by Louise Clark
He made a sound that was half laughing, half disapproving, then said, "Stay put."
She blinked. It was such an odd thing to say, particularly when she should be looking for her jacket—
He scooped her up, carrying her over to the porch steps where he set her down. After retrieving her jacket, he raised her pant leg so he could take a look at her knee. It was swollen and reddened. He probed gently.
In the act of thrusting an arm into her coat, Christy froze. "Ouch!"
"I think we should have the paramedics take you along with them."
"To the hospital?" She finished putting on the jacket. "It's not that bad, Quinn." Her knee hurt like hell, but she wasn't prepared to admit it. She crossed her arms over her chest and hunched her shoulders, trying to banish the cold.
"Maybe not, but I'd like to have you checked out anyway."
The paramedics came out, carefully maneuvering the stretcher down the stairs from the porch to the walk. Eve's form lay still and pale on the white surface. Christy had a vivid visual image of her crashing against the desk as her body absorbed Gerry's vicious blow. She must have made a sound of distress, for the paramedics paused and one detached herself from her place at the end of the stretcher. Quinn spoke to her, then she crouched beside Christy. She examined Christy's knee, then suggested she ride with them to the hospital.
"I'm okay. Really."
The paramedic looked at Quinn, who was now sitting beside Christy on the stairs, holding her hand. He said, "It's a good idea, Chris."
She frowned, feeling mutinous.
Quinn smiled and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "There is an added benefit, you know."
Figuring out what that cryptic comment meant was way beyond her. Right now she had more important things to think about. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "I wonder if it still works?"
He gently turned her face toward him with his fingertips on her cheek. His smile was warm, kind of amused, but there was concern in his eyes. She wasn't sure why.
"If you go to the hospital in the ambulance, we can get you out of here without facing the press."
"Oh." She stared at him. "Oh! I hadn't thought." She pondered the idea for a moment, without making much headway.
"Say yes," Quinn said, smiling at her.
Put that way, it seemed like a good idea. "Yeah, okay. I'll go."
"I'll meet you there."
She looked at him and smiled. "Yes, please."
* * *
The arrest of Gerry Fisher for the murder of Brianne Lymbourn and Frank Jamieson produced a media frenzy. The details of Frank's disappearance were hauled out and re-examined. Christy became a heroine, a loving wife desperately trying to find her husband, then courageously facing a murderer to reveal the truth.
Within a week the media had moved on to other stories, but the arrest of Gerry Fisher, occurring the day before Halloween, meant that Noelle spent the thirty-first inside, away from prying eyes. Christy regretted that. She'd always enjoyed trick or treating and Noelle's experience as the Jamieson heir had been sedate, well managed parties. Noelle didn't seem to mind missing the new experience, though, so Christy told herself not to worry.
Though much ink had been used and videotape wasted on the Jamieson-Lymbourn murders, no one had put the whole story together. Elements were missing. Elements Christy knew. Elements Quinn knew.
Of all of the stories that were filed about Gerry Fisher's crime, not one was by Quinn Armstrong. Weeks ago they had made a deal: when the mystery was solved, Christy would provide Quinn with an interview and he would write his article. Somewhere along the way he'd come to understand why she avoided media attention. Now, even though he was part of the biggest story the area had seen for months, he hadn't used his insider information. He wouldn't write his account because he cared about her, and he didn't want to hurt her.
Because he loved her.
All Christy had to do was to get him to admit it.
She chose her timing carefully. On a Saturday evening she waited until Noelle was in bed, with the cat asleep beside her, then she carefully shut the door to her daughter's room. She changed from the sweatshirt she'd worn all day into a silk shirt that slithered over her skin and emphasized the shape of her breasts. She paired that with form-fitting jeans that clung to her hips.
Then she called Quinn. "Hi. Have you got a few minutes? Can you come over?"
There was a slight hesitation before he said, "Sure."
Christy hardly had time to dim the lights and touch a match to the candles she had arranged in the living room before she heard the bell.
He paused at the top of the stairs. "This looks like a seduction."
Christy smiled a slow, pleased smile. "Would it be so bad if it was?"
The intensity in his eyes made her heart thump. "You don't have to seduce me, Christy."
"No." She gestured toward the living room. "It's not really a seduction. The candles are for... tenderness. Mellowness anyway." He sat on the couch. As she sank down beside him, she said, "I asked you over, Quinn, because I want to give you a gift."
He reached over to draw her close. "Your body?"
She laughed at his half-teasing suggestion and leaned her cheek on his shoulder. He was wearing a v-necked sweater that was scratchy under her skin. "You wish."
He laughed too, then bent his head. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, until she was pliant against him. When he drew away she wanted more.
It would have to wait. She cleared her throat. "Quinn, I need to know. Are you writing an article about Frank's life? About his murder?"
His fingers fiddled with her hair. "Christy," he began. Then he shook his head and said simply, "There won't be a story."
"Why not?"
"I couldn't put you through that."
Catching his hand, she raised it to her lips. "Thank you."
He smiled.
"But not telling the story isn't an option."
He sat up. "Hold on a second—"
She was shaking her head before he had even finished. "No. Listen to me, Quinn. You're the only journalist who knows the full story. I want you to write it. I don't care whether it's an article, or a documentary, or a book. I just want you to do it. And I'll provide you with whatever details you need, no strings attached."
He stared at her, frowning. "What happened to your dislike of the media and your desire for privacy?"
She laid her hand against his cheek. "Nothing's changed, Quinn, except my feelings for you. I trust you to tell my story. I also know that you won't write it unless I ask you to. So I'm asking you now, please write the story, Quinn. For Frank, for Noelle, but mainly for me."
* * *
Quinn stared at her. She was smiling at him in a way that was almost mischievous, as if she knew how shocked he was. The gift she had given him was incredible. The potential in the story of the Jamieson Trust was massive. There would be articles, a book, a television documentary, perhaps a movie deal. The story could fuel his creative energies for months. Afterward he would be able to pick any assignment he wanted, anywhere in the world.
Anywhere in the world sounded pretty bleak without family around him.
He looked at Christy consideringly. "Before I accept your gift, I need the answer to a question."
"Okay." She sounded cautious. That was good. He wanted her to think carefully about this.
"Your gift may be given out of trust, but I think it was also given with love. Am I right?"
She traced the shape of his mouth with her finger. "Yes."
He raised his brows. "That's it? Just yes?"
She laughed, a light-hearted sound that filled him with joy. "I love you, Quinn. How's that?"
She would not be an easy woman to be with. She was headstrong, independent, and managing. She didn't hide away from problems. Instead, she faced them down, not always in the most sensible of ways. She would be far more inclined to chase after a threat than to try to avoid it. "Sounds pretty good to me
." He cupped her cheek with his hand. "You scared the hell out of me last week, running off to Fisher's place. Promise me you won't do anything like that again."
"I promise." She crossed her heart solemnly.
"Okay. Since you promised, can I kiss you now?"
She laughed. "Sounds good to me."
The End
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Want more from Louise Clark?
Here's an excerpt from
THE CAT'S PAW
The 9 Lives Cozy Mystery Series
Book Two
~
"So you're a friend of Brit's," Lorne Cossi said. He looked her over, from the top of her head to her feet, his gaze lingering too long on her breasts and then—disconcertingly—on her groin. When his gaze drifted back to her face there was something unnerving in the depths of his dark blue eyes. "Frankly, you don't seem her type."
Christy flushed. She'd met guys like Cossi before. Arrogant, self-absorbed jerks who assumed every female in sight was a sexual plaything, there for a man's enjoyment. "And what was her 'type'?"
Cossi smiled slowly. It wasn't a nice smile. "Silly women who'll do anything for a lay. Especially if they can get high at the same time." He cocked his head. "You now, you look disturbingly sober."
Christy figured he'd meant that as an insult. She thought it was actually a compliment, given who it came from. "If you'd bothered to listen, you'd find that people act out of 'type' all the time."
Cossi raised his brows. There was a contemptuous curl to his upper lip that said he didn't like backtalk from uppity women.
Christy allowed herself a small smile. "Take Brittany, for example. Here she was, grad student, privileged daughter of a wealthy Calgary family, and a party girl, with the likes of Aaron DeBolt, a man whose reputation doesn't bear scrutiny. Now tell me, Mr. Cossi, what exactly was Brittany's 'type'?"
His eyes lit with temper before he said mildly, "Brittany Day was a nasty little tease who came on to every man she met."
"Including you?"
"Including me."
"Did you take her up on her offer?" Christy could hardly believe she'd asked that, but she had.
His mouth quirked up into a very real smile and he laughed. "What do you think?"
"I think you did."
"And you'd be right." He took a threatening step forward.
Christy didn't move. But she wanted to. Oh, how much she wanted to.
"If a sexy piece like Brittany Day offers me her body, who am I to refuse?"
Another step. At this rate he'd cross the small space in another couple of moments and he'd be right in front of her. In her space. Intimidating her. Maybe even taking it further. The desire to flee was strong.
She glared at him, sending him a message. "That's pretty cold."
He shrugged, but he stopped. "There was something dark in Brit and she pulled it out in other people too. She liked Ecstasy and Meth. She tried to get me hooked on the stuff."
"Did she?"
This time he shook his head. "No. No way am I polluting my brain with that kind of junk."
The answer sounded honest to Christy. Lorne Cossi probably had aspirations of entering the academic world as a professor. Frying his brain wouldn't help him achieve his goal.
"Have you shared this office space with Brittany since she started?"
The question didn't fit with the previous ones. Cossi eyed her thoughtfully and paused to think before he answered. Why? It wasn't a hard question. It was a yes or no answer.
"Yes," he said, finally. "Rochelle and I set up the office the year we both began. Brad came next, then Brittany."
"It's a small space. An easy place for everyday habits to become irritating. Tempers tend to flare when people have to share limited resources."
His expression hardened and anger glinted in his eyes. "Are you accusing me of Brit's murder?"
Was she? Until he reacted with such heat she hadn't actually thought of it. She shrugged, but didn't confirm or deny.
Lorne Cossi chose to take her shrug as acknowledgement. His temper flared hotter. "Brittany Day was a lazy bitch who used her body and her family connections to smooth her path. She was entitled and manipulative. Worse, from my point of view, she wasn't even all that good as a mathematician."
"Then why was she here?" Christy wasn't sure she believed Cossi, though he sounded genuinely annoyed.
He flung himself away, turning toward the window. "Don't you get it?" he said. "She was sleeping with our fearless leader, the good Dr. Peiling. Why else?"
~
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The Cat's Paw
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~
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Louise Clark is the author of cozy mysteries, and contemporary and historical romance novels.
She holds a BA in History from Queen's University and a Master of Publishing degree from Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Her books have been published in fifteen countries worldwide.
For more information, please visit her at www.louiseclarkauthor.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LouiseClarkAuthor.