Secret Sacrifices

by Jannifer Hoffman

  She smashed the phone back in its cradle, drawing deep gulps of air and staring wildly at the far wall.

  She turned to see Quint Douglas step out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a wristwatch and a frown.

  Chapter Five

  Quint had made a promise to her, and to himself, that he wouldn’t discuss her work. He thought about pretending he hadn’t heard her conversation, but—four million dollars? He wasn’t that good of an actor. Since he’d only heard her side of the phone call he had to piece it together. He didn’t know who Buster was but you’d have to live on another planet not to recognize the name Bentler.

  Ray Bentler was none other than the infamous owner of Pink Mink International. His title as president was really a front; he was nothing more than a glorified pimp. Bentler was in court more often than Larry Flint, but the man had good legal counsel because he’d never had a conviction.

  And Jamie was involved with him up to her lovely little neck.

  But Quint had made a promise.

  Her hair was sleep tousled, her perfectly round breasts heaving, her lips still swollen from their night of lovemaking. She was looking at him with whiskey-colored eyes that could have set fire to dust. His most erotic fantasy was staring him straight in the eye.

  “Trouble?” he asked.

  She took several long seconds to answer, and when she did, her tone was only slightly strained. “Nothing I need a lawyer for.” Her smile wasn’t exactly beaming, but it was a smile.

  He had planned to be gone by the time she woke up. It seemed best that way. Since he’d already told her he was leaving on an early morning flight, she would have expected it. He hated sad goodbyes. The way he saw it there was only one thing to do.

  He walked to the bed, put his mouth over those pouty lips, and pressed her back into the sheets.

  * * * *

  The first pink lights of dawn were filtering through the pine trees when Quint got in the car beside his cousin. Virgil had already put the suitcases in the car and left their costumes at the front desk. Wordlessly, he handed Quint a large paper cup filled with steaming black coffee from the Up-North Café across the street.

  Quint muttered appreciative thanks.

  There was no need for Virgil to question where Quint had spent the night, since he had left a note on top of his packed suitcase.

  The two-hour drive from Sunset Lake to the Lindbergh International Airport in Minneapolis was scenic, with nature’s spread of tall pines, an occasional deer feeding at the side of the road, and silent for the first half-hour.

  “Are you going to have another Cynthia on your hands?” Virg asked finally. His tone was one of concern rather than sarcasm.

  Quint glanced at his cousin, thought for a second, then grunted. “No, I took care of it. Miss Jamie Devon, or whatever-her–real–name–is, won’t be calling me unless it’s to read me the riot act.”

  Virgil’s brow rose. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, that bad,” Quint said. “I can almost guarantee she’ll never be wanting to see me again.” What he really wanted to say was it was that good. He wasn’t proud of the way he’d left her, but he wasn’t about to have a Pink Mink prostitute stalking him, even if he’d just spent the most unforgettable night of his life with her. He had to keep reminding himself that her shy act was just that, an act. Damn, but she could be on stage.

  “Are you going to need an attorney?” Virgil asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

  Quint managed a short laugh. “Only if she’s an undercover cop.”

  * * * *

  On the thirty-fifth floor of a New York office building, Benny Gomez fidgeted in his chair while his boss paced the plush office.

  “So, who the hell is she?”

  Benny squirmed. “Jamie Devon, but I couldn’t find anything on her. I even took a chance asking around. Not one person I talked to knew anything about her except that she sings like an angel. Looks like one too.”

  Benny received a brittle stare and a sarcastic put down.

  “You ass. You should have stayed and followed her.”

  “That’s not what you said on the phone last night. You said—”

  “I know what I said. I told you to get me some dirt on her and get back here pronto.”

  Benny shrugged. “Not every person has dirt.”

  “Everybody has dirt somewhere in their past. Even sweet little choir girls.”

  “I never saw no choir girl driving a bright pink Beemer.”

  Finely arched brows above calculating eyes turned in his direction. “Bright pink, like fuchsia?” When Benny nodded she barked, “Get on the net and find out who owns one. I’ve never even seen a fuchsia BMW.”

  “Huh, never thought of that.”

  “That’s why you make thirty thousand a year while I make five hundred thousand.”

  Benny wanted to glare at her and tell her to go to hell, but he needed his thirty thousand a year to stay out of jail. Plus he wasn’t stupid. If she knew how to ferret out information on the web she’d be doing it herself.

  He got up to leave, stopping at the door. “Oh, by the way, he spent the night with her.” He closed the door behind him with a satisfied smile on his face.

  * * * *

  Jamie woke to bright sunlight streaming in the window, and the glowing effects of exquisite lovemaking lingering in her body. She didn’t have to look to know Quint was gone. She wasn’t a teenager, and she had gone into this thing with her eyes wide open. The most she had hoped for was to be left with a pleasant memory. Turns out it wasn’t a pleasant memory, it was a fantastic, unforgettable one. And she would never see Quint Douglas again.

  Jamie rolled over in the bed, touching the pillow that had cradled his head. His familiar scent awakened her female senses like none she’d ever remembered. By all rights she should have felt cheap, used—yet there was nothing cheap about the way she felt. Choking back a lump in her throat, she had an overwhelming desire to go home, to go back to the life she knew, and forget last night had ever happened.

  She dragged herself from the bed and into the shower. There she allowed the steaming water to wash away the tangible remains of the most incredible night of her life. If only she could open her heart and let the water take away the part of him that lingered there too.

  She was packing her suitcase when she noticed the empty wine bottle on the desk. Something was rolled up and sticking out of the neck. A note? Her heart gave a peculiar leap. With shaking fingers she pulled the piece of paper from the bottle and unrolled it.

  Thanks for a great time.

  Quint

  A hundred-dollar bill that had been wrapped inside floated to the floor. Jamie frowned down at the bill at her feet. Numbly, she bent down, picked it up, and stared at it. It took all of five seconds for its meaning to clear the fog out of her brain.

  She picked up the wine bottle and heaved it toward the far wall, swearing a string of obscenities that would have made a bartender blush.

  The bottle shattered, showering the carpet with hundreds of green shards. Still swearing and calling herself all kinds of a fool, she crammed her clothes into her suitcase, snapped it shut, threw a twenty-dollar bill on the desk to cover the cleanup, and stormed out of the room. She took only enough time to return her costume to the front desk before she got in her car and sprayed gravel all the way to the pavement. Her hands squeezed down on the steering wheel wishing it were Quint’s throat. Or another part if his more vulnerable male anatomy.

  Speed and anger sustained her until she reached the Wisconsin border. She eased her foot off the accelerator, not caring to chance another meeting with Officer Gentry. If he thought she was into male bashing before…

  Of course, she kept reminding herself that not every man was like Quint Douglas, but at the moment she just couldn’t seem to name one who wasn’t an ass in some way or another.

  No sooner had she slowed to the legal speed limit, when she passed a patrol car lurking beneath an overpass. The patrol ca
r sped out to catch up with her.

  Jamie groaned, wondering what she had done wrong now. The car didn’t flash its lights but it followed her for a couple of miles before pulling up beside her. It was indeed Gentry.

  When he caught her eye he gave her a friendly grin and a thumbs up before taking the next exit. Gentry’s simple action brought a smile to her lips and lightened her mood. Life didn’t end because she had one night of fantastic sex with a man who turned out to be a jerk.

  She needed to get her mind off Quint and start channeling her energy toward the Mountain Dew 500 at Darlington. She would stop in Chicago, at her house above the bluffs on the west shore of Lake Michigan, view some Darlington Speedway tapes. She’d call the maintenance crew to let them know she was back, and drive down to the shop to check on the car she’d be driving. Her father would be back in Chicago by tomorrow morning.

  Jamie glanced at the clock. The Bristol race would be starting in a few minutes. She turned the radio on, tuned in to the preliminaries, and then settled back to listen to four hours of commentary.

  * * * *

  By Wednesday noon, Marla, Quint’s secretary, threatened to quit when Quint growled at her for the third time in as many hours.

  “Lordy, Quint. What happened to you at Hunter’s wedding? Ever since you got back you’ve been snapping at everybody. And why aren’t you returning Virgil’s calls? The man’s grilling me like a Third World mafia boss.”

  “Quint grunted. “So what does he want?”

  Marla pulled a long metal nail file from her drawer and started to work on a cracked nail. “Mostly, he wants to know what kind of mood you’re in.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Yesterday, I said, same as Monday, and today I said same as yesterday.”

  “And what did you tell him Monday?” Quint asked, passing her an exasperated frown.

  Marla blew on her nail before she glanced up, chuckling. “I told him you were acting like an ornery bear that came out of hibernation to find all the females taken.”

  Quint shook his head. “Thanks a lot. No wonder he keeps calling.”

  “He keeps calling because you won’t call him back. Now what the hell happened to get your tail all twisted in a knot?”

  Before Quint could comment, the phone rang.

  “If that’s Virgil,” Quint said, “I’ll talk to him.”

  Marla picked up the phone. “Seek and Find, may I help you?”

  A husky-throated female voice barked, “Is Quinton there? I really need to speak to him. Now!”

  “One minute, please.” Marla pressed the hold button, looking sympathetically up at her boss. “It’s the Harman dame again.” She glanced at her notepad. “That makes the second time today and the sixth time this week. I made the mistake Monday of telling her you were back in town. Can I tell her you got your finger ringed in Minnesota or something equally shocking?”

  “Yeah, if you want to be the victim of her next show. Put her over to my phone, I’ll get rid of her.”

  Quint’s phone was on one of the other two desks in the compact but orderly office. Two walls were lined with matching beige file cabinets, and the center held a large round glass top worktable. The remaining space was taken up with the desks: Marla’s by the front door, Quint’s facing hers, and Hunter’s vacated desk directly behind Quint. Having a private phone conversation was next to impossible, and usually not necessary.

  “I think I have some business in the lady’s room. Good luck, and be careful, that woman is nasty.” Marla clicked the call to Quint’s phone, stood up tugging her short skirt in place and left the room.

  Quint gave her an appreciative nod and picked up the receiver. “Cynthia, what can I do for you?”

  “You know damn well what you can do for me, honey. Why are you avoiding me? That ditzy receptionist said you were back two days ago. Why haven’t you called?”

  Quint bit back what he wanted to say. “What’s the point? It’s over, Cynthia.”

  “Are you seeing someone else?”

  Quint really wished he was seeing someone else. He wished he was seeing a sexy little hooker named Jamie. He could hardly call one night of great sex seeing someone, and he wasn’t about to share that memorable experience with a viper like Cynthia.

  “No, I’m not seeing anyone else, but that has nothing to do with our relationship. It’s over. Don’t call me again.”

  She spoke quickly, before he could hang up. “What about the singer?”

  Quint gritted his teeth. He wasn’t even going to ask how or what she knew about Jamie. He had no intention of getting into a conversation that might yield fuel for an evil mind.

  “I think I’ve made myself clear on that subject, so I have only one thing left to say—goodbye.”

  Quint hung up just as Marla came back in the room followed by Virgil.

  Virgil took one look at his cousin, and said, “Come on kid. I’m buying lunch. And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Good timing,” Quint said. “Let’s go. And Marla, if she calls back, tell her I’m on an extended trip to the moon.”

  Marla grinned. “That would be my pleasure, boss.”

  They walked around the corner to a small neighborhood restaurant. After placing their orders, Quint leaned back in his chair and gave Virgil an expectant look.

  “Now what is so all-fired important that you’re willing to spring for lunch?”

  Virgil grinned. “I need an agenda to invite you to lunch?”

  “You didn’t exactly invite me. What’s on your mind?”

  “Mom.”

  Quint straightened in his chair. “Is something wrong with her?”

  “Yeah, she’s all concerned because you turned down the invitation to her annual Labor Day barbeque.”

  “That’s what this is about?”

  “Yes and no.” Virgil leaned forward and gave his cousin a direct look. “Hunter is on his honeymoon, Corinne is eight months pregnant and can’t travel. Only Stephen and I will be there. You know how she is about gathering all her chicks to the nest at the same time.”

  Quint shrugged. “I’m not exactly one of her chicks.”

  “The hell you aren’t. Whether you acknowledge it or not, you became a member of this family the day your parents and our sister, Diana, died in that crash.”

  Just talking about that scene gave Quint chills. Twenty-six years had passed but the sound and smell of grinding metal and burning rubber still visited him regularly in his dreams. If not for his older brother, Grant, both he and Hunter would have died. He mentally shook the thought away and brought his attention back to his cousin.

  “…losing Diana just about put Mom over the edge. If she hadn’t had you to nurse back to health who knows what would have happened to her. I think she still blames herself for sending Hunter and Diana away that day.”

  “You know as well as I do they were coming to stay while she was in the hospital having Stephen. Besides, you guys often came up to stay at the farm in the summer. It wasn’t her fault some drunken kids happened to be on the road that particular night.”

  “Of course it wasn’t,” Virgil said. He shifted in his chair, hesitating. “Look, I’m not here trying to guilt you into coming to her party. I’m here because I care about you, we all do. I’ve known you since you were born. As far as I’m concerned you’ve been my brother since you were a scrawny little five-year-old—”

  “I wasn’t scrawny.”

  Virgil laughed. “You had the skinniest little chicken legs I ever saw.”

  Before Quint could think of an appropriate comeback, the waitress arrived with their food. She set their sandwiches in front of them, calling Quint by name and giving Virgil a friendly smile.

  “Anything else you need, Hon?”

  Virgil glanced at her nametag, giving her wink. “Nothing for now. Thanks, Margie.”

  “Enjoy your lunch,” she said, widening her smile.

  When she left, Quint chuckled. “Careful, Virg,
she’s the owner’s daughter—jailbait.”

  Virgil grinned. “Do I look stupid?”

  “I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

  “Good answer,” Virgil said taking a bite of his tuna melt. He chewed and swallowed as he regarded Quint somberly. “When Hunter is asking me what’s wrong with you, and Mom wants to know if you’re dreadfully ill, I figure it’s time to look you up.”

  Quint grunted. “If I remember right, you’re the one who needs watching out for after your last fiasco. If it hadn’t been for Hunter running interference, you’d be married to a bigamist.”

  “That’s old news,” Virgil said dismissively. “What about you? Have you heard from her?”

  “Yeah, she called six times this week already—”

  “I don’t care about Cynthia.”

  Quint chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “Does that mean you do care about Jamie Devon?”

  “Hell, if it were a toss-up between her and Cynthia, I’d volunteer to be your best man, but they aren’t the only two women on the planet.”

  Quint scooped three spoonfuls of sugar in his coffee, took a sip and grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what I keep telling myself. I don’t need to worry about her, though. As I mentioned before, I took care of it. She wouldn’t call me if I was the last man on earth.”

  Virgil watched Quint closely with wry amusement. “If I didn’t know you’ve been drinking your coffee straight since you were sixteen, and Marla hadn’t called me to rescue her, I wouldn’t be worried.”

  “Jesus, I have a host of caretakers.”

  Virgil laughed. “You might say that. Have you thought about calling her?”

  “I haven’t thought about anything else for four days.”

  “Damn, that’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. I know I could check her out, find out where she lives, but even if I did, I burned my bridges. I’ll just have to get over her.” The truth was he wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her in her Mickey Mouse nightshirt, looking sweet and innocent.