Her Christmas Hero

by Linda Warren

  Britt stood with her fingers touching her mouth, remembering the feel of those male lips on hers—firm, yet soft and tantalizing, awakening feelings in her that she’d kept dormant. After being hurt so badly she had to be on guard, but Quinn demolished her well-established guard with just one knee-wobbling, heart-thumping kiss.

  Trust me.

  How could she do that?

  In her heart she knew she already had.

  THE NEXT MORNING PHIL stormed into Quinn’s office before Quinn had finished his first cup of coffee.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Phil demanded.

  Quinn waved Denise out the door. Evidently Phil had rushed past her. “What are you talking about?”

  “The nanny now has to deliver the kid to Roslyn. How the hell did that happen?”

  Quinn leaned back. “I called. My secretary phoned, but you never answered or returned the calls. How am I sup posed to get in touch with you?”

  Some of the anger oozed out of Phil. “I was busy. I figured you could handle whatever came up.”

  “I did. After your rude behavior, Ms. Tibbs asked the judge to reconsider her decision about where Ms. Davis could see her son. The judge asked if I could guarantee that you wouldn’t do it again and I had to be honest, so she changed the ruling.”

  “You bastard.”

  Quinn’s eyes zeroed in on Phil’s red face. “Haven’t you been home since Sunday before last?”

  “Of course I have,” Phil snapped.

  But he paused, and that bothered Quinn. Was the man out doing drugs? Was Dillon in any danger?

  “Then why the outrage now?”

  “I’ve been working on a case and this is my first chance to get here. It just pisses me off that I have to pay a nanny to carry my son to his mother and pick him up.”

  Quinn leaned forward, his forearms on the desk. “Well, it pisses me off that one of my staff has to work on Sunday. That means I’m a person short on Monday and a half a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This whole thing is ridiculous and needs to be changed. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah, but that’s the judge’s ruling.”

  Quinn had Phil’s attention and he was going to milk it for all it was worth. “I was thinking of a tracking device for Ms. Davis so we’ll know where she is at all times. That would free up my people.”

  Phil’s eyes lit up. “I like that. If she’s tracked at all times, she won’t be able to flee the States with Dillon, and I can pull my P.I. off her.”

  “Why do you have a P.I. watching her?”

  “I want to know who she’s seeing, when and where. But it’s proved to be throwing money down the drain.”

  “Then get rid of him.”

  Phil pointed a finger at him. “You make sure she doesn’t leave Austin.”

  Quinn nodded. “You’ll still have to pay for the nanny.”

  “It’ll be worth it. In three months Roslyn will fold like a greenhorn poker player and everything will go my way.”

  You sorry bastard.

  Phil pointed his finger again and Quinn wanted to slap him in the face. “Daddy’s not going to be pleased at this turn of events.”

  “Daddy knows where to find me.”

  “Don’t push him, Quinn,” Phil threatened. “You’ll regret it.”

  Quinn watched him leave with a steely eyed gaze. It’s only beginning, old friend.

  He touched a button on his phone. “Denise, tell Levi I want to see him as soon as possible.”

  A lot of things were going to change, and the action start ed now.

  ON TUESDAY MORNING Quinn met Mona in the judge’s chamber once again.

  “What’s this about?” Mona asked. “I just got a call to be here.”

  Judge Norcutt came in, preventing him from answering. Not that he planned to, anyway.

  The judge sat down and adjusted her glasses. “I’m getting tired of rescheduling my day to suit you two. What is it, Mr. Ross?” She clearly was irritated.

  He opened his briefcase, pulled out the item Levi had given him and placed it on the desk in front of her. “This is a tracking device, Your Honor.”

  “Why are you showing me this?” Her voice dropped from irritated to sub-zero infuriated.

  “Your Honor, having a member of my staff off a whole day and two half days is putting a strain on my office. I need my staff at work, not babysitting.”

  “You’re skating on thin ice, Mr. Ross.”

  “Hear me out, please. The device is a bracelet that will be locked on Ms. Davis’s wrist. My P.I., Levi Coyote—you know Levi, don’t you, Judge?”

  “Yes. A fine cop and detective.”

  “Levi will have the control, and monitor Ms. Davis’s whereabouts at all times. That should put your mind at ease about her fleeing with the boy.”

  The judge picked up the object. “It just looks like a nice brace let.”

  “Trust me, it’s more than that.” And those words could ruin his whole career, yet he didn’t retract them.

  Judge Norcutt shot him a glance. “Is Mr. Rutherford on board with this?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Ms. Tibbs, how do you feel about this device?”

  “I’ll have to talk to my client.”

  “Fine. If Ms. Davis agrees, get it done, Mr. Ross. Otherwise the dictates of this court stand. And please stop bothering me.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “Your Honor…” Ms. Tibbs spoke up. “I’d like the court to know that Ms. Davis has quit her job and is now searching for work in Austin to support her son.”

  Quinn was taken aback. Britt had quit her job. Why hadn’t she said something? But then, why would she?

  “I’ll take that into consideration at the hearing,” the judge replied.

  “Pompous twit,” Mona said out in the hall.

  “Now, Ms. Tibbs…”

  She turned on him. “What are you up to, Ross?”

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  “Oh, I’m looking at a whole lot more and seeing things I’m not believing.”

  Quinn smiled. “Let me know what Ms. Davis says.”

  He strolled away, feeling victorious as he never had be fore. The line between right and wrong was so blurred now that he couldn’t distinguish the difference if he tried. His whole career wobbled on that line.

  He never strayed from his ethic of doing the right thing. It was his mantra. His goal. And he still believed he was doing so.

  IN HIS CAR HE CALLED Levi.

  “How did it go?” the P.I. asked.

  “Like a charm. The judge bought it. We just have to wait and see how Ms. Davis takes it.”

  “You just put both our asses on the line.”

  “Have you ever been in jail, Levi?”

  “Just booking people. But I’m not worried. I have a crackerjack lawyer.”

  Quinn laughed. “You might give me his number. I’ll probably need him, too.”

  “Look in the mirror.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “Yeah.”

  Quinn negotiated a turn on to Congress Avenue. “I’m worried that Phil is still using. See what you can find out and hire someone else to watch his condo. I want to make sure the nanny is there at all times. Dillon’s safety is the most important thing.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Quinn clicked off and wondered what Britt would say if she knew the bracelet was just that—a bracelet.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What? They want me to wear a tracking device?” Britt’s blood pressure shot through the roof and all she could see was a red haze. “I’m not a criminal and they can’t do that. I refuse to be treated this way.”

  “Calm down, Britt,” Mona suggested, placing her briefcase on the sofa in Britt’s apartment. “This was Quentin Ross’s idea.”

  “What?” The raging blood drained from her face.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on, but it sounds like a good idea.”

  “How can you
say that? I’m not wearing some bulky de vice like a hardened criminal.”

  “It’s a bracelet. A very nice bracelet, as the judge said. To tell you the truth, I’ve never seen a tracking device like it.”

  She frowned. “A bracelet?”

  “It’s like jewelry, so no one will ever know the difference. And look at it this way—you’ll have Dillon all to your self. No one has to watch you.”

  “Oh.” The situation was sounding better.

  “So what do you say?”

  “Mr. Ross did this?” That still puzzled her.

  “Yes. Seems it’s putting a strain on his office staff having to stop their work and come here. He says it’s ridiculous and I have to agree.”

  “Is Phil going along with this?”

  Mona nodded. “That’s what Mr. Ross said.”

  Britt sat down, forcing her nerves to calm down so she could think. Trust me. Those two words kept running through her mind. After everything that had happened, trust didn’t come easy. She weighed the pros and cons. The only thing that mattered was that she’d have Dillon to herself without someone watching over her shoulder. But wearing a tracking device still rankled her.

  Trust me.

  “What’s your answer?” Mona asked.

  She touched her lips. “Yes.”

  The lawyer picked up her briefcase. “I feel it’s a good decision. I’ll let Mr. Ross know.”

  “Thank you, Mona.”

  Britt sat there for a long time, hoping she’d done the right thing. And hoping she hadn’t let her heart sway her, once again.

  THE NEXT MORNING she was about to leave the apartment for another day of job hunting when her phone rang. She picked up.

  “Britt, it’s Quinn.” Her heart soared at the familiar voice and she wanted to smack herself.

  “Good morning.”

  “Are you going to be there awhile?”

  “I was just leaving.”

  “It will only take a few minutes.”

  “What will?”

  “My P.I., Levi Coyote, will put the bracelet on this morning. That is, if you have time.”

  “Okay.”

  “You sound hesitant.”

  “I don’t understand why I can’t be trusted not to leave the country with my child.”

  “Work with me here, not against me.”

  She gripped the receiver. “I never know what the hell you’re talking about or whose side you’re on half the time.”

  “Ah, Britt, just be patient.” She could almost see the grin on his face.

  “Okay.” She gave in reluctantly. “I hope it’s not going to take long. I have to find a job to support myself and my kid.”

  “Yeah. I heard you quit your job.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Dillon needs me and I’ll be here from now on. I just hate that it happened this way. And I hate that you’re Phil’s attorney.”

  There was a pause on the line. “It’s a cruel twist of fate for sure.”

  “Mmm.”

  There was another pause, as if he was gauging his words. “Levi will be there in five minutes and it won’t take long.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good luck job hunting.”

  “Yeah, right,” she murmured, hanging up.

  She took two steps and her doorbell rang. That was quick. The man must have been outside the whole time. She opened the door to a tall cowboy type in boots and a Stetson. He held a small box in his hand.

  “Levi Coyote, ma’am.” He tipped his hat, and she stepped aside, feeling as if the man was a leftover from an old Western.

  “Come in.” She closed the door behind him.

  “This’ll only take a minute,” he said, opening the box and pulling out a small silver bracelet. Undoing the clasp, he snapped it onto her left wrist.

  She stared at it. The silver had an intricate pattern of x’s and o’s carved into it. When she twisted her wrist, the silver caught the light and glistened.

  “This is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You won’t be able to undo it or to slip it off.”

  “How will you remove it?” She wasn’t wearing it longer than necessary, even though it was rather nice, as Mona had said.

  “I’ll have to cut that tiny chain dangling from the clasp.”

  “Oh.”

  He pulled a cell phone from his jeans and punched in some numbers. Turning the screen so she could see it, he said, “This is how I’ll keep track of you.” He pointed to a red dot visible on the map displayed on the screen. “That’s you. I can check your whereabouts at any time. Easy and simple.”

  “And annoying.”

  He shrugged. “You’ll have to take that up with your attorney.”

  “Like that will move mountains.”

  He gave a lopsided grin, slipped the phone into his pock et and left.

  Britt rotated her wrist, getting a feel for the bracelet. Not bad, she thought. She could handle this.

  THE NEXT WEEK BRITT’S insurance company approved her claim for a new Camry. She was happy to have her own vehicle, but she began to despair of ever finding a job. Her savings were dwindling fast and she had to take whatever was offered. But there was nothing out there. The economy had caused many businesses to cut costs.

  She thought stores would be hiring for the upcoming holidays, but they weren’t. Just when she was weighing her options and thinking of moving back in with her mother, she got a call from a local McDonald’s. She had no problem accepting. After all, beggars couldn’t be choosers. It paid minimum wage but it was a job. The hours were six to one. Being just hired, she hated to make demands, so she explained about her days with her son. She wouldn’t give those up. The manager, who looked as if he was still in high school, seemed sympathetic, and agreed to let her go at twelve forty-five on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sunday was her day off.

  She was just settling in at McDonald’s, working with teenagers who made her feel old, and getting used to asking, “Do you want that supersized?” when the lady at the unemployment office called. She had an opening for a waitress at Threadgill’s. Did Britt want the job?

  She jumped at it, but again she had to explain about Dillon. They hired her to work six-hour shifts on Fridays, Saturdays, Mondays and Wednesdays.

  It worked for Britt. She had two jobs, but she soon found that going on a few hours’ sleep was getting to her. She could handle it, she told herself. The highlight of her existence was her time with Dillon.

  She now took him out and about as she used to. They went to the park, which Dillon loved, and on Sundays they usually visited her mother and grandmother. It was almost normal. But it wasn’t. Dillon wasn’t with her at night. Debi put him to bed and got him up in the mornings. Dillon didn’t have his mother. Britt worked tirelessly to make sure that when the hearing came, she would be able to take Dillon home.

  She hadn’t heard from Quinn since his P.I. had put the bracelet on her wrist. That was just as well. But she found she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She’d gotten used to him checking on her.

  She was probably always going to have a soft spot for Quentin Ross.

  Some heroes were hard to resist.

  QUINN WAS BUSY. HE’D plea-bargained in the Bailey case and was pleased with the result. Jerry would spend two years in a psychiatric ward and then be reevaluated. It was a good arrangement. Jerry would get the help he needed to deal with what had happened, and he had a chance at a life.

  The Morris case was different. The D.A. refused to plea-bargain it out. The case was going to trial after Thanksgiving and Quinn had to be ready. Kathy Morris had three kids under the age of five. Quinn had gotten her out of jail, but he didn’t know how long he could keep her with her kids. And the holidays were close—a hell of a time to go to jail and leave them.

  He thought of Britt, as he so often did. How was she coping? Had she found work? He had to force himself not to go to her apartment, but his strength didn’t last long. He wanted to see her. Grabbing his c
oat, he headed for his car.

  As he passed the large Rutherford building on Congress Avenue, he thought of Phil. He hadn’t heard from him or Philip Sr. But he knew it was only a lull before the storm.

  Tailing Phil had been fruitless. Levi hadn’t been able to find any evidence that Phil was still doing drugs. Levi was a damn good detective, and if Phil was, he would soon find the evidence. The good news was that Phil was home at nights where he should be.

  As Quinn drove toward Britt’s apartment, his cell rang. Pulling it out of his coat pocket, he glanced at the caller ID. Deidre.

  He clicked on.

  “Hi, Quinn. Are you still mad at me?” Sugary words wafted through the phone.

  “I was never mad at you.”

  “Good. Let’s do something tonight. I’ve missed you.”

  This was the part where he would usually say something about the new boyfriend. But he really didn’t care anymore.

  “Sorry. I’m busy.”

  “With what?”

  He gripped the steering wheel. “I’m going to check on someone and then I’m heading home for a relaxing evening.”

  “That sounds boring.”

  “It doesn’t to me. I’ve had a long day.”

  “Come on, Quinn. Let’s go to the club and—”

  “Deidre.” He cut her off. “You said it was over and it re ally is over.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do. Our merry-go-round relationship is truly over.”

  “You’re being an ass.”

  “Goodbye, Deidre.” He clicked off and drove on, knowing he’d let the relationship go on too long. He didn’t worry about Deidre. She’d find someone else. She always did.

  Ten minutes later he rang Britt’s doorbell. And waited. He saw her car in the parking area, so she had to be here. Was she avoiding him?

  Finally, he heard, “Who’s there?”

  “Quinn,” he called.

  She opened the door, tying a white terry-cloth bathrobe around her waist. Her dark hair was wet and disheveled. She’d just gotten out of the shower, he guessed.

  Staring into her dark eyes, Quinn felt a tightness grip his abdomen, and the tiredness of the day seem to ebb away.

  “How are you doing?” he asked, his voice husky to his own ears.