by Susan Mann
Just as Edward Walker had done when he followed Mai Nguyen in Death’s Dossier, Quinn kept at least two cars between her and James. It wasn’t stalking, she told herself. She needed—no, she deserved—to know what the hell was going on. Sure, she had no claim on James. But he had, in no uncertain terms, told her he didn’t have a girlfriend. If he’d lied to her, she’d go to the client’s house tomorrow only long enough to confront him, tell him to shove those artifacts up his colon, and kick his ass to the curb. And if she was wrong and he returned straight to his hotel, or Shawna turned out to be only a friend or coworker, Quinn would keep this little escapade to herself.
She squinted against the oncoming headlights and kept her eyes on the gray sedan. Her middle churned with uncertainty, but at the same time she vibrated with excitement. Sure, she loved being a librarian. But this momentary adventure, this little taste of what it must be like to be a secret agent—tailing a subject, trying to not be detected, assessing situations, making snap decisions, the risk of being exposed—thrilled her like nothing else.
A few blocks later, James made a right and then a quick left into a small parking lot behind a building that housed three businesses fronted on the street. Quinn made the same right but not the left. Instead, she drove past and watched James exit his car. He adjusted his jacket and started for the front of the building.
Quinn scanned the signs above the back service entrances of the three businesses and immediately eliminated the yarn shop and thrift store. James was headed for a place called Red’s.
She circled around and parked on the next street over. When she reached for the door handle, she hesitated.
What the hell was she doing? Her hand dropped to her lap and she leaned forward until her forehead clunked against the steering wheel. Staring down at the floorboard, it hit her that it wasn’t so much about a lie, but about the truth. If James was there to hook up with Shawna, Quinn needed to know. Seeing him with another woman would allow her to finally rid herself of the stupid crush she’d been nursing.
With renewed purpose, she lifted her head and opened the door. It was just as well, she told herself. He lived in London and would be gone soon. Either way, she needed to shed her feelings for him. As much as it would hurt, seeing him with Shawna would be a good thing.
Still, she didn’t want to die of humiliation if he caught her. When she reached the corner of the building, she stopped and stood with her back against the wall. She peeked around to see if James was waiting for Shawna on the sidewalk. He wasn’t. Blowing out a relieved breath, she spun around the corner and walked to the front entrance. The red neon martini glass above the red door confirmed Quinn’s suspicion. Red’s was a bar.
Her next problem was getting inside while not being seen. She loitered outside until a sufficiently large group of people approached. As they entered the bar en masse, she joined the pack at the back. That was one good thing about being short. It was difficult to spot her in a crowd.
She stayed with the group until they passed where James sat at the bar. When they stopped at the pool table at the back of the room, Quinn claimed an empty bar stool. While those around her sat with their backs to the shelf and watched the pool game, Quinn faced the wall. It probably looked strange for her to sit like that, but it was the best she could do.
Quinn flipped up the collar of her coat to obscure her face and peered over the top edge of the material. James sat with his back to her and facing the most beautiful woman Quinn had ever seen in real life.
Even sitting down, Quinn could tell the woman she assumed to be Shawna was tall and slender. Like a beauty pageant contestant about to explain how she would end world hunger, she sat perched on her seat with ankles crossed. The heels she wore were glamorous and spiky. Quinn snorted at the thought of how ridiculous she herself would look teetering around in shoes like those. Shawna’s impeccable business suit fit her perfectly and her long, brunette hair was thick and luxurious. The woman belonged in a shampoo commercial. When Shawna smiled, the set of straight white teeth nearly blinded Quinn. She added toothpaste commercial to the list.
Between the loud music, boisterous conversations, clinking ice, and clacking billiard balls, Quinn couldn’t hear a word of their conversation. But based on Shawna’s body language, she was in full flirt mode. She laughed and tossed her head, dark hair cascading over her shoulders.
Quinn sighed. No wonder James had never shown any interest in her. Quinn had no chance against a woman like that.
Shawna rested her hand on James’s arm.
“Blech,” Quinn grumbled. She was about to turn away from the scene when James unexpectedly jerked up his arm and flung off Shawna’s hand. A slash of red from glossy fingernails arced through the air.
Shawna’s green eyes widened with shock.
Quinn’s weren’t much different. She’d been so focused on Shawna she hadn’t studied James’s body language at all. Watching him now, she noted that rather than leaning in, he sat with his shoulders squared. In fact, it appeared he was actually tilting back, as if trying to put distance between them. Quinn could practically see the tension radiating from him.
Interesting.
Quinn shifted her attention back to Shawna, whose face was now pinched and tight. Shawna’s mouth dropped open when James furiously jabbed his finger in the air at her. And when he slowly leaned toward Shawna, his body still rigid, Quinn guessed he wasn’t whispering sweet nothings in her ear. He was pissed.
Shawna pressed a hand to her chest and shook her head, clearly pleading her case. She broke eye contact with James and glanced around the room in distress. For a split second, Quinn’s and Shawna’s eyes locked.
Crap. Quinn ducked behind her upturned collar and spun away. Crap. Crap. Crap.
She set her elbow on the ledge and shielded the side of her face with her hand. Mind racing now, she weighed her options. She could bolt out the back door, but it would be pretty obvious. She would sit there for a few more minutes and hope Shawna saw Quinn as a nosy nobody watching a couple argue. The more pressing question was, Had James turned to see who Shawna was looking at? If so, in a matter of seconds James would tap her on the shoulder and demand to know what the hell she was doing there.
She closed her eyes and listened to her pulse whooshing in her ears. A few seconds passed. The laughter, the music, the cadences of the conversations in the bar hadn’t changed. The room hadn’t fallen silent, like saloons did in old Westerns when there was about to be a shootout.
“Hi there,” a voice right next to her said.
“Shit!” An explosion of adrenaline nearly sent Quinn rocketing through the ceiling like a missile. She slapped one hand over her thumping heart and gripped the shelf with the other to keep from falling off the bar stool. After catching her breath, she looked into a face sporting a thick, dark beard. “Sorry. You scared me,” she said.
The poor guy looked like he was about to be slammed by an oncoming bus. “Oh, jeez. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared down at his shoes. “I’ll go away now.”
“No,” Quinn said quickly. “No, you don’t have to do that.” Talking with someone would make her less conspicuous. Plus, if James did see her, she could claim them being at the same bar was purely a coincidence. She smiled. “You surprised me, that’s all.”
“Yeah. Again, sorry,” he said, still looking a bit rattled.
Quinn glanced over her shoulder in time to see James leap up from his seat, dig out his money clip, and throw a wad of bills on the bar. Then he stormed out the front door, leaving Shawna alone and visibly shell-shocked.
Quinn had to let some time pass to ensure James had cleared out of the parking lot before she could leave, so she decided to keep the conversation going with the bearded guy for a while longer. She turned back toward him and offered her hand. “I’m Quinn.”
He relaxed and his faltering smile turned confident. He shook her hand. “Josh.”
They exchanged pleasantries and as they talke
d, Quinn learned Josh was an aspiring actor. So far, being a zombie extra in a low-budget flick Quinn had never heard of was his biggest claim to fame.
Quinn peeked over her shoulder again to check on Shawna’s status. The wetness that had glistened on her cheeks only a few moments before had dried. Shawna’s megawatt smile was back on full tilt and she batted her eyelashes at the broad-shouldered man with black, wavy hair now occupying the bar stool James had vacated. When he closed in and whispered in her ear, Shawna grinned and slid her hand up his thigh.
Shawna seems to be handling her heartbreak pretty well, Quinn thought sardonically.
Quinn spun back around when Josh asked, “Can I get you a drink?”
She seriously considered staying for a while longer even though she figured she was good to go. But after the stalking, the spying, and having the crap scared out of her, she’d had enough for one night. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of tired, so I’m just gonna head home.”
Josh’s face fell. “Oh. Okay.” Not giving up completely, he asked, “Can I at least have your number? Maybe we can get together for coffee or something sometime.”
Josh really did seem like a nice enough guy. James wouldn’t be around much longer and he’d made it clear they were only business associates. Quinn had no reason not to go out with him. “Sure.” She dug in her purse and handed Josh her business card. “I’d like that.”
She smiled when he beamed at her. At least there’s one guy in L.A. who wants to go out with me, she thought. They said their good-byes and as Quinn gathered her things, she noted how Josh received several congratulatory pats on the back when he returned to his friends and showed off her card.
Quinn slid off the stool and strolled toward the front door. When she passed by Shawna, though, she dipped her head and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead to hide her face.
Outside, she drew in a deep breath of cool night air and took off toward her truck. Once settled in the safe confines of the driver’s seat, she let her head fall back against the headrest and stared out the windshield. Her mind was a muddled mess.
She didn’t know what Shawna and James’s relationship was exactly, but at that point it didn’t really matter. His actions had made it pretty clear he wanted nothing to do with her. And that made Quinn giddy with relief.
She sat forward and stuck the key in the ignition. “Crap.”
Chapter Eight
The air was crisp and the sun shone bright in a cloudless blue sky. There wasn’t a hint of the storm that brewed off the coast and was expected to hit later that night. It was the kind of December day Quinn knew was envied by other parts of the country blanketed under inches, if not feet, of snow.
On the downside, her patch of the world would never look like the winter wonderland portrayed on Currier and Ives holiday cards. There was a secret part of her that would love to experience, just once, a Christmas where she could ride in a horse-drawn sleigh past barren trees, branches laced with snow, and farmhouses with warm light glowing from the windows. Since the likelihood of that ever happening was infinitesimally small, the sleigh bells chiming in the Christmas song filling the interior of her truck would have to do.
Traffic was light that Saturday morning, so Quinn made good time as she drove west toward the Pacific Ocean on a curving, tree-lined section of Sunset Boulevard.
The night before, when James forwarded the address to her, she knew she’d be venturing into one of the most expensive and exclusive enclaves in all of Los Angeles. Pacific Palisades was an area less-than-wealthy librarians feared to tread. This was her chance to see that world from the inside.
She turned left off of Sunset and slowed the truck so she could read the house numbers painted on the curbs. The residences were either large, well-maintained homes with perfectly manicured yards or hidden behind walls and copses of trees.
Parked in a driveway was one of the most amazing cars she’d ever seen. The sapphire blue convertible supercar was sporty and sleek and looked as fast as it was expensive.
She spotted James’s rental and pulled up behind it. She’d barely come to a stop and he was already yanking open her door. Had he seen her at Red’s the night before after all and was about to call her out? She was ready to plead temporary insanity and hope for the best.
“Did you see that incredible machine?” He pointed at the supercar gleaming in the sunlight.
“I did.” She shut off the engine and silently celebrated the fact her exploits from the evening before were not the featured topic.
“It’s a Lamborghini LP550-2 Gallardo Spyder. It has 550 horsepower and can go from zero to sixty in three point nine seconds.” His boyish excitement was adorable.
“That’s impressive. Now I know what to get you for Christmas.”
“Yes, please. One with a big red bow on the bonnet, like in the adverts.”
“Big red bow. Got it.”
“It will only set you back about a quarter of a million dollars.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Yikes. Pricey.” She grabbed her computer bag and purse and slid down from the seat. As they walked together toward his car, she said, “Since I’m unwilling to rob a bank to buy you a car like that, how do you feel about me knocking off four zeroes from the car’s price tag and buying you a Lamborghini necktie instead?”
“It would be one of my most cherished possessions,” he said without a hint of sarcasm. His sincerity took her aback and she made a mental note to look for a Lamborghini tie online.
He stooped and rummaged around the front seat of his car. Quinn couldn’t help but admire the view. James certainly wore his jeans well.
She smiled innocently when he straightened up and held out a plastic-lidded cardboard cup. “I brought you some Earl Grey.”
“That’s thoughtful. Thank you.” She took the cup in her free hand and sipped. It was warm and pungent and wonderful.
He dove into the car again, extracted his briefcase, and slammed the door.
They walked through the wide gap in the stucco wall at the front of the property and up the driveway. She jumped at a noise behind her and glanced over her shoulder. A gate hidden in the wall slowly slid across the opening.
Another stucco wall stood between them and the house. James pressed a button on the intercom panel next to the security door. While they waited for a response, Quinn blew out a breath.
He lightly rested a hand on the small of her back. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she answered. Her eyes darted from the intercom to the camera pointing at them from above and finally to his face. “I feel a little out of place.”
“You may feel out of place, but you don’t look it.” His smile was warm and his touch comforting.
The intercom crackled and a male voice drawled, “Yawp.”
James’s hand remained on her back when he looked straight up at the camera. “James Lockwood here, with my associate, Quinn Ellington.” She lifted her tea toward the camera in an awkward salute.
“Hey, James!” the voice boomed. “Come on in.”
The door buzzed and they stepped into a courtyard. To their right, water burbled up from the top of two hexagonal stone pillars that stood in the middle of a square pond. Water flowed from it through a foot-wide channel to the front of the house.
They strode up the walkway that ran alongside the trough. The front door opened before they arrived, revealing a short, middle-aged man with wild, curly hair, and a friendly smile. “Great to see you again, James.”
“You too,” he answered as they stepped into the house and shook hands. “Paul, this is my research associate, Quinn Ellington. Quinn, this is Paul Shelton. He’s my client’s business manager and takes care of the house when he’s away.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Shelton,” she said and extended her hand. When James had called Paul a majordomo, she’d pictured a tall, thin, dour man in formal wear. In reality, the man shaking her hand was the very opposite in faded jeans, green rubber flip-flops, and a black Pink Floyd hoo
ded sweatshirt. She mentally kicked herself for allowing a stereotype to color her expectations. It was something she was always fighting as a librarian, so she couldn’t believe she’d just done the very thing that drove her crazy.
“Please, call me Paul.” His eyes were riveted on Quinn when he said, “James, I can see why you’ve been spending so much time at the library. You told me you were working with a lovely librarian. You didn’t tell me how exquisite she is.”
Quinn felt her cheeks grow hot. She almost spun around to see if he was talking about some other librarian behind her.
She glanced over at James. His ears were beet red.
Paul’s gaze darted between their faces and a knowing smile formed. He released her hand and asked, “Quinn, can I give you a quick tour of the place before you get to work?”
Happy to move out of the Entryway of Awkward Greetings, she said, “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“James, do you want to come with us? Or should we meet you in the office in a little while?”
“I could go on another tour.”
Amusement twinkled in Paul’s eyes. “I thought so.”
They ventured farther into the house. The channel of water continued all the way to the backyard. If not for the thick, clear plastic covering it as it flowed under the floor, a midnight run to the refrigerator could be a dangerous proposition.
She gazed up at the soaring ceiling and then at the formal sitting room to their right. Colorful modern art paintings hung on stark white walls. A black grand piano sat near the floor-to-ceiling wall of windows that ran the length of the house. The glass allowed for a spectacular view of the backyard and the ocean beyond.
White, black, gray, and chrome were the featured shades throughout the house. As they walked, Quinn noticed some of the items she and James had researched. While it was fun for her to see them, they only reinforced her overall impression she wouldn’t want to live there. It was too much like a museum. Wealthy, sophisticated people threw swanky cocktail parties in houses like that. She couldn’t picture Wyatt rolling his toy dump truck across the cold, marble floors.