Unraveled

by Allie Hawkins

  He’s okay. He’s fine. Scanning beyond his headlights, Pierce willed the knots in his shoulders to shrink. Tony joked about being The Hulk’s cousin—with better hair. Next to him the weasel was just that—a weasel that sneaked around looking for easy prey. Tony was anything but easy prey. Even if felled by the flu, he’d hold his own against the weasel.

  Images of Tony in bed, weak, dehydrated, coughing and sneezing, unwound in Pierce’s head. Realizing his imagination had derailed, he counted to ten, slowed as oncoming high beams ripped through the thick white curtain.

  In need of hearing a real voice, he interrupted Quinn. “See why Rex is guilty?”

  The second she hesitated raising her head and locking eyes with him telegraphed her answer. Adrenaline jolted through him, clenching his jaw, washing her face in a red haze.

  “What?” The humiliation of his voice cracking stopped him. He clamped his mouth shut and slowed his breathing.

  “I’m not an auditor.” She opened the file and stared at one of the pages. “From a layman’s perspective, Tony could be the embezzler.”

  “Bull!” Pierce flipped the wipers on high. She jumped, and pure pleasure jolted into him. He bit the inside of his lip. The smug smile threatening to spread died.

  The silence in the car wrecked Pierce’s willpower. “What about me?” He slowed as at the end of the bridge. “Why couldn’t I be the embezzler?”

  “Tony had access to the same files as Rex. Tony knew all the passwords. Tony should’ve reported the discrepancies earlier. Tony’s missing two days after accusing Rex.”

  “Tony’s not missing. He has the flu.” Pierce projected an inarguable finality.

  “If Rex were guilty, why wouldn’t he be halfway to Mexico by now?”

  Her calm, quiet tone grated Pierce’s throat like sandpaper, but he shrugged and swallowed before taking charge. “I refuse to speculate why Rex Walker does anything.”

  “Why would you? It’s easier presuming he’s guilty.”

  A muscle jerked under his right eye. “Easier? Easier is finding someone else with motive, opportunity and means.”

  “Tony—”

  “Three forensic auditors and two corporate lawyers think that document is enough for an indictment. Against Rex. Not against Tony. Not against a phantom. Against. Rex.”

  “Paying two and a half million bucks doesn’t entitle me to an opinion, huh?” Quinn cocked her head at him, and the angle of her throat made him want to stop the car and kiss her.

  Since they drove on ice, he kept driving. “You didn’t have to pay a dime to have an opinion. Everyone’s entitled to an opinion. Even the jokers who think the world’s flat. Or lightning never strikes twice. Or climate change is a conspiracy.”

  Her laugh, as always, sounded like music. God, she actually sounded amused. “Okay. I think I understand your argument, Pierce. But since I am so dense, let me re-read the file, and maybe I’ll even accept your opinion.”

  Sure, when they’re serving ice cream in hell. Figuring this thought guaranteed an incendiary reaction, Pierce savored a brief fantasy of arguing with Quinn until she capitulated, accepting Rex’s guilt as truth.

  And that will happen when she can say Brittany without her heart splintering.

  “I didn’t say you were dense.”

  “How much longer?”

  The detachment in her voice told him to answer the question, then shut up. Which he did, dropping his shoulders, loosening his fingers on the wheel and feeling his stomach unclench.

  If pressed for the truth, he realized, he wanted another round of verbal ping-pong.

  Chapter 13

  Quinn’s mind went numb re-reading the pages of legalese. Sensing Pierce’s eyes on her, she pressed her forehead against her car window and expelled a breath. The file he thought was damning, she thought was inconclusive. Was that why he vetoed bringing legal charges?

  In another lifetime, she’d loved debating him on any topic. They’d held back nothing, gone for the jugular, hurled zingers, then laughed and made love.

  Different life, she reminded herself, studied the frozen fields, then said, “Edward will want an explanation for why Rex is leaving.”

  “Why would Edward—why would any banker—want to hire him?” Pierce shouted. “The creep’s a thief. Let him find his own job—if he can.”

  “I promised Mic...” That sounded so whiny, so illogical, she started over. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Rex has a sick mother—”

  “Rex Walker’s had more than a second chance.” The smile that flitted across Pierce’s perfect face was the kind of smile Hannibal Lector must’ve bestowed on fava beans.

  She rubbed the goose bumps jockeying up and down her arms. “Rex wants you to forward his last performance evaluation to Edward—along with a cover letter saying he was a satisfactory employee.”

  “Uh-huh. And I want world peace and a cure for cancer and an end to hunger.” Pierce snorted. “I’m not paying two and a half million bucks out of my pocket, then telling my mentor Rex was a stellar employee. He’s an embezzler.”

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  After a deep breath, Pierce looked at her like a parent about to break bad news to a child. “The guy flat out lies. I’d bet you my twenty bucks pocket change he doesn’t have a mother—”

  “Whoa.” Quinn snapped her fingers. “Run that by me again.”

  “I can’t prove it, but I think his mother’s dead. Have you ever met her?”

  Quinn nodded and swallowed her shock. “Years ago. At our house one Thanksgiving.”

  “How long since Michael saw her, talked to her?”

  “No idea. Why would he mention it? What makes you suspicious?”

  “You mean besides the fact I’m cynical? Skeptical? Suspicious by nature?”

  The knot in Quinn’s jaw made speaking impossible.

  “I called the number he gave personnel for his mother.” Pierce shot Quinn a glance she couldn’t read.

  “He told me today his mother’s in Florida for the winter.”

  “Guess what? I called the Florida number in July. Called again in August, September, and October. Each time, the same message—confirmed by a phone company supervisor.”

  “Disconnected,” Quinn said, her insides shaking as if she’d stepped onto thin ice.

  “Uh-huh.” Pierce met and held her gaze. “But there’s more.”

  “What?” Quinn licked her lips. In the pit of her stomach, the cream and morning coffee curdled. Her heart sped up, and she had the sensation of falling. Faster and faster and faster.

  “The phone in Florida was disconnected six months ago.” The expression on Pierce’s face was impassive, but Quinn thought she detected a flicker of sadness.

  Or maybe she was confusing him with Michael. Sad wouldn’t begin to describe Michael’s feelings once he learned his best friend lied and kept devastating secrets.

  How could Michael be so wrong?

  ****

  Pierce checked the rear and side mirrors, shooting glances at Quinn. Sneaky glances, he hoped. The arm across her waist supported her other elbow, and her chin rested on her fist. His announcement about the disconnected phone didn’t leave her speechless, but the news shut down the conversation. She stated she needed to think and withdrew into herself like a turtle.

  Hands steady on the wheel, he plowed through the snow and his brain plowed through the recurring questions.

  How much did Quinn personally know about Rex?

  Why would he lie about his financial responsibility to his mother if she was dead?

  Did Michael know if/when she died?

  How much did her death strengthen Michael’s loyalty to his chum?

  Blood pumped into Pierce’s veins and the questions pounded in his ears. He tapped the steering wheel in sync with the questions’ rhythm and tasted metal in his throat. Lies and deception didn’t prove Walker’s guilt, but Quinn must see they added to the big picture of an asshole thumbing his nose
at the rest of them. She had to see...

  He cocked his head from side to side, working out a kink in his neck. He stopped tapping the wheel and flexed his fingers. The tremor in his arms faded, but not the problem. Quinn didn’t have to see a damn thing from his perspective. If Michael told her Rex was innocent, she’d see nothing but the weasel’s innocence—no matter how damning the evidence, how convincing anyone’s suspicions. Attempts by Pierce to persuade her to his view would cause her to dig in her heels. The interview with Edward proved her allegiance to Michael.

  If Michael’s so perfect, why’s his best friend a sociopath? The question hit Pierce between the eyes like a fist. Had Quinn ever asked it? By her own admission, she didn’t like Walker. What was the glue that bonded St. Michael to Rex?

  A gust of wind slammed into the ’Vette, rocking the car. The back wheels slipped. The rear end fishtailed, kicked up snow, spun around like a top. Air whooshed out of Pierce’s mouth.

  Quinn made a noise he barely heard. Heart stuttering, he corralled the impulse to hit the brakes. He eased his foot off the gas. A light tap to the brakes slowed the car. He held the steering wheel steady, careful not to overcorrect. Inch by inch, the tail end straightened.

  “We’re okay. The wind—” He swiveled his head toward Quinn.

  “How much farther?” The Walker file lay open on her lap. A white-gold wing of hair cascaded past her cheek, shielding her face and eyes. “You said we’d be home if Michael calls.”

  Not exactly. “I think we’re five, ten minutes—”

  An idiot driving too fast, passed them, throwing clumps of snow onto the windshield. Cussing, Pierce eased up on the accelerator.

  Quinn pressed her thumb knuckle against her bottom lip.

  Pull over. For a split second, Pierce gave the idea a passing thought. The wipers whipped off the extra snow and he pointed at a side road buried in at least a foot of snow.

  “That’s Tony’s turnoff.” The unplowed road forced Pierce to slow to a crawl. Despite the ‘Vette’s great handling, staying in the ruts required plenty of arm muscles.

  “Is that a light?” Quinn swiped the windshield, jabbing the glass. “Is it coming from Tony’s house?”

  Snow swirled around them like goosedown, but Pierce nodded. “It’s his yard light. He’s the first house on this road.”

  “How many people live out here?”

  “Five families total.” The ’Vette’s front wheels hit a snowdrift, jarring Pierce’s molars. “Sorry. Doesn’t look as if the neighbors came through here today with the snowplow.”

  “My, my. Imagine a little snow stopping the pioneers.”

  “This place belonged to Tony’s great grandfather.” Pierce turned into a long, narrow drive, packed with hard snow and surrounded by roof-high drifts. When was it last cleaned?

  “I thought Tony was a Colorado boy.”

  “His parents moved there thirty years ago. His great grandfather settled here after the Civil War. Became a U.S. Marshal in the 70s. Served in Congress two years. Became a state supreme court judge on his sixty-ninth birthday.” Pierce realized he was blithering, but he wanted to keep his mind off the accumulation of snow ahead of them. No footprints.

  “Is the real message here that being honest and law-abiding is encoded in Tony’s DNA?”

  “No, but good point.” Pierce’s coffee ulcer burned. No footprints. The new snow had covered the deputies’ footprints. What time had they come by?

  “No lights except the one in the yard,” Quinn said. “No tire tracks.”

  “If he is sick, the Jeep’s probably in the garage. We’ll go in the back door.” Pierce killed the engine, reached across Quinn and removed a key ring from the glove compartment.

  On the off chance she missed the point, he said, “He has a key to my house too. That’s why I know he didn’t decorate my family room with chicken blood.”

  ****

  They opened Tony’s back door and Pierce charged inside. To hell with how much snow he dragged across the shiny kitchen floor. Shouting, he jogged to the rear of the house. Not good. Not good. Quinn dogged his heels, adding her voice.

  No response.

  Ollie, ollie oxen free. Tension unspooled in Pierce’s stomach as he ran down the narrow hallway. He zipped past two open doors on either side of the hall. A glance revealed an office straight out of a magazine article on de-cluttering and a guest bedroom straight out of a home decorating ’zine. The spacious master bedroom reflected the same neatness and order. Bed made. Clothes put away. Curtains cracked. A dry terrycloth robe hung on an antique brass knob in the bathroom. Four towels dangled at the same level from a brass bar. Sink, mirror and fixtures gleamed, the shower door sparkled.

  “What time did he get to the office on Monday?” Quinn moved aside as Pierce returned to the bedroom. No chance he’d accidentally touch her.

  His insides burned. “He beat me. I got there at six. We wanted to review the evidence against Rex one last time.”

  “What time did he go home?” Quinn started for the door.

  “Don’t know. Around 6:30. We’d gone over every single fact until we wanted to puke. I was sick of the mess. So was he. It was snowing. I suggested he spend the night at my place, but I think he figured we’d keep going round and round like a couple of gerbils. So I sent him home.”

  “And two hours later, you showed up at my office...”

  Wind howled, rattling windows, rattling Pierce, making the temptation to lie seem reasonable. Reasonable to him, totally unacceptable to Quinn. He said, “The nut in the garage—I didn’t like you staying alone so late.”

  Her jaw dropped and she stared at him as if he were an alien.

  Bracing for a tongue lashing, he planted his feet further apart and held up his palms. “I know, I know. You’re an independent woman. You brought a mugger to his knees. You don’t need, want or—”

  “Will you shut up?” She lunged at him, threw her arms around his neck in a choke-hold and smashed her soft, hot mouth against his.

  Her lips felt like a branding iron, and he imagined steam escaping from his sizzling brain. Her wide open eyes were bottomless pools of light and warmth. He’d seen the same intensity the first time they’d made love, revealing her vulnerability. His mind veered away from the past and he stayed in the moment, aware he was getting harder by the nanosecond, aware she was hyper-aware of the power she wielded over him, aware she tasted sweet and familiar and hot.

  As if choreographed, they broke away at the same time. Both were grinning like idiots.

  “My God, Quinn.” He touched her cheek and electricity shot through his fingertips.

  Her eyes softened. “Thank you for worrying about me.”

  “I like worrying about you. I’d like to worry more about you—I mean—you know what I mean.” He felt like a seventh-grade geek on his first date with the most beautiful girl in school.

  “I think I do.” Her sly smile revived his defibrillating heart. “Which is really scary.”

  “Scary?” His right eye twitched. Damn, there went his Mr. Cool image.

  “Scary that I understand what you mean after all this time.”

  “Wasted time.” He pulled her toward him and locked eyes with her. The directness of her gaze left no doubts about what she wanted. The same thing he wanted. He pulled her to him again, whispering in her ear, “Time we should make up for.”

  She took a step backwards. “We have to find Tony.”

  The longing in her low, sultry voice kept her words from feeling like ice cubes. He said, “Let’s go into a more neutral room.”

  “Works for me.”

  The regret he heard made it easier to accept acting like an adult, but he was careful not to touch her. By unspoken agreement, they went into the kitchen. Nose in the air, she sniffed, and Pierce had to concentrate on water pinging into the stainless steel sink so he wouldn’t grab her and kiss her.

  “There’s a sure sign he intends to come back.” Pierce gestured at the dripping
faucet. “He didn’t want the pipes bursting.”

  “Clean. Neat. Prepared for emergencies. Some woman will definitely appreciate Tony.” Quinn opened the fridge, calling out the contents of milk, cheese, sour cream, butter, a plastic bag of spinach and a large rib-eye steak. “The milk carton’s full. Expires early next week.”

  “All signs he intends to come home.” An invisible knife hacked through Pierce’s vocal cords. “I’m guessing he planned on eating steak last night.”

  A nod from Quinn confirmed he hadn’t lost his mind. He led the way to the living room at the front of the house without speaking. Like the kitchen, it was neat and spotless. Magazines in an orderly pile. CDs and books in perfect rows. No dust bunnies or cobwebs.

  “Tony keeps a shipshape house,” Quinn said.

  “Wait until you see the garage.” The knot in Pierce’s stomach contracted.

  The wind made conversation impossible as they trudged the hundred yards in ankle-deep snow to the detached garage. With each step, he cursed his sorry ass for not warning her before they left the house. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he was prepared for what they might find.

  Ice froze the lock. He chipped away, cursing under his breath, keeping his imagination in check. Once the key went in, he waved Quinn behind him. She didn’t argue. The wind worked against him. He dug in his heels, huffed and puffed and finally got his weight behind the door.

  Chest rising, eyes watering, he scanned the interior.

  “No Jeep,” Quinn announced the obvious with such relief Pierce wanted to kiss her.

  No Tony, thank God. Pierce didn’t know if he felt relieved or ticked off. He wiped his eyes and stepped inside the garage.

  After opening and closing several closets where Tony had organized his tools, paint, garden equipment and recycling bins, they slogged back to the house. Pierce called the Wyandotte County Sheriff’s Department. Quinn meandered from room to room, waved at Pierce and went out the back door again. On hold for a deputy, he watched her slip and slide down the long, drifted drive to the mailbox.