by Susan Crosby
“I don’t want you to.”
“Yes. So, again, why are you here?”
He couldn’t talk to her about Jenn, and he didn’t want to hear any mumbo jumbo about his past. He knew how the psychic act worked. A few generalities became specifics to a receptive mind.
Her hands stopped moving, bringing an abrupt halt to the music she’d created from the bracelets. “What is your relationship with Claire?” she asked.
“I’m a friend.”
She set her hands in her lap. “You don’t seem her type. Or maybe she doesn’t seem yours.”
“Tell me about it.”
Her dyed red brows lifted. “There’s more than friendship there.”
“Not yet.” Why the hell was he having this conversation? How could he make an exit and still use her for information later if he needed to?
“Yet she and her dog sit in your car waiting for you.”
He tensed. He’d underestimated Marie DiSanto. “She convinced me to see you.”
“Yet you arrived alone. Claire and Rase showed up almost an hour later.”
He looked around. “Where’s your crystal ball?”
She smiled, genuinely this time. “I’m claustrophobic. I keep the windows open, and I like to watch the park across the street. I didn’t know it was you sitting in the car, only that the car pulled up and the driver never got out. Then Claire arrived on foot and got into the car, which made me more than a little curious. Before too long you headed to my house, but it seemed like your goal was my mailbox, not me. Don’t tell me,” she added quickly. She strode to the window. After a few seconds she waved. “I like puzzles.”
He joined her. Claire was grinning up at him as if to say, “You’ve been caught!”
“There’s more to you than meets the eye,” he said to Marie.
“Ditto.” She faced him. “There’s more to that young woman sitting in your car, as well. She might surprise you.”
“She already has.”
“I like to think it was my influence.” Her smile was full of self-satisfaction. “Those stick-in-the-mud parents of hers tried to keep her…”
“Mild mannered?” he supplied when she didn’t finish.
“Precisely. I encouraged otherwise. On the other hand, I went overboard with Jenny. Should’ve pulled in the reins some, but I didn’t.”
Quinn didn’t comment. Second-guessing was useless.
“Will you come back?” she asked. “Let me try again to get through?”
“I might.” He passed her a twenty-dollar bill.
She hesitated, then took it. “Sometimes pain brings pleasure.”
“Not in my experience.”
“You’re older now. Wiser.”
That threw him. How did she know he’d been young when—
She patted his arm. “Claire is waiting.”
He thought maybe he said goodbye, but the next thing he knew, he was getting into his car.
“She caught you red-handed!” Claire exclaimed.
He was aware of Rase running back and forth across the back seat, reacting to her mood, but Quinn didn’t order him to stop.
“What happened?” she asked. “Did you find out anything?”
His surroundings came into focus. Claire’s eyes were lit with impatient curiosity. The deep-down pretty in her shone, giving her a golden aura he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t want her to be hurt, and he feared Jenn would hurt her, badly. He didn’t want to hurt her either. Maybe he’d made the biggest mistake of his life by encouraging the investigation when Claire really didn’t want it. Maybe only heartache could come from it.
But as he’d thought a minute ago with Marie, second-guessing was useless.
He pulled Claire to him, kissed her like he’d never kissed anyone—without thought, without plan, without expectation. After a slight hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer. Sexy little sounds vibrated through her and into him. He backed off fractionally, brushed loose hair away from her face, then kissed her a little more gently, a little more thoroughly, finding her tongue with his, enjoying the taste of her and the heat and the…life. He hadn’t realized how dead he’d been, living in those shadows for so long. Unemotional. Controlled. Steady.
She didn’t make him feel steady. Her hands framed his face, not pushing him back but bringing him closer.
He ended the kiss because he had to, because he was losing control, something he never did. She opened her eyes and looked at him, emotions he couldn’t pinpoint gleaming in them. She dragged her thumbs across his lips.
“You look like you’re about to apologize—or make a new rule,” she said, smiling softly.
How had she gotten to know him that well, that fast?
“I feel like I should promise not to let that happen again,” he said.
“Don’t make promises I don’t want you to keep.”
He sat back. She put a hand on his arm and leaned toward him. “What’s between us,” she said intently, “the pull or the chemistry or whatever you choose to call it, needs its own resolution. Don’t even think about promising otherwise.”
Damn, but he liked her more and more. She was a lot more complicated and intriguing than he’d imagined. He’d labeled her “the good sister,” and compared to Jenn, she was, but she was no pushover.
“Take back the thought,” she said again.
“I get a do-over?”
“Rule number four,” she said. “We get do-overs whenever we want.”
A laugh rose up in him. “Then what good are rules? Everything could be reversed.”
“You think?”
He fingered her hair. He needed to be honest, however. “I’m not long-term material, Claire. I’ve never even lived with a woman. I need a lot of privacy and space.” And he’d never relied on anyone else for anything. He could count on himself. That was all he needed. He’d taken enough risks recently just by becoming a partner in ARC, leaving his intensely private world behind.
“Well, that’s a little egotistical, don’t you think?” she asked, a glint in her eyes. “It was just a kiss.”
It was the best kiss in his memory, but to her it was “just” a kiss?
“A spectacular kiss,” she added, answering his unvoiced question. “One that curled my toes. But still, a kiss, not a commitment. Okay, M.Q.?”
“M.Q.?”
“Mighty Quinn. Do you know the song?”
“Sure. Bob Dylan.”
“Marie loved Dylan—her brand of lullabies.” She brought her feet up, crossing her legs, breaking the contact between them. “Speaking of Marie, did you find out anything from her?”
He wondered at her change of mood. “There was an empty FedEx envelope on her coffee table. The air bill was missing, so no way of tracking it, but it wasn’t an international envelope.”
“Will you stalk her mailbox tomorrow, too?”
“She’ll be watching specifically for that, so, no. I won’t.”
“Do you want me to drop by?”
“Can you lie to her?”
“Depends on the lie. I don’t want her to know our suspicions about Jenn, but I don’t see any need for the issue to come up.”
“You decide, then. Just let me know your plans.”
“I will.” She glanced at the back seat, where Rase was curled up, sound asleep. “We should go. I imagine you would like to get to work, or something.”
“I can drive you to where you left your car.”
“Thanks, but we’ll jog in the park first. And I’m parked only a block away.”
“We should have permission to visit Beecham in prison soon, although it’ll take longer for your clearance than mine. I’ll let you know.”
“Call me whenever you want.” She got to her knees and set her hand against his face, then brushed her thumb along his cheek. “You don’t need a reason.”
“Same for you.”
She nodded. “Rase. Come on, boy. Let’s go for a jog.”
&nb
sp; The mutt jumped up, slobbered a doggy kiss along Quinn’s ear then hopped into the front seat when Claire opened her door.
“He needs obedience school,” Quinn said, wiping his ear.
“He loves you,” Claire said, leaning through the window, her gaze tender.
He hadn’t heard that word associated with himself for so long, it seemed like a foreign language.
“Later, P.A.,” he said, turning the ignition.
“P.A.?”
“Pollyanna.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. It’s not an insult.”
“It seems like one. I’ve been working at trying not to be so safe. And predictable. And nice.”
He heard her indignation. “You can’t change the fact that you’re a nice person, Claire, but it may interest you to know that you are not predictable.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Well, okay then. See ya.” She stepped in front of his car, waved one more time through the windshield then jogged across the street.
Rase ran in circles, his leash coiling around her as a car approached from the other direction. She spun around, freeing herself in time. Quinn let out a long, slow breath that she hadn’t broken one or both of those spectacular legs. He shook his head at her when she turned around and waved as she jogged backward. Her smile widened.
He felt an urge to play hooky. It would mean missing the weekly case meeting and a visit by one of the Southern California partners, Sam Remington.
No. He couldn’t enjoy himself when there was work to do.
He started the engine, then he spotted Claire playing with Rase, her laughter carrying all the way to where he sat, watching. He hungered for the freedom to play, to just have fun, to live in the moment.
Sunshine. He needed sunshine after living in the dark for so long.
He put his hand on his car key to turn off the engine, then shifted the car into Drive instead.
Maybe another time.
Nine
Claire resisted the need to sidle up next to Quinn and slip her hand into his. She thought she’d been prepared for her first visit to a federal prison, that she’d seen enough television programs and movies to give her a sense of what would happen, but they were far from reality. Truth be told, she’d agreed to come with Quinn to see Craig Beecham because she knew they would get to spend a whole day together.
The drive to the prison had taken six hours, and they’d left at 6:00 a.m. While Quinn had driven, she’d read trial testimony aloud to him and they’d discussed what might help in their meeting with Beecham, then decided to play it by ear. Much of the trip had passed in silence, the anticipation making normal conversation difficult, at least for her.
She’d seen Quinn six times in the week and a half they’d been waiting for approval to go to the prison. He’d shown up five times to join her and Rase for a run in the morning. Once, he’d brought dinner. After dinner she’d talked about her childhood. He hadn’t. She’d talked about work. He hadn’t. He’d sat next to her on her sofa, sometimes holding her hand, then at the end of the evening kissing her good-night in that completely involved and intense way he had, leaving her breathless.
Glancing at him now, seated in the common visiting room of the prison, she wondered what he was thinking. Most of the other tables were occupied with inmates visiting with their families—or an occasional lawyer. They were easier to spot because the inmate’s expression was more intense. With family they put on fake smiles and joked with false enthusiasm. Laughter rang hollow. No one was allowed to touch. The parched air smelled of bitter hopelessness.
“You okay?” Quinn asked her quietly.
“How do they survive?” she asked.
“Some don’t.”
“Everyone should be made to see what it’s like.”
“You think that would deter more people from doing the crime?”
“Don’t you?”
“Maybe. Some people. Most never think they’ll get caught.”
He’d told her this was the low-security complex. She couldn’t imagine what the medium-and high-security areas were like.
She recognized Beecham when he was brought through the door. His six months of incarceration showed, especially the six weeks or so in prison instead of jail. His walk was cocky, his smile meant to look sure of himself, but in that he failed. To Claire he looked much older than forty. His buzz-cut graying hair revealed a comically pointed head and winglike ears. Dark circles under his eyes added to the clownish look. He’d been slender at his trial. Now he was rail thin. Still, bravado oozed from him. Claire wished they’d been separated by a window with each of them holding a telephone, as she’d expected from the movies.
“Sit up,” the guard said to Beecham when he slouched casually. “Hands on the table.”
He immediately obeyed. In an odd way it reminded her of Rase taking commands from Quinn. Maybe structure was what made the prisoners survive, too.
“Sister Claire,” he drawled, making her skin crawl. He cocked his head at Quinn then. “I was told your name but I don’t know you.”
“I’m a friend of the family. We’re looking for Jennifer.”
His eyes opened wide. “Well, goodness gracious, she was here a minute ago. Didn’t you pass her in the hall? She’s devoted to me, you know.”
“She hasn’t been in touch with you,” Claire said, sure of it.
“Au contraire. I get a perfumed letter every day. And there was that box of fudge with a file hidden in it, but it was confiscated. She’s a pistol, that Jenny.”
“You had her followed since you were brought here,” Quinn said.
“Did I?” He shrugged. “A man takes care of his woman the best he can.”
“Except she slipped past your guards, too,” Quinn pointed out.
“Did she?”
“You know it. You called off the dogs after she disappeared from Claire’s home.”
Beecham looked smug. “Maybe she’s taking a little R & R from Saint Claire here.”
Was that how Jenn spoke of her? Claire’s stomach churned. She’d taken Jenn in, put up with her messes and her comings and goings and her lack of responsibility. Always on the move. Push, push, push. Live hard. Play hard. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Except for that last night when they’d been bleaching Claire’s hair—as though they were teenagers again, giggling and having fun. Jenn had styled Claire’s hair, applied her makeup and then pulled one of her own outfits from her closet, making Claire stand in front of the mirror and see a whole new person. Jenn had smiled at the tears in Claire’s eyes.
“I look pretty,” Claire had said.
“You look gorgeous, baby sister.”
That was the Jenn that Claire also remembered. She wouldn’t let anyone steal those memories.
“You look worried,” Quinn said to Beecham, startling Claire into looking at him, too.
“Not me.”
“No? You figure she’ll be here waiting when you get out? What do you think the chances are of that?” Quinn asked Claire.
“Given her track record? Zero to none.”
Quinn nodded. “Did Jenn have access to your money, Beecham?”
“I have no money. Everything went to the lawyers.”
“Except the five million dollars of other people’s money.”
“I have no money,” he repeated.
“Maybe not in the U. S. Or maybe not even in cash.” Quinn settled back. “Did you convert it into diamonds?”
Beecham clammed up.
“Does Jenn know where they are?” Quinn asked.
“Where are you going with this?” Beecham asked finally. “My answering these questions won’t get you anywhere.”
“I figure your game plan, like many others who’ve bilked innocents, is to serve your sentence, get out early for good behavior, then live on what you stole. By that point you’ll convince yourself you deserve it. You will have paid your debt to society, and by damn, you’re
owed for the time you spent in this hellhole, never mind that you put yourself here. But what happens to your plan when you get out and find the money is gone?” He gestured casually. “We want to find her for reasons different from yours. You helping us helps yourself.”
“Last I heard, Jenny was rich in her own right. Why would she need more?”
Not too long ago Claire had said almost the same thing to Quinn. He’d made her see she could be wrong, had opened her eyes to the truth about her sister—how she’d always wanted more, that there might never be enough. “You lived with her for a year, yet you don’t know her at all, do you?” she asked.
Beecham flattened his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “She’s greedy, I know that. She manipulates. I know that, too. But at least I knew she was doing it. You, little sister, were too stupid—”
“Sit back,” the guard ordered, suddenly there.
Tension lingered for a few long seconds. “Jenny and I were good together,” Beecham said in a calmer voice. “She knew how to have fun.”
Unlike you. He didn’t have to say the words for Claire to hear them. She’d had enough. She’d been insulted and demeaned, and they weren’t getting any answers. She looked at Quinn, hoping he could read her face well enough to know she wanted to get out of there.
“You could wait outside,” he said.
“Let’s just go.”
“I’d like to—”
She shook her head, cutting him off.
“We’re ready to leave,” Quinn said to the guard, who ordered Beecham to his feet.
“Tell your sister,” Beecham said, his voice conversational, “that my love for her will take me to the ends of the earth. Whatever it takes, I will find her.”
The threat wasn’t even veiled. Quinn’s hand came down on Claire’s, keeping her in her seat. After Beecham left, she and Quinn were allowed to go, too. She shook so much she could barely sign her name on the checkout form. She hated everything about this place, every dingy, ugly, caged inch.
They turned in their visitor badges. The guard handed Quinn’s back to him. “Mr. Gerard, the warden’s assistant would like to speak with you.”
“About what?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”