Becca made a quick survey of her attire of black slacks, white short-sleeved shirt and comfortable black loafers. As she passed the mirror in the entry hall, she caught sight of herself and paused. The second she began to turn her head from side to side, she stopped, amazed at herself for worrying about her appearance. This wasn’t like her at all!
Quinn would be coming to her home often over the next month, and she’d better get used to that and not fret about how she looked. Plastering a smile on her face, she swung the front door open. Quinn stood on her porch, appearing irresistibly handsome in faded jeans and a light-blue T-shirt with the name of his company on it. A thick brown leather tool belt encircled his waist. A cocky grin and a gleam deep in his brown eyes greeted her, sending her heart beating in double time.
“I hope I’m not too late,” he said, his stance casual while Becca felt anything but casual.
The dimple that dented his cheek riveted her attention for a few long seconds before she managed to peer away and stare into those eyes that glinted with humor. The beating of her heart kicked up another notch. Her mouth went dry.
Realizing she needed to say something, she cleared her throat and said, “C’mon in. I just finished breakfast. I have an extra muffin if you would like it.”
He shook his head and came into her house, closing the door behind him. “I stopped by the Stagecoach Cafe, and Mom insisted I have a big breakfast. That’s why I’m a little late. I should have known she would do that. One of these days I’ll learn, especially if I have a place to be. She’s just so sure I’m wasting away to nothing and every opportunity tries to stuff food down me.”
Listening to him talk about his mother produced a memory from her childhood that she had tried not to recall. The morning her mother had received the news that her husband was being held hostage in a bank robbery burned itself into Becca’s mind as though it had happened only yesterday. From that day forward she had been the strong one in the family. Her father had been one of the unlucky hostages and hadn’t walked away from the bank. A gunman had shot her dad as a warning to the police not to mess with him. Her life, along with her whole family’s, had changed forever after that. The memory produced a constriction in her throat.
Walking ahead of Quinn toward the kitchen, she was glad that he couldn’t see her face. She was afraid of what he would discern. As a police office she’d learned to school her features into a bland expression—giving nothing away to a suspect that she didn’t want them to know. As she entered the room, she kept her back to Quinn for a few extra seconds while she composed herself to present that neutral facade she’d become so good at.
Slowly she turned to face Quinn, whose attention was on the lopsided cabinet door. “Now you see why I need you.” The instant she said that his gaze swung to hers, and she desperately wanted to retract what she had blurted out. “I mean, this kitchen is falling apart before my very eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if when you come next there’ll be another door off. The hinges have to be from the turn of the twentieth century.” She couldn’t believe she was chattering like a nervous schoolgirl.
But she was nervous, she thought. There was something about Quinn that spoke to her and that scared her more than facing down a gunman. She licked her dry lips and went to her purse to retrieve his key so she could leave before she really said something she would regret.
“I aim to please,” Quinn finally said, continuing his survey of the room. “I’m liking that motto more and more.”
The humor in his voice eased her tension and she relaxed. Withdrawing the key from the bottom of her black leather purse, she covered the distance between them and held it out. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it. She was positive an electrical current had arced between them and run up her arm. Now she really was being ridiculous. That wasn’t possible.
But his eyes widened for a few seconds as though he felt the connection, too. He pulled his hand away and pocketed the key. “I’ll be the only one to have this.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you understanding about the key. You can never be too safe.”
“Hey, my brother was a police officer, so I’ve gotten the lectures from him on several occasions, the last one being the fire at Montgomery Construction.”
“You can take precautions, but if someone wants to get to you badly enough, they most likely will.”
“But I’m not going to make it easy. Brendan and Ken Vance helped me beef up the security so hopefully nothing like that will happen again. But I won’t breathe easy until Escalante is found. I’m sure he’s behind everything that’s been happening in Colorado Springs lately.”
“Now that we know he’s alive, we’re searching for him.”
“So are the FBI and DEA, since he’s back to his old tricks again. But with his altered face it won’t be easy. If he was behind the attempted murder of the mayor, which I’m sure he was, then that means he has been here for five months and we didn’t know it until Alessandro encountered him in the caves under the museum.”
Becca thought of Dahlia’s safety deposit box. “Thinking Escalante is behind the murders is one thing. But we still have to prove it.”
“Are you making any headway in that department?”
“We have a lead that Sam and I are following up on this morning.” She glanced at her watch. “In fact, I’d better get going or my partner won’t be too happy.”
Quinn placed a tall red thermos on the counter by the sink. “I hope it pans out because I don’t like looking over my shoulder everywhere I go. Several times since the fire and bombing of the hospital wing, I’ve thought someone was watching me.”
Becca paused in gathering up her purse and swung around to face him. “Why didn’t you say something before now?”
He shrugged. “It’s probably just my imagination.”
“I’ve learned to listen to my inner voice. Don’t discount your gut feeling.”
“Oh, great, now I really am worried,” he said with a chuckle.
She grinned. “Somehow I suspect you can take care of yourself,” she said to alleviate his anxiety. He certainly was big and strong, but she would do the worrying for him. She’d talk to Sam and see if he knew of anyone else in the two families who felt he was being watched. “Lock the door after I leave,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked toward the back one.
When her hand was on the knob, he asked, “Will you tell me what became of the lead if I’m here when you get off today?”
She glanced over her shoulder, taking in his creased brow, his eyes that held concern. “Yes.”
Later that morning at the bank, Becca waited until the door was closed, shutting her and Sam into the small windowless room near the safety-deposit-box vault, before she lifted the lid to peer inside the metal container. Seeing a black journal nestled within, she hurriedly removed it as though it would disappear if she didn’t take possession of it. Sam crowded next to her, peeking over her shoulder as she opened the book and began to read.
“We’ve hit pay dirt,” she said as she flipped through the pages, scanning the information laid out in the journal that Dahlia had written right after the incident in the tunnels with Escalante and Alessandro. “She names names.” Becca tapped the page. “And here is the reason why I think Dahlia was killed. She’s Alistair Barclay’s half sister. I bet Escalante found out and didn’t like the fact that his partner was related to the man I’m sure he had killed in prison for turning on him. That would explain quite a bit—one being why Dahlia kept a journal in the first place.”
“Insurance in case something went wrong, which it did. She wanted Escalante to pay for her half brother’s death.” Flipping the page, Sam pointed to Harry Redding’s name. “So he did shoot my uncle, which makes his apparent suicide even more suspicious. Another murder to add to the long list.”
“And here’s the information about O’Brien’s murder, confirming it was Stark who had shot him. O’Brien wanted out. He thought he had repaid his gambling debts severa
l times over with the hospital fire and arranging for someone to plant a bomb at the hospital. Obviously Escalante didn’t and ordered him killed.” Amazed at the information contained in the journal, Becca turned the next page and stopped, her gaze glued to a prominent name in the black book. “This is explosive. If it’s true, and I can’t see why it isn’t, then this will definitely shake up Colorado Springs.”
Sam frowned. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but we need to do some checking before we bring in the deputy mayor for questioning.”
“There should be a money trail somewhere that we can use to verify what Dahlia claims. We also need to have a handwriting expert confirm this is Dahlia’s handwriting.”
“Until then, let’s keep this confidential.”
“Yeah, your uncle doesn’t need this on top of everything else that has happened to him since he was shot. Just think how easy it was for Dahlia and Escalante to operate with the acting mayor on their payroll.”
Sam slammed the lid down on the safety deposit box. “As soon as we verify the money Dahlia claims she paid for Owen Frost to look the other way, we can have a little chat with the man and find out what he knows.”
“If he’ll talk.” Becca hugged the journal against her chest, excited for the first real break in the myriad of cases they hadn’t been able to solve over the past few months.
Becca parked her car next to her house and slipped from the front seat. Exhaustion leadened her steps toward her back door. She’d noticed Quinn’s blue truck and looked forward to taking her mind off murders, suspects and money trails for a while. She’d been surprised he was still there since it was nearly eight o’clock, but glad he was.
The sun was slipping down below the mountains to the west as she pushed open her back door and entered her kitchen. She came to a halt. Before her the cabinets had been stripped from the walls. Earlier she had removed all the items to the dining room after her college class the night before, but seeing the sight made it clear she was finally doing something about her house.
Quinn glanced up from measuring a space by the refrigerator, a smile sliding across his mouth. “Long day?”
She nodded. For a flash, she imagined coming home after a tiring day to find Quinn waiting for her. The picture threw her off-kilter, and she nearly stumbled as she moved toward the table. Thankfully she was near enough to the chair to clasp its back and steady herself. “We have a lead we’re tracking down.”
“Can you tell me what?”
“Not yet. Soon. If it pans out, though, some questions may finally be answered.” Actually, once everything in the journal was verified most of the questions would be answered—except where Escalante was hiding.
The radiance of his grin grew. “Good. It’s about time.” He put down his tape measure, peering at the kitchen clock. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’d better be going. I can imagine you’re tired.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to rush off.” She scanned the room. “You’ve certainly been busy today.”
“I don’t want you to be without a kitchen for too long. I’m gonna get this done first before we tackle the attic and ceiling in the bedroom.”
She leaned into the chair, her grip on it tightening as a wave of exhaustion flowed through her. “I probably should have picked up something to eat on the way home. Didn’t realize you would be so far along.”
“I haven’t eaten, either. Want to go with me to the Stagecoach Cafe and get some dinner? My treat.”
Like a date? No, she decided, it was just Quinn being nice. The prospects of cooking didn’t sit well with her. The prospects of being with Quinn did. She smiled and said, “That sounds great.”
“Good. I hate eating alone.”
“I know what you mean. Until recently my sister lived here, and it’s been hard getting used to being by myself and cooking for just me.”
“I’ll give you pointers. I’ve got the cooking for one down pat.” He unbuckled his tool belt. “I’ll drive.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue that they should take separate cars so he didn’t have to come back to her house and drop her off. After hours on the phone and looking at banking records, she and Sam had discovered the link between Owen Frost and Dahlia. Tomorrow they would bring him in for questioning. Until then she would enjoy her time with Quinn.
Twenty minutes later Becca climbed from Quinn’s truck and walked next to him to the red barnlike nineteenth-century structure that housed the Stagecoach Cafe on South Cascade Avenue. Stepping inside was like stepping back in time, Becca thought as she scanned the rustic Western decor.
An older woman, attractive with vibrant red hair and twinkling brown eyes, hurried toward them. A smile creased lines into her well-preserved face, which resembled Quinn’s. “Twice in one day. I must be living right, son.”
A flush tinted Quinn’s cheeks. “Mom, I see you all the time.” When his mother’s gaze slid to Becca, interest sparking in her brown depths, he added, “This is Becca Hilliard. Becca, this is Fiona Montgomery.”
Becca offered her hand, which was ignored because Fiona embraced her instead, saying, “Nice to see you again. It’s been a while since you and Brendan worked together. Quinn told me about the other day when poor David had his problem. Thankfully the D.A. won’t be pressing charges against him, and I’m so glad he’s getting the help he needs. No one should go through a crisis alone.”
“I agree,” Becca finally said, overwhelmed. Brendan had once told her that if anyone wanted to know what was going on in Colorado Springs, all they had to do was spend an hour with his mother. Now Becca understood what he meant.
“So why are you two here?”
“To eat,” Quinn answered, looking around at the almost full café.
“Well, come this way. I think I can find a place for you two. It’ll be in the back near the kitchen, however.”
Becca didn’t care if they sat in the kitchen. The aromas spicing the air—a blend of various meats, baking bread, cinnamon, onions and some smells she couldn’t identify—knotted her stomach in hunger. She hadn’t bothered with lunch except grabbing a bag of chips from the vending machine at the station.
As they threaded their way through the packed tables toward the back of the restaurant, Quinn said, “What are you doing here, Mom? You usually are gone by now.”
Fiona threw her son a glance over her shoulder. “One of my waitresses called in sick at the last minute so I’m filling in. When you own a business, you’re at that business’s mercy.”
Becca took a seat at a red-checkered draped table with a small lantern in the middle that softly lit their surroundings, giving the place an almost romantic, intimate atmosphere, especially since the table was off to the side, away from the main body of diners. Fiona handed her a menu before rushing away.
Opening it, Becca peered over it at Quinn, who didn’t bother to look at his. “Your mother is so full of energy.”
“She’s always amazed me. She’s been here all day and is still going strong.”
“I sure could use some of that energy right now.”
“Tough day?”
Becca nodded then resumed her study of the dinner selections. She wouldn’t be so tired if she weren’t losing sleep over the man across from her. The night before she had tossed and turned for several hours. All she could think about was that Quinn would be spending time in her home over the next month—there sometimes more than she. His hands would be molding her kitchen into her dream room. The very idea caused her pulse to speed.
“Any recommendations?” she asked when she couldn’t decide between several items.
“My favorite is the slow-roast buffalo fillet. Mom puts it on a bed of caramelized onions and peppers and smothers it with a boysenberry gravy.”
Becca’s mouth watered at his description. She slapped the menu closed. “Then that’s what I’ll have.”
As if Fiona knew they had made up their minds, she reappeared with their waters, slices of lemon in them. She took their
orders then hurried away.
Quinn watched his mother leave. “Most unusual.”
“What?”
“She must be really busy. Usually when I come, she sits and fills me in on what’s been happening.”
“You just saw her this morning.”
“That never stops her. She always has some news to impart.”
“I’ve missed out on a source of information all these years,” Becca said with a laugh.
“Believe it or not, Brendan has used her before.”
“I don’t eat out much unless it’s to pick up something at a fast-food restaurant, but I’m thinking this may have to become a haunt of mine.”
Quinn sipped his water. “I won’t be able to work on your house until tomorrow afternoon. I have a meeting in the morning about the hospital wing.”
“That’s fine,” Becca said, realizing that Quinn was a busy man. She was lucky to have him personally overseeing her renovations. With him supervising she didn’t have to worry.
Fiona brought them their house salads. “Your dad will be delivering the apple pies for the barbecue early Saturday morning, so he can help you set up.”
“Great. I sure appreciate you baking them for us. It’ll be a treat.”
Fiona turned toward Becca. “We’re celebrating the rebuilding of Montgomery Construction after the fire. Whoever did this can’t get the Montgomerys down for long. I hope you’ll join us.”
Becca thought of all she needed to do and started to say no when Quinn added, “I hope so, too.”
Becca shook her head. “I—”
“Son, I have to see to some customers. Talk her into it. Use that charm you have.”
When the whirlwind known as Fiona left, Becca said, “I don’t want to intrude on a family—”
Quinn held up his hand to stop her flow of words. “First, it isn’t a family affair. It’s a celebration for our family and friends. I definitely consider you a friend. I was going to ask you to come by before my mother jumped the gun. Before Saturday, if I know my mother, half of the city will be invited. I probably should order double the food I’ve planned.”
Hearts on the Line Page 6