In Hot Pursuit

by Karen Sue Burns

  “No kidding. What do you play, five card stud?” he asked.

  “Texas Hold ’Em. I’m quite the player in certain circles.” He didn’t need to know it was the twins, Nana, and Ruthie.

  “I’m impressed.” He signed the check, then stood. “I better get you home before they kick us out.”

  All in all, it had been a pleasant evening. Logan had provided her with new information about the donation. She mustn’t forget the possible connection between a HCU employee and the Rice family. Better to question the obvious and dig into the details of what he hadn’t said. But all that could wait until tomorrow. She was pooped and looked forward to slipping into bed and watching the late night news.

  A few minutes later, they turned the corner to her street. Lights flashed ahead. Someone’s alarm had probably gone off. She realized quickly the lights were in front of her townhouse.

  “What is going on?”

  “Looks serious. I count three police cars,” Logan replied.

  He parked in front of a neighbor’s house. Quinn ran down the sidewalk to her front walk. A police officer stopped her.

  “Are you Quinn Wells?” the officer asked.

  “Yes. What’s going on here? Why is my front door open?”

  Logan drew up beside her, draped an arm over her shoulders. “Officer, what’s the problem?”

  The officer first eye-balled Logan then turned his attention to Quinn.

  “Miss Wells, someone broke into your house this evening.”

  “What? Why?”

  “That’s right, ma’am.” The officer spoke with a slow drawl. “And he left you a message.”

  “What sort of message?” Logan said, squeezing Quinn’s shoulder.

  “Follow me.” The officer turned and entered the townhouse through the open door. They were two steps behind as he led the way upstairs to the master bath.

  In a million years, she could never have predicted what the officer had to show them. Written on the mirror over the vanity, in what looked like dark red marker, were the words Back off bitch or you’ll be sorry.

  Quinn’s body stiffened in shock. Why would someone break into her home and leave this ugliness? She stepped back from the mirror, and wished the words to disappear.

  “Miss Wells, do you have an idea of who might want to threaten you?” The cop held the police-issue notebook in his hand, waiting for a reply. “Have you had problems or cross words with anyone lately?”

  She shook her head and walked to the bedroom to perform a three-sixty survey. Nothing had been disturbed other than the mirror. The room was just as she left it with clothes strewn over the bed.

  “I don’t know anyone who hates me enough to break into my house and leave such ugly words.” She glanced at the bathroom and a wave of apprehension swept through her. Some asshole had been in her house, uninvited. “I can’t remember the last time I had an argument with someone. This makes no sense.”

  She ran downstairs and retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then stood with a hip against the counter and stared out the window over the sink. The streetlight near the corner of her front yard illuminated a large oak tree and the shrubs along the side fence. This was a well-lit neighborhood with little crime. She couldn’t remember ever hearing about a home break-in or burglary.

  The local constable patrolled regularly and almost everyone had an alarm system. Damn … she hadn’t set the alarm when she left with Logan. Talk about the mistake of the century. If the alarm had been set, the jerk wouldn’t have broken in.

  She heard her name being called from the living room. Logan and the police officer were examining the lock on the front door.

  “Have you found something?” she asked.

  “The break-in occurred through the door on your patio. It has the marks of being jimmied. This one is clear.” The cop shut the front door. “Looks like the perp just wanted to threaten you or something spooked him before he did any serious damage.” He mumbled into a walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “Lucky you weren’t at home.”

  Talk about too much information. Tears threatened Quinn.

  “I wish I had set the alarm when I left.” She wrapped her arms tight around her chest. “That might have scared the guy off.”

  The officer shook his head. “I doubt it. These guys know how to neutralize every home alarm on the market.” He glanced around the living room. “We’re about done here.”

  “What happens next,” she asked.

  “Have the lock replaced on the back door,” Logan answered.

  “We need your finger prints to compare against the ones we’ve taken from the bathroom and the door.” The officer smiled and opened the front door. “There’s a mobile unit in the van. We’ll give you a call in a day or two.”

  Logan stood by her side as the prints were taken. Within a few minutes the police departed and they moved inside to the kitchen.

  Quinn washed her hands then poured shots of brandy, and handed Logan a glass. They studied each other from opposite sides of the kitchen.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she said. “The ending was a bit unexpected, even for me.”

  “That it was. I’m glad you didn’t arrive home to this alone.”

  “Me, too.” A single tear etched her cheek.

  Logan placed his glass on the counter, took three steps toward her. The maleness of him filled the small kitchen. His finger wiped away the tear, gently caressing her cheek. The scent of his aftershave sent a shiver down her arms. It had been so long since she’d been this close to a man.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was husky, his eyes searched her face. “I don’t like you staying here with a broken door lock.”

  She hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll call my friend, Ruthie.”

  He looked at his watch. “It’s past midnight. There’s no need to bother her. You can stay with me. I have a very comfortable guest suite.”

  Was Logan nuts or what? She hardly knew him. What would her daughters think?

  “That’s very sweet of you, but — ”

  “No excuses. Throw your things in an overnight bag and we’ll be on our way.” He gave her a quick hug and pointed to the door. “You have five minutes.”

  Quinn hurried upstairs to gather clothes and toiletries. She was too tired to analyze why she agreed so easily.

  Within minutes, they headed north on the Southwest Freeway. The drive to Logan’s home in the West University area of Houston was quick and uneventful. She paid little attention to the surroundings as he escorted her through the house and upstairs to the guest bedroom. He pointed to the master suite at the end of the hall, just in case of emergency.

  The bedroom was lovely with muted peach and cream colors and rich oak furniture. The joining bath had a garden tub along with a spa shower. The elegance reminded her of the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Houston.

  “This is wonderful.” She sat on the bed, stroked her hand over the duvet, admiring the luxury of the fabric. “I’m glad I came.”

  “I’m glad you came, too.” He leaned against the doorframe. “At least you can’t get in any mischief here.”

  “Mischief? I’ll have you know, Mr. Logan Rice, that I don’t get in mischief, I create mischief.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Well, don’t create any here, unless I’m involved.”

  Standing five feet from Logan, she could see the strength emanate from him like the first breath outdoors on a frosty morning. At another time, she might have continued with the flirting but she was ready to call it a night. Considering the past few days, topped off by that ugly message, she was drained, and simply wanted to sleep.

  “I promise to be on my best behavior. I’ll see you in the morning.” She moved to the door and placed her hand on the knob. “Goodnight, Loga
n, thanks again … for everything.”

  EIGHT

  Thursday, 7:39 A.M.

  The morning dawned dark and dreary thanks to a spring thunderstorm. The storm’s effects rolled through Logan’s guest room with the occasional crack of lightening, reminding Houston’s residents that Mother Nature was indeed in charge. Hurricane season was just around the corner. Rain pattered against the window and French doors leading to a second-floor balcony. From its gentle rhythm, she concluded the worst of the weather has passed.

  Quinn snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed, unable to avoid thoughts about the events of last night. It seemed obvious to connect the dots between “back off bitch” and the theft of the $25 million. So was she going to listen to the threat and back off? No.

  After a quick shower, she threw on jeans and a cotton top and applied a bit of color to her cheeks. Concealer helped mask the under eye shadows caused by too much stress and too few hours of sleep. She packed her few belongings in the duffle bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

  She heard noise coming from the first floor and hurried down the stairs and through a hallway to the kitchen. A television on the counter blared the morning news.

  She stopped in the doorway, scoping out the kitchen. The layout was large and filled with tall cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. With a restaurant-style range and oven it was definitely a cook’s retreat. Perhaps Logan had another hobby he hadn’t mentioned. She mentally hugged him. Men who cook garnered a high rating.

  “Morning,” she said from the doorway.

  “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” He turned off the TV.

  “Hmm, need coffee.”

  He poured from a carafe, brought a mug to her. “Try this.”

  “Thanks.” She sipped the coffee; it tasted wonderful. She stepped into the room and stood across the counter from him. “Just so you know, I need coffee before I can speak.”

  “Understood.” He nodded toward a mug on the counter. “My second cup. Have a seat. I made us breakfast.”

  She slid onto a forest green stool. “Do you make breakfast like this everyday?”

  “No, but you’re special,” he said, turning bacon onto a paper towel. “Usually my cooking is on Sunday with a large pot of coffee, lots of protein, and hours reading the newspaper.”

  He made a plate for her with a whole-wheat muffin, turkey bacon, and cantaloupe — most of the food groups. Granted it was more food than her standard vanilla yogurt but my heavens, a man cooked for her. She could easily be spoiled by it.

  She transgressed for a minute, picturing Logan and herself lying in bed and reading the paper to each other. She’d read the sports page and he’d read the Sunday magazine. They’d toast with Mimosa’s and plan the itinerary for the afternoon — a tour through the Museum of Fine Arts or perhaps the Arboretum in Memorial Park. The most enjoyable part of the day was being together. They would —

  “Hey.” Logan waved a hand in front of her face. “Are you awake or asleep with your eyes open?”

  “I’m here.” She laughed and it felt good. “Sorry, my mind took off for a moment. Thanks for the breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome. Perhaps we can do it again when I’m not rushed for time.” He checked his watch. “I have an appointment at the office in less than an hour.”

  “That would be nice. Breakfast I mean.”

  “Count on it. What are your plans for today?” He shoved his plate in the sink and ran water over it.

  “Decide what to do next.” She added her nearly full plate to the sink.

  He moved next to her. “Don’t forget those words on the mirror. My theory is that you’ve rattled the thief and he’s trying to scare you off.”

  Quinn chewed her lower lip. “That’s not going to happen. This is personal now.” She swallowed hard, tamping down her anger. “Whoever did this doesn’t know me very well. Screwing with my personal life doesn’t scare me off, it pisses me off.”

  Logan nodded. “You should be pissed.”

  Before she could reply, he moved a step closer, his blue eyes bored into hers. She broke the contact first; his body was too close. She pulled back and he moved with her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her to him. Then his lips touched hers.

  A spicy tingle slipped down her spine while her heart threatened to explode, unaccustomed to the current activity involving her tongue. Logan was one good kisser. He pulled away then straightened his tie.

  “I need to get going. Let’s have dinner tonight. There are a couple of things I need to check out, then we can talk more about the theft. I’ll call you this afternoon.” He picked up his briefcase and suit coat. “A house key is by the phone and I’ve called a taxi service to take you home. They’ll be here in an hour.”

  “Thanks for everything.” She waved as he left. What was that? One minute he was kissing her like a long-lost lover and the next minute he was Mr. Businessman. Men were so weird.

  She refilled her cup and sat at the counter, her head heavy with stress. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours, the past seven days. Frustration, no, anger washed over her.

  She pulled out her cell phone to try Roddy and moved to the window. He answered.

  “It’s Quinn. My house was broken into last night.”

  “What!”

  “That’s right, and the asshole who broke in left a sweet note for me scribbled on my bathroom mirror — ‘Back off bitch or you’ll be sorry.’”

  “Did the Sugar Land police answer the call?”

  “Yep.” She glanced out the kitchen window. Sunlight penetrated the dreary blanket of clouds.

  “Good, I’ll give them a call. Were you hurt?” he said.

  “No, I wasn’t there when the jerk broke in. By the way, why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  “My mother had surgery yesterday, I’ve been with her.”

  “I hope she’s okay,” she said. “Sorry I gave you a hard time.”

  “She’s fine and no problem. Have you heard from the Sugar Land police this morning?”

  “Not a word. Have you heard from your friend at the FBI?”

  “Not yet, but I’m hoping today is the day.”

  She heard a voice in the background.

  “Gotta go,” Roddy said.

  Quinn pulled a small notebook and pen from her purse and returned to the counter. The simplest story was that a HCU employee committed the theft for reasons unknown and more than likely killed Bill because he knew too much.

  She didn’t have a shred of proof to support her assumptions. Clicking the pen, she made a decision. Even though she had no proof, she’d assume the thief was associated with HCU. She’d stick with that until she uncovered something else, or the truth.

  Quinn prayed Nana’s lessons and her ability to transform a difficult situation into a learning experience would guide her to uncovering the identity of the thief.

  She checked her watch. Time to inform Scooter about last night’s break-in. She called his office and Ellie answered.

  “It’s Quinn. How’s everything going?”

  “How’s it going with you? Scooter said you’ve been busy on your vacation.”

  “I’ve talked to the police a few times and I’m doing my best to help. Is Scooter around?”

  “No, he left on a trip today,” Ellie said.

  “What trip?” He didn’t have a trip scheduled on the calendar. How could he leave in the midst of a crisis? “Where did he go? When will he be back?”

  “I know, I thought it was strange, too. He flew to Las Vegas, said it was a family thing that had been planned for a while.”

  Yeah, right. “What hotel in Vegas?”

  “The Grand Resort and Casino,” Ellie replied. “If
you’re calling him, wait until later in the day. His flight is at noon.”

  “Will do. Do you know if Rebecca Holland is out sick today?”

  “Yes, she is. I had a question for her earlier and Daniel said she’s still ill.” They ended the call.

  A few minutes later, the taxi arrived and dropped her at her townhouse, where Quinn jumped in the Volvo and backed down the driveway. A face-to-face conversation with Rebecca should clear up any question of her involvement. She found her home address in the campus directory. It was close to HCU and easy to find. Traffic was light on the freeway so she arrived in twenty minutes.

  Rebecca lived in one of those large old houses divided into apartments. Trees and overgrown shrubs surrounded it. Her apartment was on the bottom floor with the entrance on the left side of the house. A brick path bordered by lush white hibiscus led to the door.

  Quinn rang the doorbell, waited a moment, pushed the button again. Hopefully, Rebecca wasn’t so ill she couldn’t come to the door. Three newspapers were strewn over the front step. She knocked on the door. Still no answer.

  The glare of a large window to the right of the door caught her attention. It was covered with sheers so she scrunched her face against the glass, shielding her eyes with her hands. She had a good view of the living room. Papers, books, and pillows were scattered over the floor. A lamp sat askew on the sofa and an overturned potted plant rested on an area rug.

  This couldn’t be good. Had Rebecca been hurt or even killed like Bill?

  She raced back to the door and pounded on it, then rang the bell again. No answer. Should she call the police? She tried the doorknob and it turned. What idiot left their home unlocked in Houston? She didn’t know if stepping into someone’s house without being invited was breaking and entering but she took the plunge. Rebecca could be in trouble.

  She shut the door quickly behind her and gazed around the front room. It was devoid of human spirit, as if the air had been sucked out.

  “Rebecca, are you home?” Quinn yelled. No answer. “This can’t be good,” she mumbled and started to search the apartment. She called out Rebecca’s name as she moved from room to room. It was a quick tour. She concluded Rebecca wasn’t dead, merely not at home. She hadn’t been there for two to three days based on the newspapers stacked on the front step along with the musty smell.