by Debby Conrad
“Stanley Davenport?” the shorter of the two asked. The shorter man was six-three and smelled liked he’d spilled a bottle of after shave on his suit. The hairy ape on the right was at least six-eight and bore a three-inch scar on his right cheek.
Quinn squared his shoulders. “Who wants to know?”
“Leo Burns sent us.” Shorty pushed his way inside.
“Look,” Quinn said, “if Leo’s one of Bailey’s relatives, tell him I never touched her.”
The two men looked at each other. The tall, hairy man with the scar came inside, and closed the door behind him.
“Look, whatever this is about, my name’s not Stanley. Okay?”
“Sure, okay. That your bike out front? The Ducati?”
“Yeah, why?”
Shorty laughed, then rammed his fat fist in Quinn’s gut.
Quinn doubled over in pain, stumbled backward and sucked air into his lungs. “My name’s not Stanley Davenport,” he managed to wheeze out.
“Yeah, right. That’s why the red-headed man was looking all over town for you earlier. Told everyone you drove a Ducati. Described it in detail too. We spotted it without any trouble at all.” Shorty grinned, a gold tooth twinkling. “He also described you. About six-one, one hundred ninety pounds, dark hair.” He looked over his shoulder at the tall man. “Whadda ya think, Harry? This look like Stanley to you?”
“Yep,” Harry answered.
That was the second time today that damn bike had gotten him punched. That was it! He was selling it first chance he got. Time to start keeping a low profile.
“And the fat guy at the bar downstairs seemed to know you pretty well too, Stanley.”
Quinn shook his head. What the hell did Pete have against him all of a sudden? Shorty wrinkled his nose as his eyes roamed around the small apartment. “I can’t understand why you’d choose to hang out here, rather than that nice house you got on the beach. Probably figured we wouldn’t find you here, huh?” He sneered and then said, “We waited for you at your beach house last night, but you never came home.”
Harry spoke next. “And then this morning we got lucky. The red-headed guy started poking around your house, looking in the windows, so we followed him. And he led us right to you,” he said, chuckling.
“Look,” Quinn said, “My name is Quinn.” He reached around his back pocket for his wallet. “I can prove it.”
“Save it,” Shorty said. “So you’ve got a fake ID.” He shrugged one big shoulder. “We don’t care about that. All we care about are the diamonds.”
“And Loretta,” Harry threw in. “Don’t forget about Loretta.”
“Oh, yeah,” Shorty said, pressing his left fist into his right hand. “Leo wants Loretta back too. Where is she, by the way?”
Quinn straightened to his full height. He knew it was pointless to argue, but he tried just the same. “Look, I don’t know anyone by the name of Loretta, and I don’t know anything about any diamonds. I’m telling you you’ve got the wrong guy. Now it’s time for you two to take a hike, or I’m calling the cops.”
Harry reached inside his jacket, pulled out a .38 and waved it at him. “Don’t act stupid, Davenport. I’d hate to have to hurt that cute little redhead we saw leaving here.”
Bailey. He was talking about Bailey. Jesus. Quinn just glared at them, rather than argue anymore.
“Leo doesn’t like being double crossed. If you think you can raise the price for the diamonds, you’re mistaken.”
“Look . . .” Quinn started, then closed his mouth, knowing it was useless trying to convince these guys.
Harry nodded to Shorty and, before Quinn knew what had hit him, Shorty’s fist connected with his cheek and eye. The left side of his face this time. “Damn,” he swore, bringing his hand up to cradle the damage.
“Next time we’ll break those dainty little fingers of yours,” Shorty threatened. “See if you can still perform then. Funny, I would never have guessed you were some sissy piano player.”
With watery eyes, Quinn looked at his fingers. They were anything but dainty, but he was through arguing with these two.
“What on earth is going on!” Bailey shouted from the doorway, holding the dragonfly lamp he’d seen in her living room last night.
Quinn’s stomach lurched. “Bailey, get the hell out of here!” he yelled.
Ignoring his order, she set the lamp on the bar, pursed her lips and planted her hands on her hips. “You fellows are going to have to leave. I’m sorry, but you just can’t go around beating up on people because you didn’t like what you ordered to eat. Shame on you both.”
He should have known better. She was too naive for her own good.
Harry nonchalantly tucked the gun inside his jacket pocket. “Afternoon, ma’am. We were just leaving.”
Bailey’s eyes conveyed the fury within her. “I certainly hope so.”
“Remember what we said, Davenport,” Harry said in a low voice. “You have until Saturday at noon to get us that package. We’ll be in touch.” With that Harry pushed Shorty toward the door, and then they were gone.
Quinn released a long breath and hurled himself at Bailey. “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was harsh and raw. “Damnit, they could have hurt you.”
“Why would they want to hurt me? I didn’t do anything to make them mad,” she reasoned.
Rolling his eyes, and shaking his head, Quinn went to the kitchen for more ice.
Bailey followed closely behind him. “I was halfway down the street when I remembered I’d brought the lamp I promised you. I think it’ll look nice in here. It will brighten the place up a bit, don’t you think?” She quieted for a moment, as if she’d suddenly remembered something of great importance. “That guy--the one with all the hair--called you Davenport.”
Okay, so she was a little slow, but she wasn’t stupid, he thought. “Give the lady a cigar.”
Surprise siphoned the blood from her face and a small gasp escaped her lips. “Omigod! They thought you were Stanley.” She hesitated, blinking with bafflement, then went on. “Didn’t you tell them you weren’t?”
Quinn shot her a look that said “Get real.”
“But why would they want to hurt Stanley?”
“That’s a good question.” Quinn grabbed a handful of ice cubes from the freezer and pressed them directly to his sore face. “Ahhh,” he moaned. “Just what the hell was your fiancé up to anyway?”
“Stanley’s not my fiancé anymore, remember?” Bailey tilted her head, trying to assess the damage to his face. Grimacing she said, “And I don’t know what he was up to. He led a very normal life. Except for playing the piano, he was mostly pretty . . . boring.”
“Yeah, well he obviously has some diamonds that belong to a guy named Leo Burns, and Harry and Shorty are coming back on Saturday to collect them. They also expect me to turn over a woman by the name of Loretta.”
Bailey shook her head. “Loretta? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Well, apparently Stanley does. And she’s apparently missing. Obviously she belongs to this Leo guy. Probably a girlfriend, or maybe his wife.”
Her expression took on a whole new look. “That weasel!” she said. “I thought I’d heard a woman’s voice when Stanley called me from the airport two days ago.”
The ice in Quinn’s hand had begun to melt and drip down the front of his face, the cold helping to numb and soothe his swollen cheekbone.
“Why don’t you let me help you?” Bailey offered, touching his arm.
The alley kitchen was too small, and too confining, for the two of them. He needed to get away from her before he did something stupid like kiss her again. When he was around her he wasn’t himself. Quinn shrugged her off. “No. Stay away from me. I’m beginning to think you’re a jinx. That’s twice today I’ve been beaten up because of you.”
Bailey’s mouth dropped open. “But you said the first time it was an unhappy customer.”
Frowning, Quinn said, “You
’re right. My mistake.” He didn’t know why, but he decided to protect Doyle Maguire. At least for the time being.
“You’re confused, maybe delirious. Let me help you,” she said, touching his arm again. “You should probably lie down.”
Quinn let her steer him to the couch. “If you want to do something to help, you could get me that bottle of aspirin on the counter and something to drink. A double bourbon, no ice.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea to mix aspirin and liquor?”
“Right now, I really don’t care if it’s a good idea or not. The way I figure it, I’m a dead man come Saturday anyway. Thanks to you,” he added, mumbling.
* * * * * * * * * *
Poor Quinn, Bailey thought as she watched him lying on the sofa, nursing his drink and dabbing ice on his face and eye. He was so tall his feet hung over one arm of the sofa.
She sat, legs tucked beneath her, in the leather recliner. “So, what are you going to do?” she asked after some time had passed.
Quinn peered out of one eye at her. “What am I going to do?” he repeated as if he hadn’t heard the question correctly.
“Yes.”
“What do you think I should do? You’re the one who got me into this mess.”
“Why do you always blame me? If you didn’t want to be Stanley, you shouldn’t have. It’s not like I’d threatened you or anything.” She thought some more. “The evils of greed. People will do anything for money. Well, not me. Money doesn’t mean anything.”
“The only people who would say something stupid like that are the ones who have more money than they need.” He continued to stare at her for a moment, before closing his eyes.
Bailey released her breath quietly, shifting in her seat. Maybe he’d be in a better mood if she let him sleep for awhile. Strumming her fingers on the arm of the chair, she tried to think what to do. Her brother-in-law was a lawyer, maybe he could help. Or maybe they should just call the police.
“Would you stop all that racket? I’m trying to think here.”
Bailey’s fingers froze in place. “Sorry.” Sighing, she said, “Maybe I should go.”
Sitting up, two lines of worry appeared between his eyes as he looked at her. “You’re not going anywhere without me. Until this is over I’m gonna stick to you like a fly on honey.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, dumped the melted ice from his hand into the empty glass, and set it on the end table.
When he switched all that intensity to her, she became confused. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to get rid of me.”
“I do. But I don’t trust those guys that were here. Bailey,” he said softly, “promise me you won’t leave my side until this is over.”
She tingled as he said her name, and the way his eyes bored into hers made her pulse skitter alarmingly. “I promise,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. She licked her lips to moisten them.
“We’re in over our heads here. I think we should let the FBI handle this.”
“The FBI? But what if Stanley doesn’t know anything either? What if those creeps have him confused with someone else?”
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“Why? They got you confused with Stanley.”
Quinn flashed her a disdaining look. “Why are you trying to protect him?”
“I’m not,” she said. “But if we call the FBI, they’re going to ask all sorts of questions. They’re going to want to know why you were pretending to be Stanley in the first place. And they’ll question my parents. The whole thing will be so embarrassing.”
“So, what’s your plan? Just sit back and do nothing?”
Bailey thought a moment. “If those guys aren’t coming back until Saturday, we have a few days to find the diamonds ourselves. Maybe they’re inside Stanley’s house.”
“I’m not breaking into someone’s house to look for lost diamonds.”
“We don’t have to break in. Stanley left a key under the mat.”
“Forget it. Besides, do you really think Stanley left the country and forgot to take the diamonds with him?”
“Well then, maybe we could just tell them we lost the diamonds, and offer to pay for them.”
Standing, his voice rose. “What? Are you crazy? I have no idea what they’re worth, but I’ll bet you they have at least a six-figure price tag. I don’t have that kind of money, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to those two. Besides, I’m not the one who owes them. Stanley is.” Blowing out his breath in a huff, he ran his hands through his hair and started to pace in the small area between the sofa and chair, looking like a hungry caged tiger, ready to pounce on her. “For Chrissakes, I don’t need this. I’ve got my own problems.”
Every fiber in her body warned her against him, but she needed to make him understand. “But I have no idea where Stanley is, let alone how to reach him.” She folded her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together. “What a mess.”
“So, you’re willing to just throw mega bucks at these guys?” he asked, coming to stop in front of the recliner, his eyes assessing her.
“Well . . . yes. Unless you’d rather they beat you up again?”
“Where the hell did you get so much money, anyway?”
“A rich grandfather. My mother’s father.” She licked her lips again, hating the way he was staring at her. Like it was a crime to have money. It wasn’t her fault she was rich. “He died several years ago, and left Kaitlyn and me . . . comfortable. We were his only grandchildren,” she explained. There was no reason to share with him the obscene amount her grandfather had left her.
“Well it’s no wonder you can’t understand that I work hard for my money, being that you grew up rich.”
Bailey squared her shoulders, sitting up straight. “I never said I grew up rich. My father was a proud man who’d refused to take a penny from my grandfather. He made his own way in life.”
“Doing what?” he snapped.
“He worked for the State for awhile. The Fish and Game Commission. Then later he opened his own tackle shop on the peninsula. After he sold the business, he made some smart investments.” Quinn stared down at her as if he didn’t believe a word she’d said. “You can ask my father if you don’t believe me. He’d never lie.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets he turned away.
Getting to her feet, Bailey came up behind him. “Why don’t you believe me?”
Quinn spun around to face her, almost knocking her off her feet in the process. “Because every time your lips move, you’re lying.”
Lifting her hands in the air, she let them drop to her sides. “That’s the second time today I’ve been accused of being a liar. And both times I was trying to tell the truth.”
“Maybe you should try harder.”
“Have you believed anything I’ve said?” she asked, her eyes locking with his and her heart lurching madly.
“Yeah,” he said, touching her bare arms. “I believed you when you said you had some kind of crazy fantasy about us after I kissed you last night. Because I had one too.”
He stepped closer and pressed his lips to hers, kissing her softly. Leaving her mouth he brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. “Still willing to share that fantasy with me?” he asked. Then, without waiting for her answer, he kissed her mouth again, his warm, demanding lips caressing hers. He tasted like bourbon and smelled like soap and pure male.
Returning his kiss with reckless abandon, Bailey draped her arms over his shoulders and leaned into him. He was rock hard and solid, his heart pounding against her breast. Touching him sent shock waves through her entire body, her senses reeling as if they’d been short-circuited.
Gently, Quinn outlined the circle of her breast with one hand, while the other hand pulled her hips to him. His erection was thick, long and hard against her belly, and her body began to vibrate with liquid fire. She didn’t protest when his hands sought the buttons of her blouse, nor when he pushed it off her shoulders.
Unsnapping her bra, he eased the lacy cups aside and toyed with her dusky pink nipples. His touch was light, but painfully teasing. His fingers were icy, but the palms fiery hot. “God, Bailey,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. “You’re so beautiful.”
Taking one nipple into his mouth, he suckled her, nipping with his teeth, while he continued to torment the other nipple with his thumb and forefinger.
The blood pounded in Bailey’s brain, and her knees trembled. Fearing she might collapse her hands clutched at his shoulder, and the back of his neck, for support. Her breath came in long surrendering moans. Quinn released her nipples and swung her into his arms, her blouse and bra tumbling to the floor. In one swift movement, he fell into the recliner and settled her on his lap, her legs straddling his thighs.
With his hands on her hips, he ground his pelvis into her, her body moving instinctively with his, seeking something more. His tormented groan was a heady invitation to rock gently against him. He kissed one breast, then the other, his tongue trailing a warm, moist path toward her navel. Gasping in sweet agony, she fell against his chest and kissed his jaw tenderly, caressing the strong tendons in the back of his neck.
She felt his fingers at the waistband of her shorts. “I want you, Bailey,” he whispered, grazing her earlobe. Between words he planted kisses on her shoulders, neck and face. “I want you so badly.” Slowly, he unzipped her shorts, the sound of metal teeth echoing in the silence.
On a sigh, she said, “I think I should mention that . . .”
“What?” Quinn tilted his head back and studied her face. “What is it?”
“I think I should mention that . . .” She repeated herself, and swallowed. “I’ve never done this before.”
Quinn stared at her, a swift shadow of confusion sweeping across his swollen face, his eyes darkening. “You’re a virgin?”
She nodded.
As if she’d just confessed to being a murderer, he shoved her off his lap. “Jesus,” he swore.