Interesting.
Quinn swallowed the last of his coffee and said, “I’m off. You have my cell-phone number. Call if you need me. Okay?”
She sketched a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”
He raised a brow.
This smile dripped with sweetness. “Have a good day. Think of li’l old me waiting at home.”
He was laughing when he went out the front door.
And damned if he hadn’t been thinking of her ever since.
Over lunch Carter said, “What the hell are you smiling about?”
Wiping the smile from his face, he snapped, “Nothing.”
He called her twice to be sure she was okay. The first time she didn’t answer, and he assumed she was sleeping. Nonetheless, worry edged his mood until she answered in the early afternoon.
“Fine. And, yes, I’ve been good,” she assured him without being asked. “I’m watching Days of Our Lives right now. I’ve never watched a soap opera before.”
Once upon a time, he’d doubted she had the smarts to be interested in much but soap operas. Now he said, “So what do you usually watch?”
“Oh…movies.” Her voice became more animated. “Friends. I loved Friends. I cried during the last episode.”
He had the impression she cried a lot. Although in fairness, this last six months hadn’t been her best.
“Some of the BBC programs on PBS,” she continued. “I like British accents.”
What a reason to watch.
“Mostly, I’d rather read.”
“Explore my bookshelves,” he told her.
“Thanks,” she said. “Now go back to work. Catch some bad guys.”
“Can’t find this bad guy.” Marvin was still eluding them.
“Really?” Her voice softened. “You found me.”
“By chance,” he reminded her.
“If you’re looking for something, sometimes you stumble right over it.” Her laugh rippled out. “Maybe I should go into the guru business.”
“Maybe. Listen, I’ll rent some DVDs on my way home.”
“Would you?” She sounded hopeful. “Thank you, Quinn.”
Carter settled heavily into the chair across from Quinn’s desk. “Who was that?”
He guessed he couldn’t avoid telling a few people. He just didn’t want anyone to read the wrong idea into the fact that Mindy was living with him.
“Mindy Fenton. She’s hit a bad patch and is staying with me.”
“Bad patch?” Carter rubbed his chest absentmindedly in a way that was making Quinn nervous. He’d been nagging his partner to get a checkup. His retirement was going to be a short one if he ignored angina pains. Carter kept insisting he had heartburn. Too much coffee, he always insisted. Ate a hole in the esophagus.
“She’s pregnant. With Dean,” Quinn added hastily. “She’s due next month. But she’s got preeclampsia, which is some kind of hypertension thing that happens to pregnant women. The doctor wants her doing nothing but resting. That’s tough to do when you’re living on your own. I offered my spare bedroom.”
“Dean’s kid, huh?” Carter gave his chest a final pat. “He’d have really liked having a baby, wouldn’t he?”
“Yeah. He would have.”
They were silent for a moment, remembering a man who was still half kid himself.
Carter heaved a sigh. “What’s the plan for this afternoon?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Maybe we should put some more pressure on Abdul. I think he knows where his good friend Marvin is.”
“Yeah, why not?” Quinn shrugged and rose.
Marvin was their primary suspect in a drive-by shooting. A few other names had come up, but Marvin’s disappearance from his usual social scene didn’t proclaim his innocence.
They revisited several people, making them nervous per intention, but learned nothing new. Quinn watched his partner press his hand to his chest several times and surreptitiously pop antacid tablets. At five o’clock, he said, “Let’s hang it up. Damn it, Carter, make a doctor appointment!”
“Mind your own business,” Ellis Carter said without heat.
“For God’s sake, if you have heartburn you need something more effective than Tums!” Quinn glowered at Carter. “If you’ve got something else going on, you need to know it. I’m not in the mood for another funeral.”
Face flushed with rare anger, Carter said, “You never let up, do you?” and stalked out.
Quinn didn’t move. He sure knew how to make friends and keep ’em.
Thirty seconds after Carter had left, he reappeared in the doorway. Scowling, he said, “All right! I’ll make the damn appointment! Are you satisfied?”
Quinn smiled. “Yes.”
“Don’t smirk,” his partner snarled, before vanishing again.
Quinn walked out to his car feeling good. His step seemed lighter than usual. Pulling into the parking lot of the video store, he caught himself whistling.
He grabbed a few new releases almost at random, since he had no idea what she enjoyed. He skipped the horror and the blood-and-guts action stuff, choosing a British import, a romantic comedy, a weird-sounding independent film and Tom Hanks’s latest, which he’d been meaning to watch himself.
The house was quiet when he let himself in. He carried the cartons of Chinese takeout he’d stopped for into the kitchen, then turned to see her standing in the door in her pajamas.
“You’re home!” Mindy’s nostrils flared. “And you brought dinner.”
“Bored?”
“Not too bad yet. But getting there. And hungry.”
“Here, take some of these and go sit down.” He nodded toward the dining area. “I’ll get plates and we can serve ourselves.”
“Cool.”
She was happily peeking to see what he’d bought when he laid out plates and forks.
“Spring rolls. Heaven.”
“You’re easily pleased,” he said with amusement.
“Now that I’m not nauseated all the time, I’m hungry instead.” She took the glass of milk he’d poured from him. “Thanks.” When he pulled up his chair, Mindy asked, “Did you find your guy?”
“Guy?” For a moment he was blank. “Oh. Marvin. Nah.” For no particular reason, he added, “His mother doesn’t believe he’d have shot anybody. She doesn’t like guns and is convinced he feels the same, even though he’s gotten into things she doesn’t like.”
“Drugs?”
“Definitely drugs.”
She paused after a swallow of milk. “Is it possible he didn’t shoot anybody?”
Riveted by the sight of her tongue sweeping her upper lip, he had trouble making sense of what she’d said. “I guess anything’s possible.”
“Well, you’ll find him.” She gazed expectantly at Quinn. “Is that what you did all day? Look for Marvin?”
“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Nagged Carter into seeing a doctor.”
“Doctor?”
He found himself telling her about his partner’s “heartburn” and stubborn refusal to get it checked out. That got them off on health care, the costs for someone like her who wasn’t insured, then on to politics. Quinn surfaced to realize over an hour had passed.
“Hey, you need to lie down.”
She made a face. “I suppose.”
“I rented some DVDs.”
“Really?” She brightened. “What did you get?”
Mindy claimed to be delighted with his choices, and the next thing he knew the Tom Hanks movie was in the DVD player, Mindy was lounging on the couch and he was slouching in an easy chair.
It wasn’t bad, but he found himself enjoying watching her face as much as he did the movie. Her expressiveness was part of why he’d always seen her as young, he realized; she had childlike wonder in her eyes when she saw something that delighted her, some of a kid’s inability to hide her surprise and worry and unhappiness. Now, he hoped she never acquired a more sophisticated veneer. What kid wouldn’t like to grow up wit
h a mom with a giggle like that?
After she’d gone to bed, he washed their few dishes, giving her time to use the bathroom first.
Turning out lights, Quinn realized he hadn’t enjoyed an evening this much in a long time. He didn’t even mind that his bathroom had been taken over by a woman, and an untidy one at that. His mood was too good.
This was going to work out, he thought. For both of them.
CHAPTER NINE
“WHAT IN HELL do you think you’re doing?” Quinn couldn’t believe his eyes. His day had gone south with a frantic call from a mother who’d found her kid beaten to death. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your point of view—finding and arresting a suspect hadn’t taken as long as booking him. Still, he was two hours late home. He’d stopped to pick up a pizza and was just walking in the door.
Mindy was apparently just on her way out the door. Clutching a pillow.
“Pizza.” She looked at the box with longing. “I can warm some up when I get back.”
He ground his teeth. Did the words bed rest mean nothing to her? “Back from where?”
“My Lamaze class is tonight.”
“Lamaze.” He had the vague impression that Lamaze had something to do with puffing and panting. The purpose escaped him.
“Yes. You know.” One of Mindy’s hands fluttered. “Getting ready for childbirth?”
“Won’t your doctor be doing a C-section?” He’d done some research.
Mindy shook her head. “She’ll induce labor as soon as she thinks it’s safe. But she’d rather the baby be born naturally.”
Quinn didn’t move from his position blocking the door. “You can’t go out.”
“Yes. I can.” She looked steamed. “Quinn, I’m a big girl. You’ve been wonderful, but I don’t need a daddy to tell me what to do.”
His jaw tightened. “Expressing a little common sense makes me overbearing?”
She let out an exasperated puff of air. “I’ve been in bed all day. I even ate lunch in bed! I won’t be gone an hour and a half. I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“I’ll drive you,” he heard himself say.
Her expression softened. “You don’t need to. Really.”
Had she looked at herself in the mirror lately? Her stomach was so enormous, she waddled. He’d seen her struggle just to get out of a chair.
“I don’t know how the hell you’d reach the gas pedal by the time you put your seat back enough to get that belly behind the steering wheel.” He was wary enough to recognize the mutinous flare on her face. Quinn cleared his throat and moderated his tone. “I’ll feel better if you let me drive.”
“I feel like a teenager who’s been grounded.” Her lower lip looked as sulky as a teenager’s, too. She sighed again. “Fine. But we have to go now.”
“I’ll stick the pizza in the fridge.” He hoped she didn’t hear his stomach rumble.
He half expected her to bolt, but she was waiting when he hurried back to the front door. He gestured her out onto the porch and locked the door behind them. For a minute, he thought she was going to protest when he opened the passenger door for her, but all she did was mumble, “I feel like a beached whale,” as she set the pillow on the floor, gripped the door frame and lowered herself to the seat.
He followed her directions to a community center housed in a retired school building on Beacon Hill. The parking lot for El Centro de la Raza, surrounded by a ramshackle chain-link fence, was full of shadows behind Dumpsters and in stairwells. He parked by a cluster of other cars at one dimly lit end of the old school.
“I should have suggested you bring something to read.” Looking contrite, Mindy opened her door. “I’ll be about an hour.”
“I’ll walk you up.” Quinn didn’t give her a chance to argue. The damn place was almost deserted and the neighborhood not the best. Anybody could be wandering the halls in that place.
She was still trying to heave herself out when he arrived at her side of the car. He gripped her arm and pulled. She came faster than he’d expected and bumped right against him. Her stomach did a lurch and roll as if the kid inside was protesting—or trying to cut and run. It was the weirdest damn sensation, feeling that against his stomach.
“Thanks,” she said, straightening away from him. “Wow. I have a couple more classes, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make them.”
He restrained himself from saying, You shouldn’t be at this one. Instead, he took her elbow in a firm hand and gave her his support as she laboriously climbed the steps to the first floor.
Most of the hand-lettered signs on the doors and on the walls of the wide halls were in Spanish. Quinn seemed to remember that this school had essentially been seized by the community back in the radical sixties or seventies. Now, several of these old school buildings in Seattle housed community centers.
Mindy turned into an open classroom. Voices and light spilled out. Quinn started in behind her.
Chairs had been pushed against the walls. Eight—no, nine—couples stood around the room. The women ranged from maybe no more than six months along to one that—God help her—had to have twins in there. Triplets, maybe. Or else she was eleven months pregnant. Quinn could barely tear his incredulous gaze from that grotesquely enormous belly. And he’d thought Mindy was huge.
He came to himself when someone closed the door behind him and then clapped to get attention. He turned to see a dark-haired woman who had the body of a thirty-year-old, streaks of gray in her hair and a wide, beaming smile.
With apparent delight, she said, “We’re all here, so let’s get started. Mindy! You brought a partner. Wonderful!”
Alarmed, Quinn backed toward the door. “I’m, uh, just here to observe. Or… I’ll wait in the hall.” He had his hand on the knob when hers closed on his forearm.
“Nonsense! You did come with Mindy?”
“I drove her,” he admitted.
“And did you have plans for the next hour?”
He hesitated.
She beamed. “Well, then, why not give her a hand?” She chuckled. “Literally. Gentlemen, flex your fingers! You’re going to give our mothers-to-be back rubs. Ladies, lie down.”
Looking like a suspect caught in a high-intensity beam, Mindy stood stock-still. “Lorraine, Quinn is just a friend. He’s not, um… I mean, he was a friend of my husband’s.”
“Don’t be shy,” the Lamaze instructor told her with a gentle hug. “He doesn’t mind.” She turned a piercing gaze on him. “Do you?”
He could see the whites of Mindy’s eyes. Did she want him to bow out? But he could also see that every other woman in this room had a man kneeling beside her. He hated knowing that Mindy had been coming by herself from the beginning.
“No,” he said. “I don’t mind.”
“Splendid!” Lorraine went to the front of the room. “Now, a relaxed woman stays in control. Your job,” she told the husbands, “is to help her relax between contractions.”
“Quinn,” Mindy said in a low voice, “you don’t have to do this.”
“I really don’t mind.” He smiled, a little ruefully. “Besides, I’m scared of her.”
He was rewarded with a tiny chuckle.
“Come on. Lie down.”
As she set down her pillow and lowered herself to a mat on the floor, Quinn thought about stripping off his jacket but remembered that he still wore his holster and weapon. Wouldn’t want to send those mothers-to-be screaming into the hall.
As the instructor talked about finding the tension in his partner’s back and rubbing gently, he knelt, took a deep breath and laid his hands on Mindy.
Her shoulders felt incredibly fragile, the bones so fine he was afraid to squeeze too hard. There was definitely tension there—her body was so rigid, he guessed he could lift her above his head with one hand and she’d stay stiff.
He kept kneading as the instructor circulated, giving encouragement and chiding a few guys who were apparently ham-handed. Neck, shoulders, dow
n her spine and finally to the small of her back. Mindy made a tiny sound when he put the heel of his hand against her lower back and pressed.
Quinn yanked his hand back. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” She gave him a brief, shy smile over her shoulder. “It felt good. You found the spot that’s been aching.”
“Oh.” Okay. He went back to work, rubbing, kneading, loosening.
She sighed, murmured, moaned. She sounded a hell of a lot like a woman who was being…
Quinn slammed the door on that thought, appalled at the near miss. But a whisper seemed to slip under the crack at the bottom.
Pleasured. She sounded like a woman being touched in a different way.
He gave his head a hard shake. No, damn it! He couldn’t think of her like that. She was Dean’s wife. Right now, she needed a friend. And what was wrong with him anyway? The woman was eight months pregnant!
He was half relieved, half reluctant when the instructor suggested moving on to breathing exercises.
“Ladies, lie on your side or back, however you’re most comfortable.”
While the others ran through familiar exercises, she gave Quinn the five-minute lesson. Four shallow pants, one exhale.
“Count for her. Be firm. Look into her eyes. During labor, you need to compel her attention. You can’t let her focus slip.”
Feeling like an idiot, he counted and Mindy panted. Finally, Lorraine called a halt to the exercise and had the women sit up. Everyone pulled chairs out and listened as she talked about breast-feeding. Quinn was almost as unnerved by the discussion as he’d been by stroking his hands from Mindy’s neck to her tailbone. He kept stealing glances at her rapt face as she listened and then to the swell of her breasts above her ripe belly. She was definitely more buxom than she’d been. He found himself imagining the sight of her breast as she opened her bra for the hungry mouth of her baby. The image was enough to make him move uncomfortably.
The class over, they walked out to the car in silence. For the first time, he was thinking about her alone in labor, trying without any help to maintain her focus on the pattern of breathing rather than the pain. Damn it, he thought, why hadn’t she asked a friend to do this with her?
With Child Page 12
