“What happened?” she asked, the question just there without her even thinking she was going to speak it.
He must have known what she was referring to.
His fingers skimmed across the scar. “My battalion and I were under attack in Iraq after our Humvee was disabled by an IED. A few of us managed to get out of the vehicle and fight hand to hand. I was the only one who survived.”
“I’m so sorry, Malone.” She touched his hand, and he turned his palm so that they could link fingers. Palm to palm, she could see the dry warmth of his skin, the roughness of the calluses. She ran her thumb across his scarred knuckles, imagined him fighting to stay alive, too keep his comrades alive.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “It happened a long time ago.”
“I’m not,” she lied, because she could feel the tears burning behind her eyes and knew if she let them they really would start falling. “And a long time doesn’t take away the sting of loss.”
“You’d know that as well as me.” He didn’t release her hand as Holly Andrews ran over, her waitressing uniform as wrinkled as her face.
“While I live and breathe! If it isn’t my old friend Quinn.” She smiled broadly, patted her overly processed hair. “And who is this adorable young man you’ve brought with you?”
She patted Malone’s arm, and he gave her a look that would have made other women run. Not Holly. She liked men—old, young, ugly, handsome—she didn’t care, she flirted with them. And, of course, Malone wasn’t old or ugly. He was handsome, fit, charming.
“Malone is...a friend of mine,” Quinn said, and Holly smirked.
“Ah. I see. Mitts off, huh?”
“No. Yes. What I mean,” she tried, more flustered than she had any reason to be, “is that—”
“We’re here together and we’d like a seat.” Malone squeezed her hand, and that’s when she realized they were still standing like they had been—palm to palm, fingers linked.
“Sure, hon,” Holly said without ire. She might like men, but she also liked gossip. Quinn and some good-looking guy with a scar. Swoon! Quinn could almost hear the words. Holly probably wouldn’t even wait five seconds after they left to say them to someone.
“You’re frowning,” Malone said as she dropped into a booth, the vinyl seat squeaking as she moved close to the window.
“Am I?” She grabbed a menu even though she didn’t need one and opened it up so that she wouldn’t have to look in Malone’s face. He had an uncanny ability to read her, and she didn’t want him to know just how uncomfortable with this she was.
This?
Coffee with some guy who was helping her out?
There was nothing wrong with that, no reason to feel uneasy about it, but she felt like there was. As if somewhere, Cory might be watching, his heart aching because she was with someone else.
“Stupid,” she muttered, and Malone cocked his head to the side, his dark eyes spearing straight into hers.
“I’m assuming you’re not talking about me, so...who’s stupid?”
“No one.”
“And yet you said it, so how about I order coffee and pie, and you tell me what’s going on?” He motioned Holly over, asked her to bring coffee and two slices of hot apple pie. One with ice cream. One without.
She loved apple pie.
She also loved ice cream.
And, she’d forgotten how much she loved sitting across the table from a man, watching his hands smooth over the tabletop or tap a rhythm on the windowsill.
She looked away, trying to focus on the darkness outside, the quiet, charming street with its pretty shops and lights, but she could see Malone reflected in the glass, the scar a vivid reminder of what he’d survived.
He didn’t speak. Not as the coffee arrived. Not as the pie was served. The plain pie for Malone. The one with ice cream for Quinn. He didn’t speak as he poured cream into her cup, opened a packet of sugar and poured it on top.
“Maybe I don’t like either of those,” she muttered through the lump in her throat.
“Don’t you?”
“Yes.” She finally turned to face him, caught her breath at the look in his eyes—compassion, empathy, concern and something else, a hint of what she was feeling, what she wanted to deny...attraction.
“Then, why complain?”
“Because I didn’t tell you I liked those things. Or that I wanted apple pie with ice cream.”
“If you want something else—”
“Whether I want this or not, isn’t the point.”
“Then what is, Quinn? Because the way I see it, we came in here to ask about your sister and to get some sugar in you. I’m not thinking that’s anything to get worked up about.”
“How did you know?” She stabbed a bite of pie, shoveled it into her mouth, her throat still so tight she wasn’t sure she could swallow it.
“About the pie? Your brother mentioned it to me when I got to his house. He’d just pulled an apple pie out of the freezer. Said he liked to make sure he had apple pie and ice cream every time you came, so he always kept one in the freezer. Your mom used to make it for your birthday.”
“That’s right.” Now the lump was even bigger, because not only was she struggling with attraction to someone who wasn’t Cory, she was making a fool of herself over it.
“Same for the cream and sugar. He had bucket load of both, because you don’t like coffee without it.”
“Also true.”
“What did you think?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee. His was black, and that didn’t surprise her. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d have coffee without cream, pie without ice cream, relationships without complications. He also seemed like the kind of guy who’d be in it 100 percent, no holding back, no keeping a little of himself away. Whatever it was—work, family, love.
“Did you think I had mind-reading abilities?” he prodded, a half smile softening his face. He looked younger sitting there with a cup of coffee in his hand and a plate of pie on the table in front of him.
“You have a lot of skills, Malone. Anything is possible.”
He laughed at that, outright and loud enough for Millie Winslow to look up from her nightly bowl of mulligan stew. Most people in town wouldn’t touch the stuff, but Betty Sue, the diner’s owner, made it anyway, giving it out free to anyone who was hungry.
Millie was never hungry.
She had a huge house with a huge kitchen and a huge pantry. She also had plenty of money, thanks to her ex-husband. She was frugal to a fault, though, and never paid for anything she could get for free.
“Can you be quiet?” she snapped. “Some of us like to enjoy our meals in peace.”
“Some of us,” Holly muttered as she refilled Malone’s coffee, “need to enjoy our evenings without having to see the Scrooge every time we turn our heads.”
“Did you say something, dear?” Millie asked, wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin she’d probably brought from home.
“Nothing you need to hear.”
“Like I didn’t hear you tell that woman that she could probably get work shining my truckload of silver? She could have broken into my house, you know. A stranger with a tattoo! Of all the people to tell my business to.”
A tattoo?
Tabitha had more than one. Most had been covered by the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d dropped Jubilee off, but there was one on her wrist that might have been visible.
“Was there a stranger here recently?” Quinn asked, trying to keep her tone casual. If Holly got an inkling of how eager she was to hear the answer, she might clam up. At least for a while. She liked to be convinced to share gossip, made to feel as if the truth had to be yanked out of her.
“There was!” Millie huffed, standing up and leaving her half-full bowl of soup on the table. “One of those beautiful kinds. You know the ones I mean. They sneak around behind a woman’s back and steal her man.”
“She seemed nice enough to me,” Holly said with a shrug. “And I’ve got a
sixth sense for man stealing, backstabbing females.”
“Did she say where she was from?” Malone asked, finally scooping up a bite of his pie.
“You guys looking for her?” Holly asked, her drawn-on eyebrows raising a quarter of an inch.
“I’m looking for my sister. She stopped by my house a couple of nights ago, and I haven’t seen her since.” Honesty was always the best policy, so Quinn gave it a shot. “Her name is Tabitha Williams. She’s a beautiful woman. Blond hair. Perfect skin.”
“A rock the size of a grape on her hand,” Holly added. “She’s the lady who was in here. Said her name was Lacey.”
“That’s her middle name.”
“She hiding from someone? She had bruises on her neck.” Holly’s gaze dropped to Quinn’s jaw, and she scowled. “What happened, doll? I was so busy looking at your man, I didn’t notice that you took a hit. He do it to you?” She jabbed a thumb in Malone’s direction. “If he did, I can find ways to make him pay.”
“No!” Quinn protested. “And he’s not my man.”
“He should be. The guy is hot. You’re hot,” she repeated, smiling at Malone. “Too young for me, though. As for Lacey. She was looking for work.”
“And bigmouth told her all about my fancy silver. She’ll probably break into my house—”
“Enough,” Malone said so quietly, Quinn barely heard.
Despite the distance between them, Millie must have. Her mouth gapped open, then slammed shut. “You have no right—”
“You have no right speculating about someone that has done nothing to you. If the woman shows up at your house begging for silver or asking for money, file a police report. Otherwise, let it go.”
“I have every right to protect what’s mine.”
“Maybe you should go home and do that then,” Holly suggested, and Millie stomped away, leaving her cloth napkin at the table.
“She’ll be back for that,” Holly said. “That woman is tighter than a size-six ring on a size-seven finger. Now, who punched you, Quinn? I’m going to take him out.”
“The sheriff has him in custody.”
“Good. I’ve been feeling a little jittery since they found that body in the lake.” She shuddered. “Guy was in here the same night as your sister.”
The words were like ice water in the face. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am that you’re sitting in that booth. He came in about twenty minutes after your sister, ordered coffee and a sandwich to go. Said he was from out of town. Just passing through. That’s the way he said it.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“No, and the sheriff didn’t tell me squat, either. I called his office to see if it really was the same guy, and no one called me back. Story was front page of the newspaper this morning, though. They said the guy was wearing black dress pants, a button up shirt and a blue jacket. Now, let me ask you something. You ever seen a homeless person dressed like that?”
“Yes,” Malone answered, and Holly scowled.
“Not around here you haven’t. That’s what the guy was wearing when he came into the diner. It’s what the dead guy was wearing. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”
“Did he tell you where he was traveling from? Where he was heading to?” Malone asked, and Holly shook her head.
“Nah. He was pretty tight-lipped. I’m thinking he was involved in some kind of organized crime ring, you know? Those kinds of people get dumped in lakes all the time.”
“They also like quiet places to meet. Did he ask you anything about the area?” Malone took a bite of pie, then scooped up a spoonful of her melting ice cream.
Quinn thought he planned to eat it, but he nudged it up to her lips instead. “Eat.”
“I’m—” He shoved the ice cream in her mouth and smiled.
Holly laughed. “Girl! You’ve got yourself a winner there. As for that guy who died...he didn’t ask.” She frowned. “Actually, now that you mention it, he did ask a few questions that seemed odd.”
“Like?” Malone ate another bite of pie, but his attention was on Holly, his gaze completely focused.
“He asked where the local elementary school was. Said he had a daughter who’d be attending kindergarten next year. He was wondering what the schools were like here.”
Kindergarten?
Had that been the truth? A random choice? Or had he been looking for the school because he’d wanted to find Quinn?
She met Malone’s eyes. He looked as intrigued as she felt.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yeah. He said he’d like to do a little boating and fishing. Asked if there were any marinas around where he could rent a boat. I told him about Tom Wilken’s place.”
“I wonder if he ever made it there,” Quinn said more to herself than to Malone and Holly. There was no way either of them could know the answer.
“He did,” Holly piped up so confidently, Quinn had to believe she was telling the truth. Or thought she was.
“Did you hear that from someone?” Malone finished off his pie, pushed the plate into the middle of the table and grabbed his coffee cup.
“Tom Wilkens was in with the pastor this morning. They both had the special. Two eggs. Sausage. Hash browns. Not that it matters. I just tend to keep track of customer orders. Anyway, I overheard Tom telling the pastor that one of his flat bottom boats was missing. Had it last night. Didn’t have it when he got in to work.”
“Did Tom think the dead man took his boat?” It’s what Quinn would have thought, but thinking something didn’t make it true.
“I have no idea, but it makes sense doesn’t it? Some outsider comes to town, goes to the marina and steals a boat with his buddy. The buddy gets mad, and the next thing you know, there’s a body in the water.”
Or, some guy comes to town, steals a boat thinking he can use it to dispose of a body and then...
What?
He calls someone? Asks for some backup? Gets himself in trouble with the boss?
“Do you think you can put this in a to-go container?” Malone asked, lifting the plate of pie Quinn hadn’t finished.
“Sure.” Holly hurried away, a bounce in her steps, a sway in her hips. She was excited by the things that had been happening in town.
Quinn was not.
She was scared and tired and wishing that she could have had just a second to talk to her sister, make sure that she was doing okay, ask her what in the world she’d gotten herself into.
Gotten Quinn into.
At least Tabitha had made sure Jubilee was safe.
The police and FBI could say what they wanted, they could think what they wanted, but there was love between those two. Love could make people do stupid things, and Quinn preferred to think that was what had motivated Tabitha. Not the greed that might have enticed her to steal money and jewelry, not some unfounded or well-founded anger at her husband—love for the child she’d mothered for at least two and a half years.
Then I met Jubilee, and I was hooked.
Jubilee was the motivation.
She was the key to everything that had happened.
Quinn believed that.
Now she just had to find a way to prove it.
TEN
Quinn didn’t say much as Malone paid for the pie and the coffee and led her outside. That surprised and worried him. She wasn’t a quiet person. She said what she thought, she went after what she needed. So, why was she walking beside him, head down, gaze on the ground, not a word on her lips?
Fatigue?
Fear?
Probably a little of both, but there was more to it than that, and he wanted to know what.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, the words drifting on still night air.
“They’re only worth a penny?” she responded, looking up from the ground and meeting his eyes. She’d never gotten ice for the bruise, and it was a gray-black smudge across her jaw and the side of her face.
“And pie. And a cup of coff
ee.” He handed her the carryout coffee cup. He’d added extra sugar to it before they’d left, and she grimaced as she took a sip.
“You mean a cup of sugar,” she said, her pace brisk.
“You need the calories and the quick energy.”
“I need to find my sister, and I need to know the truth about Jubilee. She’s the key, Malone. I know she is.”
“How?” Because, the way he was seeing things, the little girl was a pawn in a game that had turned deadly serious. Same for Quinn. Both were a means to an end. The end being Jarrod getting his wife back for whatever reason was driving him—jealousy, rage, revenge.
“Maybe Jarrod is worried about going to jail for claiming her as his child when she wasn’t? I think you’ve found evidence that proves he was the one that took her out of the cult. Maybe he’s trying to get her back so that no one will know what he did.”
“You’re forgetting that the FBI has already called him. They’ve had open lines of communication about Jubilee. Sure, his story can be proved to be a lie, but he can claim he got scared, tried to cover up because he’s an innocent man and never been in trouble with the law before.”
“Innocent men don’t put tracking devices in their kid’s booster seat.”
“They do if they have more money than sense and they don’t trust their spouses.” He’d seen it more than once in his line of work.
“My sister is a lot of things, Malone. I know that. But she loved Jubilee. I could see it in the way she talked to her, and Jubilee loved her. They might not be genetically related, but their bond is strong.”
“Meaning?”
“Something happened. Tabitha and Jubilee were both bruised when they arrived at my place. Tabitha isn’t the kind of person who’d let someone hit her and not walk out. At least, I don’t think she is, and I definitely don’t believe she’d let a child be hurt.”
“What do you think happened?” She was on the track of something. Malone could sense it. While everyone else had been focusing on Tabitha’s past, her criminal record, the items she’d taken from her husband, Quinn had been looking for the truth.
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