by Susan Crosby
“I talked to Marie,” she said after exchanging greetings. “She said Jenn was supposed to send her a check.”
Quinn straightened. “She’s mailing it?”
“Marie assumes so.”
“Is there some way you can manage to see the envelope—and the postmark?”
“Not without telling Marie what’s going on. I don’t drop in on her.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because Marie feels a connection with you. If you went to see her as a client, you—” She stopped, blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“You think I should do some snooping?”
“Well, she works out of her home. She puts her mail on her kitchen counter next to the refrigerator. Look, I want to prove my sister is innocent. I’ll do whatever is necessary to prove that to you.”
“Even suggesting I violate Marie’s privacy?”
“Whatever it takes—within reason. This is within reason to me.”
He grabbed a pad and pen from a kitchen drawer. “Give me her address and phone number.”
She did, then she said, “Just because you go to see her doesn’t mean she’ll believe that you believe she’s psychic. You’ll have to convince her. She can spot a skeptic.”
He’d played so many roles in the past ten years, he should be given an Oscar. “Thanks for the advice, and for the information.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
After he hung up he contemplated Marie’s address and phone number. Psychic. Right. She said his past was going to catch up with him. Hell. Everyone had a past. It was a blanket statement applicable to anyone at all, any sucker needing to believe.
He didn’t need anything.
No. A week ago he could’ve said that and had it be true. But he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Seven
Claire had just served Quinn a cup of coffee the next morning when Jamey Paladin arrived. About as tall as Quinn, Jamey looked slightly older, broader and more overtly muscular, with hair longer than Quinn’s, and friendly green eyes. His less intimidating presence helped settle her nerves.
She’d hardly slept, anticipating the crime she was about to allow, but also anxious to see Quinn again. He hadn’t kissed her good morning. She had to assume he had decided to stick to the rules-that-made-no-sense.
“You can break into the car without tripping the alarm?” she asked Jamey as they went out the front door.
“I’ll give it a shot.”
She turned around sharply. He grinned.
“Don’t worry. No one will hear anything.”
She lifted the flap covering the remote opener, then didn’t key in the code.
“Having second thoughts?” Quinn asked from behind her.
“I’m just not sure if I want to know.”
“I can’t force you, of course,” he said, his tone cool. “But I thought you wanted answers.”
“I think you want answers more than I do.” She punched in the code. The door lifted—
“It’s gone,” she said, stunned. “Her car is…gone.”
“You didn’t hear anything during the night?” Jamey asked, stepping inside.
“Nothing. Rase— The dog didn’t bark, and he hears everything. Everything.” Her voice echoed in the empty space. Surprise echoed in her mind. She faced Quinn. “If Jenn came and got it, it means she’s still in town.”
“If it was her.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Her mother?”
“Marie doesn’t have a key. Plus, she’d asked Jenn if she could use the car, but Jenn said no.”
“No signs of forced entry,” Jamey said. “You think it was taken last night?”
“It was here yesterday. We saw it,” Claire said.
“We were also away from the house for an hour,” Quinn reminded her. “And when we returned, the van was gone. That seemed significant, but we didn’t know what to make of it. And if you didn’t hear Rase barking, maybe that’s because it didn’t happen during the night.”
Confused, Claire shoved her hair away from her face and stared at the floor. “How could someone have gotten into the garage and the car without breaking in?”
“Maybe the guy in the van had binoculars, and when you punched in the code, he intercepted it.”
He was reminding her of his caution yesterday without saying I told you so. She’d thought he was being paranoid, as someone in his line of work would be.
“But still, he would’ve had to bypass an alarm and hot-wire the car.”
“Which can be done,” Jamey said. “What was in the car?”
“We hoped there would be clues of some kind,” Claire said. “But we thought maybe more than that, maybe money. Should we report it stolen?” She looked at Quinn for an answer, but she already knew she would call the police, no matter what he said. If nothing else, the police might pull Jenn over, determine the car wasn’t stolen, and then Claire would know she was still in town.
“Yeah, we’ll definitely report it.”
Jamey left. Quinn and Claire returned to the house to locate the make, model and license plate of the car in the paperwork still on the dining room table. Quinn then called the police, talking to someone he seemed to know personally.
Claire didn’t know what to think. Had Jenn taken the car? It seemed unlikely that someone else had managed to get into the garage, disarm the alarm and take off without her knowing. Without Rase barking.
If Jenn had taken it, why now? Why not before? It was still a bright red convertible that screamed to be noticed.
Quinn ended the call and tucked the phone in his pocket. “You okay?” he asked.
She was fine. She really was. “It’s all just a mystery, you know? We’ll have the answers at some point. And look at the bright side—I’ve got my garage back.”
“Right. I think the next step is to visit Beecham in prison and see what he has to say. I can go alone….” He let the sentence trail into a question.
“I’d like to go, too.” She surprised herself with the answer. Until the car had come up missing, she’d been curious but not worried about Jenn. But now her curiosity had tumbled closer to concern. “Do you think he’ll talk to us?”
“Sometimes criminals who’ve gotten away with something like to talk. Not that they necessarily say anything, but there are some who love to talk in generalities and tease with hypotheticals. I’ll request permission to see him.” His jaw clenched. “Claire, he’s not in a maximum security facility, but if you’ve never been in a prison before, it may be—”
“Disconcerting?”
“At the least.”
“I’ll be okay.”
He held her gaze for a few seconds then nodded. “Yeah, I think you will. Well, there’s nothing else to be done at the moment. Someone will come out from the P. D. and take a look at the garage, so don’t park your car in it until they’ve checked it out.”
She wanted to ask him to stay, but she couldn’t come up with a good reason. The van was gone, and there was no other worry that they knew of. She wished the van was out there…. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’ll let you know when we have permission to talk to Beecham, but feel free to call anytime—about anything.”
She crossed her arms because she wanted to hug him. Life was making some fast changes, and she needed something stable to hang on to. “Okay,” she said instead.
He started to leave then turned back and just looked at her. She tried to keep her expression neutral.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay.”
She followed him to the front door.
“’Bye,” he said, his hand on her shoulder.
Then he cupped her face and her knees wobbled.
“Claire.” He said her name in a whisper of sound, not quite a question, not quite a need, but something in between.
They moved toward each other. Her arm
s went around him at the same time that she felt his slip around her. She nestled against him. His chest was solid. His heart beat steadily. It had been a long time since she’d been held and comforted. But this was more than that. This made her heart pound and her eyes sting.
He tucked her closer when she uttered a little sound of contentment, then he stroked her hair, catching the ends between his fingers, creating friction that crackled around and through her.
You feel wonderful, she told him silently. You feel like forever.
He let go first but didn’t step back. She let her hands drift down until they touched his. He wrapped his fingers around hers then tightened. She met his gaze. Watching her, he lowered his head. His lips touched hers softly, lightly, exquisitely, brushing hers, lingering. Because he wouldn’t free her hands, she arched her back, reaching toward him but unable to make contact except with her lips. A sigh slipped out, full of longing. He deepened the kiss, making magic of the moment, memorable and electrifying.
He backed away. She opened her eyes, hoping to catch him unguarded, but his face revealed nothing.
“You figure since we already broke the rule, it doesn’t matter how many times?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
“So, rule number three is to be flexible.”
She waited until he shut the door behind him, then she leaned against it and grinned at the ceiling. Jenn was right about one thing—blondes do have more fun.
On Monday morning Quinn charmed Marie DiSanto’s elderly neighbor into giving him an approximate time the mail was delivered, then he parked near her apartment, rolled down his window and waited. If Jenn had mailed the check on Saturday, when she’d talked to Marie about it, and she was still in San Francisco, it should arrive today.
He had no idea whether Marie was home. Her mailbox was attached to the building, and accessible—that was all that mattered. Breaking the law by sifting through her mail sat better with him than faking interest in her psychic hocus-pocus.
Quinn tapped the steering wheel, although he didn’t have the radio on. Honest with himself, he acknowledged a restlessness since…well, since he’d kissed Claire. Yesterday. And the day before. It seemed like weeks ago.
Stupid move. Really stupid move.
He glanced at his right side-view mirror and spotted a woman and a dog jogging down the hill. Recognizing the long legs and bouncing blond ponytail, he keyed the ignition far enough to roll down the passenger window. But before he could call out to her, she slowed, cutting toward his car.
She leaned down and smiled. “Good morning.”
Rase slammed his paws on the door frame and grinned, his rear end moving like a metronome at top speed.
“Down,” he ordered the dog, who obeyed. Quinn shifted his gaze to Claire, who looked relaxed and tense at the same time. “You’re a long way from home,” he said.
“It’s a nice day for a jog.”
He looked through his windshield at the wet, chilly morning. “Right.”
Her eyes sparkled. Her lips—her very kissable lips—curved into a bigger smile.
“Hop in,” he said, then cringed when she opened the back door to let Rase in, his damp paws leaving tracks along the upholstery. Claire slipped into the front seat. Rase bounded toward Quinn and licked his ear.
“No,” he ordered. “Sit.”
“He’ll almost do that for me now,” Claire said, watching the dog back up and sit down.
“So, what really brings you here?” he asked, giving Rase a look designed to keep him in place. “You didn’t jog from your house.”
“Didn’t I?”
“You live four miles away, and you’re not winded.”
“Caught.” She leaned against the door, her arms crossed. “I thought, what would Quinn be doing today? Staking out Marie’s mailbox, I decided. So I came to keep you company.”
Her voice carried an edge of something—accusation, maybe. “I wasn’t excluding you. You said I should deal with Marie myself.”
“I changed my mind.” She smiled sweetly.
He wouldn’t encourage her by laughing. “Woman’s prerogative?”
“You never change your mind?”
“Sometimes.”
“But not often?”
“No.” He angled toward her a little more. “Did you sleep okay?”
She nodded.
“Is that the truth?”
She leaned forward and touched the back of his hand. He resisted capturing hers in return.
“I slept,” she said.
“I drove by your house on my way here. No sign of the van.”
“Nope.”
“No calls from Jenn?”
“I would’ve told you.”
He wanted—needed—to kiss her good morning. They stared at each other for a few seconds. Her gaze drifted to his mouth, then she pulled her hand away.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, sitting back.
He didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry that the moment had passed. “Wait for the mail to be delivered. See if I can get a look at it.”
“What, you don’t want to spend any time with Marie?” she chided.
“I’ll do what I have to do.” He’d done plenty for his job he would’ve preferred not to, although that was before he’d turned respectable.
“I feel like I’m taking you away from your work.”
“It’s fine.” He’d gotten by on three hours of sleep plenty of times before. He noticed how she rubbed her arms. “Your ‘nice day’ is a little cooler than you anticipated?”
She half smiled. “Maybe I should jog around the block until something happens.”
He peeled his sweater over his head then settled it over her.
“Warm,” she said, dragging her arms through the sleeves then hugging herself. “Thanks.”
Awkwardness hovered between them. He wondered if she had a clue how much she tempted him. “Here comes the carrier,” he said, eyeing his rearview mirror. He registered the time—10:30 a.m. Right on schedule. Quinn watched the man sort through the stack in his hand as he approached Marie’s apartment. He slid one white legal-size envelope into the mailbox Quinn had already identified as hers, third from the left.
Claire put her hand on the door handle.
“Let him get out of sight,” he said.
She sat back but was poised to move. “I don’t think I have the patience for this kind of work.”
“Being a first-grade teacher doesn’t require patience?”
“Naw. Just fortitude.” She grinned. “Now can we go?”
“I go. You stay.”
“But—”
He shook his head. “You can’t be involved in this.”
She looked away from him, toward the building instead.
He left the car and climbed the four steps to the landing. His eyes on the glass entry door, he lifted the flap on the mailbox, pulled out the envelope—
“It’s a federal crime to tamper with someone’s mail,” a voice called out.
Eight
Quinn looked up to find Marie leaning out an open window.
“What’re you doing?” she asked.
“I came to see you.” He held up the envelope. “Your mail was just delivered. Thought I’d bring it up.”
A few beats passed. “I’ll buzz you in.”
He glanced at the car before he let the door close behind him. He couldn’t see Claire’s expression through the windshield, but he imagined her panic and was glad he’d made her stay behind. Marie would’ve seen through any kind of lie Claire attempted.
The apartment door was open. He could hear her talking as he walked in, the pauses indicating a phone conversation. He passed her the envelope, the return address a doctor’s office, then wandered around the room while she finished her phone conversation. Crystals, candles, velvet fabrics, glass-bead curtains hanging in the doorway to the hall. No surprises there. The scent that had clung to her the first time they’d met lingered
in the air. Incense or scented candles, he wasn’t sure which, a pungent odor, but not unpleasant.
He spotted a FedEx envelope on a brass-and-glass coffee table partially draped with a fringed fabric. The envelope had been opened, the air-bill missing from the clear plastic pouch. It could’ve been from anyone, arrived at anytime, but he had a gut feeling it was from Jenn. Despite the fact that the room was cluttered with things, it wasn’t cluttered with trash. The envelope stood out in that it was trash.
“You are ignoring the obvious,” Marie said into the telephone. “We talked about that, Monique.”
Quinn looked out the window and spotted Claire staring up at him. She put a hand over her mouth.
“I can squeeze you in this afternoon. Around four?” Marie said, then ended the call. “I’m surprised to see you…Mr. Gerard, is it?”
He faced her. “Quinn. I’m surprised to be here.”
She smiled at that, although not with her eyes. She set the phone aside. “I pegged you as a nonbeliever.”
“You pegged right.”
“Yet you’re here.”
He shrugged.
“Have a seat.”
He sat on the sofa and stretched his arms along the back, intending to seem relaxed and open. She seated herself in a chair that looked more like a throne. Her long red hair flowed around her like a curly royal robe. Her posture regal, she lit a candle beside her and closed her eyes.
He did not want to do this. Resistance rose up in him like a river hitting flood stage. Claire had warned him he would have to convince Marie, that she could spot a skeptic. He decided it was better to let his resistance show. She would believe that.
She opened her eyes, placid now. “What question are you seeking to have answered?”
How soon can I get out of here?
He hesitated too long. Her expression changed, intensified. “Why are you really here?” she asked.
He couldn’t speak. Images sprang to his mind, fresh because of Claire and her situation, so similar to his. He blocked them as best he could.
“You built thick walls around you,” Marie said, moving her hands like a swimmer treading water, the jangle of her bracelets surprisingly soothing. “I can’t break them down, or even penetrate them.”
