Her Christmas Hero (9 page)

Was Peyton right?

“I like my job and I'm damn good at it,” he said in his defense.

“Until now,” his sister murmured.

“Yeah.”

“You obviously feel something for this woman or you wouldn't be in such turmoil.”

He stared at Peyton, his eyebrows knotted together.

“When you share a life-and-death situation with someone, you form a connection. Wyatt and I did.” She looked at Quinn soberly. “Although it was more his death than mine. How dare he arrest me? I wanted to poke his eyes out with my fingernails. Now…” her voice grew dreamy “…I just want to love him for the rest of my life.”

“How did you know it was love?” Quinn found himself asking.

“I couldn't stop thinking about him,” she replied. “I didn't want him to think bad things about me. Up until then, I didn't care what people thought, as you well know. Whenever I was with him, I was out of my mind with happiness. The world didn't seem so hopeless and…”

Quinn held up a hand. “I get it.”

“Do you?” She lifted an eyebrow.

He stood and flexed his shoulders. “I'm not sure I'll have those feelings for any woman.”

“You certainly don't have them for Deidre. If you did, you'd be having this conversation with her instead of me.”

Quinn never analyzed it much, but he had to admit he didn't have those feelings for Deidre.

“You'll be happy to know she and I are over,” he announced.

“Oh, please.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “How many times have I heard that?”

“My life's a mess at the moment, but I feel certain that's the last time you'll hear those words from me.” He walked over and kissed her forehead. “I've got to go.”

“Get that baby back to his mother as fast as you can.”

“It's not that simple.”

“If someone ever took J.W. from me, you would fight tooth and nail to get him back.”

“I'm not Britt's attorney and I can't fight for her.”

Peyton touched his face. “Oh, but I think you are fighting for her, and that's why you're feeling so torn.”

On his way back to Austin, Quinn found his mind was in a tailspin. He had few options, but he planned to make the best decisions so he could live with himself. How he'd do that he wasn't sure. He would play this out to the bitter end and hope he had learned something from his father—to stand up for what he believed in. Quinn believed in justice. Britt losing her baby was not justice.

He might lose everything he'd worked for, but his conscience would be clear. And Britt would not view him as a bad person.

Somehow that was important to him.

Quinn fell into a restless sleep, but he woke up refreshed, and was in the office by eight. It was Saturday and, he had to admit, he worked a lot of Saturdays. He'd been told the Rutherford case was just a court appearance, a favor to a friend—simple, easy, no time drain on his own cases. To his surprise, more had been going on behind the scenes than he'd ever imagined. He didn't plan on getting caught in that trap again.

That's why he'd called Levi.

Quinn had to be prepared for whatever was thrown at him.

Levi breezed in, a coffee in each hand. He placed one in front of Quinn.

“Thanks.” Quinn picked it up. “I was just fixing to make a cup.”

“No problem.” His colleague took a seat. “My engine doesn't run without coffee. And this is pure knock-your-socks-off black coffee. Nothing fancy in it.”

“Didn't think so.” Quinn took a sip.

“What's up?” Levi asked.

After several more sips, he placed the paper cup on his desk. “Just want to cross our t's and dot our i's on the Rutherford case.”

“Like what?”

“I have a gut feeling the situation is going to get nasty.”

“Figured that by the smear tactics.”

“I want to be very sure what the men in the photos will say in four months.”

Levi rested his elbows on his knees, staring at his coffee. “Mmm. You think with a little extra cash they might have something else to say?”

He nodded. “That's my fear.”

Levi looked up. “Didn't I tell you I have your ass covered?”

Quinn frowned.

“I asked if they objected to being recorded, and all three said no. I have it all on tape—their praise of Ms. Davis and exactly what they were doing.”

“Hot damn, Levi. It was my lucky day when you came to work for me.”

The investigator twisted his cup. “I'm a little concerned, and keep in mind I'm with you one hundred percent…but who exactly are we working for?”

“That's where it gets a little sticky.” Quinn picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “I guess I should be honest with you.”

“Aren't you always?”

“Lately, the line is getting blurred.” But it was good to know his friend had this much faith in him. Quinn told him everything, from the creek flooding to the hearing, to everything he suspected.

“You feel Mr. Rutherford brought you in for the big show down in four months?”

“I'm almost certain of it.”

“Resign from the case.”

“Then they'll bring in someone to really do a hatchet job on Ms. Davis.”

“And that's got you?”

“Yes,” Quinn admitted.

Levi stood and threw his cup in the trash can by the desk. “What do you want me to do?”

“Get those phone calls transcribed. I want every word on paper.”

“You got it.”

Quinn leaned back, tapping his pen on the desk. “Did you find out who's tailing Ms. Davis?”

Levi lifted an eyebrow. “Chester Bates. P.I. for the Rutherford firm, but I'm betting you already knew that.”

“Just a suspicion. But I thought Phil would hire someone outside the firm.”

“Why? Let Daddy-Big-Bucks pay for it.” His friend stared at him. “I have a feeling you have something up your sleeve.”

“I don't like being manipulated. Philip Sr. thinks I'll do anything he asks. But I draw the line at taking a baby from his mother.”

“The baby is already with his father.”

“Only briefly. I don't intend for it to stay that way.”

“Crossing the Rutherfords will cost you—big. Are you prepared for that?”

Quinn ran a hand through his hair. “Yes.”

Levi shook his head. “Never thought I'd see this day. The man with his focus on his career is risking it all for a woman he barely knows.”

Throwing his pen on the desk, Quinn clasped his hands be hind his head. “Are you with me?”

“Hell, yeah,” Levi replied without pausing. “I love taking down a man like Rutherford.”

“What if my plan backfires and I'm the one who's taken down?” Quinn had to think about that possibility.

“I'll give you a job on my ranch, minimum wage. Can you cowboy?”

Quinn laughed, a robust sound that released the tension in side him. He leaned forward. “I can wear boots and a Stet son as well as any man.”

Levi's lips twitched. “That's not what I had in mind.”

“Didn't think so.”

“Like I said, I have your back. Just let me know what you need, and consider it done. I'll get the calls transcribed.” Le vi headed for the door and then stopped. “Need anything else on the Bailey or Morris cases?”

“No. Thanks for all your work.”

“Call if you need anything.” With that, Levi was gone.

Quinn settled in for the day. As he worked, the Rutherford case lingered at the back of his mind like an itch that needed scratching. Yes, he was risking it all for a woman he barely knew.

But he'd saved her life.

He knew her.

He knew Britt.

 

S
TEVE ARRIVED AND THEY
worked on the Bailey and Morris cases, which were coming up at the end of November. Quinn was meeting with the D.A. on Wednesday and he had the first one hammered out to his liking. He just had to hone his argument a little more.

The Morris case worried him. Kathy Morris was a twenty-four-year-old mother of three who'd shot her husband in the back while he was eating supper. The D.A. was going for premeditated murder, and Quinn had his work cut out disproving that.

He let Steve go midafternoon. Since Steve had a girlfriend, Quinn knew he probably had a date. He'd almost
for got ten that feeling of being young and full of energy. But it came in clearly when he thought of Britt.

Looking out his window, he could glimpse the capitol building, and in the distance and over the treetops loomed the University of Texas, his alma mater. He'd wanted to go to Harvard, Yale or Princeton, but his father had persuaded him to stick to his roots, his home state. Quinn had, and he'd never regretted that. But somewhere in a corner of his mind shadowed by the exuberance of youth, he wondered if his father had influenced his decision.

Did Peyton know him better than he knew himself?

Sighing, he reached for his briefcase and went home.

 

T
HE BUZZ OF
Q
UINN'S PHONE
woke him at seven-thirty Sunday morning. He reached for it on his nightstand.

“Quinn, it's Gail. I have a problem.”

He sat up straight. He'd talked to her last night to make sure she would arrive at the condo early, to give Phil time to leave.

“What is it?”

“I'm here and Mr. Rutherford is refusing to leave. He told me to get my ass out of his house.”

Son of a bitch! Quinn should have known Phil was going to pull something. “I'll be right there.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No. I'll handle it from here, and you still have tomorrow off.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Quinn grabbed jeans and a T-shirt and quickly yanked them on, his anger boiling over. If Phil thought he could manipulate him again, he had another thought coming. Quinn could also play this game. And ethics be damned.

Slipping on his loafers, he hurried downstairs to his
study and found Mona's number. She answered on the sixth ring.

“Mona, it's Quentin Ross.”

“What? It's Sunday.” Her voice was sleepy.

“I know, but there's a situation. I wanted you to be aware of what's happening, and to know that I have everything under control.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Phil is refusing to leave the condo, but I'm on my way to sort it out.”

“Like hell. I'll meet you there.”

Quinn hung up, a grin on his face. If he knew Mona Tibbs, she'd more than show up. And he was counting on that.

His first step over the line.

Since it was Sunday, the traffic was light. He made it to Phil's place in fifteen minutes. Britt's ex lived in an exclusive area not far from downtown. The condos were two-story, with private driveways and garages, all beautifully landscaped.

As Quinn got out of his car, Mona drove up with a police car behind her. She came with fire in her eyes, just as he'd planned. Thank God Britt wasn't here yet.

Quinn met her at the door. Mona wore a coat over her nightgown, he suspected. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail and her face was free of makeup. She'd left in a rush.

“What are you trying to pull, Ross?” she asked, poking the doorbell.

“I didn't know he was going to do this.”

“Yeah, right.” She held up some papers. “I have the judge's order in my hand and an officer here to make sure Phil Rutherford obeys it.”

The door swung open and Phil stood there in his pajama bottoms. “What the…”

“May I speak to my client first?” Quinn asked.

“You have five minutes. I want him out before Britt arrives.”

Quinn stepped inside and slammed the door. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“Whatever the hell I please. I'm not leaving my house on a Sunday.”

“The judge says otherwise, so get your things and get out.”

Phil's eyes darkened. “I'm ordering you to get rid of those people outside. I want them gone before Roslyn gets here. You got it?”

Quinn moved closer to him, his voice low and threatening. “I may be your lawyer, but I'm not breaking the law for you. You get dressed and get out, or that cop in the yard will take you away. Legally.”

“You bastard. I should fire you.”

“Go ahead.”

The two men faced each other. They were the same height, and basically the same build. One was blatantly obnoxious. The other was pissed off.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Phil sneered.

“Yes. I don't appreciate being dragged into this mess—your mess. If you feel anything for Roslyn Davis, you'll give her back her child and let her see you're a better man than she ever thought you were.”

“Feel anything for Roslyn?” Phil laughed, a sound that was jarring. “I just want her to beg, and she will the day I take Dillon for good.”

For good.
That was the first time those words had been spoken, and Quinn wondered if Phil even realized what
he'd said. For now he let it pass. He was more focused on the man's need for revenge.

He studied Phil's sinister expression. “Then why do you want her back? Why are you here waiting to see her?”

“Because this time—” he poked a finger into his chest “—I'll be the one walking away with everything she loves. I want her to know who's in control.”

“Phil, I advise you to get some counseling, because you desperately need it. This is not normal behavior.”

“She's trash, Quinn. That's all she is, and not worth your concern.”

Quinn drew a long breath and curled his hands into fists to keep from striking the man.

“I've changed my mind,” Phil said suddenly. “I'd rather not see the bitch.”

Quinn nodded. “Wise decision. Get dressed as fast as you can and go out through the garage.”

Phil walked away without responding.

Quinn went to the front door and opened it. “He's getting dressed. It'll take a few minutes.”

“Then everything's okay here, sir?” the officer asked.

“Yes,” Quinn replied, and noticed Britt was standing to Mona's right, looking worried. He forced himself to glance away.

“I'd rather you stay until Mr. Rutherford is off the premises,” Mona told the officer.

A screech of tires burning against the pavement echoed through the quiet morning. Phil's Maserati whizzed by.

“He's gone,” Quinn said, and opened the door wider. Dillon's cries filled the air.

Britt charged forward and ran toward the stairs. “Mommy's coming,” she called.

Mona folded her arms across her breasts. “I take it, Mr. Ross, this won't happen again?”

“I'll do my best.”

“I'll be going,” the officer interjected.

“Thank you so much.” Mona smiled at him. As the officer walked away, she turned to Quinn. “I don't know what your agenda is, Mr. Ross, but…”

“My agenda is justice.”

She eyed him strangely. “I've heard that about you. I'm still trying to figure out why you called me.”

“Justice, Ms. Tibbs.”

“Yeah, right.” Clearly, she didn't believe him. “I'm going home to my husband and kids. Britt knows to call me if any thing goes wrong.”

Quinn closed the door and went inside, shrugging out of his leather jacket. He laid it over a chair and looked around. The condo was very contemporary—muted walls with accent pieces in black, silver and glass. He wondered if Britt had decorated the place. It didn't seem likely. He pictured her taste as something more homey and comfortable.

Her voice came from upstairs and he headed there, finding her in the nursery. Leaning over a crib, she was talking to the baby as she changed his diaper.

“How's Mommy's Dilly bear?” she said soothingly.

The boy waved his arms and kicked his feet in excitement, obviously glad to see her. Britt removed his sleeper and slipped knit pants over the diaper, then pulled a T-shirt with a duck in front over his head. Dillon held up his hands, wanting her to take him.

“In a minute.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I have to put your socks on. It's cold.”

He twisted and turned, but she managed to get them on his feet, and then she lifted him out of the crib. “Ready for breakfast?” The boy bounced on her hip. “I know you want your bottle.” She walked out, not sparing Quinn a glance.

He went to his car to get his laptop and briefcase, and settled on the sofa. He was here for the day and he had to keep busy. But his attention kept drifting to Britt's voice as she chatted to her son in the kitchen. This was her time and he didn't intrude.