Книга - Hearts on the Line

Hearts on the Line
Margaret Daley


TO: AL CRANE@CSSENTINEL.ORG FROM: COLLEEN MONTGOMERY@CSSENTINEL.ORG Boss, I'm finishing up all my articles before Alessandro and I get married later this month.He's thrilled his uncle Max is out of the hospital and can attend the wedding. If only Baltasar Escalante weren't still out there–Alessandro believes he's plotting against the Vance and Montgomery families.My cousin Quinn has been busy restoring detective Becca Hilliard's house, but he's also on alert following the explosion at the hospital. I'd be thrilled if Quinn and Becca became a couple but I wonder how safe it is to fall in love when there's a madman on the loose….









“Do you think there’s a connection between the fire chief, the museum curator and Baltasar Escalante?” Becca asked her partner.


Her mind spun with the incidents that had occurred over the past few months in Colorado Springs, all wrapped up in the Vance and Montgomery families, who had been instrumental in Escalante’s downfall the year before.

When she thought of the drug lord being alive, she grew chilled. Once again she pictured Quinn Montgomery, with his chocolate-brown eyes and a smile that could melt a woman’s heart. He could take care of himself, but worry over his safety took hold and she couldn’t shake off her concern. Someone had tried to burn his business down and had nearly succeeded. What if he’d been in the shop when it had been set on fire?



FAITH AT THE CROSSROADS: Can faith and love sustain two families against a diabolical enemy?

A TIME TO PROTECT—Lois Richer (LIS#13)

THE DANGER WITHIN—Valerie Hansen (LIS#15)

THROUGH THE FIRE—Sharon Mignerey (LIS#17)

IN THE ENEMY’S SIGHTS—Marta Perry (LIS#19)

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL—Terri Reed (LIS#21)

HEARTS ON THE LINE—Margaret Daley (LIS#23)




MARGARET DALEY


feels she has been blessed. She has been married more than thirty years to her husband, Mike, whom she met in college. He is a terrific support and her best friend. They have one son, Shaun.

Margaret has been writing for many years and loves to tell a story. When she was a little girl, she would play with her dolls and make up stories about their lives. Now she writes these stories down. She especially enjoys weaving stories about families and how faith in God can sustain a person when things get tough. When she isn’t writing, she is fortunate to be a teacher for students with special needs. Margaret has taught for over twenty years and loves working with her students. She has also been a Special Olympics coach and participated in many sports with her students.




Hearts On The Line

Margaret Daley








Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Margaret Daley for her contribution to the FAITH at the CROSSROADS miniseries.

To Therese, Vickie, Jan, Caron and Gloria

Thank you for all your support and friendship.

To Captain Carole Newell

Thank you for all your help in researching what

a hostage negotiator does.


Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust, and not be afraid; for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my song; He also has become my salvation.

—Isaiah 12:2




CONTENTS


CAST OF CHARACTERS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Quinn Montgomery—The target of vandalism and arson, the head of Montgomery Construction was ready for a break from all the tension. But with a madman on the loose gunning for the entire Montgomery clan, Quinn needed his faith to get him through….

Rebecca Hilliard—The Colorado Springs police detective had been busy for months investigating the various crimes perpetrated against the Vance and Montgomery families. Was she too busy for romance with Quinn?

Baltasar Escalante—The drug lord was hiding out in Colorado Springs with a new face, plotting to take back his only living heir. He’d vowed to destroy his hated enemies for taking his son away from him…but would he succeed?

Ritchie Stark—The small-time criminal had moved himself up in the crime world. Was he El Jefe, the brains behind the drug operation, or was he just a small fish in a large, deadly pond?




PROLOGUE


“Did anyone follow you?” Baltasar Escalante stepped out from the shadows cast by the pine trees.

Dahlia Sainsbury came to a halt on the trail path, feeling out of place in high heels and a pale-blue silk suit, but then she hadn’t had time to change since leaving her office, having spent the past few days trying to convince the police she knew nothing about the drugs being moved beneath the museum. “No, I made sure before turning into the park.” She smoothed a few strands of her hair that had come loose from her chignon.

Pausing in front of Baltasar, she scanned the area, half expecting the police to surround them after the incident with Alessandro and Colleen in the mine tunnels. “We can still leave for England, especially now that the authorities know about your involvement with the drugs.” Her time in Colorado Springs was coming to an end. A little more time to cover her tracks and set a trap for Escalante, then she would be gone.

“I am not leaving until I’ve finished what I came here for.”

The steel thread woven through his words sent a shiver down Dahlia. In the nearly full moon she saw his whipcord body stiffen, his hands fisted at his sides. “They know you’re behind everything that’s happening in Colorado Springs. Every police officer in the city is looking for you. Is the revenge worth getting caught?” She knew his answer even before he said anything because it was the same as hers. He would pay for having her half brother killed. They were alike in a lot of ways.

“I will not get caught. I have a place to hide out until I carry out the rest of my plans because, my dear, revenge is sweet. The Vances and Montgomerys will pay for destroying my life. They will suffer as I have.”

She couldn’t help the chill that rippled through her again.

“Cold, querida?” Escalante moved into her personal space, drawing her into his embrace.

The wind picked up and teased the few stray strands of her hair. “Just worried about you,” she said in a voice filled with sincerity. She was getting good at lying. She agreed revenge would be sweet once he was dead.

Tilting up her chin, Escalante looked into her eyes as though delving beneath the surface to discover the true person behind the facade she presented. He dipped his head forward and brushed his lips across hers. She suppressed the shudder and tried to return his kiss with the feelings expected of a lover. But his cold kiss left her chilled.

Baltasar shifted. Something pressed into her chest. Then he backed away a few paces. In the moonlight Dahlia saw the gun in his hand. A gun pointed at her heart.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the weapon. “Why?”

“You are Alistair Barclay’s sister. Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I wanted to double-cross you first.”

The icy declaration sealed her fate. She whirled to run. A deafening sound pierced the air at the same time as the force of the bullet propelled her forward. She went down on her knees. Pain gripped her as blackness hovered….




ONE


On the path, Detective Becca Hilliard paused for a second, taking in her surroundings at the Garden of the Gods Park. As she approached a crime scene, she liked to get her bearings, especially when it was outside.

The metallic stench of blood laced the cool morning air. A pale-blue sky with a few streaks of white stretched out above her. The soaring red rock formations in the park and Pikes Peak jutting upward in the background vied for her attention. The day was beautiful. Too beautiful for a murder, but since being transferred to homicide, she had learned a murder could happen anywhere, anytime.

A few uniforms stationed around the perimeter of the crime scene and, off to the side, a young couple with her partner, Sam Vance, were the only people in this more isolated area of the park. The man had his arm around the woman, trying to comfort her. Sam spoke to the blond lady whose pale, tear-streaked face brought forth all the churning emotions Becca experienced when viewing a violent crime. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to anesthetize herself completely when seeing a dead body, as some of her fellow police officers had managed to do.

Sam gave her a nod and headed toward her. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

“I wish.”

“It’s Dahlia Sainsbury, the curator at the Colorado Springs Impressionist Museum. With all that has happened lately, I can’t say that I’m surprised by this murder.”

“Especially since she’s suspected of a connection to the drugs that were being distributed from the tunnels under the museum. Alessandro was sure she knew what was going on. He believes that she tried to poison Colleen. It would have only been a matter of time before we had enough evidence to formally charge her.”

“Yeah, she was playing with the big boys, and they don’t play fair.”

“Do you think Escalante killed her because of what happened in the tunnels with Alessandro? If so, why?” Becca gestured toward the face-down body of Dahlia, a bullet hole in her back, red fanning out from it. Becca’s gaze riveted to the dead woman’s left arm, which was stretched out above her head. “It certainly wasn’t robbery. That diamond bracelet on her arm has to be worth a small fortune. And her purse is next to her.”

“With everything in it, as far as we can tell. It clearly wasn’t robbery. She was shot at very close range.”

“Which means she either was surprised or knew the person who shot her and was running away. How long has she been dead?”

“With lividity and rigor mortis, the medical examiner says between six and ten hours. He’ll know more after he examines the body at the morgue.”

“So what was Dahlia Sainsbury doing in the park after hours?”

“Meeting someone? We found a set of footprints near the body. A man’s, from the size.”

Becca stepped closer to the body and examined it, making sure not to disturb any evidence since the crime-scene unit hadn’t arrived yet. “It doesn’t look like there was much of a struggle. Who found her? That couple?”

“Yeah, I’ve got some uniforms canvassing the area to see if anyone else heard something, but I doubt it with this place’s isolation.”

“Let’s separate our couple. You take the man. I’ll take the woman.” Becca made her way toward the pair.

The blonde raised her head, her teary gaze taking in Becca’s approach.

“Hello, I’m Detective Becca Hilliard. May I have a word with you?” She placed her hand on the woman’s arm and directed her to the side, away from the young man. Reaching into her jacket pocket of her navy blue pantsuit, she retrieved her pad and pen then continued, “I’m so sorry you had to find this. It’s never easy, Ms….?”

“Carrie Young,” the woman said with a sniffle, brushing her hand across her cheek.

“Is that your boyfriend? Husband?”

Carrie glanced at the man talking to Sam. “Just a good friend. We like to hike together. This was our favorite trail until—” She hugged her arms to herself, her eyelids sliding closed for a few seconds while she sucked gulps of air into her lungs.

“Tell me what happened.” Even after eight years on the force, Becca had a hard time dealing with the effects that a death caused on the people left behind. Interviewing the person who found a body or a loved one of the victim drained her emotionally.

“There isn’t much to tell. We were walking along the trail. She isn’t hard to see. She’s—she’s—” Carrie swallowed several times “—right there two feet from the path.” She waved her hand in the direction of the body but didn’t look at it, her mouth compressed into a frown.

“Did you touch her or anything?”

Carrie’s eyes grew round. “Me? No! I couldn’t. Bud did, though. He checked for a pulse to see if she was alive.”

“Where?”

“On her neck. He said she was cold.” Carrie shuddered, clasping her arms even tighter to her. “I had my cell phone. I called the police. We waited for them at the trail head. I couldn’t wait here.” Another tremor shook the woman.

“Can you think of anything else?”

“She wasn’t dressed for hiking or the outdoors. She looks like she was dressed for a date.”

Becca remembered the spiked blue heels and matching silk dress that Dahlia wore and had to agree with Carrie. Who had she been dating? Becca jotted a note to herself to check into that. Maybe this wasn’t connected to the drug gang, Escalante and everything else that had happened in the past few months, starting with the attempted murder of the mayor. First rule of police work: don’t assume anything.

The ring on Becca’s cell phone blared “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.” She unhooked it from her waist and flipped it open. “Hilliard here.”

“A man’s threatening to jump off the new building going up at Carson and Quincy.”

“I can be there in fifteen.” She clipped the phone back on her belt and said to Carrie, “I have to leave. My partner will take the rest of your statement.” She quickly moved to Sam. “Can you finish? That was Sarge. I’ve got a jumper.”

“Sure,” Sam said as she started down the trail at a jog.

Two minutes later, as the crime-scene unit pulled into the parking lot, Becca peeled out, siren on, and raced toward the construction site, hoping she could make it before the person carried through with his threat. As a member of the negotiation team for the police department, she responded to hostage, suicide or barricade situations when the need arose. Her heart raced, with adrenaline pumping into her system as fast as her car sped toward her destination.

Becca drove to the cordoned-off area where the team leader had set up his command post. Beyond the barricade a crowd of people gathered with their attention glued to the top of the unfinished building. Leaping from her car, she went to her trunk and removed her body armor. The man threatening suicide stood on the top ledge ten stories up. Most likely he didn’t have a gun, but she never knew, so she always wore protection.

“What do we have, Sarge?” Becca asked the team leader, Carl Johnson, as she slipped on her body armor.

“I just got here myself a few minutes ago. Quinn Montgomery called 911 and is talking to the man right now. He’s the man’s boss, owns the company putting up this building. The first person on the scene was a uniform. He’s up there now with Montgomery.”

“Who’s the jumper?”

“David James. Don’t know much yet. Here, put this transmitter on.” Sarge handed her a beeperlike device to clip at her waist. “And use this earpiece. I’ll feed you information on the jumper as I get it.”

She rode the elevator to the top floor and hurried toward the stairs that led to the roof, nodding toward the uniformed officer standing guard at the door. Wind played with stray strands of her ponytail. The sun beat down, heating the concrete. She’d prefer to wear her sunglasses, but it was important for David James to see her eyes and connect with her. Instead, she squinted against the glare and headed toward a large man standing a few feet from the jumper, who was poised on the ledge. One step the wrong way and David would go down ten stories.

“David, I’ll help you any way I can. Just come down from there.”

Montgomery’s deep, baritone voice held a calm, soothing tone. Becca was impressed that even his stance didn’t convey any irritation or anger. She placed her hand on Montgomery’s arm to indicate she was present since his full attention was on his employee. He gave her a slight nod but kept his gaze trained on the jumper.

David glanced her way. His eyes widened. He took a small step to the side away from her and Montgomery, but didn’t say anything.

“Hello, David. I’m Becca Hilliard. I’m a negotiator with the police. I’d like to help you.”

“Help me? No one can!”

Becca moved next to Montgomery, aware that his gaze was now on her. The air sizzled with tension. “You don’t think anyone can help you?”

David’s attention darted to Montgomery then back to her. “My wife left me and took the kids. Can you bring her back and make everything like it was before—” He worked his mouth but no more words came out. Peering away, he clenched his hands at his sides.

Montgomery started to take a step toward David. Becca stopped him and shook her head. She mouthed the words, “Too dangerous.”

David looked at her again. “I want things back the way they were.”

“You sound frustrated.”

“I am. There was no warning. I came home yesterday and she was gone.” Anger lining his face, the jumper snapped his fingers, the gesture making him wobble.

Becca held her breath, knowing if he lost his balance neither she nor Montgomery would be able to reach the man in time. David steadied himself, his eyes growing round as he glimpsed the ground ten stories below. That was a good sign. Perhaps David hadn’t thought this suicide attempt completely through. In her earpiece Sarge told her he would see what he could discover about David’s wife.

“Do you plan to commit suicide, David?” she asked, having learned it was important to establish that up front.

He blinked. Montgomery stiffened beside her.

“I—I—don’t—” David cleared his throat. “Yes. I don’t have anything to live for. My family’s gone. I have bills I can’t pay.”

Becca started to push Montgomery back toward the stairs, where it was safer, when he interjected, “I’ll help you with that, David.”

The jumper’s gaze swung to the man next to her. Surprised by the offer, she, too, wanted to look at Montgomery, but she didn’t dare take her eyes off David James. Again she acknowledged the calm power behind Montgomery’s words, as though he knew instinctively what to do in a situation like this.

“You see, there are ways to help you, David. If you come down from there, we can talk about it.” Becca concentrated on keeping her voice even, nonthreatening.

For a long moment David didn’t say anything, then he shook his head as though trying to rid his mind of some image. “Help? I’ve tried talking to her. She won’t listen.”

“When you tried to talk to your wife, she wouldn’t listen?”

David slowly turned so he could face her, but he remained on the foot-wide ledge. “Yes. I left messages at her mother’s all evening and this morning for her to call me. She didn’t! I was late to work because of her.”

“Maybe she didn’t get your messages.”

Surprise flickered across his features. “You might be right! It would be just like her mother not to tell her about my calls. She hates me.”

“Come down here and we can try again.” Becca pulled out her cell phone, dangling it in front of him as though it were a prize he couldn’t possibly resist.

David glanced at the ground to his left, then back at Becca. She held her breath, hoping he would follow her gentle command. Sometimes that worked, especially if he hadn’t totally thought through committing suicide.

David shrugged. “Okay.”

Montgomery released a heavy sigh that mirrored her own feelings as she watched David climb down from the ledge and walk toward her, holding his hand out for the cell phone.

As he neared her, she began heading toward the stairs to the tenth floor below, saying, “Do you want me to make the call?” She wanted to get him as far away from the ledge as possible.

“No, I will.”

David came up beside her while Montgomery took the rear. After passing the phone to David, she threw a glance over her shoulder, wishing Montgomery was a police officer in case they ended up in a scuffle. She hated involving civilians. Montgomery smiled and nodded as though he could read her mind and was reassuring her he could take care of himself. With his muscular build, no doubt he could, she decided, a connection arcing between her and Montgomery. They were both determined to keep David from jumping.

“Trish, pick up. This is David. I’ve got to talk to you. Please!”

Anger, mixed with frustration, returned to David’s face. Becca slowly retrieved her handcuffs from her pocket and prepared for if he decided to dash for the ledge again. If she had her way, he wouldn’t, now that she had him down from it.

He snapped the phone closed and cursed. “She’s gonna regret not taking my call when—”

Before David had a chance to finish his sentence, Becca grabbed his arm and twisted first one, then the other, behind his back and locked the handcuffs on his wrists. David jerked around, obviously intending to head back up to the roof. Montgomery blocked David’s path in the stairwell to the tenth floor. From behind, several uniformed officers rushed up and whisked the jumper away, as he screamed his frustration.

All the emotions and tension she had held at bay during the ordeal flooded Becca the minute she realized David wouldn’t be jumping that day, that he might get the help he needed. While the uniform officers led him away, she sagged against the handrail, squeezing her eyes closed and drawing in cleansing breaths.

“Thank you.”

Montgomery’s deep voice penetrated the place she went in her mind where she tried to regroup after a negotiation. When she opened her eyes, he stood right in front of her, filling her vision, all six feet two inches of him. Now that she had the time to examine him, he took her breath away. Dressed in faded jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt, he reinforced her earlier impression that he was all muscles and power. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled as the seconds ticked into a full minute and she hadn’t said anything. A flush actually colored his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually stare at people unless I think they’re going to commit a crime. But after a negotiation, I’m wiped out, even when they don’t last long, like this one.”

The corner of his mouth cocked upward. “I think I know the feeling. I was so glad when you showed up.” He plowed both hands through his short russet-colored hair, then scrubbed them down his face as though to wash the past hour from his mind. “I don’t know how you do it. Are you called out much?”

“More than I wish. Usually a few times a month.” She extended her hand. “Thank you for your help.”

He took her hand within his and shook it. “I wasn’t gonna let David jump.”

His determination underscored her own in situations like this, and the connection she had felt earlier between them crackled again.

Still grasping her hand, he said, “But you don’t have to worry about me applying for your job. One officer of the law in the family is enough for me.”

The firmness and warmth in his touch conveyed the man she had heard about from his brother, Brendan, a former police officer who had until recently worked with her. She’d casually known Quinn Montgomery from afar, but suddenly there seemed nothing casual between them now.

“I miss Brendan at the CSPD, but he seems to be settling in at the FBI,” Becca said, trying to dismiss the feeling of interest hovering below the surface.

“Yeah, he’s a regular Elliot Ness.”

“Not J. Edgar Hoover?” She started down the stairs, realizing that Sarge would be waiting for her.

“Nah, Brendan’s more a hands-on type of guy, like me.”

“Is that why you were here? Isn’t Montgomery Construction a big operation?”

“I like to be involved in all the projects as much as possible, especially with what has happened lately.”

“That’s right. Wasn’t there a fire at your business a few months back?”

“Yeah, my carpentry shop and storage barn were destroyed. A lot of things have been happening to the Montgomery family lately. It pays to keep an eye open. What’s going to happen to David?” Quinn punched the down button for the elevator.

“He’ll get the help he needs.” She slanted a glance toward Quinn Montgomery, trying to remember all that Brendan had told her about his older brother. “Did you mean what you said about helping him with his bills?”

He nodded. “He’ll need it.”

“I’ve got a feeling David will appreciate it, especially when he straightens out his life.” Now she remembered what Brendan had once said about his older brother. He was a man whose word was good as gold. She liked that.

Stepping onto the elevator, Quinn said, “I’m in your debt for showing up when you did. I didn’t know how I was going to get him down from that ledge. I’d run out of ideas.”

“You were doing a pretty good job of keeping him calm. The important thing was that David was still there when I showed up.”

That cocky smile reappeared. “I was afraid he could hear my knees knocking and the sound would drive him over the edge.”

She laughed.

He liked the sound of her laughter—light, musical, as if it danced on the air. “Seriously, if I can do anything for you, return the favor in any way, please let me know.”

“I was just doing my job, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Quinn, and that doesn’t mean I can’t feel indebted to you for your assistance up on the roof, Becca. David was one of my employees, part of my family.”

She turned her head toward him, her ponytail flying to one side with the sudden movement. That drew his attention to her light-brown hair, streaked with blond coloring. Her large hazel eyes focused on him, making him aware of the small confines in the elevator. For a moment his gaze connected with hers, and he became lost in her light-brown depths with green specks.

She blinked, stepping back a pace. “Thank you, but—”

The elevator doors whooshed open and the noise and activity rushed in to remind Quinn of what had just transpired for the past sixty minutes. What she was about to say to him was lost as a big man in a police uniform approached them.

“Becca, you did a good job.” The man looked toward Quinn. “I’m the team leader, Carl Johnson. We’ll need a statement from you, Mr. Montgomery.”

“Fine. I’ll come down to the station later today.” After shaking Carl’s hand, Quinn stepped to the side, seeing his younger brother coming toward him. “Again, thank you, Becca, for your help. If you need anything, let me know.”

As Quinn walked away, he heard the man say to Becca, “We’ll need your report while it’s still fresh in your mind. This one ended good.”

Quinn paused to watch Becca leave with her team leader and another police officer. Quinn still could picture her big eyes, full of life even in the midst of such turmoil and potential death. Her look reminded him of Maggie. The memory of the last time he’d seen Maggie pierced his heart. He shook the reflection from his mind. He had moved on. He wouldn’t go down that path again.

“I hear you had some action this morning.” Brendan patted him on the back. “And you handled yourself well.”

“I told Becca Hilliard that she never has to worry about me applying for her job.” Quinn walked toward the area where he had set up a makeshift office on site. Still fresh in his mind was the first few minutes up on the roof with David. Fear such as he rarely encountered had washed through him until he had said a prayer to God for guidance. Then, as though the Lord had clasped his shoulder and stood next to him, his fear had dissolved and in its place had been a resolve to see David safely down from the ledge. He had known that everything would be all right. Not long after that Becca Hilliard had arrived as though she had been sent from the Lord.

“You need to give a statement.”

“I know. Just give me a few minutes. I need a strong cup of coffee and something sweet.”

Brendan followed him into the room. “Pour me a cup, too.”

“What brings you by?” Quinn handed his younger brother a mug full of hot, strong coffee, then filled a cup for himself.

“Heard about the jumper and came running. Couldn’t see you going through this without me, especially with the trouble we’ve had lately. At first I thought it was connected to that.”

“Nope. David James just lost it. His supervisor called him on being late for work. That sent the man over the edge. He flew at Collins, hit him a few times, then escaped up to the roof, where he threatened to jump.”

“Is Collins okay?”

“Yeah, just a cut lip and probably a black eye.” Quinn lifted his mug to take a sip and noticed his hand shaking. He placed the mug on his desk before he spilled his coffee. “How does she do it?”

“Who? What?”

“Becca. Negotiating.” Quinn clasped his hands together to still their trembling, recognizing the reaction as delayed shock. When he had thought David would jump, all he could think of was the man’s two little girls without their father. Thank You, God, for delivering David safely down. And thank You for sending Becca to help.

“Ah, now it’s just Becca.”

“Stop right there, little brother. After going through something like what happened on that rooftop together, it seems kinda ridiculous to call the woman Ms. Hilliard.”

Brendan lounged against the file cabinet. “She has her own methods of destressing. We all do.”

Quinn knew his brother was referring to people working in law enforcement. He’d been engaged to a woman who had been on the police force until—again his heart twisted with the remembrance of that day Maggie had died. So much for not going down memory lane.

“You’re the boss. Give yourself the rest of the day off. I think you deserve it.”

“So I can go over what happened on the rooftop until I go screaming down the street? No, thank you. I think I’ll stay and work.” This was one of his ways of dealing with stress. Finally, Quinn thought his hand was steady enough to pick up his mug and take a long drink of his much-needed coffee. “How’s Chloe? Have you two set a date yet?”

Brendan chuckled. “I get the picture. No more talking about you. Chloe and I are negotiating when. Definitely Chloe’s the one.”

“I’m glad, since you two are already engaged.”

“How about you? Seeing anyone?”

“Don’t have the time. The fire set me back some. Having to rebuild the shop and barn as well as do all the projects we’re committed to has taken a lot of my extra time.”

“I thought you finished the shop and barn a couple of weeks ago.”

“Yes, but…” Quinn let his sentence trail off into the silence. He and his brother knew the real reason he hadn’t dated. Except for the few times Brendan had tried to fix him up since Maggie’s death three years ago, he hadn’t gone out with anyone. Instead, he had thrown himself into his work and his carpentry.

“She would have wanted you to move on, Quinn.”

“I know. I am. Colleen has a friend at the paper she wants to introduce me to. I’m thinking about taking her up on her offer once she returns from Italy for her wedding.”

The second Quinn said that, however, an image of Becca up on the rooftop, totally focused on David, calm and in control, popped into his mind. There’s something about Becca Hilliard that—no, don’t go there. Her job is as dangerous as Maggie’s was, and Maggie’s job killed her.




TWO


Becca took the stairs up to the attic and opened the windows at each end of it to let the cool breeze blow through and the stale air escape out. She had a few minutes before Quinn showed up and she wanted to find her sister’s box of memorabilia to send to her. She’d been promising her for months, and if she didn’t do it now, she would probably forget for another month—especially since her younger sister had just called asking her to send it to her.

Amazed that she still didn’t have the time to do the things needed—after all, both her sister and brother no longer lived at home—Becca headed for the corner where Caitlin had kept her belongings. Her two siblings were gone, so why couldn’t she find enough time to do all that needed to be done?

“Because I have now decided to finish my college degree in psychology on top of trying to solve the rash of recent murders. What did I expect?” she muttered to herself as she dug through the boxes for the one Caitlin had described. Being married to her job didn’t allow a lot of extra time.

In the very back, perched on a rafter, she saw the black square box with her sister’s treasures. Becca stretched over the containers piled in her way. Just a few more inches. She leaned farther forward, lost her balance and started to fall. With quick reflexes, she managed to catch herself by putting her hand down on the rafter while her foot came down hard in the area between two beams. The unfinished part of the floor held for a second, then suddenly her foot plunged down through it, the jagged edges of the wood ripping through her capri pants and digging into her thigh. Pain shot through her.

She swung her leg that dangled from the ceiling in the third bedroom on the second floor, hoping to give herself some momentum to shove herself up out of the hole she was caught in. She couldn’t dislodge herself. She examined the area around her for something to use to drag herself out. Nothing. Frustrated, she slapped her hands on the two rafters, the only firm support around her, and pushed upward. Her leg, caught on something, wouldn’t budge. Again, then again, she attempted to free herself as the pain continued to radiate up her leg.

Finally, in exhaustion she sagged against the wooden beam. Sweat dripped off her face and coated her white shirt. She took a moment to regain her strength while she ran through different scenarios in her mind. The only thing she could come up with was to keep trying and hope eventually sheer force would dislodge her.

The ringing of her doorbell cut into the sound of her heavy breathing. Quinn Montgomery. Maybe her knight in shining armor had arrived—not that she believed in such a thing. She’d learned earlier to depend on only herself and her work with the police department had only confirmed that through the eight years she had been on the force. But she was a practical person and right now she needed help.

The chimes sounded again.

“Quinn! Help!” she yelled, hoping he heard with the windows open. “Help!”

“Becca…” She heard his wonderful, deep voice calling up to her through the window. “Where are you?”

“In the attic. I fell through the floor and can’t get out.”

“How do I get in? Do you have a spare key outside somewhere?”

The very thought appalled her. Why make it easy for a robber to get into her house? She’d be the butt of jokes at the police station for weeks. “No. My neighbor on the left has one.”

“Be right back.”

Even though help was on the way, Becca gave it another try, hating the idea she was trapped in her house, helpless, depending on another for rescue. Still, all she managed to do was press the jagged pieces of wood into her flesh even more. She bit down hard. She hoped she wasn’t bleeding all over her grandmother’s quilt, which covered Caitlin’s bed. Granny would roll over in her grave if she was.

Moments later footsteps pounded up the stairs to the attic. She inhaled in a deep, calming breath, and nearly choked on the dust she’d stirred up. She sneezed, releasing one hand to rub her nose. She must look a wreck with sweat-drenched clothes covered in the dust and dirt from the floor. So much for second impressions.

“Becca?”

Realizing the mound of boxes hid her from his view, she called out, “I’m over here.”

Quinn peered over the stack and, with a sharp gaze, assessed the situation with a quick sweep. “Okay?”

“Except for being embarrassed for putting myself in this position, I’m fine.”

Quinn hefted the boxes out of the way until he could kneel next to her, careful to keep his weight on the rafter he balanced himself on. The worry on his face touched her. For so long she had always been the one who had worried about others. She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone concerned for her.

“I’m adding this to the long list of projects that need to be done around here. This attic flooring needs to be completed.” She patted the beam next to her. “I definitely don’t want to be in this predicament again.” This would now be number one on her least favorite things to happen to her, even before encountering snakes, which she had a healthy fear and respect for.

Quinn grinned. “Probably should be moved up to the top of your ‘to do’ list.” He felt around the edges of the hole.

“I’m caught on something.” She breathed in a whiff of his aftershave and for a few seconds the scent of pine filled her nostrils.

“I’m going below to see if I can push you up through the hole. Do you have a stepladder somewhere?”

“In the garage.”

“I’ll be right back. Hang on.” He rose, chuckling. “No pun intended.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” she said with her own chuckle.

She was sure when she was free she would laugh about this and probably tell the guys down at work about this little adventure—well, maybe she wouldn’t go that far. But right now all she wanted was to hide in the bathroom, wash off the dirt she’d picked up from the floor and change clothes. What a sight she must be! There was a part of her that was amazed she even cared, but she had felt a connection with Quinn the other day that had intrigued her.

In the past she’d had little time for a serious relationship with the opposite sex what with raising her siblings and trying to establish her career at the police department as well as go back to school to finish her degree. She only had another year of part-time college to earn her psychology degree, then she wanted to work on her master’s. She couldn’t see herself being a police detective forever, especially considering how hard it was for her emotionally to shake some cases. She wanted one day to be a counselor. That was why she had joined the negotiation team. That and—

So lost in thought, she gasped when she felt Quinn’s hand on her ankle. The warmth in his fingers momentarily wiped from her mind the past half hour and all she could zoom in on was his touch.

“I see a piece of wood caught on your pants. I’m going to free you then push up. I may have to rip your pants some more.”

“I imagine they are beyond repair. Don’t worry about them,” she said wistfully when she thought of having just removed the price tag from them right before she had put them on an hour ago.

Quinn clambered up the ladder until he could grip the wood. The whole time she was acutely aware of him even though she couldn’t see him—she could hear and feel his presence. Heat singed her face when she pictured how she must look to him.

He finally broke off the jagged piece of wood, giving her leg some more room. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

He shoved while she thrust herself up and out of the hole. She perched herself on the rafter and stared down into the bedroom. Thankfully she hadn’t been right above the bed so Granny’s quilt had escaped any harm.

“Are you all right?” Quinn’s handsome face peered up at her.

She smiled. “I’ll live.”

He climbed down while she checked the gash on her leg. Her nicest pair of capris was, as she’d suspected, totally ruined. She probably needed to go to the doctor and have the wound stitched. Her leg throbbed with pain, which only reinforced her conclusion. She hated doctors, tried her best to stay away, but she knew Quinn would insist. Why, she wasn’t sure. He just seemed that kind of guy.

Quinn appeared by her side. “How bad is it?”

She showed him the gash on her thigh, blood soaking her peach-colored capri pants.

He whistled. “I’ll drive you to the emergency room.”

“No hospitals.”

“You should see a doctor. You need stitches and the wound needs to be cleaned out. I’ve seen enough accidents on the construction site to know a bad one when I see it.”

Her jaw clenched, she tried to stand. “I don’t have a doctor.”

Quinn came to her side to assist. “You don’t?”

She slanted a look at his strong profile as she limped next to him toward the stairs, his arm about her, helping to support some of her weight. “We had a family doctor, but he retired last year. I haven’t had a need to find another.”

“My cousin is a doctor. I’ll call Adam and see if he can see you right away.”

“But—”

He shot her a challenging look, one eyebrow arched.

She clamped her mouth closed, keeping her protest inside. Finally she said, “It’s Saturday,” as though that would change Quinn’s mind.

“I’m calling him at home.”

“I don’t want to bother him at home on his—”

“That’s what family is for. Family helps family.”

Becca could tell by the firm set of his jaw and the intense look in his eyes that she wasn’t going to get out of having Quinn take her to his cousin. And frankly, she didn’t have a better option. Her leg throbbed and the deepness of the gash made it evident she needed help.

Downstairs in her kitchen where she kept her first-aid kit, she sat at her table, opened the container and retrieved a bandage and some peroxide. After calling his cousin, Quinn hovered over her, watching her every move as though if she fumbled he would step in to assist. In the short time she’d known him, she’d gotten that feeling about him. He was a man of action, no wasted motion.

“There. I shouldn’t bleed all over your car.” She snapped her first-aid kit closed.

Again with his assistance, she made her way to his blue truck, which was sitting in her driveway. “How far?” she asked, noticing a red spot on her bandage already.

Quinn glanced at her wound. “Ten minutes. Adam’s meeting us at his office.”

“This is probably not how you thought you would spend your morning.”

He sent her a grin that caused her stomach to flip-flop. “After your leg is taken care of, we’ll pick up where we left off.”

“And that is?”

“With me ringing your doorbell and you answering. Oh, that reminds me—” he delved into the front pocket of his jeans and took out the key to her front door “—this is yours.”

He slipped her house key into her palm, the action almost seeming intimate to Becca. Curling her fingers around the piece of metal, warmed by his touch, she shook that feeling away. When in the world would she have time to date, let alone get serious with someone? Her work took up so much of her day and what was left over was devoted to her classes and finally fixing up the home that should have been renovated years ago.



After having limped around her house for the past hour showing Quinn what needed to be done, in the living room Becca swept her arm wide and asked, “So, what do you think?”

He looked up from the pad he had been scribbling notes on and said, “Let me work up an estimate and get back to you.”

“I know I can’t afford all that needs to be done right away. I was thinking about having the work done in stages with the kitchen—” she glanced skyward “—and now the ceiling in the third bedroom and flooring in the attic done first.”

“Okay, I’ll start with that. I should have something by tomorrow afternoon. I can come by after church with the estimate. Will you be here around one?”

“That’s my day to sleep in and be lazy, so I’ll be here.” Of course, her idea of sleeping in and being lazy was getting up at eight and actually getting to read the Sunday paper, then hitting the books for class, if she wasn’t catching up on a few things that needed to be done around the house.

Contemplating her for a moment, Quinn cocked his head. “Why the kitchen?”

With her leg still throbbing, she decided to sit on the couch and indicated he take a seat, too. “Because I love to cook and hope to do more of it in the future.”

“I do quite a bit of cooking when I have the time.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, learned it from my mother.”

She snapped her fingers. “That’s right. I’ve had some of your mother’s apple pie at the Stagecoach Cafe. Brendan brought one down to the station a while back. It was delicious.” Becca smoothed her hand across another pair of capris, thankful that she was finally able to take off the ruined ones, ripped beyond repair, which she’d promptly thrown away. “Any chance I could get her apple pie recipe?”

His chuckle spiced the air. “It’s a deep, dark family secret. The only way is to become a member of the family.”

The very thought sent her mind whirling with all kinds of possibilities, none unappealing. She tapped her finger against her chin and said, “Hmm. With Brendan engaged…”

His gaze caught hers and for a few seconds sparks flew across the short space that separated them. Then the moment evaporated when Quinn sat up and looked away, clearing his throat. “I’d better be going.”

Reluctantly Becca pushed to her feet, part of her wanting to explore what had just transpired between them. But the other part wanted to run as fast as possible away from him. He could break her heart. She knew he had been engaged several years back and his fiancée, Maggie Nelson, a fellow police officer, had been killed while on duty. From the rumors flying around at the time, Quinn had not taken it well. Was he still mourning Maggie’s death?

“I look forward to hearing from you about the estimate.” She started for the entry hall. “And your cousin was great today. Are you sure he won’t take some money for stitching me up?”

“Adam? No way! We Montgomerys help each other out.”

“But I’m not a Montgomery.”

“But I am and I asked him to help.”

“So he’s honor bound?”

“Yep. It’s nice to have a doctor in the family.”

The grin that spread across Quinn’s face sent her heart beating a shade faster. When he opened the front door, his massive build dominated her entrance and for the strangest reason it seemed so right. “Thanks for all your help today.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll call you tomorrow before coming over.”

As she closed the door, she felt another strange sensation as though she were back in high school waiting for a call from a boy that never came. Instead, her life had been thrown into turmoil with her father being held hostage at the bank he worked at. Twenty-four hours later he had been killed by the gunman and she had become the strong one in her family. Her mother had fallen apart, unable to deal with two young children, ages eight and eleven. A year later her mother had gotten cancer, which had taken her life after a two-year battle with the disease.

The phone blaring startled Becca from her memories. She pushed away from the door and limped toward the kitchen, where she picked up the receiver on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

“Becca, I’m turning down your street. I’ve got a lead on the O’Brien case.”

Sam’s statement completely anchored her in the present. “I’ll be out front.”

Quickly she located her purse and gun, then hurried as fast as she could out onto her porch and down the steps. Sam came to a stop in front of her house. She tried not to favor her injured leg, but she wasn’t totally successful.

“What happened?” Sam asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“You know the statistics about most injuries happening in the home? I’m living proof they’re right. I fell through the floor in my attic.”

Surprise widened Sam’s eyes. “All the way?”

“No, just one leg, but I have a long gash in my thigh to remind me not to hurry when I’m doing something.” She shifted to make herself comfortable. “So what’s your lead?”

“Eddie Stinson was caught robbing a convenience store this week, and guess what? He used the same gun that killed Neil O’Brien. The ballistics report I just read confirmed it.”

“So he’s the killer?”

“No, he’s got an airtight alibi. He was in jail at the time. But he did tell us where he got the gun. It seems Ritchie Stark threw it away, and Eddie decided to retrieve it from the dumpster. No use letting a perfectly good gun go to waste, which was a big break for us.”

“Our Mr. Stark is stepping up in the world. He’s done some shady things in his illustrous past, but murder hasn’t been one.”

At a stoplight Sam peered at her. “That we know of. We have several unsolved cases at the moment, the Sainsbury and O’Brien murders to name a couple.”

“And your dad’s attempted murder being at the top of the list.”

“I’ve got a tip on where Stark is right now. I thought we would pick him up and have a little discussion with him down at the station.”



Standing behind Sam, Becca studied Ritchie Stark as he sat at the table in an interview room, his dark hair slicked back, his beard cropped close. Thin to the point of almost looking like a scarecrow, he tapped his fingers against the wooden top, his eyes downcast.

“We’ve got you, Ritchie. You disposed of the weapon used to kill O’Brien.” Sam leaned across the table, his eyes pinpoints.

“I found it! I ain’t the violent type, so I thought I should throw it away. Didn’t want no kid gettin’ hold of it.” Stark lifted his pointy chin, the tapping of his fingers increasing.

“Yeah, sure,” Becca said with a humorless laugh. “Your fingerprint was found on one of the bullets still in the gun. Who hired you to kill Neil O’Brien?” She came around her partner to take the chair at the end, close to Stark.

“I ain’t talking. I wanna see a lawyer.”

“If you cooperate, I can convince the D.A. to go easy on you.” Sam pushed to his feet. “If you don’t—” he shrugged “—murdering a prominent city employee won’t sit well with a judge or jury.”

Tap. Tap. Tap. “I knows my rights. I wanna talk to my lawyer!”

Becca rose, too. “Sure, Ritchie. If you want to play it out that way, life in prison with no parole is fitting for you. I personally don’t think we should go easy on you.” She started for the door, glad to get away from Stark’s annoying drumming of his fingers on the table, a sure sign the man was lying. “You deserve to rot in prison.”

While Sam stayed back, Becca left the room and watched through the two-way mirror at her partner and Stark, looking for any signs of the skinny man’s armor cracking. Other than his nervous drumming, he remained tightlipped.

“I have pull with the D.A. I still can put in a good word if you cooperate. You aren’t the one we want. We want the person behind everything,” Sam said in parting.

Stark glared at the door that Sam had left through, his thin face pinched into a scowl.

“We’ll let him stew for a while. Take our time getting him his lawyer.” Sam moved to stand beside Becca.

“I know we cleared Colleen Montgomery of O’Brien’s murder, but now there’s no doubt she’s innocent with this new proof.” Becca thought of Quinn and his deep commitment to his family. She’d have to tell him the good news when she saw him next.

“Now all we have to find out is who was behind the murder and why?”

“Do you think there’s a connection between Neil O’Brien, Baltasar Escalante and Dahlia Sainsbury?” Becca asked, her mind spinning with all the incidents that had occurred over the past few months in Colorado Springs, all wrapped up in the Vance and Montgomery families, who had been instrumental in Escalante’s downfall the year before. But what kind of connection would there be between a fire chief and a drug lord?

After the incident in the tunnels below the museum the week before, she and Sam had learned from Alessandro Donato that Baltasar Escalante had been behind the drugs coming into the city recently, that he’d survived the plane crash last year and had a new face. When she thought of the drug lord, who was also a cold-blooded killer, being alive, she grew chilled. There was no love lost between him and the Montgomery and Vance families.

Again she pictured Quinn Montgomery with his russet hair, chocolate brown eyes and cocky smile that could melt a woman’s heart. He could take care of himself, she was sure, but worry over his safety took hold and she couldn’t shake off her concern. Someone had tried to burn his business down and had nearly succeeded, leaving only his offices intact. What if he had been in the shop or barn when it had been set on fire? The very thought sent another chill through her.



Standing before the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, Becca still couldn’t believe she was wearing a sundress and sandals at home on her day off—her relaxing, lazy day. To make matters even worse she was wearing lipstick—this from a woman who didn’t have time or patience to fool with putting on makeup. But Quinn would be here in a few minutes and for some insane reason she couldn’t put on her usual attire of jean shorts, oversize T-shirt and no shoes. First capris and now a dress!

She heard a truck door slamming. Giving herself a once-over, she smoothed her hair, pleased that it was at least cooperating and turning under. Something else she usually didn’t do was wear her hair down. What was the world coming to? Next she would be decked out in spiked heels, an evening gown and body glitter.

By the time Quinn rang the bell, Becca’s hand was already on the handle. She opened the door for him. His smile of greeting did exactly what she was afraid of—sent a warm, fuzzy feeling zipping through her.

“Hi. You’re right on time.” Becca stepped to the side to allow Quinn into her house.

“I aim to please.”

“That could be a company motto.”

He turned to face her, his head tilted to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, you’re right. I may have to steal your idea.”

“No, you don’t. I gladly give it to you.” She headed toward her living room. “Let’s go in here.”

As Becca sat on her beige and navy print couch, Quinn took the seat next to her. This was the largest room in her house and all of a sudden it felt as if it were the size of a closet. With her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, she tried to tamp down the racing of her heart. This was a business meeting, nothing else, and it certainly wasn’t a date—she couldn’t even believe she’d thought the word.

“Well, how bad is it?” Becca asked before the silence became uncomfortable and she started prattling.

“The estimate?” He opened his folder and took out a sheet of paper. “See for yourself. This will take care of the kitchen, the flooring in the attic and the ceiling in the bedroom.”

Before she peered at the paper he held, she quipped, “Since your brother was a cop, you do realize how little we are paid?”

He chuckled. “Yes, you’re definitely underpaid for the work you do. After what happened the other day, I’d double your pay.”

Her gaze lifted to his. Suddenly they were back on the rooftop of the unfinished building, both trying to keep David James from jumping. A bond sparked the air, and Becca felt as if she had known Quinn well for years.

She broke their visual connection and reached for the paper. Her hand quivered as she grasped it and hoped he hadn’t seen her reaction to what had just occurred. She didn’t trust easily, having seen the seamy side of life for too many years. And yet there was something in Quinn that called to her, that urged her to put her trust in him.

After studying the figures, she said, “This is very reasonable. This includes replacing the cabinets in the kitchen?”

He nodded. “I’m going to do some of the work in the kitchen myself.”

“You are? Why?” she asked without really thinking.

“Because I haven’t had a chance to do a project like this in a long time and I’m treating myself. I miss working with my hands. Lately I’ve been doing too much of the administrative part of my job, especially with supervising the rebuilding of our barn and shop that was destroyed in the fire. So I’ve decided to personally oversee this renovation, if that’s all right with you.”

“All right? Yes, of course it is! I’ve heard Brendan talk about the staircase you carved in your house. It sounds exquisite.”

“It took me four months, but I like how it turned out. I’ll show you one day.”

The thought of going to his house and seeing some of his work thrilled her. “I’d like that.”

“Actually, if you’ve got some time today, I could take you now. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

“I’d be honored to see your work and—” she took the pen he held and signed the estimate “—I agree with your terms.” Handing the paper back to him, she continued, “I never thought I would get personal attention from the owner of the company.”

A dimple appeared in his cheek when he grinned. “The honor is all mine.”

“When can you start?”

“Wednesday. I have a few things to clear up. We’re moving our stuff back into the shop and barn tomorrow. It’s been an intense couple of months getting everything done since the fire.”

“I guess it pays to own a construction company.”

“In this case, yes. I won’t be taking security lightly, either. I’ve hired several extra people to look out for our offices and outlying buildings.”

Relief flowed through her. “Good. I’m glad you’re being careful.”

“If you’re a Vance or Montgomery lately in Colorado Springs, you have to be.”

“Which reminds me, we arrested Ritchie Stark. He’ll be charged in Neil O’Brien’s murder.” She started to stand.

“I know.”

She halted in midmotion, slicing him a look. “How? It just happened late last night.”

“Sam told me this morning at church.”

Becca straightened, for a few seconds hovering over Quinn until he rose. He stood only a foot away, his clean, fresh scent that reminded her of a pine forest wafting to her. Dressed in tan slacks and a navy blue polo shirt, he looked like he had come right from church.

“What was Stark’s motive?”

“He’s not saying at the moment. He lawyered up. Maybe some jail time will loosen his tongue. I doubt he’ll make bail.”

“I keep wondering if all this is connected. Everything started with Max’s attempted murder. I’ve been thinking—Escalante has to be behind the attempt on the mayor because of what happened last year. But what connection does Escalante have with Neil O’Brien? With Dahlia Sainsbury? Was Alessandro right about Dahlia working for Escalante? If so, why is she dead? What changed?”

Becca skirted her glass coffee table and snatched up her purse. “You ask some very good questions. Ones we hope to get answers to soon. Stark’s arrest is our big break. Having suspicions is one thing. We need proof to hold up in a court of law.” She withdrew her car keys. “I’ll follow you to your house.”

“I’ll drive.”

“But that means you have to come back here.”

“I have to anyway. I need to get some measurements in your kitchen. I’ll need a few things from my house.”

“I have a yardstick.”

“Not exactly what I need. It’s only fifteen minutes away and remember, I have the whole afternoon.”

“You sound like you don’t know what to do with free time.”

“Free time. What’s that? I haven’t had any in months.”

“Then I insist you wait until Wednesday to start. I don’t want to take away any of your free time. Believe me, I know how hard it is to come by.”

“So we have established we’re both workaholics,” he said with a laugh, stepping outside onto the porch while she locked her front door.

“Is there any other way?”

“Actually, yes. Before Dad retired and I took over the business, I knew what a vacation meant. This is temporary for me. I don’t intend for my whole life to be work. There’s so much more to life.”

Work was all she knew, Becca thought, not sure she could live any other way. “Vacation? What’s that?”

“Perhaps I need to teach you how to play, Becca Hilliard.”

The idea intrigued Becca more than she wanted to admit. Then she remembered all the unsolved cases of late and knew she wouldn’t be playing anytime soon.




THREE


Quinn pulled into his driveway, wondering if the reason he was drawn to Becca was because they both needed to work less and play more. God, are You trying to tell me something? I know I’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately. I plan to slow down—soon. I don’t want to go back to how I was after Maggie’s death. If You hadn’t knocked some sense into me, I would have self-destructed.

“Somehow I figured you for an ultramodern kind of guy.” Becca gestured toward his large Victorian house, painted white with forest green shutters and a profusion of multicolored flowers adorning the beds along the front.

He switched off the engine. “Why?”

“I’ve seen a couple of the buildings your company has constructed. They’re all glass and chrome.”

“Not all the buildings. Besides, I have to follow the architect’s plans. I execute someone else’s dream.”

She angled around so she faced him in the cab of his truck. “Did you want to be an architect?”

Her innocent question threw him back twelve years in the past, to a time when he had been full of dreams. “At one time,” he said, aware there was a pensive quality to his voice, but he couldn’t disguise it.

“What happened?”

“Life’s little unexpected twists. My father had a bad accident and needed me to run the business. He was laid up for almost a year. In fact, he still uses a cane because of that accident. I quit college and never went back even when he took over the reins again.”

“Why not?”

He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I found I also love working with wood, making beautiful things. And my father needed me. The company was growing so fast and he couldn’t do it all.” Remembering the war that had raged inside him brought back a rush of emotions he hadn’t experienced in years. He had wanted to return to college and finish his degree in architecture. His father had wanted him to continue working in the business so he could take it over one day.

“Family has a way of consuming our lives.”

“Yes, but it’s a good thing. I want a large one someday. You should see some of our family gatherings. Kids running all over the place. Laughter. Adamant discussions that never totally explode into an argument. That’s why I went into the business. For the family.”

Becca picked up her purse from the floor of the cab. “I know what you mean. After my mother passed away, it was either me raising my siblings or the state placing them in foster care. I couldn’t let that happen. I quit college, got a secretarial job at the police station and took them in.”

“When did you decide to become a police officer?”

“Almost from day one. But it was two years before I went to the police academy.” A thin layer of perspiration coated her upper lip. With the air-conditioning off and the windows rolled up, heat began to build up in the small cab. “How about the grand tour?”

He laughed. “I’m not sure about the grand part, but I’ll show you a few of the things I’ve done to my house. It might give you some ideas of possibilities for yours.”

When Becca climbed from the truck, she scanned the lawn with its lush green grass, not a weed among the blades. Landscaped and well-tended beds added a richness to the front of the house with its orange, yellow and red flowers. “Do you like to do yard work, too?”

“Not my thing. I have someone come once a week to work in my yard. I love a beautiful lawn. I just don’t want to do the work.”

“A man after my own heart,” Becca murmured, then realized what she had said. She didn’t normally blurt out the first words that came into her mind, but with Quinn she found herself relaxing around him to the point where she had talked about things she usually kept private. Most unusual and not altogether unpleasant.

She mounted the stairs to the wraparound porch with forest green wicker furniture and a swing mounted from the ceiling. Her assessment of Quinn Montgomery was evolving and shifting the more she was around him. He was a wealthy, successful businessman, a prominent figure in Colorado Springs society, and yet he seemed so down-to-earth and nonchalant, except where it concerned his family, when a fierce protectiveness entered his demeanor. She liked that about the man.

When she stepped into his house, her breath caught at the beauty of the staircase that curved down from the second floor. Made of a rich mahogany, polished to a shine, its intricate carved railing made a sweeping statement of beauty as a person entered his house.

“You did this in four months? I’m impressed.”

“I wanted something that would capture people’s attention when they walked in.”

“Well, you succeeded. How long have you lived here?”

“Almost four years. I bought this as a fixer-upper and just recently completed what I wanted to do with it.”

Becca strolled into the living room off the large foyer, and again stood transfixed, taking in the beauty before her. The massive mahogany fireplace and mantel were every bit as intricate as the staircase. White crown molding accentuated the dark-taupe-painted walls and bookcases carved with swirls and leaves lined one wall. Glimpses at the titles of some of the books hinted at the man standing beside her. Historical books and biographies adorned the shelves, along with a few mysteries.

She walked closer to the bookcase. “Are you a history buff?”

“Yeah, you could say I am. I believe in order to understand the present you have to understand the past.”

“I agree. People are shaped by their past.”

“Exactly. Escalante has revenge in mind for the Vance and Montgomery families because of what happened last year. You can’t escape your past, no matter how much you want to. It eventually catches up with you.”

The tension in the warm, cozy room heightened. Becca didn’t want to journey back any more into the past. She had given up her dream for her family and didn’t regret raising her siblings. She would never have let them be raised by anyone else, but still she wondered from time to time what her life would have been like if the situation had been different. “How did we get on such a heavy topic?”

“Beats me.”

His grin produced her own smile. “Show me your kitchen. I need some inspiration.”

He swept his arm toward the dining room. A long table with clean, simple lines dominated the space. The maroon brocade on the eight chairs complemented the darkness of the cherrywood, adding an elegant tone to the room.

“You have excellent taste in furniture.”

“Thank you. I just finished making that.” He pointed toward a cabinet that housed a few pieces of a china set that looked old.

Its simple lines matched the table’s, prompting Becca to ask, “Did you make everything in this room?”

“Everything in the house. I still have several rooms to finish.”

“Do you ever sleep?” she asked, stunned by the amount of work that had to have gone into each piece of furniture.

“I don’t require more than five or six hours, which helps.” He shrugged. “My brother says I don’t have a life.”

That was probably what many people would say about her. The connection she had felt that first day on the rooftop strengthened even more. “Is he right?”

His grin reappeared, self-mocking this time. “Yes. I’m working on changing that. I only work six days a week now. Sunday is my day off.” He started toward a door on the other side of the room.

“But you’re working today.” Becca followed him into his kitchen.

His gaze snared hers and held it for a long moment. “This isn’t work.”

Her throat went dry and her pulse sped up. For several heartbeats she saw only him, before she tore her attention away and examined his kitchen, which was one of the reasons she was here.

“Wow,” was all she could say as she swept her gaze around the room.

The first thing she felt was she would like to cook in his kitchen. This was a place where family would want to congregate, with its welcoming warmth in the dark tones of the cherry cabinets, its cream-colored marble countertops with various shades of brown swirls and its hardwood floor with a lustrous finish occasionally broken by an area rug that picked up the room’s golden brown, dark red and forest green colors reflected in the plaid wallpaper. Her gaze rested upon what had to be the focal point, the built-in range with a mosaic tile pattern behind it on the wall with a glass-door cabinet flanking each side. Beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces of china and glassware were showcased.

Quinn walked around, trailing his hand along the counter. “This is my mother’s influence on my life. She felt the kitchen was the most important room in the house, therefore it should be put together first, which is what I did when I moved in here.”

“I can see why you like to cook.” A picture of herself creating some dish in this kitchen flashed into her thoughts and took hold. Its impact stole her breath. “You have carte blanche to do with my kitchen as you see fit. That is, anything within my meager budget.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth she should have snatched them back. She didn’t give control up easily and she had just given him free rein. From the wide-eyed look on his face her statement must have taken him just as much by surprise.

“What do you like in here?”

She spun around in a slow circle with her arms outstretched. “Everything. But I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to replicate your kitchen at my house, especially since this looks expensive.”

“Not as much as you would think, but then I did the labor and I do have some resources.” He paused, his gaze intent on her face. “You know you have to tell me more than that.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want what I have. It’s cold, outdated and impractical.”

He sighed. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He started to say something else when she added, “But then I also like green, yellow and red.”

His chuckles floated on the air. “Maybe it would be easier if I asked if there’s a color you don’t like.”

“Hmm.” She rubbed her finger along her chin and looked toward the ceiling. “Nope, not really.”

“You’re making this hard for me.”

“But I like all colors. I don’t really have one favorite. That should make it easier. You can’t go wrong with any color scheme you pick.”

“So you would be okay with purple and, say, orange?”

She winced. “Well, maybe not those two colors together, but I do like them combined with other colors.”

With lightness deep in his eyes, he covered the short space between them. “Then I’ll just have to get to know you better so I can figure out what will work best.”

Words lodged in her throat, but for the life of her she couldn’t voice any of them. Mesmerized by the deep chocolate of his eyes, she found herself being drawn into those rich depths, like a hot fudge sundae, lured from the safe, emotional world she had created for herself into an unknown one where feelings dominated and threatened to take over. And, like the sundae, both hot and cold, at the same time.

Swallowing several times, she blurted out, “I trust your judgment after seeing what you did with your house.”

After she said that statement, surprise gripped her like a vise Quinn would work with. The day had been filled with one surprise after another. She took a step back to give herself some space because with him so near she obviously wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Trust wasn’t something she often gave and especially when knowing someone for such a short time. What was it about Quinn that put her at ease? Yes, they had formed a bond up on the rooftop. Yes, she knew his younger brother, Brendan, and respected him. Yes, she had known who Quinn was casually. But those things weren’t really what made her stay up at night thinking about him or doing something out of character like wearing a sundress, the only one she owned.

Puzzlement drew his eyebrows together. He combed his fingers through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What do you like to cook? Fancy meals? Gourmet food? Simple fare?” A touch of desperation entered his eyes.

“Nothing fancy or gourmet, but I wouldn’t classify it as simple, either. In the winter I love to make soups and stews. In the summer things like taco salad, three-bean salad. Then there’s the old standbys like lasagna and spaghetti. I made things my sister and brother would eat. How’s that help you?”

“I’m trying to get a feel for the work space you’d need.”

“I don’t cook as much anymore since Caitlin went into the Air Force a few months ago. With just me and my killer work schedule at times, it’s hard to come home and fix a hot meal. But hopefully one day I’ll do more.”

Quinn leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “No boyfriend to cook for?”

She glanced away from him. “I haven’t had a lot of time to date much, especially now with working and going to school.”

“What are you studying?”

“Psychology, with an emphasis on abnormal behavior. I took two classes during the spring semester, which practically did me in. This summer I’m taking it easy and only taking one, on Tuesday nights. I don’t think it will be a hard class. I begin this week.”

“Okay. This is a start. Let’s go back to your house and let me get some measurements in the kitchen.”

“For a man who doesn’t work on Sunday, you’re sure doing a good imitation of working.”

“Measuring’s nothing. I could do it in my sleep.”

The mention of sleep brought Becca back to the fact that the past few nights—ever since Quinn and she had connected on the rooftop—she hadn’t gotten a full night’s rest. In her line of business that could be dangerous. She needed to exorcise the man from her thoughts, but then, that might be most difficult if he was in her house day after day renovating it.



“I thought all cops liked coffee and doughnuts,” Quinn said, taking a seat at Becca’s kitchen table later that afternoon.

She splayed her hand over her chest. “I’m crushed. You must watch too much TV.”

“TV? What’s that?” He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to watch even the news.

“Occasionally I’ve caught glimpses of one in people’s houses.”

The twinkle in her eyes spoke to him on a level he hadn’t responded to in a long time. Her renovation project was just what he needed to get back to what he loved doing at Montgomery Construction, what he had done before his father had retired. “I live on coffee,” he said while Becca stood at the old stove waiting for a copper kettle to heat.

“I refuse to bring coffee into my house. Nasty stuff.” Retrieving two mugs from the cabinet, she poured some hot water into each one and then dunked tea bags into them. “Here, try this. Tea is much better for you than coffee.” After handing him a cup, she slid her own from the counter, then took the chair across from him. “This is chai tea. You can even have it cold if you like.”

He stared at his mug as though it were a monster terrorizing him. “It looks like dirty dishwater.” He sniffed it, a blend of spices peppering the air. “What in the world is in it? I like my coffee black, no sugar, strong.”

She took a sip of hers, watching him over the rim of her mug, but she didn’t say a word.

“If I try this, then you’ll have to try my coffee. You haven’t tasted coffee until you’ve had a cup of mine.”

“You aren’t gonna convert me.”

Quinn smiled. “I’ve been told I have powers of persuasion.”

Her laughter rang in the air, filling it with a sweet sound. “Sam’s tried. Even your brother. Nope, I don’t change my mind often once it’s set.”

He cupped the mug in his hands. “So no one can change your beliefs?” Somehow he got the impression they weren’t talking about drinking tea or coffee but something much deeper. From a couple of comments she had said, he didn’t think she believed in God. Is that why You have nudged me toward Becca, Lord?

“I’m slow to form an opinion but just as slow to let it go, too.”

Quinn took a sip, winced, then firmly set the mug on the table. “Doesn’t hold a candle to my coffee. Is that the best you have to offer?” He relaxed back in the chair, enjoying the lightheartedness of the conversation. So much had happened lately that was serious, it had been nice for a brief time this afternoon not to have to think about Escalante seeking revenge against his family.

She shot to her feet and stalked over to the cabinet, thrusting open its door. “Take your pick. I probably have thirty different kinds of tea for different moods.”

“What mood is chai for?”

She narrowed her gaze, but that twinkle still danced in her depths. “It’s for helping me to be patient.” After closing the cabinet, she sat again and drank her tea as though she was seeking that patience she had talked about.

Sliding the mug away from himself, Quinn broke the silence with, “As I said before, I’d like to start Wednesday morning. I’ll be in and out at first because I’m still overseeing a few projects. And since the explosion last month at the hospital, we will start rebuilding that physical-therapy wing soon. I’m training Chad Morrison to do some of what I’ve been doing.”

“How do you want to handle getting into the house? I can have irregular hours and won’t always be here in the morning to let you or your crew in. And I can’t guarantee my neighbor will always be home, either. How do you suggest we do this?”

“You could give me a key.”

Surprise danced across her face for a few seconds before she masked her expression and took a long sip of her hot tea. “That’s probably the best way to handle it. It’s just that…” Her voice faded into the silence.

“What? You don’t trust anyone else with your key? Your neighbor has one.”

“I’ve known Mrs. Williams all my life. She used to babysit me when I was young.” She shifted in her chair and looked him right in the eye. “No, I’m not a very trusting person. I realize you’ll have to have a key, but I would rather you be the only one who has access to it.” She finished the last of her tea then added, “I know I don’t have much to steal, but my personal space is very important to me.”

“The renovation may be delayed at times. Are you okay with that?” he asked, her trust in him producing a grip on his heart that frightened him. There were too many similarities between Becca and Maggie, especially in their work. He was starting to care and that was just too risky.

She nodded, relief in her expression.

“Then we’ll do it that way and anyone working here with me, of course, will be trustworthy. That’s a promise.”

His fervent look generated a tightness in her throat. She swallowed and said, “Great. I’ll have one made. I’ll make it a point to be here Wednesday to let you in and give it to you.” She shook her head. “I should have thought about this before I decided to renovate. But as you can see, all I could think about was how much this house needs in order to come into the twenty-first century. Actually, I’m thinking the latter half of the twentieth century.” She pointed toward the carved markings in several of the drawers. “That was done by my brother sixteen, maybe seventeen years ago. He got creative with a knife. Hey, maybe I should have pushed him in the direction of carpentry.”

“I probably did some of that in my younger years. But what happened there?”

Becca glanced where Quinn was looking, even though she already knew what he was referring to. “That was the final straw. Last week the cabinet door fell off. That’s when I decided I had to do something fast. Luckily I persuaded you to help me.”

Closing the notepad he had been writing on, Quinn came to his feet. “I’d better be going. It’s getting late and I have a meeting at church. I’m on the building committee. Go figure.”

“No! I would say you are more than qualified.”

He paused in collecting his elaborate tape measure, which put her yardstick to shame. “With God you don’t have to have experience. He’ll take you any way you want.”

“If you say so,” she murmured, remembering how the Lord had turned His back on her family. He took her father then her mother, leaving two small children without their parents and her as their only hope. Remembering that time submerged her in a renewed feeling of overwhelming helplessness she had fought hard not to experience ever again.

“I don’t. The Bible does.”

Her partner’s faith was strong, and there had been a few times Sam had tried to talk to her about the Lord, but their partnership worked because he respected certain boundaries. She could remember crying and pleading with God to spare her mother. It hadn’t helped. She’d still died, leaving her alone at twenty with two young siblings and no ready means of support.

Quinn headed for the front door. The quiet that had descended between them thickened. Before he left, he gave her a weak smile, a sadness in his eyes that made Becca feel she had let him down somehow.

As she closed and locked the door, she couldn’t shake that feeling, and it bothered her that she cared what he thought. Her anger surged to the foreground. She marched back toward the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea, deciding it was best to keep Quinn at arm’s length.

The blare of the phone startled her. Instead of going to the stove, she crossed the room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

“Becca, this is Sam. I’m at the station. Stark is ready to cut a deal.”




FOUR


“If you ask me, Ritchie—” Becca leaned close to the man who slouched at the table in the interview room, his clothes reeking of day old sweat “—claiming Dahlia is the one who hired you to kill O’Brien is mighty convenient since she’s not around to defend herself.”

Stark’s thin shoulders hunched even more and a scowl creased deep lines into his brow. “I ain’t lying. She’s the one. Had me up to her big fancy office at the museum after hours so’s no one would see us together. Never been in such a cold place.”

Becca had felt the same way about Dahlia Sainsbury’s office when she’d gone through it after the woman’s murder. Maybe Stark was telling the truth. She lifted her gaze to Sam, who was lounging against the wall a few feet away. “There’s no deal if we don’t find evidence to support your accusations.”





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