by Hope White
“It looks so dilapidated,” she said. “You’d think Mrs. Wonderman would keep it up if she’s trying to sell it.”
“You sure you’re up to this?” Quinn asked.
“Of course.”
“Wait for me.” Quinn got out and came around to Billie’s side of the car as she opened her door. Joe stood close by, scanning the neighborhood.
The crack of a gunshot pierced the air; Billie shrieked and Quinn shoved her into the car.
“Get her out of here!” Quinn ordered the security guard. “Now!”
SIX
Billie grabbed Quinn’s arm. “Get in the car.”
“Let go, Billie.”
“You promised you’d call for help, that you wouldn’t do this alone.”
“After you’re safely away.”
Another shot rang out. Quinn dove into the backseat and slammed the door. “Let’s go!”
They peeled away from the house, adrenaline rushing through Billie’s body. Quinn pulled out his phone and dialed emergency.
“Shots fired at 124 Honeysuckle Lane....No....Yes.”
She focused on taking deep, calming breaths. She was okay. Quinn was okay. He’d done as she requested and gotten in the car. He was safe, not shot or beaten up or...dead.
As he spoke with the 9-1-1 operator, he glanced at her in question. Only then did she realize she was squeezing his hand. Hard. Embarrassed, she tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go.
“Yes, ma’am. Okay.” Quinn ended the call. “They’re sending a squad car. Anyone following us?” he asked Joe.
“No, sir. I don’t mean to overstep, but the shooter didn’t hit the vehicle or anything near us.”
“Meaning?” Quinn pressed.
“We were clear targets. If he’d wanted to hit us he easily could have.”
“He doesn’t want to shoot Billie, just scare her,” Quinn said.
“Well, he certainly succeeded,” Billie muttered.
Quinn squeezed her hand, then frowned. “Hang on a second. Turn us around, Joe.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Quinn, what are you—”
“It’s okay. You know I won’t let anything happen to you.” He glanced at the security agent. “Pull up to the corner, but wait until police arrive before you head down the street.”
“Will do.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes both a local and county sheriff’s police car had pulled up to the house. Billie, Quinn and Joe watched as the officers cautiously approached the house, guns drawn.
From this vantage point Billie had a clear view of the entire house. She spotted someone running out the back into the field behind the house.
“Quinn!” she pointed.
He pulled away from her and flung open his door. “Backyard!” he called to the officers, but they didn’t seem to hear him. Quinn got out and slammed the car door.
“No!” She reached for the door and heard the locks click.
“Sorry, ma’am,” Joe said. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”
She watched Quinn sprint down the street intersecting Honeysuckle, probably in the hopes of detaining the suspect. “What if he shoots Quinn?”
She saw Quinn catch up to the guy and they both went down.
“We’ve got to tell the police that Quinn’s not the bad guy,” she said.
Joe pulled up to the house and parked. One of the officers spun around and aimed his weapon.
“I could lose my job for this,” he muttered.
“Go, go tell him what’s going on, but unlock the windows so I can listen.”
He did and got out of the truck, hands raised. “I’m with Eagle Security. We called it in.”
“Spread ’em against the truck,” the young officer said.
Joe did as ordered and the officer searched him.
“The guy you’re looking for is out back,” Joe said. “My employer, Quinn Donovan, went after him and we saw them go down in the field behind the house.”
The officer spoke into his shoulder radio. “Check the backyard, over.” He turned to Joe. “Please wait in the car, sir.”
Joe got in the car and lowered his window. Billie fought the growing panic whirling in her belly. The other guy obviously had a gun and Quinn was unarmed. She clasped her hands to calm herself and said a prayer. God, please protect him.
A minute later, two officers escorted Quinn and a teenager around the corner. Both were handcuffed.
“Why is Quinn handcuffed?”
A black sedan parked next to their SUV and Detective Issacs got out of the car.
“Detective Issacs,” Billie called from her window. “I had permission to go into my old house, but we heard gunshots and Quinn went after a man who took off into the field.”
Detective Issacs glanced at the officer leading Quinn to a squad car. “I’ll take care of it.”
The detective went to the officer holding on to Quinn’s arm and flashed his badge. She finally saw the expression on Quinn’s face—clenched jaw, shuttered eyes—and almost wished she hadn’t. She knew that look and it made her nervous. It meant he’d completely shut down, that he’d gone to an even darker place than usual.
During the months as his personal assistant she’d learned to read all Quinn’s moods, from light and playful, to dark and distant. There was so much angst balled up in his body and she wished she could help him lessen that tension. Perhaps with God’s love she could convince him to let go of his anger?
The police officer uncuffed Quinn and Detective Issacs escorted him to the SUV.
Billie flung open the door. She was about to hug Quinn, but his eyes were so cold that she hardly recognized him. No matter, he needed a hug.
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight. He casually returned the hug. She wanted to hold on, but knew better. She broke the embrace and eyed the detective. “Thank you for clearing that up. Who was shooting at us?”
“A teenager who was squatting in the house, but he wasn’t shooting at you. Apparently he saw some kind of rodent and decided to play exterminator,” Issacs offered.
She glanced at one of the officers as he put the young man into the squad car. “Poor kid.”
“Are you still up for checking out the house?” Detective Issacs said.
“I don’t think—”
“Of course,” she interrupted Quinn. She knew he was trying to protect her, but she wouldn’t let a random shooting by a homeless teen change her course. She needed answers.
As the three of them headed for the house, Billie noticed Quinn rub his wrists, probably sore from where the handcuffs had pinched his skin.
“Why did they cuff you?” she asked.
Clenching his jaw, Quinn didn’t answer.
“They were being cautious,” Detective Issacs said. “I wish you would have called me before coming out here.”
“We figured you had enough on your plate without us calling you every ten minutes,” Quinn said. “What brought you here, anyway?”
“I was chasing a lead and heard the call. By the way, we won’t need your car for forensics.”
“Why’s that?”
“Turns out the driver was an inexperienced kid driving on a learner’s permit. He was late and got a little aggressive.”
“A little?” Quinn said.
“His mom saw the dented fender and the kid confessed. She called it in. I think she wanted us to put him in lockup.”
“Did you?” Billie said.
“No, but the chief gave him a lecture he won’t soon forget.”
They approached her old house and Billie got the key out of the lockbox. She took a steadying breath before opening the door. The subsiding adrenaline rush of the past ten minu
tes left her a bit drained.
“You okay?” Quinn asked in a soft, tender voice.
“Sure, fine.” She swung open the door.
The empty house didn’t even look familiar to her anymore. Without their furniture, artwork on the walls and knickknacks, this could be anyone’s house in any random town.
“How long has it been since you lived here?” Detective Issacs said.
“About a year.”
She wandered through the main room, running her hand across the rich wood mantel above the fireplace. She’d spent many a night sitting across from the fire, soothed by the orange glow of burning wood.
A discussion replayed itself in her mind. She and Rick had been brainstorming ways to pay the utility bill with only unemployment checks coming in. She’d wanted to increase her hours at the gift shop in town but Rick wouldn’t allow it. As she drifted into the memory, she tried remembering indications that Rick was changing from a good man to a criminal. Nothing jumped out at her.
She wandered through the house into the kitchen, remembering the loaves of sweetbread, and dozens of cookies she’d baked for church functions. She glanced at the pantry door where she’d kept her baking supplies.
A vivid memory rushed to the surface: the night she’d caught Rick hiding in the pantry. She’d teased him at the time, accusing him of playing hide-and-seek. In retrospect, she wondered if he had been hiding something other than himself in there.
She wandered to the pantry, opened the door and ran her hand along the empty shelves.
“What is it?” Quinn said.
“Not sure.”
A piece of paneling seemed a little askew and she pressed on one corner. It popped out, revealing a plastic bag of jewelry hidden in the wall. She snapped her hand back. “Detective?”
She backed out of the pantry and pointed. “This isn’t mine.”
With a latex glove, the detective grabbed the baggie. “Interesting. You knew this was here?”
“No, but I just remembered when I caught Rick hiding in the pantry and I thought it was strange.”
“I’ll take this in and run it for prints. Do you want to keep looking around?”
“I guess so.”
“Billie?” Quinn touched her arm. “We can leave right now.”
“No, I’d like to stay a few more minutes.” She stepped away from him, feeling ashamed at being in this house with Quinn. Not because she felt as if she was doing anything wrong, but as the memories surfaced she realized what a fool she’d been to be so blind about Rick’s secrets and lies. How many times had he told her he’d found an odd job on a construction project, or that he was going for pizza with Stuart to discuss job prospects? Was any of it true?
As she wandered into the living room, her gaze drifted to a dent in the drywall. She remembered how it got there. She’d suggested Rick meet with a job counselor, he’d lost his temper and kicked the wall.
She never thought he’d hurt her physically, but his rage had definitely increased. She wouldn’t leave him without a fight since she’d made a commitment, for better or worse, and she kept her promises. Billie wasn’t a quitter. She’d never given up hope that she could bring Rick out of his funk.
She wondered if such optimism had been a mistake.
“Okay, let’s go,” she said, heading for the door.
“Hang on,” Quinn said. “Detective, can you give us a second?”
With a nod, Detective Issacs went outside.
With gentle hands on her shoulders, Quinn turned Billie to face him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“I sense you remembered something and it upset you.”
“I’m fine. Can we go?”
Instead, he pulled her close and held her so gently that she thought she might fall apart. She reveled in the embrace for half a second before remembering her goal: to develop a new kind of strength independent of a man.
She stepped away and reached for the door. “We should get in touch with Rick’s friend Stuart. He knew him better than anybody, maybe even me.”
* * *
She was too quiet. Quinn glanced at Billie across the backseat and wondered what she’d remembered at the house that caused her dark mood. Dark or contemplative? He couldn’t be sure.
The only thing he was sure of was that her silence made him uncomfortable. He almost always knew what Billie was thinking. He never had to guess, and was rarely blindsided, like he’d been with other women.
Women who’d acted like they genuinely cared, when in fact they were usually interested in Quinn’s reputation or money, much like his stepmother, who’d married Quinn’s dad, spent all his money, then abandoned him when he was diagnosed with cancer.
But not before she did serious damage to Dad and Quinn’s psyches. Luckily Alex had gotten out of the house by joining the army. Quinn, on the other hand, spent six years dodging verbal barbs and taking emotional beatings, simply for living in the same house as his stepmother.
He wondered why his dad hadn’t fought back, hadn’t defended his son. Years later Quinn realized that his dad had been blinded by Sophia’s outward beauty and style. He thought that somehow it made him a better person to be married to a classy lady. Yeah, classy on the outside, ugly on the inside.
It had been a hard six years through his teens, but those years had taught Quinn the skill of hiding his feelings and developing a thick skin, so thick that even his ex-wife hadn’t been able to get through to him. She chose to end their marriage, claiming she wanted all of him or nothing from him. Since he couldn’t unlock the protective wall he’d built around his heart, she left him.
Yet Quinn never seemed to have a problem saying what was on his mind with Billie, and he sensed she knew what he was thinking and feeling, or at least knew when he was struggling with shame or regret.
Is that what was eating away at her? Did she feel regret about her marriage?
“It’s not your fault,” he blurted out.
She glanced at him in question.
“Whatever your husband did to pay the bills, he made that choice, not you.”
“We were partners. I’m partially responsible.”
“Billie—”
“Can we not talk about this?” she said with pleading eyes.
“Okay.”
She glanced out the window. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?”
“A good guess.”
Joe turned down Stuart’s street in Lake Stevens.
“Do you know what you’re going to ask Stuart?” Quinn said.
“You mean besides was he involved in my husband’s criminal ventures?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t ask him outright like that.”
“I’m kidding, Quinn.”
* * *
They parked in front of a four-story apartment building and Quinn got out of the car. He came around to Billie’s side, but she’d already opened her door.
As they strode up the sidewalk to the building, anxiety and hope whirled in Billie’s stomach. What she wouldn’t give for some answers right now. She pressed the button for unit 214. The door buzzed and they went inside.
“Hello?” a man called from above.
They climbed the stairs and turned the corner on the second floor. A tall man, about forty years old wearing jeans and a gray Washington State Cougars sweatshirt, hovered in the doorway.
“Hi, Stuart,” Billie said.
“Billie, so good to see you.” She and Stuart shook hands. Stuart eyed Quinn and Joe, the security guard. “Everything okay?”
“This is Quinn Donovan and Joe Miller. They’re keeping an eye on me until we sort through some things.”
“Come on in.”
Quinn nodded for Joe to keep watch beside the do
or in the hallway. Billie and Quinn went inside.
The apartment was clean but disorganized, with newspapers and magazines strewn across the coffee table, and a stack of books on the dining room table with notes sticking out from various pages.
“Finding work can be a full-time job.” He said in explanation. “But you didn’t stop by to listen to me complain. How can I help you, Billie?”
Stuart motioned them into the living room. Stuart and Quinn sat down, but Billie wandered around, inspecting a photo on a bookshelf.
“We’re interested in what Rick was doing when he wasn’t looking for work.” She pinned him with a serious look.
“You mean, the transportation gigs he got on the side?”
“Transportation?” Quinn questioned.
“He’d drive a truck over the border to Canada and come back the same day. Park the truck in Marshall’s Scrap Yard and get a hundred bucks cash from the cashier.”
“Do you know what was in the trucks?” Quinn asked.
“He said car parts.”
“Did you believe him?”
Stuart shrugged. “A part of me did, but the other part...” He hesitated and shook his head. “The fact he was getting paid cash made me wonder.”
“Did he recruit you to drive?” Quinn said.
“He tried, but I couldn’t risk it. I was trying to get joint custody of my son, so I couldn’t take any chances.”
Billie pointed to a photo of Rick and Stuart in the mountains sporting wide grins. “Where was this taken?”
“Cascade Mountains east of Lake Riley. You remember—we used to go fishing?”
“Oh, right,” she said.
“A friend of Rick’s had a cabin up there,” Stuart said. “It was a nice break from work.”
“Yeah,” Billie said in a contemplative voice.
“A detective from Echo Mountain P.D. might want to talk to you,” Quinn said. “He’s handling this investigation.”
“Into what? You still haven’t told me what this is about.”
Before Quinn could respond, Billie said, “I was assaulted on the trail a couple of days ago and we think my life is in danger. We need to be proactive and figure out what they want before someone else gets hurt.”
