Under the Covers

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Juliet hadn’t heard from Quinn, but rumor had it a cattle rustling had occurred at the north end of the county, so he’d probably been busy.

  He wanted to talk. Perhaps she should come clean and tell him the truth. He deserved the truth, even if he ended up arresting her. Maybe she could talk him out of cuffing her.

  Her laugh lacked humor as it echoed around the room. No way. She couldn’t talk him out of an arrest.

  She finished fiddling and eyed the main room as a whole. Deep jewel tones splashed across the oil paintings depicting tribal scenes, landscapes, and portraits of fascinating faces. The next room held charcoals, and the final room drawings. Without question, Sophie Lodge was incredibly talented. This showing would put the gallery on the map.

  Pride filled Juliet. While she wouldn’t be able to bask in the success, she’d accomplished her goals. She’d actually set out and done it.

  Now, she had to go break Quinn’s heart. But he deserved to know the truth. It was time to confess everything.

  Grabbing her coat, she locked the front door and hustled out of the building. The rain had stopped, but a tension-filled breeze swirled down the street.

  She wandered past storefronts, small restaurants, and a couple of delis before reaching the sheriff’s building. Breezing inside the two-story brick, she nodded at the elderly receptionist, noting that the sprawling reception room was empty.

  “Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”

  The receptionist pushed her cat’s-eye glasses up her nose. “The day’s chilly, Juliet. You here to visit the sheriff?”

  Juliet nodded.

  “Go on back. He’s not doing anything.”

  Juliet doubted that. But she skirted the counter and headed down the long hallway, passing several offices and cubicles. His office sat in the northern corner and looked out on the street. She paused at the doorway and gathered her courage.

  His unique scent of man and leather hit her the second she stepped inside. The fact that he wasn’t alone hit her next. She faltered.

  “Juliet. Did we have plans?” He rose from behind a scarred wooden desk. Lines of fatigue spread out from his eyes, but they warmed on her.

  “Um, no.” She glanced at the man rising from the leather guest chair.

  Tall, serious, he held himself with coiled strength. Just like Quinn. He held out a hand. “Reese Johnson. I’m an old friend of Quinn’s.”

  “Juliet Montgomery.” They shook. She cleared her throat. “Sorry about the interruption. I’ll catch up with you later, Quinn.” She pivoted to go.

  “Juliet.” Quinn’s quiet baritone stopped her cold. She turned. He grinned and edged around the desk to lift her chin and brush her lips with his. “You’re not interrupting. What’s going on?”

  A man who had no problem touching her, even around an old buddy. Juliet would bet her last penny the old buddy was from the military, too. She forced a smile. “Nothing. Really. I wanted to see if you had dinner plans.”

  He frowned. “We’re probably going to work through dinner. Ah, Reese is from the DEA.”

  The Drug Enforcement Agency? The words ripped through her with the force of a sledgehammer. “Oh.” She turned another smile on the guest, her posture straightening. Was he in town for her? He couldn’t be, so she focused back on Quinn. “I suppose you have a lot of work to do.”

  “Yes.” A puzzled light glimmered in his eyes. He grabbed his coat. “Let me walk you out, darlin’.”

  She stumbled as he maneuvered her through the doorway.

  Hustling her out of the station, he grasped her coat lapels. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything is lovely.” She donned her smoothest smile.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “You’re the most graceful woman I’ve ever met, and you just tripped on a smooth floor. Don’t get all society-like with me. Something is bothering you, and you’ll damn well tell me what it is.”

  “Nothing is wrong. I mean, I heard you investigated a cattle-rustling call this morning, and then I didn’t hear from you, so I was worried.” Not true. Not one word was true. She hadn’t worried at all until seeing a DEA Agent in his office.

  Quinn cocked his head. “You’re right—I’m sorry for not calling you today.” He tied her scarf more securely. “The call wasn’t for cattle rustling. We found a body on the edge of Miller’s northern pasture.”

  She gulped. “A body?”

  “Yes. Shot through the head.” He leaned down, his gaze serious. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone for the time being.”

  “I won’t.” She took a deep breath. “Why is the DEA involved?”

  “We think the deceased was involved with the prescription drug trade.”

  So much relief flushed through her, she nearly swayed. Prescriptions had nothing to do with her. Thank God her past hadn’t caught up with her. Not yet, anyway.

  Quinn tangled his fingers through hers and started down the sidewalk.

  She pulled away. “What are you doing?”

  “Walking you back to the gallery.”

  She tried unsuccessfully to free her hand. “That is not necessary. It’s barely dinnertime, Quinn. I can walk back by myself.”

  “No.” He tugged her into a sidewalk, his shoulders blocking the wind.

  “You’re a force of nature, Quinn Lodge,” she muttered, stepping over a mud puddle.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t believe I gave you a compliment.” She sighed. “Is Reese an old military buddy?”

  Quinn nodded at a couple of bankers exiting the Maverick Bank for the day. “We served together for five years. He’s a good friend.”

  “You really shouldn’t leave him to walk me home. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do.”

  “He can make phone calls while I’m gone.” Quinn slid an arm around her shoulders and tugged her into heat. “You’re getting all formal again.” He glanced down. “What I don’t understand is why.”

  She was saved from having to answer when they turned the corner and reached her gallery.

  Quinn stiffened. “Did you leave the front door unlocked?”

  The red door stood slightly ajar. “I don’t think so.” God, had she?

  He leaned down. Scrape marks slashed from the lock. He pushed her gently toward the road. “Cross the street and go inside the coffee shop. Stay there until I come and get you.” Without taking his eyes off the door, he flipped open his phone and called for backup. Then he pulled his gun free of his waistband.

  “Now, Juliet.” His quiet order held bite this time.

  Startled, she jumped and rushed across the road. The bell above the door of Kurt’s Koffees & Muffins rang when she hustled into the shop. Turning, she all but pressed her face against the window in time to see Quinn nudge the gallery door open with his foot and step inside, his gun sweeping.

  He disappeared from sight.

  Every ounce of her control went into keeping still, when all she wanted was to run across the street and make sure he was all right. But she’d distract him when he needed to focus. So she remained at the window, not daring to breathe.

  Two police cars screeched to a stop, and a myriad of deputies headed toward the building, guns out.

  Thank goodness.

  Minutes passed, although it seemed like hours. Finally, Quinn stalked outside.

  Relief filled her, and she sagged.

  His gaze caught hers, he hurried across the street, and shoved open the door. A thick hand banded around her arm. “Come with me, Juliet.”

  She nodded, slipping through the doorway. A harsh wind slapped her face. Quinn drew her closer, an arm around her shoulders. “I need you to tell me if anything was taken.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I left the door open?”

  “No, sweetheart. You didn’t leave the door open.” He maneuvered her inside. “Somebody picked the lock.”

  Dread filled her lungs. “Do you think it was the guys from last year?” Several businesses had been burglarized the previo
us year by a group of kids from Billings looking for fast cash.

  “No. We caught them. Plus, they did the standard smash and grab—broke open the door and grabbed what they could within five minutes. This guy picked the lock carefully. I checked through the gallery, as well as upstairs in your apartment, and didn’t discover anything damaged or missing. But you need to check.”

  The air felt different. Cold and out of sync.

  “My laptop is gone.” She’d left the HP on the desk by the front door before heading to the sheriff’s office. Her heart beating against her ribs, she rushed through the gallery, her gaze on the walls. Sophie’s paintings stood bright, dark, and dreamy as silent sentinels to the invasion. But they were safe. No art had been touched or taken.

  Thank goodness. Juliet’s breath whooshed out. Shaking her hands to release the tension, she followed the sheriff upstairs to her apartment, which appeared untouched. Finally, they ended up in her bright, cheerful kitchen, and she flopped at the table. “I guess they only took the laptop.”

  Quinn frowned, scribbling in a notebook. “I find that odd.”

  “That someone would take a laptop? It sounds like a smash and grab like last time.” She smoothed out the flowered tablecloth.

  He stopped writing. “I’m not sure. Something’s bothering me about this. Why pick the lock and leave the door open so you knew? It’s like somebody wanted to scare you.”

  “The entire situation bothers me.” She sighed. It seemed doubtful her past had finally found her, but she needed to come clean, anyway. She opened her mouth to spill all, when Reese charged into the room.

  He removed his baseball cap. “We have another body.”

  Juliet’s mouth snapped shut. No way would she tell all in front of the DEA agent.

  “Over on the south side of the county.” He glanced at his smartphone. “I have techs on the way. You coming, Quinn?”

  Quinn nodded and then grimaced as his cell phone buzzed. He yanked it to his ear. “What?” After listening, he closed his eyes and blew out air. “Is Colton with her? Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and opened his eyes to focus on Juliet. “Rich Jacoby passed away. The ambulance is taking him to the morgue.”

  “Is Colton with Melanie?” Juliet stood, her eyes widening. Melanie Jacoby and her grandfather were incredibly close and the only living relative either had. Now poor Melanie was all alone.

  “Yes. She called him after calling for an ambulance. I guess Rich was unconscious in the barn, and then he died. Colt will help with the funeral arrangements, I’m sure.” Quinn grasped Juliet’s elbow to escort her to the door. “I’m having a deputy take you to my place. Stay inside until I get home.”

  She tugged her arm free. Almost. “No. The showing is tomorrow night, and I have work to do.”

  Quinn’s unbreakable grip tightened. “You can finish up tomorrow. For now, I need you safe until I deal with death.”

  Well, since he put it like that. Juliet grabbed two notebooks off the counter. She could confirm details via phone from the sheriff’s home office. “Okay.”

  Lines cut harsh grooves into the side of his mouth. “And when I get home, we’re going to talk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Quinn hung up his cell phone, his gaze on the watery road outside his truck. The rain had increased in intensity, and his vehicle nearly hydroplaned through Miller’s Crossing. The deputies had better hurry up and place those warning signs before somebody got hurt. Night was about to fall, and visibility sucked.

  His mind spun, and his gut ached. Who would break into Juliet’s gallery and steal the laptop? More specifically, who would want her to know so clearly that she was robbed?

  His radio buzzed. “Sheriff? There’s a report of a fight tonight at the high school,” Mrs. Wilson said.

  He sighed and pressed the button. “I’m on my way.”

  Five minutes and several lightning strikes later, he pulled the truck into the high school parking lot. Teenagers milled around, forming a circle. He hit his patrol lights. They scattered like scared rabbits through the rain.

  Biting back a laugh, he jumped out and grabbed the closest rabbit by the collar. “Mr. Benson. Who’s fighting tonight?”

  Billy’s eyes widened, and he gulped several times. “I, ah, don’t know.”

  Quinn did. His gaze caught on the two young men by the bleachers. The juniors stood, guilt on their faces, hands clenched. Pride filled Quinn that they hadn’t fled. “Donny and Luke?” He released Benson with a small shove toward the kid’s Subaru.

  Donny nodded his buzz-cut head, and freckles popped out on his pale face. Luke shrugged and shuffled his feet.

  Quinn lowered his voice to his best “don’t-fuck-with-me” tone. “Get in the truck. Now.”

  The boys almost ran each other over to get in the truck.

  Quinn eyed the rest of the group. “Everyone else, get home before this storm hits any harder.” Pivoting on his cowboy boot, he jumped back into the truck and turned off the patrol lights.

  Donny stretched his hands toward the heater. “Are you arresting us, Sheriff?”

  Luke cleared his throat. “Um, for what? I mean, we were just standing there. Right?”

  Quinn maneuvered the truck onto the road. “You planned to fight.”

  “Is planning illegal?” Donny asked, hunching his shoulders.

  “Could be.” Quinn cut him a look. “I’m sure I could find something to book you on.”

  Luke glanced at Donny. “Your mom is gonna be pissed.”

  “No shi—kidding.” Donny groaned. “My mom is pregnant—very—and on edge.”

  Luke snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Shut up.” Donny elbowed him without much heat. “She’s kind of old to be pregnant.”

  Quinn coughed. “Jesus, Don. She’s only thirty-five. That’s not old, and your parents started early with you.” High school early, actually. But they’d stuck together, and they’d made it.

  “Yeah. Old.” Donny shook his head.

  Quinn took the turn out of town.

  “You gonna shoot us and leave us outside of town, sheriff?” Luke asked with a grin.

  “I might. You’re being such morons, I’d probably be doing your parents a favor.” Quinn shook his head.

  The tension in the truck abated as the kids realized they weren’t headed for the sheriff’s station.

  “Before I give you hell about planning a fight in my town, especially during a summer storm, why don’t you tell me what the fight was about?” Then he’d decide what to do with them. He wasn’t finished with them yet.

  The boys both shrugged.

  “Tell me, or we’re heading for booking.” Good thing he played poker regularly.

  Donny grimaced. “Sierra Zimmerman.”

  Figured. “You two are fighting over a girl?”

  “Yeah,” Luke said.

  Quinn increased the speed of the windshield wipers. “Sierra is a great girl. Smart as hell and just as pretty. But you two have been best friends since diapers.” He’d caught them once stealing apples from McLeary’s farm; they’d eaten so much they’d puked as he’d taken them home.

  The boys shuffled restlessly.

  Quinn sighed. “All right. Here’s the deal. If you like a woman, you fight for her. With everything you are.”

  Two surprised faces turned their full attention on him.

  “However, you don’t fight each other. You don’t fight your best friend. Show some class, show the girl you’re a solid guy who will protect her, and give it all you have. With class, strength, and dignity.”

  Luke scrunched up his face. “That’s confusing.”

  Quinn barked out a laugh. “Welcome to romance. If you two fight over Sierra and one of you gets hurt or embarrassed, then she’s hurt and embarrassed. Do you want that?”

  “No,” they both said instantly.

  “Exactly,” Quinn said.

  Don frowned. “You’re a big war hero who carries
a gun. Chicks love you.”

  God. To be young again. “Have you seen me use my gun?”

  “No,” Luke said.

  “Exactly. I have a gun, I have training, and I’ll use it if I have to. But I certainly wouldn’t use it against my friend.” Quinn turned into the Maverick subdivision. “If anyone ever comes after your family or your woman, you go after them with absolutely no mercy.” He was probably going to get his butt kicked by their mothers for giving such advice, but he’d always been honest with the kids and given them his best. “Other than that, you fight fair and don’t scare your girl. Ever.”

  “Fighting scares girls.” Don nodded sagely.

  Quinn shrugged. “Frankly, I’m not sure if it scares them, but fighting ticks them off. For the most part, they’re a lot smarter than we are.”

  “That’s for damn sure,” Luke muttered.

  “So, what are you going to do with us?” Don asked, his gaze on the lightning zigging across the sky. “We know you have something in mind.” Luke nodded next to him.

  Now he’d become predictable? “Tomorrow you’re both offering to clean up leaves and debris for Mrs. Rush and her neighbor, Mr. Pearson, after this storm blows over.”

  “Pearson’s making moonshine again,” Luke said.

  Quinn shook his head. “We dismantled his still. But if he starts walking around naked again, I expect one of you to give me a call.”

  “He likes being naked,” Donny said. “I mean, he’s not crazy or anything. He just said that at his age, the sun feels good on his wrinkles.”

  “Man, does he have a lot of wrinkles,” Luke chortled.

  “He’s over ninety.” Quinn snorted. “So, do you two have any questions for me now that we’ve talked?”

  Donny settled against the seat. “Are you going to marry the art lady?”

  “She’s pretty,” Luke said.

  That was not the type of question Quinn had invited. He sighed. “She is pretty, and I just started dating her.” He pulled his truck into Luke’s driveway. “Marriage is a long way off for me, kids.”

  Donny glanced at Luke. “As men, we’re stupid.”