothers enjoy going drag?” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
He laughed. “God no. I meant they looked like they’re having a good time.”
“They always have a good time. The one on the left with all the dark hair is Marie and the redhead is Shalon, then there’s Jif and Leigh with all the scarves.”
He thought she muttered something about damned shoes.
“So, sugar, you’ll have to bear with me, or rather with them.”
When she turned he noticed the skin under her left arm and saw there was a hint of ink next to her breast.
Now he was fascinated. What was it?
The speakers hidden in the striped green awnings played the opening chords to “I Dream of You . . .”
She hummed a few bars. “They worry.”
“It’s good to have friends who worry about you,” he told her and nodded to her friends again.
“And brothers?”
He chuckled. “Upon rare occasion.”
Hurrying footsteps made him turn so he stood in front of her. “Speaking of.”
There were two of his brothers now. Aiden and Ian, and dancing—weaving—in front of them was Brody, who was trying to hurry to—him?
“There he is!” Brody hollered from only feet away.
“And there is my entourage worried about me.”
She giggled and slid her hand into his, shocking him for a moment. But he grasped her cool hand and smiled down at her. “We are blessed, sugar.” She pointed over to the darkened corners across the street. “Some aren’t nearly as lucky.”
Homeless souls sat huddled against closed storefronts.
“See, told you he was fine.” Brody came up to his other side and slung an arm around his shoulders, almost throwing him off balance. Quin stepped to the side, careful to make certain he didn’t knock over Ella. “And lookie, guyzzzz, he’s wish a pretty girl.” Brody blinked. “I’m drunk, I’m really drunk.” He leaned over Quin and blinked at her. “Is your hair blue?” He turned to Quin. “Dude, I think her hair’s blue.”
Aiden snickered and pulled Brody off.
Ian held his hand out. “Sorry, I’m Ian, Quinlan’s older brother.”
Brody snorted. “One of ’em. Older broshers, that is. Got a bunch. Pain the ashes. Asbes. Asses.” He shook his head.
“That’s our cousin Brody,” he said to Ella and then nodded to Aiden. “And that’s Aiden.”
“How many are there?”
“Two more who are twins and God knows where, though Mom’s practically adopted two others that are with us, somewhere. Or will be. Never mind. There are a lot of us.”
Ella stuck her hand out. “I’m Ella Ferguson, nice to meet you guys.”
Aiden and Ian nodded. They were buzzing, as Ian never got more than that, if he was even that far in the inebriation realm. Man had control issues.
“You did good, man!” Brody said, swaying.
“Now that we know you’re alive and well,” Ian said, slipping an arm around Brody, “we will leave you in peace. Have fun.”
He took a deep breath and Ian shook his head. “Not babysitting. He took off after you and refused to go back in. Thus we’re wandering around the Quarter. You’re on your own.”
“He’s so gonna get some,” Brody mumbled.
Quinlan slid his eyes closed.
“We are leaving now.” Aiden took Brody’s other arm.
“Hey, you guysh. Think she has a pink-haired friend? I like pink,” Brody mumbled. “With a fluffy.” He waved his arms around his neck.
“Fluffy?” Ella asked, laughter in her voice.
“Boas,” Aiden told her, turning. “He was last accosting a bachelorette party at the Cat something or other. The women were all wearing pink boas.”
She laughed. “Fluffies.”
Ian nodded to him. “Come on, Casanova, let’s find a cab and get you home because I’m not hauling your ass there if you pass out.”
“No, Junior, we’ll leave you in the gutter,” Aiden said as they walked away.
“Fuck off, I’m not jchunior. Broooody. That’sh my name.”
They stood there watching for a moment.
“Wow,” Ella muttered. “You guys are all handsome and he’s going to feel like . . . well . . . horrible tomorrow.”
“Oh well.” He turned and led her into Café Du Monde with his hand at the small of her back, the material of her dress silky beneath his touch. He felt a shiver dance down her spine. “Sorry about that.”
She laughed. “As I said, people who care. At least your brothers left you in peace.” She motioned over to her friends, who had grabbed a table and were already eating fluffy powdered-sugar fried dough.
Then she opened her mouth and sang a few bars of the song blaring from the speakers.
They turned and made their way to a table, grabbing beignets and coffees. They settled at a little iron table.
“ . . . dream a little dream of me . . .” Her voice was husky and alluring as she sang the last few bars and settled across from him.
Just like that afternoon, interest stirred from just listening to her, watching her . . . enjoying her.
“I’ve always liked that song,” she said, grinning. “Sorry, sometimes . . . okay, lots of times I just sort of sing along with whatever song I hear.”
He smiled. Desire swirled and gripped him.
He sighed and sat back, glad that something still worked, because frankly, he was starting to worry that he’d have to get a script for Cialis or the little blue pill. When a guy didn’t find women interesting or get a hard-on when there were plenty of beauties who were interested, he worried.
Even if he hadn’t admitted that to himself before now.
But that was one worry he obviously didn’t have to keep.
She had a sexy voice, of course, he just wanted . . . to listen to her talk.
Okay, and he wanted her.
Was her skin as soft as it looked under those lights?
He wanted her.
He smiled.
Ella opened her eyes and waved to her friends across the way. His brothers were nowhere to be seen. Thankfully. Guys out on the town. But these were of a different variety. Not frat boys, not businessmen out after meetings. They were older. Clean-cut and . . . men. Two of the ones she’d met—Aiden and Ian?—had worn rings. The drunk had not. And they were all so damned good-looking.
Quinlan though, he’d looked good this afternoon. Now? Now he looked really damned good.
Dressed in slacks and a dark green button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. One hand rested on the table, the other tapped on the top of a cane. She picked up a beignet and bit into the sugary dough. She could feel his gaze on her. Feel it even as she watched his gaze quickly skim over her and then more slowly from head to toe. Not in a bad way; she had enough experience with that. No, this guy was just interested, which she already knew, or she wouldn’t be here.
Fine with her because she was interested in him. She’d thought about him all damned evening. So they’d play the interest game, because it wasn’t like it would be more than that.
If she was lucky, they’d have fun for the night. Maybe the rest of the weekend.
After that?
Well, from his watch and the shoes and the cut of his clothes, the man had money, and if Ella knew one thing, it was that men couldn’t be counted on and rich men were the worst. Not that she needed to count on them. No, indeed. If she did anything on him, it wouldn’t be counting. Unless it was how many times . . .
She shook her head. Good Lord.
The man oozed confidence and charm and money.
And enough sex appeal she noticed other women noticing him.
Though there was something in his eyes, something that said maybe he wasn’t as confident as he wanted to be.
Damn.
She was always a sucker for the wounded.
He’d mentioned an incident earlier today and she’d wondered
what incident could shake such a clearly confident man to question himself and his purpose.
“Ella!” Shalon hollered across the way.
She looked over to them, grinned and waved. Her girlfriends shouted and high-fived each other. “Have fun! Call us tomorrow!” they shouted over each other. “Deets for dinner!”
She nodded to them.
Crossing her legs, she almost groaned at the ache in her feet. She was lucky she hadn’t fallen crossing the street to meet Quinlan. With her luck, and a great-looking guy, she’d splat in these stupid weird-ass shoes Shalon had gotten for her. They looked hot, she knew, but they were evil, wicked torture devices.
When they’d stood side by side, she realized he stood much taller than her—but then most did. She was a short woman at five-three and a half, and as a short woman she had curves she wished were less pronounced.
Up close he was even more handsome than she’d remembered, if that were possible.
This morning she thought she was stressed about everyday stresses, but hey, if he wanted a good time, she was all for that. Man looked like he knew how to make a girl’s world go round. He looked like he could use some de-stressing as well.
Bad. Very, very bad. She sighed.
“You came,” he said.
Oh God. She could only stare at him and arch a brow.
He arched a brow as well and a slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth.
Ella shifted in the chair and cleared her throat. “Were you worried?”
His grin turned into a smile. “About many, many things.”
She glanced to the side to see her friends. Shal was giving her a thumbs-up and Marie was nodding as they made their way down the street.
“Sorry about my cousin earlier. And thanks for coming to meet me. I wondered if you actually would, to be honest. You don’t know me or anything. Though I promise I only had beignets and coffee in mind.”
Yeah, like she hadn’t heard that before. “You should get some original lines.”
“Well, I don’t normally pick girls up in the café or market or wherever.”
She ran her gaze over him. Handsome, intense, with a hint of vulnerability, and he was funny in a not-sure kind of way. Laugh lines that seemed unused, and honestly, he wasn’t trying to overly charm her, well . . . it seemed . . . normal. In this not-so-normal place.
