Hearts on the Line

by Margaret Daley

  Quinn hefted the boxes out of the way until he could kneel next to her, careful to keep his weight on the rafter he balanced himself on. The worry on his face touched her. For so long she had always been the one who had worried about others. She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone concerned for her.

  “I’m adding this to the long list of projects that need to be done around here. This attic flooring needs to be completed.” She patted the beam next to her. “I definitely don’t want to be in this predicament again.” This would now be number one on her least favorite things to happen to her, even before encountering snakes, which she had a healthy fear and respect for.

  Quinn grinned. “Probably should be moved up to the top of your ‘to do’ list.” He felt around the edges of the hole.

  “I’m caught on something.” She breathed in a whiff of his aftershave and for a few seconds the scent of pine filled her nostrils.

  “I’m going below to see if I can push you up through the hole. Do you have a stepladder somewhere?”

  “In the garage.”

  “I’ll be right back. Hang on.” He rose, chuckling. “No pun intended.”

  “Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” she said with her own chuckle.

  She was sure when she was free she would laugh about this and probably tell the guys down at work about this little adventure—well, maybe she wouldn’t go that far. But right now all she wanted was to hide in the bathroom, wash off the dirt she’d picked up from the floor and change clothes. What a sight she must be! There was a part of her that was amazed she even cared, but she had felt a connection with Quinn the other day that had intrigued her.

  In the past she’d had little time for a serious relationship with the opposite sex what with raising her siblings and trying to establish her career at the police department as well as go back to school to finish her degree. She only had another year of part-time college to earn her psychology degree, then she wanted to work on her master’s. She couldn’t see herself being a police detective forever, especially considering how hard it was for her emotionally to shake some cases. She wanted one day to be a counselor. That was why she had joined the negotiation team. That and—

  So lost in thought, she gasped when she felt Quinn’s hand on her ankle. The warmth in his fingers momentarily wiped from her mind the past half hour and all she could zoom in on was his touch.

  “I see a piece of wood caught on your pants. I’m going to free you then push up. I may have to rip your pants some more.”

  “I imagine they are beyond repair. Don’t worry about them,” she said wistfully when she thought of having just removed the price tag from them right before she had put them on an hour ago.

  Quinn clambered up the ladder until he could grip the wood. The whole time she was acutely aware of him even though she couldn’t see him—she could hear and feel his presence. Heat singed her face when she pictured how she must look to him.

  He finally broke off the jagged piece of wood, giving her leg some more room. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shoved while she thrust herself up and out of the hole. She perched herself on the rafter and stared down into the bedroom. Thankfully she hadn’t been right above the bed so Granny’s quilt had escaped any harm.

  “Are you all right?” Quinn’s handsome face peered up at her.

  She smiled. “I’ll live.”

  He climbed down while she checked the gash on her leg. Her nicest pair of capris was, as she’d suspected, totally ruined. She probably needed to go to the doctor and have the wound stitched. Her leg throbbed with pain, which only reinforced her conclusion. She hated doctors, tried her best to stay away, but she knew Quinn would insist. Why, she wasn’t sure. He just seemed that kind of guy.

  Quinn appeared by her side. “How bad is it?”

  She showed him the gash on her thigh, blood soaking her peach-colored capri pants.

  He whistled. “I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”

  “No hospitals.”

  “You should see a doctor. You need stitches and the wound needs to be cleaned out. I’ve seen enough accidents on the construction site to know a bad one when I see it.”

  Her jaw clenched, she tried to stand. “I don’t have a doctor.”

  Quinn came to her side to assist. “You don’t?”

  She slanted a look at his strong profile as she limped next to him toward the stairs, his arm about her, helping to support some of her weight. “We had a family doctor, but he retired last year. I haven’t had a need to find another.”

  “My cousin is a doctor. I’ll call Adam and see if he can see you right away.”

  “But—”

  He shot her a challenging look, one eyebrow arched.

  She clamped her mouth closed, keeping her protest inside. Finally she said, “It’s Saturday,” as though that would change Quinn’s mind.

  “I’m calling him at home.”

  “I don’t want to bother him at home on his—”

  “That’s what family is for. Family helps family.”

  Becca could tell by the firm set of his jaw and the intense look in his eyes that she wasn’t going to get out of having Quinn take her to his cousin. And frankly, she didn’t have a better option. Her leg throbbed and the deepness of the gash made it evident she needed help.

  Downstairs in her kitchen where she kept her first-aid kit, she sat at her table, opened the container and retrieved a bandage and some peroxide. After calling his cousin, Quinn hovered over her, watching her every move as though if she fumbled he would step in to assist. In the short time she’d known him, she’d gotten that feeling about him. He was a man of action, no wasted motion.

  “There. I shouldn’t bleed all over your car.” She snapped her first-aid kit closed.

  Again with his assistance, she made her way to his blue truck, which was sitting in her driveway. “How far?” she asked, noticing a red spot on her bandage already.

  Quinn glanced at her wound. “Ten minutes. Adam’s meeting us at his office.”

  “This is probably not how you thought you would spend your morning.”

  He sent her a grin that caused her stomach to flip-flop. “After your leg is taken care of, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

  “And that is?”

  “With me ringing your doorbell and you answering. Oh, that reminds me—” he delved into the front pocket of his jeans and took out the key to her front door “—this is yours.”

  He slipped her house key into her palm, the action almost seeming intimate to Becca. Curling her fingers around the piece of metal, warmed by his touch, she shook that feeling away. When in the world would she have time to date, let alone get serious with someone? Her work took up so much of her day and what was left over was devoted to her classes and finally fixing up the home that should have been renovated years ago.

  After having limped around her house for the past hour showing Quinn what needed to be done, in the living room Becca swept her arm wide and asked, “So, what do you think?”

  He looked up from the pad he had been scribbling notes on and said, “Let me work up an estimate and get back to you.”

  “I know I can’t afford all that needs to be done right away. I was thinking about having the work done in stages with the kitchen—” she glanced skyward “—and now the ceiling in the third bedroom and flooring in the attic done first.”

  “Okay, I’ll start with that. I should have something by tomorrow afternoon. I can come by after church with the estimate. Will you be here around one?”

  “That’s my day to sleep in and be lazy, so I’ll be here.” Of course, her idea of sleeping in and being lazy was getting up at eight and actually getting to read the Sunday paper, then hitting the books for class, if she wasn’t catching up on a few things that needed to be done around the house.

  Contemplating her for a moment, Quinn cocked his head. “Why the kitchen?”

  With her leg still throbbing, she decided
to sit on the couch and indicated he take a seat, too. “Because I love to cook and hope to do more of it in the future.”

  “I do quite a bit of cooking when I have the time.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, learned it from my mother.”

  She snapped her fingers. “That’s right. I’ve had some of your mother’s apple pie at the Stagecoach Cafe. Brendan brought one down to the station a while back. It was delicious.” Becca smoothed her hand across another pair of capris, thankful that she was finally able to take off the ruined ones, ripped beyond repair, which she’d promptly thrown away. “Any chance I could get her apple pie recipe?”

  His chuckle spiced the air. “It’s a deep, dark family secret. The only way is to become a member of the family.”

  The very thought sent her mind whirling with all kinds of possibilities, none unappealing. She tapped her finger against her chin and said, “Hmm. With Brendan engaged…”

  His gaze caught hers and for a few seconds sparks flew across the short space that separated them. Then the moment evaporated when Quinn sat up and looked away, clearing his throat. “I’d better be going.”

  Reluctantly Becca pushed to her feet, part of her wanting to explore what had just transpired between them. But the other part wanted to run as fast as possible away from him. He could break her heart. She knew he had been engaged several years back and his fiancée, Maggie Nelson, a fellow police officer, had been killed while on duty. From the rumors flying around at the time, Quinn had not taken it well. Was he still mourning Maggie’s death?

  “I look forward to hearing from you about the estimate.” She started for the entry hall. “And your cousin was great today. Are you sure he won’t take some money for stitching me up?”

  “Adam? No way! We Montgomerys help each other out.”

  “But I’m not a Montgomery.”

  “But I am and I asked him to help.”

  “So he’s honor bound?”

  “Yep. It’s nice to have a doctor in the family.”

  The grin that spread across Quinn’s face sent her heart beating a shade faster. When he opened the front door, his massive build dominated her entrance and for the strangest reason it seemed so right. “Thanks for all your help today.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll call you tomorrow before coming over.”

  As she closed the door, she felt another strange sensation as though she were back in high school waiting for a call from a boy that never came. Instead, her life had been thrown into turmoil with her father being held hostage at the bank he worked at. Twenty-four hours later he had been killed by the gunman and she had become the strong one in her family. Her mother had fallen apart, unable to deal with two young children, ages eight and eleven. A year later her mother had gotten cancer, which had taken her life after a two-year battle with the disease.

  The phone blaring startled Becca from her memories. She pushed away from the door and limped toward the kitchen, where she picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

  “Becca, I’m turning down your street. I’ve got a lead on the O’Brien case.”

  Sam’s statement completely anchored her in the present. “I’ll be out front.”

  Quickly she located her purse and gun, then hurried as fast as she could out onto her porch and down the steps. Sam came to a stop in front of her house. She tried not to favor her injured leg, but she wasn’t totally successful.

  “What happened?” Sam asked as he pulled away from the curb.

  “You know the statistics about most injuries happening in the home? I’m living proof they’re right. I fell through the floor in my attic.”

  Surprise widened Sam’s eyes. “All the way?”

  “No, just one leg, but I have a long gash in my thigh to remind me not to hurry when I’m doing something.” She shifted to make herself comfortable. “So what’s your lead?”

  “Eddie Stinson was caught robbing a convenience store this week, and guess what? He used the same gun that killed Neil O’Brien. The ballistics report I just read confirmed it.”

  “So he’s the killer?”

  “No, he’s got an airtight alibi. He was in jail at the time. But he did tell us where he got the gun. It seems Ritchie Stark threw it away, and Eddie decided to retrieve it from the dumpster. No use letting a perfectly good gun go to waste, which was a big break for us.”

  “Our Mr. Stark is stepping up in the world. He’s done some shady things in his illustrous past, but murder hasn’t been one.”

  At a stoplight Sam peered at her. “That we know of. We have several unsolved cases at the moment, the Sainsbury and O’Brien murders to name a couple.”

  “And your dad’s attempted murder being at the top of the list.”

  “I’ve got a tip on where Stark is right now. I thought we would pick him up and have a little discussion with him down at the station.”

  Standing behind Sam, Becca studied Ritchie Stark as he sat at the table in an interview room, his dark hair slicked back, his beard cropped close. Thin to the point of almost looking like a scarecrow, he tapped his fingers against the wooden top, his eyes downcast.

  “We’ve got you, Ritchie. You disposed of the weapon used to kill O’Brien.” Sam leaned across the table, his eyes pinpoints.

  “I found it! I ain’t the violent type, so I thought I should throw it away. Didn’t want no kid gettin’ hold of it.” Stark lifted his pointy chin, the tapping of his fingers increasing.

  “Yeah, sure,” Becca said with a humorless laugh. “Your fingerprint was found on one of the bullets still in the gun. Who hired you to kill Neil O’Brien?” She came around her partner to take the chair at the end, close to Stark.

  “I ain’t talking. I wanna see a lawyer.”

  “If you cooperate, I can convince the D.A. to go easy on you.” Sam pushed to his feet. “If you don’t—” he shrugged “—murdering a prominent city employee won’t sit well with a judge or jury.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap. “I knows my rights. I wanna talk to my lawyer!”

  Becca rose, too. “Sure, Ritchie. If you want to play it out that way, life in prison with no parole is fitting for you. I personally don’t think we should go easy on you.” She started for the door, glad to get away from Stark’s annoying drumming of his fingers on the table, a sure sign the man was lying. “You deserve to rot in prison.”

  While Sam stayed back, Becca left the room and watched through the two-way mirror at her partner and Stark, looking for any signs of the skinny man’s armor cracking. Other than his nervous drumming, he remained tightlipped.

  “I have pull with the D.A. I still can put in a good word if you cooperate. You aren’t the one we want. We want the person behind everything,” Sam said in parting.

  Stark glared at the door that Sam had left through, his thin face pinched into a scowl.

  “We’ll let him stew for a while. Take our time getting him his lawyer.” Sam moved to stand beside Becca.

  “I know we cleared Colleen Montgomery of O’Brien’s murder, but now there’s no doubt she’s innocent with this new proof.” Becca thought of Quinn and his deep commitment to his family. She’d have to tell him the good news when she saw him next.

  “Now all we have to find out is who was behind the murder and why?”

  “Do you think there’s a connection between Neil O’Brien, Baltasar Escalante and Dahlia Sainsbury?” Becca asked, her mind spinning with all the incidents that had occurred over the past few months in Colorado Springs, all wrapped up in the Vance and Montgomery families, who had been instrumental in Escalante’s downfall the year before. But what kind of connection would there be between a fire chief and a drug lord?

  After the incident in the tunnels below the museum the week before, she and Sam had learned from Alessandro Donato that Baltasar Escalante had been behind the drugs coming into the city recently, that he’d survived the plane crash last year and had a new face. When she thought of the drug lord, who was also a cold-blooded kill
er, being alive, she grew chilled. There was no love lost between him and the Montgomery and Vance families.

  Again she pictured Quinn Montgomery with his russet hair, chocolate brown eyes and cocky smile that could melt a woman’s heart. He could take care of himself, she was sure, but worry over his safety took hold and she couldn’t shake off her concern. Someone had tried to burn his business down and had nearly succeeded, leaving only his offices intact. What if he had been in the shop or barn when it had been set on fire? The very thought sent another chill through her.

  Standing before the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, Becca still couldn’t believe she was wearing a sundress and sandals at home on her day off—her relaxing, lazy day. To make matters even worse she was wearing lipstick—this from a woman who didn’t have time or patience to fool with putting on makeup. But Quinn would be here in a few minutes and for some insane reason she couldn’t put on her usual attire of jean shorts, oversize T-shirt and no shoes. First capris and now a dress!

  She heard a truck door slamming. Giving herself a once-over, she smoothed her hair, pleased that it was at least cooperating and turning under. Something else she usually didn’t do was wear her hair down. What was the world coming to? Next she would be decked out in spiked heels, an evening gown and body glitter.

  By the time Quinn rang the bell, Becca’s hand was already on the handle. She opened the door for him. His smile of greeting did exactly what she was afraid of—sent a warm, fuzzy feeling zipping through her.

  “Hi. You’re right on time.” Becca stepped to the side to allow Quinn into her house.

  “I aim to please.”

  “That could be a company motto.”

  He turned to face her, his head tilted to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, you’re right. I may have to steal your idea.”

  “No, you don’t. I gladly give it to you.” She headed toward her living room. “Let’s go in here.”

  As Becca sat on her beige and navy print couch, Quinn took the seat next to her. This was the largest room in her house and all of a sudden it felt as if it were the size of a closet. With her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, she tried to tamp down the racing of her heart. This was a business meeting, nothing else, and it certainly wasn’t a date—she couldn’t even believe she’d thought the word.