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Authors: Karen Sue Burns

Tags: #romance, #romantic suspense

In Hot Pursuit (11 page)

BOOK: In Hot Pursuit
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He was wrong, so very cute and so very wrong. She was certain of it. “No, I'm not off-base. A computer hacker didn't get lucky so someone went to a lot of trouble to change the wire instructions. That takes knowledge and technical skills and a damned good reason to go to all the effort. I believe this whole scenario was personal and so does Detective Phillips.”

He seemed startled by that piece of information. “I'll go along with this line of thought for now.” The waiter arrived with the check. “The question on the table is whether there is an unknown connection between a HCU employee and one of ours.”

“That's the question,” she said. “Let's start with the original contact from HCU related to the donation. Who first approached the foundation?”

“It was a conversation between my grandmother and Dr. Arnold last summer. I think it was at a lecture on global warming. Gram is active in environmental causes.” He sipped his coffee. “Rebecca Holland followed up with her and Gram agreed to add the topic to the agenda for our fall board meeting. As a rule, we first discuss the initial merit of any request over a million dollars before requiring the submission of a formal proposal.”

Quinn caught herself listening to his voice, rather she felt his voice — melted chocolate softly flowing over her thighs. Oops.

“It was at that board meeting that you, I mean the board, agreed to review a proposal?”

He nodded.

“Did every board member agree?”

“Funny you should ask. I was surprised we had two negative votes.” He must have noticed the question in her eyes. “No. I can't give you the names of the dissenting votes.”

She made a mental note to perform an internet search on the foundation's board members.

“What was next?” she asked.

“I sent a letter to Dr. Arnold indicating our interest and requested a formal proposal. The letter included guidelines for the proposal's format along with the submission timetable.” His voice was somber. “We're fairly strict in our requirements for such a high-dollar request.”

“HCU receives the letter, kicks into high gear to write the proposal.” She was thinking out loud. “There must have been communication related to preparing the proposal. Who from HCU made the contacts with the foundation?”

“My assistant and I talked to both Bill Jenkins and Rebecca Holland. It was all standard for this type of request. Nothing unusual comes to mind. The final proposal was received in March and the board voted in April. You know the rest.”

“We're missing something. I can feel it.” Her stomach rolled, too much coffee.

“You're concentrating too hard. Let's change the subject.” He studied her for a moment.

She did her best not to squirm.

“Tell me something about yourself that your boss doesn't know,” he said.

“There's not much to tell.” She thought for a second, struggling with her attraction to him. “Promise me you'll keep this to yourself.”

“I will.” He crossed a hand over his heart.

“Well … my secret desire is to play serious poker at a Las Vegas casino with the big boys.”

She saw the surprise in his eyes. Forty-something CPAs weren't the usual card sharks.

“No kidding. What do you play, five card stud?” he asked.

“Texas Hold 'Em. I'm quite the player in certain circles.” He didn't need to know it was the twins, Nana, and Ruthie.

“I'm impressed.” He signed the check, then stood. “I better get you home before they kick us out.”

All in all, it had been a pleasant evening. Logan had provided her with new information about the donation. She mustn't forget the possible connection between a HCU employee and the Rice family. Better to question the obvious and dig into the details of what he hadn't said. But all that could wait until tomorrow. She was pooped and looked forward to slipping into bed and watching the late night news.

A few minutes later, they turned the corner to her street. Lights flashed ahead. Someone's alarm had probably gone off. She realized quickly the lights were in front of her townhouse.

“What is going on?”

“Looks serious. I count three police cars,” Logan replied.

He parked in front of a neighbor's house. Quinn ran down the sidewalk to her front walk. A police officer stopped her.

“Are you Quinn Wells?” the officer asked.

“Yes. What's going on here? Why is my front door open?”

Logan drew up beside her, draped an arm over her shoulders. “Officer, what's the problem?”

The officer first eye-balled Logan then turned his attention to Quinn.

“Miss Wells, someone broke into your house this evening.”

“What? Why?”

“That's right, ma'am.” The officer spoke with a slow drawl. “And he left you a message.”

“What sort of message?” Logan said, squeezing Quinn's shoulder.

“Follow me.” The officer turned and entered the townhouse through the open door. They were two steps behind as he led the way upstairs to the master bath.

In a million years, she could never have predicted what the officer had to show them. Written on the mirror over the vanity, in what looked like dark red marker, were the words
Back off bitch or you'll be sorry.

Quinn's body stiffened in shock. Why would someone break into her home and leave this ugliness? She stepped back from the mirror, and wished the words to disappear.

“Miss Wells, do you have an idea of who might want to threaten you?” The cop held the police-issue notebook in his hand, waiting for a reply. “Have you had problems or cross words with anyone lately?”

She shook her head and walked to the bedroom to perform a three-sixty survey. Nothing had been disturbed other than the mirror. The room was just as she left it with clothes strewn over the bed.

“I don't know anyone who hates me enough to break into my house and leave such ugly words.” She glanced at the bathroom and a wave of apprehension swept through her. Some asshole had been in her house, uninvited. “I can't remember the last time I had an argument with someone. This makes no sense.”

She ran downstairs and retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then stood with a hip against the counter and stared out the window over the sink. The streetlight near the corner of her front yard illuminated a large oak tree and the shrubs along the side fence. This was a well-lit neighborhood with little crime. She couldn't remember ever hearing about a home break-in or burglary.

The local constable patrolled regularly and almost everyone had an alarm system. Damn … she hadn't set the alarm when she left with Logan. Talk about the mistake of the century. If the alarm had been set, the jerk wouldn't have broken in.

She heard her name being called from the living room. Logan and the police officer were examining the lock on the front door.

“Have you found something?” she asked.

“The break-in occurred through the door on your patio. It has the marks of being jimmied. This one is clear.” The cop shut the front door. “Looks like the perp just wanted to threaten you or something spooked him before he did any serious damage.” He mumbled into a walkie-talkie on his shoulder. “Lucky you weren't at home.”

Talk about too much information. Tears threatened Quinn.

“I wish I had set the alarm when I left.” She wrapped her arms tight around her chest. “That might have scared the guy off.”

The officer shook his head. “I doubt it. These guys know how to neutralize every home alarm on the market.” He glanced around the living room. “We're about done here.”

“What happens next,” she asked.

“Have the lock replaced on the back door,” Logan answered.

“We need your finger prints to compare against the ones we've taken from the bathroom and the door.” The officer smiled and opened the front door. “There's a mobile unit in the van. We'll give you a call in a day or two.”

Logan stood by her side as the prints were taken. Within a few minutes the police departed and they moved inside to the kitchen.

Quinn washed her hands then poured shots of brandy, and handed Logan a glass. They studied each other from opposite sides of the kitchen.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said. “The ending was a bit unexpected, even for me.”

“That it was. I'm glad you didn't arrive home to this alone.”

“Me, too.” A single tear etched her cheek.

Logan placed his glass on the counter, took three steps toward her. The maleness of him filled the small kitchen. His finger wiped away the tear, gently caressing her cheek. The scent of his aftershave sent a shiver down her arms. It had been so long since she'd been this close to a man.

“Are you sure you're okay?” His voice was husky, his eyes searched her face. “I don't like you staying here with a broken door lock.”

She hadn't thought about that. “I'll call my friend, Ruthie.”

He looked at his watch. “It's past midnight. There's no need to bother her. You can stay with me. I have a very comfortable guest suite.”

Was Logan nuts or what? She hardly knew him. What would her daughters think?

“That's very sweet of you, but — ”

“No excuses. Throw your things in an overnight bag and we'll be on our way.” He gave her a quick hug and pointed to the door. “You have five minutes.”

Quinn hurried upstairs to gather clothes and toiletries. She was too tired to analyze why she agreed so easily.

Within minutes, they headed north on the Southwest Freeway. The drive to Logan's home in the West University area of Houston was quick and uneventful. She paid little attention to the surroundings as he escorted her through the house and upstairs to the guest bedroom. He pointed to the master suite at the end of the hall, just in case of emergency.

The bedroom was lovely with muted peach and cream colors and rich oak furniture. The joining bath had a garden tub along with a spa shower. The elegance reminded her of the Four Seasons Hotel in downtown Houston.

“This is wonderful.” She sat on the bed, stroked her hand over the duvet, admiring the luxury of the fabric. “I'm glad I came.”

“I'm glad you came, too.” He leaned against the doorframe. “At least you can't get in any mischief here.”

“Mischief? I'll have you know, Mr. Logan Rice, that I don't get in mischief, I create mischief.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Well, don't create any here, unless I'm involved.”

Standing five feet from Logan, she could see the strength emanate from him like the first breath outdoors on a frosty morning. At another time, she might have continued with the flirting but she was ready to call it a night. Considering the past few days, topped off by that ugly message, she was drained, and simply wanted to sleep.

“I promise to be on my best behavior. I'll see you in the morning.” She moved to the door and placed her hand on the knob. “Goodnight, Logan, thanks again … for everything.”

EIGHT

Thursday, 7:39
A.M.

The morning dawned dark and dreary thanks to a spring thunderstorm. The storm's effects rolled through Logan's guest room with the occasional crack of lightening, reminding Houston's residents that Mother Nature was indeed in charge. Hurricane season was just around the corner. Rain pattered against the window and French doors leading to a second-floor balcony. From its gentle rhythm, she concluded the worst of the weather has passed.

Quinn snuggled deeper into the warmth of the bed, unable to avoid thoughts about the events of last night. It seemed obvious to connect the dots between “back off bitch” and the theft of the $25 million. So was she going to listen to the threat and back off? No.

After a quick shower, she threw on jeans and a cotton top and applied a bit of color to her cheeks. Concealer helped mask the under eye shadows caused by too much stress and too few hours of sleep. She packed her few belongings in the duffle bag, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the kitchen and the coffee pot.

She heard noise coming from the first floor and hurried down the stairs and through a hallway to the kitchen. A television on the counter blared the morning news.

She stopped in the doorway, scoping out the kitchen. The layout was large and filled with tall cherry cabinets and stainless steel appliances. With a restaurant-style range and oven it was definitely a cook's retreat. Perhaps Logan had another hobby he hadn't mentioned. She mentally hugged him. Men who cook garnered a high rating.

“Morning,” she said from the doorway.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?” He turned off the TV.

“Hmm, need coffee.”

He poured from a carafe, brought a mug to her. “Try this.”

“Thanks.” She sipped the coffee; it tasted wonderful. She stepped into the room and stood across the counter from him. “Just so you know, I need coffee before I can speak.”

“Understood.” He nodded toward a mug on the counter. “My second cup. Have a seat. I made us breakfast.”

She slid onto a forest green stool. “Do you make breakfast like this everyday?”

“No, but you're special,” he said, turning bacon onto a paper towel. “Usually my cooking is on Sunday with a large pot of coffee, lots of protein, and hours reading the newspaper.”

He made a plate for her with a whole-wheat muffin, turkey bacon, and cantaloupe — most of the food groups. Granted it was more food than her standard vanilla yogurt but my heavens, a man cooked for her. She could easily be spoiled by it.

She transgressed for a minute, picturing Logan and herself lying in bed and reading the paper to each other. She'd read the sports page and he'd read the Sunday magazine. They'd toast with Mimosa's and plan the itinerary for the afternoon — a tour through the Museum of Fine Arts or perhaps the Arboretum in Memorial Park. The most enjoyable part of the day was being together. They would —

BOOK: In Hot Pursuit
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