A Small-Town Homecoming (18 page)

T
ESS GLANCED UP
from her monitor when her little bell jangled shortly after lunch on Monday. Quinn strode toward her desk, dropped into one of her visitor’s chairs and stared at her floor.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“Bad enough. There’s no way to know for sure.”

“What are you going to do?”

“How do you feel about a water feature in front of the building?”

“What kind of water feature?”

“A small lake.”

She swallowed, and she was sure she could actually feel her face pale beneath her carefully applied makeup. “That’s not in the budget,” she said.

“There is no budget.” He raised his eyes to hers. “This project is now officially out of control. And you and I both know there are forces at work behind the scenes trying to make sure this thing never gets resolved satisfactorily.”

“Cobb.”

“Among others.” Quinn shifted and settled more heavily in his chair. “He wasn’t the only one contesting the environmental impact report’s conclusions.”

“I’ll talk with Geneva and—”

“I’ve talked with her. I met with her this morning. For breakfast. And before you start giving me grief over that,” he said, raising his hand, “you told me you don’t do mornings.”

She closed her file and rolled the mouse precisely to the center of its pad. “I would have made an exception in this case.” Again.

“The thing is,” he said in his irritatingly reasonable tone, “you’ve already been paid the lion’s share of what you’ll make on this project. The design is done, bought and paid for. I’ve got a payroll to meet and men who are wondering when the next one will be. Your design isn’t the problem. Getting it built is mine.”

“Isn’t there some way to continue to work around the cleanup?” she asked.

“Not for a while. A week, maybe.”

“What will you do?”

He stood and paced to one of her models and stared down at it, his hands in his pockets. The winery, the one he’d admired. He’d surprised her, not so long ago, with his concise, spot-on summary of the heart of her design.

He looked so big, looming over her model, so strong and sure. She often forgot how many people were counting on him, how many responsibilities he bore on a daily basis. “Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I can always find work.” He gave her a wry smile. “Men with tool belts are very popular.”

She rose from her seat and went to him. “They’re very attractive, too.”

He cupped her face in his big, strong, sure hands. “Think so?”

“One of the main reasons I went into this line of work. For the view.”

His gaze softly touched all her features. “We’ll be okay, Tess. We’ll find some way to work around this.”

“All right.”

“What?” He drew back. “No argument?”

She wrapped her fingers around his wrists. “Actually, I don’t think much of your water-feature idea.”

“Okay. I can compromise on that.” He brushed a sweet kiss across her lips, paused and moved in for another. And then another, as the familiar heat simmered and snapped between them. He dropped his hands to her waist and yanked her close.
“Tess.”

“I’m here.”

“Yes,” he murmured against her throat. “You are.”

She grabbed his collar and hung on tight while he carried them both away from their troubles for a few moments, and then she floated back to earth on a sigh. “I like what you can do to me, Quinn.”

“Good. Because I plan on doing it a lot.”

He shifted an inch away and took her by the chin. “I wasn’t sure why I came here today or what I’d say when I walked through your door. But I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad, too,” she said as he left.

She moved to her window and watched him shove two quarters into the meter near her car. And ordered herself not to fall in love with him.

Q
UINN STALKED
into his office trailer on Saturday morning and threw a fistful of invoices on his counter. He’d been able to cling to his insurance so far, and he’d received permission to continue work on the building while the En-Tech engineers hauled away the contaminated soil. They’d been lucky; there was no sign yet of a leak into the bay.

He should be grateful he was still here, making progress, but sometimes the daily dose of insanity got to be too much. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

“Dad.” Rosie swiveled in his chair, spinning in a clumsy circle. “You’re not setting a very good example for the kid.”

He grinned at her use of Tess’s term, relieved the two women in his life had begun to reach some sort of understanding. The basis for that understanding made him a little nervous—and he was too cowardly to examine it too closely—but at least it was an improvement on that disastrous first dinner scene.

Enough of an improvement, perhaps, to try his luck with the next step. He may have been having more success recently managing his urges to take a drink, but his craving for a certain woman’s company seemed beyond his control. “I’m thinking about taking Tess out for dinner.”

Rosie halted her swiveling and frowned.

“Or not,” Quinn said.

She tilted her head, and her frown tugged to one side. “I guess it’s your turn.”

“What do you mean?”

“She brought the food last time.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter. “I’m thinking this dinner with Tess would be like…like a date.”

“
Like
a date?”

“Okay. A date.” His face was heating. “Which means you’re not invited.”

She shrugged. “That’s cool.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.” She resumed her swiveling. “If you leave me with a pizza. And a new video. Maybe that one about the spaceship and the pirates.”

“And Neva.”

Rosie’s skinny chest lifted and collapsed with a grown-up-size sigh. “Two videos, then.”

“That’s extortion.”

“Is that like blackmail?”

Quinn muttered an oath under his breath as he gathered the invoices and tapped their edges into a neater stack. “Tess was right to wonder about the crap they’re teaching you in school these days.”

T
ESS STOOD
outside Quinn’s apartment door, waiting for the flutters in her stomach to quiet. She knew what was coming—a few scorching glances, some deliciously teasing verbal foreplay and then a frenzied, mindless, glorious bout of lovemaking. It would all leave her exhilarated and exhausted and struggling to resurrect clear boundaries between lust and longing.

Boundaries she was considering ahead of schedule.

This had to stop. She was a woman who knew how to handle an affair, a woman who knew how to keep things casual and make a smooth exit.

The trouble was she’d lost sight of the exit sign.

Her hand, when she raised it to knock on his door, was trembling. And her heart, when he opened his door and pulled her inside, seemed to stumble and stop.

It wasn’t the soft jazz whispering from Rosie’s purple player in the corner, or the tangled iris stalks stuffed inexpertly into a juice pitcher on the small table, or the candles burning beside them or the kiss he brushed over her knuckles that made her nerves bubble and her breath catch in a jerky sigh. It was the look in his eyes, the intense gaze that told her he had no doubts about this
evening. No reasons to hide anything from her—his desire, his affection, his delight in what they would share.

And oh, she wanted that, too—that certainty that everything would work out in the end, that they could make love and remain friends. Surely that was the reason her face was so warm and her mouth was so dry.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“A drink? Yes. I—Yes. Water. Please.”

She dropped her purse on the sofa and walked to the window, rubbing her hands over her arms. She thought she recognized the tune floating through the air, and bits of phrases flitted through her mind as she tried to piece together the lyrics. She focused on the words, trying to sort out the rest of the song. It was easier than trying to sort the sensations tangling and knotting inside her.

“Tess.” Quinn’s voice was a caress as he handed her the glass. He waited patiently as she sipped, and then he gently tugged the drink from her hand, placed it on the windowsill and slowly pulled her into a dancer’s embrace.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Dancing with you.” His fingers spread in a warm fan across the small of her back, urging her closer.

“Why?”

“Why not?” He rested his cheek against hers, so softly. So sweetly. “I’ve been wanting to hold you all week.”

“You can do that later. In bed.” Could he hear the panic in her voice?

“I’ve been wanting that, too. Waiting for that.” He took her hand and curled her fingers in his, against his chest. “Imagining how it will be.”

“Last time was pretty good.” She reminded herself to wrap her arms around his neck, to press her body against his, to take the lead and get things moving. But
they were already moving, and she couldn’t seem to find her balance, couldn’t take control.

“Have you been waiting?” he asked, ignoring her remark.

“Of course I have.” She let out a sigh that sounded more shaky than disgusted. “Quinn, I—”

He pressed a soft, moist kiss to her temple. “Hmm?”

“I…um…” Whatever point she’d been about to make, the thought disappeared as his lips skimmed along her cheek. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“No, you’re not.”

He smiled as he guided her through an easy turn and then rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not?”

“No.” She sighed as he touched his mouth to hers, once, twice, as light as a wish. “You’re up to something.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” She pulled away and stared at him, searching his face for some sign of the serious, cynical man she’d come to know so well. But he wasn’t here tonight.

He took her hand, the one cupped in his, and flattened it against his chest. Beneath her palm, beneath his soft sweater, his heart beat steadily. So strong, so sure.

“I want tonight to be different,” he said.

“Does this mean we’re going to eat first?”

“If you’d like.”

His beautiful mouth turned up at the edges, and his smile warmed her clear through and scared her to death. “I want to seduce you, Tess.”

She swallowed. “That would explain the flowers and candles.”

“Mere props.” His hand brushed up her back, and his fingers stroked her nape, sending ice chips and sparks
skittering up and down her spine. “I’ve got more than music and mood to offer tonight.”

“I don’t need those things. I’m here. I’m ready and willing. What more do you want?”

“More.” He pulled her closer. “This. Everything we can do together. Be together.”

“I already told you,” she said in a voice gone breathless, “I’m willing to do whatever you want.”

“Be mine.” He stilled and lifted her fingers to his mouth to graze her knuckles with his lips. “For tonight. Let me make you feel as though it’s forever.”

Oh, no.
No.
Not this—not romance. She couldn’t take it, couldn’t handle it, not from him. Not from Quinn, of all people, and not now, not when she was trembling and weakening with every ridiculous dance step in this slightly shabby setting. “I don’t—”

“Tess.”
He released her and cradled her face in his hands. “Kiss me, Tess.”

And then she was kissing him and sliding into his steady, strong embrace, and letting go, just a little. Enjoying the moment, as much as she could. Part of her was still terrified of what he could do to her, of what he could make her feel, if she let him.

He spun the kiss out, tender and sweet, testing and savoring. Another tune began, something hinting of heartbreak with the sly purr of a throaty clarinet. On the street below, a passing car tooted its horn, and someone shouted a rough response. She curled her fingers into his sweater, holding on, holding tight. Trying to hold back, to keep a part of herself safe and secure.

The effort made her dizzy. That’s what it was—it couldn’t be a mere kiss that had left her so lightheaded.

“I think I need more water,” she said when he inched back to stare at her. “I’m feeling a little…um…”

“Ready for more?”

“There’s more?” she whispered.

He swept her into his arms and carried her down the hall. “Don’t expect this kind of a ride every time,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know you like variety.”

“Variety?”

He gently lowered her to his bed and showed her exactly what he meant, loving her as she’d never been loved before, with his heart in his touch and his soul in his gaze. And she gave herself up to him, loving him in return.

Q
UINN CLIMBED
into his truck well after midnight on Wednesday, bone-tired and brain-dead. Why was it that paperwork could wear a man down like nothing else?

He’d hoped to get back home sooner than this. Tess and Rosie were both there, having themselves a “girls’ night,” whatever the hell that was. He suspected the two of them were scheming, and he was unsure about what he’d find when he arrived.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, digging his fingers into his nape and wondering if he could convince Tess to give him a quick massage before she left. If she did, he’d probably pass out, snoring, before she walked out the door—not the kind of impression he’d want to leave her with.

He yawned and shook his head, and then he pulled through the gate and left the motor running while he jogged back to close and lock the fencing. Strips of night fog swirled around the streetlamps, gliding on traces of the day’s lingering warmth, and a couple of cats faced off in a yowling duet somewhere near the marina. No cars passed the waterfront, no lights glowed in the black windows up and down the street or on the boats moored at the docks. Except for Quinn and the cats, everyone in this part of town had turned in hours ago.

He returned to his seat and pulled his car phone from the glove box. He’d call Tess to tell her he was on his way back and try to keep her chatting. His personal talk radio. “Hey, Tess,” he said when she answered.

“Where are you?”

“Headed home.”

“At last,” she said.

He could hear the television in the background, something with a hyperactive rock beat and sarcastic commentary. “Rosie still awake?”

“Hope that’s not a problem.” Tess must have placed her hand over the phone, because her next words were muffled. The television volume decreased a few degrees. “She wanted to wait up for you.”

“No problem.” His truck idled at an intersection, waiting for the signal to change. “How did things go?”

“Fine. We made popcorn and did our nails and talked about boys.”

“Boys?”

“You’d prefer it if we talked about men?”

“No.” He grinned as he pulled through the intersection. “I was wondering what you contributed to the discussion.”

“Hey. I used to date boys.”

“So you provided the expertise.”

“On boys? No way. I don’t know the guys in Rosie’s class.”

Neither did he, Quinn realized. He was suddenly much less sleepy.

“By the way,” Tess said, “you’re out of milk.”

“We had half a carton when I left.”

“Sorry. Hot cocoa to wash down the popcorn.”

Quinn tugged on the wheel and angled around another corner, heading back in the direction he’d come from.
“Guess I’ll pick some up at the twenty-four-hour place near the marina on the way there. See you in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“Your kid’s okay.”

He tossed the phone on the paperwork spread on the bench seat beside him, his grin spreading so wide he thought his face would crack. A guy had to fall for a woman who was a sucker for his kid.

Happiness and hope were rusty things, snagging on the tight spots as they struggled up from somewhere deep inside him, scrambling toward the surface. Damn, it felt good. Light and tingly and nearly as heady as one of Tess’s kisses. He’d been afraid to set those feelings loose, to let them spread and settle, but things between him and Tess and Rosie had been going so well lately that it—

He coasted to the curb a couple of blocks from Tidewaters and switched off the ignition. Sinking low in his seat, he waited, nerves taut, for the automatic light to dim and give him another glimpse of what he thought he’d seen. There it was, on the second level, deep within the shadowy angles of Tidewaters’ hulking silhouette. A momentary streak of faint light.

A flashlight’s beam.

He opened his door, slid from the seat to the pavement and carefully closed the truck, holding his breath as the latch caught with a quiet snick. He paused again, crouched beside the black door, grateful for his dark clothing, waiting for another sign the intruder was still there. Again, that faint sweep of light, farther to the north.

The bastard wouldn’t get away with whatever he had planned for tonight.

Quinn darted across the street and down the block,
keeping to the shadows beneath the trees dotting the sidewalk, avoiding the fog-misted spotlights below the streetlamps. Stealthily, scanning the construction site every few yards, he moved to the gate, and then he silently swore as he fumbled with the lock in the darkness. He’d forgotten his cell phone in his truck. He couldn’t be sure he’d have time to cut across the site to reach the phone in his trailer, and the squawk of the metal door might give him away.

The combination lock sprang open, and Quinn slipped inside and caught the gate with the latch, leaving it unlocked. He had to move across open space now, in clear view of whoever was up there. He slowly stood, his senses straining, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short puffs. Again, the light, shifting along the north side, and then disappearing.

He focused on the ground and ran a jagged path, skirting the edge of En-Tech’s massive dig. He aimed for the smooth spots where the gravel had settled into the mud, where he’d have less chance of crunching over loose rocks or catching a stone with his boot toe and sending it clanging against a piece of equipment. A dense layer of fog blotted the moonlight as he passed through one of the gaping doorways on the east side of the structure. He ducked behind a stack of siding and paused again, listening for some sound, some sign of discovery or a hint of what the intruder was doing here.

He waited, too, until his breath came in slower, deeper gasps, and it was then that he smelled it. Gasoline. The pungent stench was overpowering.

God. He was going to burn the place down.

Quinn sprinted from his crouch and pounded up the stairs, dashing around partial walls and leaping over
piles of material. He slipped on the powdery residue of sawdust and nearly fell against the air compressor, the humid night air clogging his lungs and his pulse throbbing in his ears as he raced toward the place he’d last seen the light. No one there. “I know you’re here,” he shouted. “I’ve called the cops.”

Silence.

Quinn slid through a stud wall, edging toward the open ramp leading to the third floor, his thoughts racing. No plywood cladding on the walls up there, no railing in too many places on that level. He didn’t want to climb up and risk a confrontation and a fall. But the stink of oil hung thick in the mist around him here. He had to get out, to get to the scaffolding or—

He ducked and swung, low, toward the scuffling sound of a footstep behind him, raising an arm to protect his head. Something glanced off his arm, sloshing liquid to blind him and soak his hair before smashing to the floor. Glass shards crunched beneath his boots as he plowed into the figure, taking them both down, hard, on the thick plywood. Shocking pain shot through his jaw, and another blow landed on his head as the intruder grunted and squirmed, a mass of flailing arms and legs. They rolled once, twice, before the intruder shoved and kicked free, catching Quinn in the ribs and punching the breath out of him.

He lurched upright, tangling and tripping in the compressor hose as he staggered toward the black gap in the floor where steps led to the ground level. A moment later a muffled
whoomph
echoed through the structure, and flames licked up the stair opening to spread in oily waves along the floor, flowing toward his feet.

He dove for an opening in the plywood wall and
dropped to the ground two levels below. He landed crookedly, an ankle twisting beneath him. Rolling to his back, his breath burst from his throat in a strangled grunt and he stared up at Tidewaters, glowing orange and gold, cloaked in roiling black smoke. The air crackled and stank of fuel and burning pitch.
“No.”

The sound of an engine whined over the roar of the fire. Quinn struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the headlight beams shining on the trailer. He detoured to the chop saw raised on its temporary sawhorse, grabbed a crowbar and swung as the dark truck moved past him. The windshield cracked and the bar caught in its frame. The driver swerved, dragging Quinn through the gravel and mud before the truck’s tires skidded and spun, seeking purchase along the sharp edge of the spill excavation. The chassis shuddered and tilted over the yawning gap, and Quinn’s legs swung over nothingness as he lost his grip on the bar.

He tumbled into the hole and rolled, digging and clawing and scrambling away from the edge, out from beneath the pickup he was sure would roll onto its side and crush him. But in the next breath he heard the thud and ping of rocks pelting the depression around him, and he curled into a tight ball, covering his head to protect it from the rear tire as it gained traction. Pea gravel stung his back like wasps.

He hauled himself to his knees to peer beyond the rim of the excavation, watching as the truck crashed through the gate, one fence section collapsing and catching on its hood to trawl behind, out into the street. And then the stiff wire section clattered to the pavement as the truck picked up speed and disappeared into the siren-screaming distance.

“W
HEN DID
Dad say he was coming home?” Rosie switched channels again, and Tess snatched the remote from her hand.

“Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes was up ten minutes ago. It’s tomorrow already. He missed our party.”

“That’s what we get for planning a surprise party. The surprise is on us.” Tess tried to shrug off the trickle of anxiety, but she glanced toward the window. “He’ll be here.”

“I’m tired.” Rosie yawned and flipped over, stretching out on her stomach. “Call him again.”

“He’ll think I’m nagging.”

“He’s used to it.”

“I don’t nag.”

“Ha.”

Tess muttered something uncomplimentary about the kid as she dug through her purse for her phone. She punched in Quinn’s number, waited through the ring tones and got his voice mail. “He’s not answering.”

“He always answers.” Rosie shifted upright. “Something’s wrong.”

“Maybe the batteries ran low. Maybe he left it in his car when he went into the store,” she said, although she knew he wouldn’t do that. He always had a phone with him. He wanted to stay in touch with his daughter. “Maybe—”

Sirens squealed to life, nerve-racking and earsplitting and so close Tess jumped from the sofa. “What’s that?”

“The fire department.” Rosie stumbled to the window and stared down at the street. “It’s right around the corner.”

“No kidding.” Tess rubbed her arms. “How do you sleep through that?”

“We don’t.” Rosie turned, her face streaked and dotted with the ghastly glow of neon strobes. “What if that’s for Dad?”

“It’s not.”

“What if it is?” Rosie ran to her room. “I’m getting my coat,” she called over her shoulder.

“Good idea.” Tess flinched as another screaming vehicle roared down the street below the apartment window. She grabbed her jacket. “Let’s go.”

She locked the door behind Rosie, and they raced together down the hall.

T
ESS TRAILED
the wailing sirens through the heart of town, breaking several traffic laws as she drove her roadster toward the hellfire coiling red and black above the bay fog. Oh God oh God oh God. Tidewaters.
Quinn.

Her car shot through the gaping hole where the gate had been and spun to a stop beside a fire engine. She crawled out, grabbed Rosie’s hand and barreled through a knot of emergency crew, legs pumping, heart pounding, breath burning in her tight throat.

“Let me through,” she yelled when one of the fire-fighters made a grab to stop her. Another stepped into her path, and she let go of Rosie’s hand to try to shove past him. He grabbed her by the waist. “Let me go.”

“Wait a minute, lady.” Another firefighter nabbed Rosie by her coat sleeve. “You can’t go up there.”

“My dad’s up there,” Rosie said.

“No one’s up there.”

“Are you sure?” Tess sagged in the firefighter’s arms. “How can you be sure?”

“Crawford.” A man in a different uniform stepped forward. “Take these women to the trailer.”

The firefighter named Crawford gripped Tess’s arm and Rosie’s and escorted them to the trailer. Along one of its corrugated metal sides, visible in the pulsing neon of the emergency vehicles, Tess saw huge lettering in an ugly, spray-painted scrawl—the acronym of a terrorist organization.

Environmental terrorists.

“No civilians past this point.” A police officer stepped from the shadows near the trailer’s door and met them at a bobbing line of yellow crime-scene ribbon. “Take these women back out to the street.”

“This is Quinn’s daughter,” Tess said, yanking her arm free of Crawford’s grip.

“And who are you?” the officer asked.

Tess opened her mouth to reply and froze. The project architect. Quinn’s lover. A friend. None of the phrases seemed to have enough power to get her past the barrier and through that door to be by Quinn’s side, to see for herself if he was all right.

“She’s my dad’s fiancée,” Rosie told the men.

Crawford raised the yellow crime-scene tape. “Let them through.”

Tess followed Rosie toward the short metal steps. “Why did you tell them I’m his fiancée?”

“I saw it in a movie.” She shot Tess a bland glance over her shoulder. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“This is real life, kid,” Tess said as she shoved the trailer door open. “No happy endings here.”

Inside, two men in uniform stood at the counter, and beyond them, in his desk chair, sat Quinn.

“Dad!”

Rosie dashed around the corner and threw herself into his arms. He scooped her up and into his lap, burying
his face in her hair for a long moment before looking up, across the room, to where Tess stood.

She took a step forward and then stopped, staring at him, at his sticky hair and bloodshot eyes, at his torn and muddied clothing. And she breathed in the smell of him, the sickly sweet smell of whiskey that permeated the air around him.