by Susan Crosby
“Do you always work on Saturday?” she asked.
He realized he’d been holding his spoon close to his mouth without taking a bite. “We work when the job requires it. We take time off when we can, but it’s not often.”
“Am I keeping you from another assignment?”
He was never without work to do. Never. “Nothing that can’t wait a little. I won’t be spending all my time trying to track down Jenn. I think we’ll come up against too many dead ends, anyway.” He leaned toward her. “Claire, I know you want to do your share, but you need to let me run this investigation.”
She set down her spoon carefully, seeming to measure her words before speaking them aloud. “Meaning I should do nothing without clearing it with you first?”
“Yes.”
“Will you do the same?”
“I’m better equipped to take a lead and run with it.”
“No,” she said firmly, flatly, her fists resting on the table. “I don’t really want to do this at all, but since I am, it’s as a partner.”
“We’ll share results.”
“You mean you will. I, apparently, won’t be allowed to do anything that would result in my sharing results.”
“You’ll be here to field phone calls.”
“Oh, goody.” She crossed her arms. “No way, Mr. Gerard. I’m in this all the way or we’re not doing it at all. We’ll let her sink or swim on her own, which is my preference, anyway.”
He debated a moment. “This situation has gone beyond letting it resolve itself,” he said finally. And it wouldn’t give him the time with Claire he wanted, either. “Come with me.” He led her to the window, his hand on her shoulder. He pointed toward the street, the sheers offering a degree of security. “See the white minivan?”
“Yes.”
“The driver of that car has had your house under surveillance since I first started this job.”
She went very still, keeping her focus on the van. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know. My guess is someone connected with Beecham. The D.A. ran the plates. The car is registered to a woman who died last year. There’s a child’s booster seat in the back. Nice ploy.”
“Can’t he be arrested?”
“The car isn’t registered as stolen. The cops could talk to him and make him move, but he could come back, maybe hide himself better. At least this way we can spot him. He’s doing a lousy job of staying hidden, if that’s his goal. He pulled up while we were in Jenn’s bedroom.”
“You think he’s looking for Jenn?”
“I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it.”
She turned her head sharply, pinning him with a look. “Is that why you think she’s guilty? Because someone is on her tail?”
Because Claire’s serious expressions always turned him on, he wanted to slip his arms around her. “Or maybe someone is on her tail because they think she’s guilty.”
“If he’s been watching the house that long, he knows she’s not here.”
“Except that he just saw her car in the garage.” He watched Claire swallow. He wished he hadn’t had to clue her in on the man’s presence, but she needed to be aware of what happened around her. “I figure your sister escaped all of us. Maybe that’s why she left her car. Maybe she left on foot because it was the only way to avoid him seeing her. She’d already sent you ahead, figuring to draw me away, and maybe him, too. He’d been watching your house when I followed you to the blood bank, thinking you were Jenn.”
“Did he follow me?”
“No. I thought at the time it was odd, but I couldn’t watch him and follow you—or Jenn, as I thought—at the same time. Then I let it go because he wasn’t here later that day. If he’s been here all week, I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t had your house under surveillance this week.”
“If he knows Jenn isn’t here, why is he still hanging around?”
“Maybe he’s waiting to see if she comes back, because this is the only lead he has.” He finally gave in to what he was feeling and put his hands on her shoulders. Her body was stiff.
She looked into his eyes. “I wish I didn’t know he was there.”
“Knowledge is power.”
“I’m just a schoolteacher. I live a simple, honest life. Why is this happening?”
“Because your sister doesn’t live by the same rules as you.”
“I know that. I’ve always known that.”
He heard tension in her voice. Anger at her sister? Fear? He’d found that anything perceived as invasion of privacy sparked an above-average fear in people. The feeling of violation was too strong to ignore. “What can I do, Claire?” he asked, hoping she would answer honestly. “How can I make you feel safe?”
She didn’t hesitate. “Move in with me.”
Six
Stunned at her own words, Claire pulled away from him. She didn’t need a bodyguard. She just wanted him to stay. He’d kissed her. The thrill of it still resonated.
His silence made her uncomfortable. She realized she needed to make light of her request, as if she’d been joking. She picked up their dirty dishes from the table and carried them into the kitchen. “Don’t panic. I was kidding,” she said as she walked away.
He followed with the bread basket and butter dish. “If I thought you were in danger, I would never leave you here alone, Claire.”
“I really was kidding.” She’d given him an excuse to stay, and he’d rejected it. She should be grateful he hadn’t made a big deal of her moment of weakness. “But for the sake of argument, how do you know I’m not in danger?” she asked.
“Experience and intuition. But we can test him, if you like,” he said.
“How?”
“We go for a drive. If he follows, I’ll move in here with you for a while, if it makes you feel more comfortable. If he doesn’t, we know he thinks Jenn is still here. Or that she’s coming back. He seems to be just watching.”
Claire loaded the dishwasher and returned the rest of the soup to the refrigerator, appreciating the blast of cold air to cool her embarrassment. Why had she said such a thing to him? She barely knew him. All she knew for sure was that he tempted her.
She hoped the van followed them.
“Where will we go?” she asked, grateful he couldn’t read her mind.
“We’ll just drive.”
“Can I shower and change first?”
“Sure. I’ve got some work I can do. Take your time.”
She didn’t race up the stairs, nor did she take a longer shower than usual or do her hair or makeup differently. But she did remember to dab a little perfume on her throat and wrists, and she thought about him every second. Obsessed about him.
She forced herself to breathe normally as she walked down the stairs to meet him. He looked up from the table, stared at her for a moment, then stood as she approached. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, but she felt naked under his flattering gaze.
“I’m ready,” she said, a little breathlessly.
“Do you put Rase in the yard while you’re gone?” he asked, disappointing her a little. She wouldn’t have minded another kiss now that she was all cleaned up. He stuck his hands in his pockets, however, and she recognized that universal signal.
“He has a dog door, so he can go out when he wants to.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Taking her cue from him, Claire tried not to look through the windshield of the van as they headed to the car, although she was curious. Shouldn’t she be able to identify the man if he walked up to her on the street? She posed the question to Quinn when they got into Claire’s car.
“I’ve got a picture of him. I’ll bring you a copy.” He drove, his head grazing the ceiling of her little car. She leaned forward a little to look out the side mirror.
The van didn’t follow.
Quinn drove Claire back to her house an hour later, after cruising the city for a while and stopping for ice cream cones. The van was gone, but Quinn parked in
stead of dropping her off.
“I want to check out a couple of things,” he said as she opened the passenger door. “I’ll talk to you before I leave.”
“Okay.”
Curiosity darkened her eyes, but she didn’t question him. He liked that she understood already that he didn’t like to speculate. Cassie called him “task oriented.” Others weren’t as polite, saying he wore blinders, that he saw only the goal.
Maybe that was true in the past, but it was something he was trying to change, and one of the reasons he’d hooked up with ARC after years on his own—to expand his world, to get out of the shadows he’d lived in for so long that he’d been known by most people only by the nickname “Doc.”
From his car he watched Claire go inside her house. Then he walked up and down the street, evaluating vehicles, especially two delivery vans that could easily be used for surveillance. He checked the names of the businesses painted on the trucks—both were listed in the Yellow Pages. No cars were occupied.
Where was the guy in the white van? Quinn found his disappearance more unsettling than his hanging around watching. Maybe he’d been a decoy. Maybe a second car had followed them.
No. No one had followed. He was sure of that.
And was disappointed. He’d wanted the excuse to stay….
He knocked on Claire’s door. He could’ve just said goodbye, but he went inside when she held the door open in invitation.
“Sit,” she ordered Rase.
The dog looked at Quinn. “Sit,” he said.
“You want a dog, cheap?” Claire asked, exasperated as the mutt planted his rear on the floor.
“Just keep working at it. If I’m not here, he’ll start to respond.”
“There was a phone message from Marie,” she said, closing the door.
“She heard from your sister?”
“No.” Claire linked her fingers. “She said to tell you that you’ll be tempted to fight what’s coming up for you but that you shouldn’t. That you need to face it. Now or never, she said.”
Quinn hid his annoyance at the psychic nonsense. “Right. Listen, the van’s gone. I don’t see anyone else hanging around. Stay alert but don’t worry, all right? If no one has bothered you by now, I doubt they’re going to start. I’ll be back tomorrow morning with Jamey.”
She put a hand on his arm as he turned away. “Thanks for the ice cream.”
He faced her. She smiled, her eyes shimmering. He bet she was an amazing teacher. Nurturers were, and she fit the description. She was loyal, too, a trait he usually admired. But where her sister was concerned? Misguided loyalty.
She also ate ice cream as though it was her last meal, he thought, his gaze drifting to her mouth. She’d savored every slow lick of her cone. He’d eaten his in bites and was done in a few minutes. She’d taken fifteen. He’d wanted to lean across the table and kiss her when she was done, to feel how cool her mouth was and see how fast it could heat up again.
He’d resisted then, but now he covered her hand with his, holding it against his arm. Their gazes held. Her smile faded. The need to kiss her came alive inside him again, making demands.
She was fast becoming a complication.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Of you?”
No, he hadn’t meant that. He’d meant of being alone, of wondering if she was in danger because of Jenn. But maybe she saw more clearly than he did. Did he represent a danger to her? A threat to her peaceful existence?
More likely she was the one who posed a threat to his.
“I’ve never been less afraid of anyone,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “Never been so sure that someone wouldn’t hurt me.”
A huge burden of responsibility crash-landed on him with her words. “Maybe we need some rules of attraction,” he said, moving back.
“Do we?”
Was she irritated or amused?
“Things got out of hand today.”
“Yes.”
She was enjoying his discomfort, he decided.
“I know about the rules of engagement,” she said. “But what are the rules of attraction?”
“I’ll know them when I see them.”
She laughed. It went a long way toward relaxing him.
“I already broke a rule for you,” he said.
“Did you?” She cocked her head. Her eyes took on some sparkle. “What rule would that be?”
“Never get involved with a client. Or a subject. Or a co-worker.”
“I’m none of those.”
“We are working together.”
“We are working together toward a common goal.” She seemed to find it all amusing. “Do you have other rules?”
“Yeah.”
“Not sharing them?”
He shook his head.
“How do I know I’m breaking a rule if I don’t know what they are?” she asked.
“I’ll let you know.”
“Ahh. The old hidden-rules rules. Okay. I’ll play along. I’ve got rules, too, by the way, but at least mine are typed and put on the wall for everyone to see.”
Because he wanted so much to kiss that smile right off her face, he crossed his arms, putting a barrier between them. “What rules would those be?”
“I’ll show you.”
He followed her into a room that she used as an office. On the wall was a framed list: Rules for Teachers.
He read the first two out loud. “‘Teachers each day will fill lamps and clean chimneys. Each teacher will bring a bucket of water and a scuttle of coal for the day’s session.’ When were these written?”
“In 1872.”
He read the rest of the list, then came back to rule number six: “‘Women teachers who marry or engage in unseemly conduct will be dismissed.’ See? If we obey the rules of attraction, I’m saving you from dismissal.”
“And I’m giving your rules about as much credence as I give those,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think you should fight this, Quinn.”
He didn’t ask her to clarify. He knew what she meant. “Rule number one, Claire. Nobody gets hurt.”
“Technically, that’s rule number two. And no one can make that guarantee.”
He hadn’t anticipated this stubborn side of her personality. It was way too soon to be getting so serious, anyway. “Are you afraid to be here alone?” he said, deliberately steering her down a different path.
A few beats passed. “I’m fine.”
“You’ll call me if that changes?”
“Of course.”
“If you hear from Jenn….”
“I will let you know.”
She seemed to be waiting, probably for a kiss goodbye. Dammit. He left the room and headed for the front door.
“See you tomorrow,” she said from behind him.
“I’ll be here before Jamey.”
“Okay.”
He left. There were things he needed to do at his office—prepare a request for the transcripts from Craig Beecham’s trial, contact the prison where he was housed to get permission to see him, file some reports on ongoing cases.
Hell. None of it appealed to him.
He drove home instead of to the office. He parked his work car next to his classic Corvette in the underground garage, then took the stairs to his two-level loft in a converted warehouse. The industrial-looking decor seemed stark compared to the warm coziness of Claire’s house, but it suited him. He’d handpicked every item, from the black leather sofa and chairs to the chrome-and-glass tables, and stainless-steel-and-granite kitchen. Splashes of blue punctuated the space in the rugs, pillows and glass art he’d collected. Everything was spotless and neat. More than neat—orderly. Everything in its place. Nothing cluttered a countertop or table. No closet door hid disorder of any kind.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked an interior courtyard he shared with the other owners of the building, but he rarely used the space and knew little about his neighbors. He’d had no time for or interest in
socializing, but he hadn’t alienated them, either. He was used to being alone. Enjoyed it. Some people talked about being lonely, but not him. Alone was different from lonely.
Claire would be the type to be lonely, he decided, if alone too long.
He grabbed a bottle of beer from his refrigerator and booted his computer, then printed the photo of the man in the van for Claire. Afterward he reread the reports he’d written about Jenn’s surveillance, as well as the D.A.’s reports.
He navigated newspaper archives to read articles about the trial, which had ended a month ago with Beecham’s conviction. It was a fairly open-and-shut case. He’d been an investment broker who had managed to skim from the funds of his investors somewhere around five million dollars over a period of six years. Most of his clients were elderly, many had died, and he’d manufactured paperwork for the heirs showing substantially less money than was actually there. He’d skimmed from people still alive, as well, but in lesser amounts.
It was believed that he’d diverted the money to an offshore account, probably in Switzerland, but he hadn’t denied himself luxuries in the meantime. The house he owned, the one he’d shared for a year with Jenn, was worth over two million. It had been sold, but the equity went to the lawyers who’d defended him, not the people he’d swindled.
Beecham was methodical and greedy. Jenn Winston seemed like a good mate for him. Claire would argue his opinion of her sister and be defensive about her, too—as sisters should be under most circumstances.
Quinn dragged a hand down his face then walked away from his computer and his thoughts. Night had fallen. He took some Chinese take-out containers from the refrigerator. Almost instantly he returned them. He needed to get out of the house.
He grabbed a well-worn leather jacket and slipped into it. His cell phone rang as he was turning out the lights. He’d programmed Claire’s number into his phone, so her name showed up as the caller.
