“Hold on, Quinn. I am involved in this mess. Don’t forget the money Rebecca stole came from my family.” He pointed a finger at her chest. “We’re in this fifty-fifty. And you didn’t drag me along. It was my choice to accompany you.”
She threw up my hands, again. “Okay, all right, I was feeling guilty dragging you all over the place. I really am sorry, it won’t happen again.” She started down the narrow street.
Logan grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop.
“Quinn, the theft isn’t the only reason I’m in Rome.”
“Really?”
“I came because of you and your, uh, dedication to this mess. I’m here of my own accord.”
“Thank you.”
He enveloped Quinn a quick hug. “I like you. You’re fun to be around.”
“Wonderful.” Her heart skipped. He liked her.
“Let’s go check out the Pantheon. Rebecca might be touring there this very minute.” He kissed her cheek and led her down the street.
They passed another piazza with a fountain holding a fair maiden spilling water from an urn. One frustrating thing about Roman streets was that they were short and changed names at an intersection or piazza. They’d be walking in circles if not for the map and Logan’s memory. Quinn would never again complain about Houston’s streets.
They came upon the Pantheon from its left side. The piazza in front was filled with people and the cafes along its sides were busy as well. Just like Las Vegas, always busy. They meandered around the edge of the square then faced the monument.
“Let’s go inside.” Quinn touched Logan’s arm.
This was her first experience roving around a building nearly nineteen hundred years old. They passed under the portico, columns on either side. The bronze doors were huge and once plated in gold. They journeyed into the interior of the dome.
She moved with Logan to the left and soon came upon the tomb of Raphael, the well-known artist of the fifteenth century. Rome was a home for art lovers. Threading through tourists, they came to the center of the monument, directly under the open oculus, or Great Eye.
“What happens when it rains?” she asked.
Logan pointed to the floor. “See the holes? They built a drainage system.”
“Very cool,” Quinn said, studying the floor. She raised up. “I don’t see Rebecca. Should we walk to the next monument on the list?”
“I’m pooped. How about a rest and then something to eat?” Logan said.
“Okay. I’ll plan our schedule for tomorrow.”
“Don’t forget, we’re waiting on the FBI to officially locate Rebecca.”
“Whatever you say.”
$ $ $
After a five-minute walk back to the hotel, Quinn and Logan stretched out on the bed and promptly fell asleep. A few hours later, Logan’s voice poked at Quinn’s subconscious and started the wheels to turn. She rolled over toward his voice.
“That’ll work. Thanks.” Logan clicked off his cell phone.
“What will work?” she said.
“You’re awake. I made dinner reservations.”
“Great, where?”
“I thought we’d check out Rome’s night life. Never know who you might run across. We have reservations at seven. You’d better get ready.”
She checked her watch then jumped out of bed, not much time to shower and dress. Yet she made herself proud. In forty-five minutes she was dressed in an aqua baby doll top, a black denim skirt, and gold sandals.
“I’m ready. Are we walking or taking a taxi?”
Logan rose from the chair. “Taxi. One should be waiting for us.”
Within ten minutes, they arrived at an ambiance-loaded restaurant, Ristorante la Carbanara, near Camp dè Fiori in the heart of Rome. They elected to sit on the patio. It was lit with fairy lights and bordered the street, providing an excellent view of the strolling foot traffic.
The food and wine were excellent along with the conversation. Quinn blabbed to Logan about her marriage. Normally, she would never mention it to a man but he asked.
“I got married soon out of high school. I was attending the community college but the fun life kept getting in the way. I met Jonathon at a club. He was older than me and very mature or so I thought. He had money to throw around, thanks to his father’s string of auto dealerships. I was impressed by the family business and he was impressed by the cup size of my bra. Truly, a match made in heaven.”
Logan nodded in understanding — sympathy, or sorrow?
“Why did you divorce?”
“That’s an easy answer. Once his father retired, he became general manager. I went to his office one evening as a surprise and the surprise was on me.”
“How so?”
“I found him in his office all right. He was showing his parts to the Parts Department receptionist. I called him a not-so-nice name, slammed the door behind me, and hired an attorney the next day.”
“Ouch.”
“Actually, it was the best for both of us. We didn’t marry for the right reasons. The twins were the one right thing we did. He made most of the school events and dance recitals.”
“Sounds like a stand-up guy.”
Quinn smiled at that. “He always knew just the right birthday and Christmas gifts because his girlfriends were so close in age to the twins.”
Logan chuckled. “At least he had talents.”
“I make fun of him but he has been a good father.”
“And you’re a good mother to be honest about that. Ever get close to marrying again?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you kidding? I told you before I’m a bad picker. The ‘till death do us part’ gene bypassed me. I don’t have what it takes.”
“Have you considered he was simply the wrong man for you?”
“Maybe, but I won’t take the chance of going through another breakup.” She drained her wine glass.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. There aren’t any winners with divorce.”
Now that was an intriguing comment. “I thought you’d never been married.”
“I haven’t. Billy went through one five years ago. It was really ugly. He hardly sees his little girl,” Logan said. “It changed him. But he’s remarried now and happy with his wife and step-kids. How about dessert?”
She begged off more food. “Why don’t we walk back to the hotel and get a coffee along the way?”
They paused on the sidewalk, deciding which direction to walk. After a short discussion with the restaurant hostess, they had directions to the Pantheon. They turned right on the busy street, following her suggestion.
Couples strolled arm in arm while shoppers laden with bags weaved through the crowd. After a couple of blocks, they turned onto Via del Corso. Street lights were abundant so it was a pleasant walk even with the heavy pedestrian traffic.
“Rome is busier than Houston at night.” Quinn commented after their pace had slowed. She was acutely aware of the bodies moving around her — much worse that the Vegas Strip.
“Houston doesn’t have all this foot traffic,” Logan replied. “Being outside at night is a nice change. I like to walk.”
“Me, too, the view of Rome is better on the street than in a taxi.”
The crowd on the sidewalk became even more constricting. Quinn attempted to clutch Logan’s arm as she sensed someone too close behind her. Her sandal hit a bump in the side walk and she fell to the ground, hard.
“Quinn, are you okay? What happened?”
She placed her hands over her ears. With eyes closed, she whispered, “Please stop yelling at me. I can hear you.”
“Sorry, do you think anything is broken?”
“No, no,” Her eyes opened straight into Logan’s concerned fac
e. The focus was a little off. “Help me up, please.” She raised an arm to him. “I want to go back to the hotel.”
Logan’s eyes focused on Quinn as he placed his arms under her armpits and pulled her to her feet. She swayed for a second then found her footing.
“Thanks.” She moved a step, discovered a pain or two she hadn’t felt sixty seconds earlier. “Hmm … .”
“Can you walk or should I get a taxi?”
She didn’t like the idea of bending her body to enter a car and then unbend it to get out.
“I can walk. It’s only two or three more blocks. Just hold on to my arm, okay?”
Now she knew what it would be like to walk down the street as an eighty year old. Thank heavens, Logan was with her. She couldn’t have made it back without him. His presence at her side was becoming a habit.
SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, 12:25 A.M.
“Is the water too hot?” Logan turned off the old-fashioned faucet handles. The deep tub could float a small whale, or, in this instance, Quinn’s sore and bruised body. Logan had dumped in the entire bottle of complementary bubble bath so suds nearly shampooed her hair.
She blew a clump away from her nose. “It’s fine, really.” She needed him to get out the bathroom so she could sink into the water in peace.
“I’m going to order room service. What would you prefer to help you relax? Coffee, wine, my scotch, or Kahlua?”
Scotch sounded terrible. Alcohol was the only legal drug they could obtain just then, since she refused to see a doctor. She ordered Kahlua and vodka.
“I’ll call it in and you take it easy.” Logan half shut the door to the bathroom, offering her the opportunity to moan when she moved her legs and back. Her knees were scrapped a bit, along with her right forearm. She must have first fallen to her knees then rolled on her right side. Her body felt every contact with the concrete sidewalk on Via del Corso. The balmy water was soothing.
Semi-dozing in the warm room, she heard a knock, a murmur of voices, then silence. She sensed Logan and a draft of cold air.
“Quinn, the water has cooled, time to get out and put on your pajamas.”
He held a huge cream-colored towel in front of his body, hiding his face. “Do you need help to get out of the tub?”
“I’m fine.” She could do this. Her muscles were warm enough that it wasn’t too uncomfortable straightening up and gingerly stepping out of the tub into the fuzzy towel. He wrapped it around her.
“I’ll let you finish,” he said. “Call if you need me.”
Quinn managed to smooth cream over her face and hands after pulling on a pair of old-lady pajamas. Ruthie was her supplier for birthdays and Christmas. The current ones weren’t too bad — pink and white stripes plastered with bright-colored martini glasses and red buttons up the front.
She hobbled proudly out of the bathroom. Logan rushed over to her.
“Let me help you get settled in bed.”
Dear, sweet Logan held her arm as she maneuvered onto the bed with as much grace as she could muster under the circumstances.
“There now, take it easy. I’ll get you that drink.”
He moved to the desk and returned with a glass in one hand and a box in the other.
“What’s in the box?” she said.
“First aid kit.” He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box. “I need to take a look at your legs.”
He pulled out a tube of ointment, pushed up the pajamas, and gently rubbed it in the bruised skin over her knees. She sipped her drink.
“Where else?”
She showed him her right arm and continued to drink. He tended to her injured skin, pulled up the covers for her, freshened her drink, and settled beside her on the bed.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked, pulling the covers over his pajama covered legs.
“I’m okay. I’ll be stiff in the morning though.”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Logan squeezed her hand lying on the blanket. “What actually happened on the street? One minute you were next to me and then you were flat on your face.”
Quinn wouldn’t classify herself as one of those women who cried at the slightest provocation. Her pride usually kept her in check. Right then though, she surprised herself as tears rolled down her cheeks. She sipped the drink then brushed her cheeks with the back of a hand.
“Quinn?”
“It was my own fault. I tripped on something on the sidewalk.” She slugged down the drink. “Not one of my finer moments.”
Logan moved closer to her. “Don’t think about that. Everyone trips once in a while.”
“Guess you’re right.” Her head wobbled to the side. “I think I’m tired.”
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her toward his big strong chest. “You poor baby, I’m sorry you’re hurt. Don’t worry about a thing.” He kissed the top of her head.
Logan’s arm felt good. She snuggled into the strength of him. She settled her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
His hand smoothed her hair.
It felt good having someone to lean on. The last ten years had taught Quinn that self-reliance was the key to survival and a crisis-free life. Leaning on a man was not in her vocabulary, until now.
Her eyes flashed open. Her brain skidded into a wall. What? Lean on a man? No freaking way.
She pulled away from Logan, or attempted to. He imprisoned her with a very strong arm.
“Don’t even think of trying to move away.”
“Sorry, a little uncomfortable.” Most of her was one dull ache. Or at least that’s what her soggy brain conveyed. The alcohol had done its magic. Her concern about leaning on him was a physical thing, not a real life kind of thing.
Logan’s hand stoked her cheek and he gently turned her face to his. His nose was two inches from hers as his gaze searched her face for — acceptance, approval, an a-okay?
He apparently liked what he saw. Booze did the trick for her.
Logan’s lips lowered and easily found Quinn’s. His hand brushed hair off her face as his lips moved over it with small kisses. She floated on a cloud of deep sensations spiraling around her middle while her brain enjoyed an out of body experience. She snuggled deeper into his strength. His hand stroked under her pajama top, learning the curve of her breast.
“Hmm, nice, so long since a man has … .”
$ $ $
A Tuesday morning in Rome, one word — incredible. Then Quinn rolled over and last night’s episode screamed for attention as the entire right side of her body throbbed. She relived her stumble on the sidewalk. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory of her clumsiness from her mind.
She tugged the blanket but it was stuck. She raised her head and saw the problem. She was still in the same bed as Logan, in the same hotel room, in Rome.
How could she forget?
Her brain was on the fritz, the lack of Houston humidity was taking its toll. Brain cells were literally drying up. She breathed deeply and rolled slowly to the other side. Ouch, her back was sore and her head hurt.
Her eyes opened and she really noticed Logan. He lay on his back, hair mussed, in need of a shave, one arm behind his head, the other flat handed on his chest. Ah, yes, that chest — muscular, tanned, and a good dose of hair disappearing beneath the sheet at his waist. It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a man’s chest, or any other part for that matter. Her stomach rolled like a drunken sailboat on a calm sea.
“Good morning, Quinn.”
Her gaze moved from his chest to his face. His eyes were bright and eager and spoke of his hopes, whatever they might be. She couldn’t think because her head hurt.
“Morning. Do you mind if we call down for coffee and aspirin?” She didn’t have a prayer of carr
ying on a decent conversation without caffeine in her system.
Logan bounded out of bed like a colt taking a first jump. “Your wish is my command.” He called room service then leaned over the bed and kissed Quinn on the cheek. “You rest while I take a shower.”
She followed orders and dozed off. The next she knew, Logan was two inches from her face, whispering her name.
She placed a hand on his chest and pushed. “Geez, I’m awake. You don’t have to keep repeating my name.”
He straightened himself with dignity. “For your information, I don’t repeat. Breakfast is here. That’s why I woke you.”
“Good, and thanks.”
“No problem.” He sat at the small table in the corner and poured coffee.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” She rolled slowly to the side of the bed, swung her feet to the floor, and sat up. The old body was sore but not as bad as she expected. Good. She wouldn’t be forced to waste any time in searching for Rebecca.
Quinn stood, held onto the wall. Her legs and back were stiff, and her arm was sore. Other than that and a hangover, life was good. She could deal with a few aches and pains. Finding Rebecca was much more important. She hobbled to the bathroom, determined to get on with the work at hand, sore body or not. Ten minutes later she joined Logan.
“Great coffee.” She nibbled a croissant after swallowing four aspirin. “What’s the plan for today? Should we go to the embassy again?”
Logan spread jam on a roll. “Actually, I have an appointment this morning.”
“What time should we leave?”
“Quinn, I’m going by myself. You stay here and take it easy.”
“I don’t need to rest. I’m fine.”
“Of course, you are.” He looked at her, half-smiled. “Regardless, my appointment doesn’t include you.”
She felt like she’d been slapped. She wasn’t accustomed to being told “no” and she sure as hell didn’t like it. Hmm, this wasn’t like Logan. She watched him eat a bite of melon and drink coffee, too nonchalant. He was up to something. She could play that game, too.
In Hot Pursuit Page 17