When she merely smirked at him, he held out several shopping bags. “Kit brought you some things to wear.”
“Clothes,” she cried, as she jerked the bags out of his hands. “Is she here?” she asked, as she immediately started going through the bags. Selecting one of the solid, rose-colored tops, which was a form-fitting tunic tee, and a pair of jeans, she moved into the bathroom out of Reese’s view to begin to dress.
“No, she dropped them off a couple of hours ago, hung around for a while, but when you didn’t wake up, she left. We’re supposed to meet up with them whenever you feel like it.”
“I feel like it. Got anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”
Good thing he’d anticipated her appetite. “I made BLTs.”
“Bless you. And coffee?”
“That, too. How do you feel?”
“Better, almost human.”
“You needed the sleep.”
She stepped into range, wearing her borrowed clothes. Her long mane of damp, straight-as-string hair fell well past her shoulders as she ran his comb through its thickness, getting out the tangles. He watched, a little disappointed, as she bundled the still-damp mass up and bound it back with a simple rubber band.
“I washed your shirt and pants from last night…but…laundry isn’t my strong suit. Some of the stains didn’t come out.”
She laughed. And it was a nice laugh for a woman who had lost everything she owned the night before. “You did my laundry? Reese, you are a wonder. Thanks for trying. I should probably send them out to the cleaners though. I guess from here on out, I’ll need every stitch of clothing I can lay my hands on.”
“Kit assures me she has you covered in the clothes department, at least until the two of you can go shopping. And if you need a place to stay, Quinn, my guest room is an option with no strings attached. Although I prefer you sleep where you did last night.”
She walked over to him then, put her fingers to his face, and brought it down to her level. She touched his lips in the faintest of kisses. “Hmm, thank you.”
This man had tucked her in last night. He’d let her sleep like the dead without pressing any advantage. Not every man would have done that. After she gave him another chaste kiss, she said, “I may have to take you up on that since Baylee’s got dibs on Kit’s old place.”
“I’m not sure Dylan plans on letting Baylee go anywhere at the moment without him, and that includes San Madrid. Besides, I think he’s planning to tuck her into his little house in Palisades before long.”
Her forehead crinkled. “You make it sound like Dylan is calling the shots. Baylee is pretty independent…” Not used to Baylee having anyone special in her life, she thumped her own head. “Oh hell, who am I kidding? You’re probably right. I think she’s head over heels in love with the guy.”
She snapped her fingers. “I just thought of something. Gloria’s guest house is empty.”
“But Cade knows that place.”
“True. But he’ll find me here and that puts you in jeopardy. No matter where I go, he’s bound to find me. It’s silly to think he won’t. For crying out loud, he broke into my locker at the hospital, all he had to do was bribe a security guard. And last night…”
Reese frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. Maybe he could persuade her to take a two-week vacation instead of trying to get her back on rotation so soon. With that, he decided to approach this thing from another angle entirely.
“Is there any family you want to call, Quinn? Let them know what happened.” He was thinking of her father, Nick Tyler. Maybe he could locate her mother, Ella Canyon, too, let her know Quinn needed some help. Kit had mentioned the woman’s last known address was in the San Francisco Bay area. But then she had also reminded him that Ella would be the last person in the world Quinn would want to contact.
When she didn’t say anything, he prodded, “Don’t you think it’s time you got in touch with him? You could use this time to work out your…issues. You’re an adult...”
In the act of going through the clothes Kit had brought, taking inventory of what she had on hand to wear, Quinn’s body went rigid. Reese saw her jaw lock tight and knew he was in for a fight. “No. Don’t even think about it.”
“Quinn, don’t be hard-headed about this. You have three weeks susp…”
She didn’t let him finish. She whirled to face him. “And last night you said you’d try and help me fight that, make it shorter. Now, you want me to what? Contact a man who’s never given me the time of day for no good reason? I’m not doing it. Things have been bad in my life before…I don’t need him around now. Stay out of this, Reese. This is none of your concern, none whatsoever.”
He held up a staying hand. “Just wait a minute. I wrote the injunction to fight the suspension this morning. I got an emergency protection order against Cade, too. It’s good for five days, at which time I’ll apply for a temporary restraining order before we’re granted a hearing for the real deal. So, be reasonable here, Quinn. This is a time to turn to family. Cade blew up your fucking house! What if you’d been home?”
“And trying to contact a man who’s never bothered to get to know me will change that how exactly? Why would I want to do that?”
“He’s your father. After all this time, he might be interested in knowing your situation, concerned to learn you’re in danger.”
“Oh, for god’s sake, spoken like a man who doesn’t know a damned thing about my life.” She gave him the onceover. “Don’t tell me you used to listen to his music. Oh, my God, you’re a fan of his music! News flash, the rock star isn’t interested in me period. He never has been. Now drop it, will you?”
Recognizing the obstinate look in her eyes, this wasn’t getting him where he wanted to go. He tried a different tack. “Look, if you won’t make the call, we could all go over to Ireland, get out of L.A. for a while until this whole thing blows over. It would get us out of town, maybe let this thing with Cade cool off for a bit.”
For a lawyer used to presenting his case, he was falling woefully short.
“And then what? I’d still have to come back and Cade would no doubt be waiting. And have you forgotten? Gloria and Kit are expecting Ben Griffin to step off a plane at the end of the week. I might add that whole brother-slash-son reunion has me curious. I want to be there when it happens. So I’m not going anywhere, let alone setting foot in Ireland to see a man who hasn’t given me the time of day in twenty-five years.”
“That’s just it; in light of the situation, shouldn’t you at least try to…”
“I’m not begging that asshole for five minutes of his precious time! Been there. Done that. He’s never once taken the time to even see me. And that was when I was much younger, a kid. Why would a rock star care anything about meeting a grown woman now? I won’t go begging for his attention at this late date as an adult.”
Reese started to reply, but she bowled right on. “There’s absolutely no reason he’d want anything to do with me now anyway. Don’t you get that, Reese? You had a loving father. I had no father. Period. Accept the difference. We all can’t be lucky enough to have Mike and Carol Brady for parents.”
And with that, she pushed him back through the open doorway and slammed the door shut in his face.
Okay, he wouldn’t tell her he’d already taken it upon himself to make contact via a phone call to Tyler’s attorney, some guy named Baines. And he realized now what a mistake that had been.
Good intentions, he decided, was going to cause her to explode in his direction. Just when things were getting friendly between them, he’d taken a step on his own he had no business taking.
Ten minutes later, a strained silence hung between them as they ate the tomato soup Reese had heated from a can to go with the chunky BLTs.
Finally Quinn said quietly, “I know you mean well, Reese, but…”
“No, I was out of line. I had no right to interfere.” He sat there looking out the dining room window. “It’s just that
if I had a chance to talk to my dad again, I’d take it in a heartbeat. I miss him, the talks we used to have. I even miss his reminiscing about the old days. Although to tell you the truth, at the time his stories bored me silly. But I’d give anything to hear him tell me one of his corny jokes.”
She put a hand over his. “But Reese, it isn’t the same thing. Don’t you see that? You had a relationship with your father, a good one. I never had that. Surely a guy who had a four-point-seven grade point average all through law school would understand that.”
“You asked about me.”
“Once. Jake and I were having difficulty finding anything to talk about and your name slipped into the conversation. That’s all. And wipe that smug look off your face.”
For the first time that day, he smiled. The woman could be such a hard-ass when the opposite was true. “I admit the situation is different with your father. But that’s inconceivable to me. My dad was always there for me, my mom too.”
But thinking about her early years, anger bubbled up in him at Nick Tyler for not having the balls to check on the welfare of his own flesh and blood. In Reese’s opinion, whether the child had been conceived out of wedlock or not, the man should have at least met with her before now. His financial responsibility certainly had not included a caring heart.
“My parents were a joke. Face it, Reese. You had that Norman Rockwell family we all wanted.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But my childhood was pretty normal.”
“Lucky you.” As if to change the subject, Quinn stared at the half-eaten BLT on Reese’s plate. “You gonna eat that?”
He shoved the plate her way, just as a hail of gunfire pierced through the front window, causing glass to shatter all around them.
He grabbed her as they hit the floor on the way down. Bullets flew past them as he lay sprawled on top of Quinn while the pings of metal hit every surface inside his house. Plaster and shards of glass rained down over both of them.
Just as suddenly as the gunfire began, it was over. Reese heard the squeal of tires and made a dash to the living room window in time to see an SUV peel down the street.
The walls were riddled with holes. His flat-screen TV hung at an angle. Glass shards from lamps and photographs were scattered all over the floor. Debris lay everywhere.
Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed nine-one-one, even though he could hear sirens already in the distance.
CHAPTER 6 Book 3
In a drug-induced haze, Ella Canyon sat in her tiny room in East Oakland, wondering what had happened to the gravy train she’d once rode hard and fast. Somehow she’d fallen off and never managed to get back onboard.
Once upon a time she’d had it made—even lived in Beverly Hills for chrissakes, had a Mercedes parked in the driveway, diamonds on her fingers. She’d been able to shop on fucking Rodeo Drive, eat in the fancy-schmancy restaurants where celebs like Steve McQueen had once dined.
Those were the days when she’d worn the best clothes, lived in a mansion and had a roof over her head on a regular basis. During that time, she’d done her best to walk the straight and narrow. For about six months.
She’d walked away at the first opportunity.
She’d gotten used to another way of life long ago. Having to sell her body to survive came easy. Old habits were hard to break.
Because God knew she’d loved the smack. She could survive on snow and uppers in a pinch, but it was the smack she used for escape and that which had ultimately dragged her down to the gutter where she found herself now.
She rarely had a lucid day anymore. And when she did, she tended to ramble on to whoever would listen about that lap of luxury in which she had once lived.
“Shame the kid had to grow up,” she mumbled now to the four walls as they closed in around her. So she’d left the kid to live the life she was meant to live. Little brat should be grateful for that.
It had been five years since she’d laid eyes on Quinn. That last time they’d had a good, old-fashioned catfight about her heroin addiction. Not just screaming and yelling either, but honest-to-God yanking hair and face-slapping.
Ella cackled at the memory with the laugh of the insane.
She licked her dry lips and began to shake, her body knowing full well it was time for the generous dose of methadone it craved on a daily basis. She took in her surroundings. She’d lived in worse.
Somehow she needed to make it to the pay phone downstairs, though. It was time to call the uppity little bitch and remind her to wire her some cash. After all, it had been six months since she’d heard from the kid, Christmas to be exact. At least she thought it had been Christmas. Maybe it had been some other goddamned holiday. It was hard to keep the days straight any more.
It didn’t matter. It was past time to go to the well again. She could always count on Quinn for at least a grand to get her through the rough spots—like now.
As she wiped spittle from her mouth, the shaking grew worse. She crawled out of bed and padded into the bathroom for a drink of water.
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she saw an old woman looking back at her. For chrissakes she was only forty-seven but looked a good ten years older. Her bloated face sagged. Her eyelids dipped over rheumy eyes. Her teeth were brownish stumps, rotting from years of chasing the white dragon.
And that was on the outside. The crystal meth had done its own number burning the linings in her lungs. Her body itched with a constant, red splotchy rash she couldn’t make go away no matter how much prescription cream doctors handed out.
She began clawing at her arms, where visible needle marks scarred the sallow skin.
When the four walls closed in even more, she muttered louder this time, “Damn shame the kid had to grow up.”
By early afternoon, Dan Holloway’s day had already passed hectic and was running down the fast lane to frenzied. He’d spent the better part of the morning hanging out with arson investigators, going through the site of the explosion the night before. So he’d been on the scene when they’d discovered additional bodies under the rubble.
That part of the job, staring at dead bodies, no matter how they’d met their deaths, had a tendency to make his stomach lurch.
That had been one of the reasons he’d missed lunch.
He’d been about to head back to his office to fill out paperwork when he’d gotten the call about a drive-by shooting in Westlake Village.
It seems Reese Brennan’s house had taken a hit. Because he’d seen firsthand the destruction back at Quinn Tyler’s apartment building, he might be tempted to jump to conclusions. So far, he couldn’t prove Cade had been anywhere near Tyler’s apartment building when it had exploded. Presumption wasn’t his friend. As a third-year detective in Homicide, he knew better than to begin any investigation with a false premise. Not only was it unprofessional, it could lead a good investigator down the wrong path really quickly with no way to turn back.
The fact that he could keep an open mind was his best trait.
Having to maneuver in gridlock traffic, though, it took him forty minutes to reach Brennan’s Mediterranean-style house. Wearing his suit coat and tie in the summer heat, the detective surveyed the busted glass scattered in the flower beds and on the lawn, even as the criminal lawyer, sporting a pair of jeans and T-shirt, hammered nails to board up his windows.
Holloway glanced up and down the trendy street and took in the tidy manicured lawns of the upscale neighborhood. “Never knew Westlake to have a drive-by—in broad daylight, no less. Seems too peaceful for something like this.”
Reese shot him a steely-eyed look of disdain. “I’ve lived here ten years, first time anything like this has ever happened. You think this was random or a coincidence after last night? Think again.”
The uniform cops were still on the scene, milling about, still bagging spent shells they’d dug out of the walls. The insurance adjuster had shown up an hour earlier but was still in the process of snapping photos of the damage to g
o with his claim forms.
“Did you see them do it?” Holloway asked pointblank. “Because right now I could really use an eyewitness account.”
Still holding a hammer in his fist, Reese bobbed his head toward the uniforms. “They took my statement. It’s all in the report. I saw a big-ass SUV peel out of here like a bat outta hell. The Boyds have a thing for big gas-guzzling SUVs. You know they do.”
“Doesn’t mean they did this, I need something concrete.”
“Yeah, well, you heard Cade in the ER threaten Quinn. That’s good enough for me.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You do that,” Reese grumbled as he looked over at Quinn standing on the lawn holding the pot of coffee she had fixed for the officers and insurance agent.
While he fumed and worried, she had gone into cool, composed doctor-mode. It was either practiced, something a physician needed to convey in a crisis situation, or a side benefit as a result of how she’d grown up in chaotic disorder.
But fury still ran hot through the usual calm demeanor he had worked so hard to perfect over the years. He didn’t like losing his composure. A defense attorney had to keep his cool under fire in and out of the courtroom. Usually he could contain his emotions; today not so much. He wasn’t in a courtroom now. And this was personal.
Plus, he hadn’t been around cops for ten years for nothing. They might need rock solid evidence to go after Cade Boyd, but he had all the proof he needed.
By the time Reese and Quinn walked up to the wraparound porch at Crandall House, carrying two suitcases mostly packed with stuff belonging to him, it was almost six-thirty.
Kit opened the front door before they even had a chance to knock or ring the bell.
“Hey, what kept you guys?”
“Cade shot up Reese’s house. What a mess! Reese’s beautiful home is boarded up now, shot full of holes. It should be on the news,” Quinn announced. “But I took photos with my phone. Wait till you see what Cade did to it.”
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