Unraveled

by Allie Hawkins

  “It’s been a long day.” He spoke in the solemn cadence Quinn remembered from the last time they argued about Brittany. “We’ll kick back. Relax.”

  Good sex is always a release for men. Demon Fear’s snicker released a snake in her tiny garden of ever-blooming fantasies.

  “I’ve got a million things to do. Call Rex, Michael...”

  The light in Pierce’s eyes went out. He shrugged and said reasonably, “I know what that’s like—to set priorities.”

  Hands on the steering wheel, he checked the rearview mirror, and pulled away from the curb. “Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.”

  “Typical,” Quinn muttered to herself.

  “Damn straight,” he muttered back. “Men bare their souls and women clean the grout.”

  “Huh. Women don’t leap with joy and men get their wittle noses out of joint.”

  “Funny, Quinn. Very, very funny.”

  If her own wittle nose wasn’t out of joint, Quinn thought miserably, she’d apologize.

  They topped a hill. A gust of wind shook the car. Instinctively, she pulled her coat closer. A picture of Tony Franklin, hurt on some lonely back road in his Jeep, flashed in front of her. She sent a silent appeal for his safety.

  Exhausted, she clamped down on her mind. A bone-deep depression nagged at her. Calling Rex was inescapable. But she wouldn’t let him get her down any more than she’d let what happened between her and Pierce get her down.

  A block from the golf course, she started gathering her things. No delays at her house made it harder to capitulate on Pierce’s supper invitation. Glad some part of her brain still worked, she glanced in the side mirror

  “Pierce!” She jiggled his forearm. “Check the rearview mirror.”

  He did, swore, and whipped a Uee. “Hold on!”

  The black Jeep continued toward them. With about forty feet separating the two vehicles, the Jeep spurted forward.

  “Jesus!” Pierce threw a protective arm in front of her, but her neck cracked.

  Tires squealing, the Jeep made a U-turn, grazing their front bumper.

  “That’s Tony’s Jeep.” Pierce burned rubber. “We designed those purple stripes.”

  “We’ll never catch him if he gets on any of the streets West,” Quinn warned.

  “I know, I know.” Pierce floored the accelerator. Snow spewed around the headlights and hood. They leaped forward like a hungry lion sighting a flock of lazy gazelles. “He’s got just enough lead...”

  The traffic light at the end of her street and adjacent to the country club blinked red at the three-way intersection. The Jeep jumped the curb to the golf-cart path and plowed onto the snow-covered greenway.

  “Holy shit, the guy’s nuts.” Pierce tromped the brake.

  “Certifiable.” Quinn swiped her window and strained to peer through the mist.

  Pierce switched the wipers to high. “Imagine the groundskeeper seeing those tracks.”

  “My imagination’s not that vivid,” Quinn said. “It’s only vivid enough to imagine that’s the same black Jeep I saw the other night.”

  “Tony would never pull a stunt like this. Not unless someone kidnaped him and brainwashed him,”

  A shiver tangoed down Quinn’s spine. “Rex swears Tony embezzled—”

  “And I swear Rex is a psycho.” Jaw clenched, Pierce stared at the disappearing Jeep. “Two independent auditors confirmed the evidence.”

  Thinking out loud, Quinn continued. “We know the police found his Droid at your house. I know I saw a black Jeep the night of the golf-course attack.”

  “There are other Jeeps in the metro area, dammit.”

  “Don’t forget he lied about working Thanksgiving weekend,” Quinn said, refusing to point out what Pierce must have seen.

  “I noticed the dent under his right front headlight.” Saying the words added a thousand pound weight to Pierce’s burning neck muscles. His need to hold Quinn made him feel like a fool. He stared at the tracks left by the black Jeep and felt hope drain out of him.

  “I’ll take you home, then report this,” he said in a flat, take-charge tone. “No reason for you to hang around.”

  “Like an albatross around your neck?” She arched a brow.

  “I was thinking more like an anchor.”

  To his surprise, she laughed, then said, “Good comeback.”

  “Huh. Is this where you break my balls?”

  “Strong women don’t break men’s balls.”

  “Just our hearts,” he said before he could stop himself.

  A red flush—almost as dark as Rex Walker’s birthmark—flooded her face. Bastard that he was, Pierce felt a momentary triumph before regret set in. “Why would you want to spend time with me?”

  “I never said I didn’t want to spend time with you.” She looked at him for what felt like a long hour. “I said I wasn’t spending the night with you.”

  “Because you think I only want sex with you, right?”

  “Bingo.”

  “What if I said I didn’t want sex? What if I said I want to be near you, to laugh with you, to smell you?”

  “To smell me?” Her voice rose a couple of notes.

  He nodded. “To smell you. You always smell clean. Fresh—like rose soap—like a healthy and sane person.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?” Her cheeks looked like radishes.

  “No. That’d constitute foreplay, wouldn’t it?”

  “Oh, God.” She covered her face with her hands and peeked through her fingers at him. “I’ve lost my mind. Had some kind of mental breakdown. Lost too much sleep . . .”

  A snigger got away from her and swelled. She clapped her hand over her mouth, inhaled, said, “If I start laughing, I’ll never stop.”

  “Let’s do it. Laugh together. My house. We’ll watch Abbott and Costello movies...”

  Whether Pierce piqued her imagination or simply wore her down, Quinn conceded. His surprise and elation exploded. With a whoop, he jumped out of the car. Snow slapped him in the face and slid down his neck. He didn’t care. He yipped and ran around the car five or six times. Laughing and panting, tingling all over, he collapsed in his seat and declared, “Some drink from the fountain of knowledge. I only gargle.”

  ****

  Sucked into the fun of laughing at Pierce, Quinn didn’t care if she’d lost her mind. If she told the truth, she didn’t want to be alone any more than he did. He’d said no sex, and she’d hold him to that statement. Too bad if he thought she’d changed her views on love and sex.

  Alan Ramsey, Security Czar at the Mission Hills Country Club, flashed his lights as he pulled alongside them. Pierce rolled down his window. Snow gusted into the Corvette, clung to Pierce’s coat and jeans and gave Quinn a major case of the shivers.

  “The SOB got through there, huh?” Alan pulled on his coarse, snow-speckled beard. “Bastard damned near ran over Ken Marshall. Ken said the guy was driving a black Jeep?”

  “He was parked in front of my house Monday night.” Quinn leaned past Pierce, took a blast of snow in the face and introduced herself.

  “Kansas tags with purple stripes on the doors and a dented right headlight,” Pierce said. “I suspect you’re going to find someone stole it from a good friend of mine, Tony Franklin.”

  It took several questions for Alan to understand Pierce’s reasoning, reduced to one terse sentence. “Tony’s missed some important calls at work and we didn’t find him at his house.”

  Quinn bit her lip. Pierce was never going to believe anyone but Rex embezzled the money. Not even if Tony confessed.

  Alan tapped the paper where he’d written Tony’s vanity license plate against his green-plaid beret and wished them Happy Thanksgiving.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he promised, his eyes grim.

  ****

  True to his promise, Pierce gave Quinn complete privacy in his office while he dug out his Abbott and Costello movies in the family room. Edward Roslyn had left her his home number, but she tried him
at the office first. Of course he didn’t pick up.

  The bank was closed for the holiday, but calling Edward at home violated her sense of propriety. More to the point she wasn’t in the mood for more bad news. By unspoken agreement, she and Pierce were tiptoeing around Tony’s absence like a landmine.

  The fragrance of Mrs. Taylor’s freshly baked bread provided a small distraction. So did Floyd’s pitiful moans and scratches at the door. Quinn moved toward the phone. Did she really think fresh bread, garlic chicken, and Abbott and Costello would make her laugh after she gave Rex the banker’s decision?

  Floyd yowled. She opened the door and spent five minutes procrastinating, cooing and baby talking to an animal who must’ve been a divine king in another life. Aware Floyd would never grow weary of her adoration, she mentally shook herself and returned to Pierce’s desk.

  The cat trotted ahead of her and hopped onto the desk. She sat and reached for the handset. Floyd bumped her hand with his orange and white head. This routine apparently soon bored him. He rolled on his back, legs in the air, and shamelessly invited ear rubs and tickles on his ample belly.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “You are a bad influence.” She lifted the receiver, and he kicked it with the force of a small kangaroo. The entire mobile phone set crashed to the floor.

  She risked mortal wounds from the cat’s bared fangs and censure from the Humane Society. She picked up His Divineness and set him in the hall. “Get thee behind me, Satan.”

  Edward picked up on the second ring. He and Quinn chatted about the snowstorm for a minute, then, not wanting to waste his time, she got to the point and asked his opinion of Rex.

  “His resume is impressive. He interviews very well.”

  Her heart wanted to leap up, but Quinn didn’t let the comments go to her head.

  “I should tell you,” Edward was saying in his clipped, formal banker’s tone, “that I am disturbed—by a source I can’t divulge, you understand—that Rex left Pierce under unusual circumstances. You know I’ll expect a current letter of recommendation.”

  Damn. A zillion tiny red dots danced in front of Quinn’s eyes. So much for Pierce’s promise there’d be no leaks from his people.

  Out in the hall, Floyd lunged against the door like a tyrannosaurus. Quinn made herself concentrate on Edward Roslyn. “Did your source give you any details I can check out?”

  “Well...” He let the phrase hang.

  Stall. She said nothing, waited, wary when he barked a little laugh, but was caught completely off guard when he said, “My source said you’d have details. Said you could tell me everything I needed to know and at the same time clear up my reservations.”

  Her heart thudded. She choked the phone. “I don’t know everything.”

  But he could put money on her killing Pierce.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I want to fill that position ASAP.” Yada, yada, yada.

  Quinn tuned out his praises of the very strong candidate coming in Monday for a second interview and concentrated on Edward’s final point.

  Get the information he needed about why Rex left Pierce. Give him a day or two to evaluate the information. And get a letter from Pierce—said in a tone of reproach.

  “Then,” Edward said melodramatically, “I may ask Rex in for another interview. But the sooner I know there are no major problems, the faster we’ll be able to move.”

  ****

  “The sooner I know there are no major problems, the faster we’ll be able to move.” Quinn held the dead phone to her mouth, primped her lips and tried to catch Edward’s prissy tone but didn’t come close.

  Damn, damn, damn. Now, more fun lay ahead. What could be more fun than a chat with Rex?

  A chat with Pierce, her inner demon offered. And don’t forget checking in with Michael.

  “Can’t have too much fun in one day,” she muttered. Where to begin?

  A yowl echoed in the hall, then repeated thumps shook the door. Grimly amused, Quinn stood. Floyd streaked through the open door just as Pierce rounded the corner.

  He grinned. “Someone’s in love. I’ll feed him—”

  “No.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s his house. I’m the interloper.”

  “You’re not an inter— What’s wrong? There a problem?”

  “You’re the problem.” Her heart dropped too fast, making her dizzy, but she rushed on before he could regroup. “You talked to Edward.”

  His eyes flashed. “Not since I fired Rex. Edward’s left me three, four messages. Do I need an affidavit I didn’t return his calls?”

  The invisible rubber-band in Quinn’s neck contracted. “You like that word. You said I wanted a signed-in-blood affidavit you’d never abandon me.”

  “I recanted that...comment. On my knees, if you recall.”

  “Diversion won’t work,” she said, hardening her tone. “Not this time. Edward didn’t identify his source, but I’m pretty confident I can eliminate me, Michael and Rex. So maybe I do need an affidavit.”

  “You don’t. You can eliminate me too.”

  His eyes locked with hers. Breathing evenly, he showed no signs she could read of the quiet fury he’d unleashed when she accused him of sleeping with Brittany. She waited now, for him to proclaim his innocence. Prove he’d kept his word. Floyd growled and strutted away from her ankles, bumping against Pierce.

  “Arguing makes him nervous,” he said.

  “Lying makes me more nervous.” Why was she goading him?

  “I’m not going there, Quinn.”

  “Who then?” she demanded, her voice rough because she was afraid it would crack. “You didn’t tell Edward why you fired Rex. I didn’t, Michael didn’t. Who’s left?”

  “Tony.” The hurt in his eyes told her what this cost him.

  “Oh, Pierce.” Her own fury died like a storm blowing out to sea. She wanted to bury her face in his shoulder but couldn’t lift her feet. She should comfort him. “I...I jumped to a conclusion. I assumed Edward meant you were his source.”

  The hollow in her stomach burned with regret. “Can you for—”

  “Yes.” He pulled her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. “Now stop beating yourself up, okay?”

  She blinked tears, nodded. He tilted her head back, and she was sure he was going to kiss her. Instead, he said, “I fixed your favorite salad. Dinner’s ready whenever you are.”

  “Let me call Rex,” she whispered, vowing she’d give Pierce a real apology.

  “Take your time. I’ll call the police. See if there are any leads on Tony’s Jeep—or his whereabouts. Don’t tell me crime stops because it’s Thanksgiving.” The sadness in his tone brought tears.

  She turned away. Pierce Jordan appreciated no one’s pity.

  ****

  The phone at Rex’s apartment rang three times. Hang-up time.

  In conscience, Quinn knew she had to leave a message. She’d promised to touch base with him. She started mentally composing.

  Hey, Rex. Life today was just one damn thing after another.

  Let that gem sparkle for a minute, then reinforce it with solid examples.

  Talked with Edward. He’s digging around like a dog on the scent of a bone. She exhaled and massaged her temples. Mañana, she’d climb up on her white steed and fight the good fight. At the moment, she didn’t have energy to climb out of her chair.

  I wouldn’t count on working for him, if I were you.

  Her heart sank. If Edward said no, she was right back where she’d started on Monday—in the lowest level of hell. Expecting Rex’s voice mail, his live voice surprised her. She jumped, but said, “You sound out of breath.”

  “It got late. You didn’t call.” He audibly sucked in air. “I gave up. Went for a run.”

  “In this weather? You’re really dedicated.”

  “There’s not much I can do about my face. So I work with what I’ve got.” His pause seemed to invite admiring comments.

  Quinn felt herself flush
ing. Rex had a bod all right—apparent even in his business clothes. But if he expected her to ooh and ah over his muscles like a teen-ager, he’d better start smoking something stronger.

  Flattering him was not her agenda.

  “I’ve talked with Pierce. He refuses to write the letter you want—”

  “That bastard. That royal SOB.”

  She held the receiver away from her ear. Something that sounded like falling plaster came across the line loud and clear. Had he put his fist through a wall? His labored snorting and gasping sounded like an enraged ape about to fend off a wannabe alpha. Had he lost all control?

  “I know you’re upset.” Quinn Alexander, mistress of the understatement.

  “I know you’re upset,” he mimicked her accent and intonation perfectly.

  “Stop that,” she yelled.

  “Stop that,” he yelled back at her—in her own voice.

  Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. She willed her voice to neutral. “Would you like to hear what Edward Roslyn said? Or would you like me to hang up, call Michael and tell him I don’t owe you another damn thing?”

  “Call Michael.”

  She didn’t gasp, but her heart flipped over. That was the problem with being a bully. There was always someone eager to take your challenge.

  “Go ahead,” Rex said. “Make his day. Put the monkey on his back.”

  Patience. She stared up at the ceiling. “Let’s talk Monday about your interview.”

  “Sure, why not? Let’s put my life on hold for five days.”

  She winced. Caught between the cross-hairs of guilt and shame, she saw a way out. “How about talking tomorrow—after a good night’s sleep?”

  “Why not?” He sighed. “I won’t ask you when since tomorrow’s your bash.”

  Floyd was now slamming into the door—the way Quinn’s heart was slamming into her chest. She felt sick. Maybe she’d had a stroke.

  “Michael asked me to come there, but no way I’ll go...not with Luce so miserable.”

  The meteor in Quinn’s throat didn’t give an inch. “I thought you’d go to Florida.”

  “No. My mother’s in a nursing home. She asked me not to come, but I’ll see her at Christmas. At least that was the plan.”