In Hot Pursuit (22 page)

“I'll call it in and you take it easy.” Logan half shut the door to the bathroom, offering her the opportunity to moan when she moved her legs and back. Her knees were scrapped a bit, along with her right forearm. She must have first fallen to her knees then rolled on her right side. Her body felt every contact with the concrete sidewalk on Via del Corso. The balmy water was soothing.

Semi-dozing in the warm room, she heard a knock, a murmur of voices, then silence. She sensed Logan and a draft of cold air.

“Quinn, the water has cooled, time to get out and put on your pajamas.”

He held a huge cream-colored towel in front of his body, hiding his face. “Do you need help to get out of the tub?”

“I'm fine.” She could do this. Her muscles were warm enough that it wasn't too uncomfortable straightening up and gingerly stepping out of the tub into the fuzzy towel. He wrapped it around her.

“I'll let you finish,” he said. “Call if you need me.”

Quinn managed to smooth cream over her face and hands after pulling on a pair of old-lady pajamas. Ruthie was her supplier for birthdays and Christmas. The current ones weren't too bad — pink and white stripes plastered with bright-colored martini glasses and red buttons up the front.

She hobbled proudly out of the bathroom. Logan rushed over to her.

“Let me help you get settled in bed.”

Dear, sweet Logan held her arm as she maneuvered onto the bed with as much grace as she could muster under the circumstances.

“There now, take it easy. I'll get you that drink.”

He moved to the desk and returned with a glass in one hand and a box in the other.

“What's in the box?” she said.

“First aid kit.” He sat on the edge of the bed, opened the box. “I need to take a look at your legs.”

He pulled out a tube of ointment, pushed up the pajamas, and gently rubbed it in the bruised skin over her knees. She sipped her drink.

“Where else?”

She showed him her right arm and continued to drink. He tended to her injured skin, pulled up the covers for her, freshened her drink, and settled beside her on the bed.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, pulling the covers over his pajama covered legs.

“I'm okay. I'll be stiff in the morning though.”

“I'm so sorry this happened to you.” Logan squeezed her hand lying on the blanket. “What actually happened on the street? One minute you were next to me and then you were flat on your face.”

Quinn wouldn't classify herself as one of those women who cried at the slightest provocation. Her pride usually kept her in check. Right then though, she surprised herself as tears rolled down her cheeks. She sipped the drink then brushed her cheeks with the back of a hand.

“Quinn?”

“It was my own fault. I tripped on something on the sidewalk.” She slugged down the drink. “Not one of my finer moments.”

Logan moved closer to her. “Don't think about that. Everyone trips once in a while.”

“Guess you're right.” Her head wobbled to the side. “I think I'm tired.”

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her toward his big strong chest. “You poor baby, I'm sorry you're hurt. Don't worry about a thing.” He kissed the top of her head.

Logan's arm felt good. She snuggled into the strength of him. She settled her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes.

His hand smoothed her hair.

It felt good having someone to lean on. The last ten years had taught Quinn that self-reliance was the key to survival and a crisis-free life. Leaning on a man was not in her vocabulary, until now.

Her eyes flashed open. Her brain skidded into a wall. What? Lean on a man? No freaking way.

She pulled away from Logan, or attempted to. He imprisoned her with a very strong arm.

“Don't even think of trying to move away.”

“Sorry, a little uncomfortable.” Most of her was one dull ache. Or at least that's what her soggy brain conveyed. The alcohol had done its magic. Her concern about leaning on him was a physical thing, not a real life kind of thing.

Logan's hand stoked her cheek and he gently turned her face to his. His nose was two inches from hers as his gaze searched her face for — acceptance, approval, an a-okay?

He apparently liked what he saw. Booze did the trick for her.

Logan's lips lowered and easily found Quinn's. His hand brushed hair off her face as his lips moved over it with small kisses. She floated on a cloud of deep sensations spiraling around her middle while her brain enjoyed an out of body experience. She snuggled deeper into his strength. His hand stroked under her pajama top, learning the curve of her breast.

“Hmm, nice, so long since a man has … .”

$ $ $

A Tuesday morning in Rome, one word — incredible. Then Quinn rolled over and last night's episode screamed for attention as the entire right side of her body throbbed. She relived her stumble on the sidewalk. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the memory of her clumsiness from her mind.

She tugged the blanket but it was stuck. She raised her head and saw the problem. She was still in the same bed as Logan, in the same hotel room, in Rome.

How could she forget?

Her brain was on the fritz, the lack of Houston humidity was taking its toll. Brain cells were literally drying up. She breathed deeply and rolled slowly to the other side. Ouch, her back was sore and her head hurt.

Her eyes opened and she
really
noticed Logan. He lay on his back, hair mussed, in need of a shave, one arm behind his head, the other flat handed on his chest. Ah, yes, that chest — muscular, tanned, and a good dose of hair disappearing beneath the sheet at his waist. It had been a long time since she'd been so close to a man's chest, or any other part for that matter. Her stomach rolled like a drunken sailboat on a calm sea.

“Good morning, Quinn.”

Her gaze moved from his chest to his face. His eyes were bright and eager and spoke of his hopes, whatever they might be. She couldn't think because her head hurt.

“Morning. Do you mind if we call down for coffee and aspirin?” She didn't have a prayer of carrying on a decent conversation without caffeine in her system.

Logan bounded out of bed like a colt taking a first jump. “Your wish is my command.” He called room service then leaned over the bed and kissed Quinn on the cheek. “You rest while I take a shower.”

She followed orders and dozed off. The next she knew, Logan was two inches from her face, whispering her name.

She placed a hand on his chest and pushed. “Geez, I'm awake. You don't have to keep repeating my name.”

He straightened himself with dignity. “For your information, I don't repeat. Breakfast is here. That's why I woke you.”

“Good, and thanks.”

“No problem.” He sat at the small table in the corner and poured coffee.

“I'll be back in a minute.” She rolled slowly to the side of the bed, swung her feet to the floor, and sat up. The old body was sore but not as bad as she expected. Good. She wouldn't be forced to waste any time in searching for Rebecca.

Quinn stood, held onto the wall. Her legs and back were stiff, and her arm was sore. Other than that and a hangover, life was good. She could deal with a few aches and pains. Finding Rebecca was much more important. She hobbled to the bathroom, determined to get on with the work at hand, sore body or not. Ten minutes later she joined Logan.

“Great coffee.” She nibbled a croissant after swallowing four aspirin. “What's the plan for today? Should we go to the embassy again?”

Logan spread jam on a roll. “Actually, I have an appointment this morning.”

“What time should we leave?”

“Quinn, I'm going by myself. You stay here and take it easy.”

“I don't need to rest. I'm fine.”

“Of course, you are.” He looked at her, half-smiled. “Regardless, my appointment doesn't include you.”

She felt like she'd been slapped. She wasn't accustomed to being told “no” and she sure as hell didn't like it. Hmm, this wasn't like Logan. She watched him eat a bite of melon and drink coffee, too nonchalant. He was up to something. She could play that game, too.

“You're right. I'll stay here and rest. My head still hurts. When will you be back?” She already had a plan.

“After twelve o'clock.” He rose and grabbed his cell from the desk. “We can continue with our search when I return.”

“Good.” She rose clumsily and kissed him on the cheek before ushering him to the door. “I'll be ready when you return.”

Damn straight she'd be ready, but first, she had work to do. She took a shower, spread ointment over the scrapes, gulped down more aspirin, and retrieved the Rome phonebook from a drawer in the nightstand. Last, she dug out the English-Italian dictionary from her purse.

Quinn poured another cup of coffee then sat in the middle of the bed with the phonebook and the dictionary. She looked up the Italian word for “hotel” … duh, it was “hotel.” That was easy. The phonebook contained fourteen pages of hotel listings. She'd get through as many as she could before Logan returned. He wouldn't happy about her calling hotels in Rome asking for Rebecca. But it was quicker than visiting each one in person. And, too bad if he didn't like it — he wasn't her boss or her father or her whatever.

She opened the phonebook and set to work. Using the dictionary, she asked
Parla Inglese?
If they didn't speak English then
Sa dirmi se Rebacca Holland is a ospite?
Can you tell me if Rebecca Holland is a guest?

She began calling at the top of the list, then decided to contact every other listing. That way she'd cover the alphabet faster, haha, like it would give her a better chance of hitting the right hotel. She left a message at each hotel with Logan's cell number just in case someone remembered a guest who might be Rebecca.

The coffee urn was empty before she hit the second page. It was slow going and after two hours, she was batting zero. Her efforts were frustrating, yet Quinn clearly understood her chance of locating a hotel with Rebecca as a registered guest was one in a million — the same as finding her at a monument or on a street. She scooted off the bed, stretching her legs a bit before standing. She hobbled at first but the stiffness wore off the more she paced. As long as she kept moving, she'd be okay.

What would she do if she were in Rebecca's position? First, she would have gone to a location more secluded than Rome and certainly less cosmopolitan. But Rebecca
was
in Rome. Quinn could feel it in her gut and she had to locate her. There was no other choice.

Perhaps Rebecca registered under another name, an alias, like her friend Nancy Sims's name or the name from the slot competition in Vegas. What was it? She thought back to the Paris Casino and slamming into the cocktail waitress. They talked to the security guy and Logan made that stupid comment about PMS. Quinn snapped her finger, Holly Roberts, that was the name.

She checked her watch, not yet eleven o'clock. She had a good hour and half before Logan returned. She retrieved both the phone and the phonebook off the bed and plopped them on the desk. Maybe the chair would help her back and lady luck would throw in a dose of good fortune.

Rome, Tuesday

A taxi waited for Logan at the hotel's entrance. The ride to the Embassy gave him a few minutes to review the past few days. He smiled. Quinn was a whirlwind going ninety miles an hour, and a hot one at that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so intrigued by a woman. A woman who was four years older, had grown children, and would soon add grandmother to her list of roles. The HCU theft did have a bright side, and that was meeting her.

His initial distrust had evaporated slowly, like the morning fog over a Louisiana marshland dissipating with the first rays of warming sunshine. If she were the thief, she would never have shown him the Gregory James email message. And when Billy had her checked out, nothing came up.

She had no idea of his interest in her. Sure, it was out of his normal comfort zone. He'd never, ever fallen, no not fallen, teetered on the edge of the cliff so quickly. He had to give it to Gram, though. She had told him more than once that when the right woman appeared in the landscape of his life, he'd know it immediately. Gram was right. That didn't make it any less discomforting. He rubbed his jaw, maybe the right woman had finally come along. Billy would be laughing his ass off if he knew. Roddy, too.

If Quinn knew, she'd be laughing as well. She had a blockade around her heart the size of the Great Wall of China. She had this silly idea that she was a disaster at relationships. Just because her ex-husband was a jerk didn't mean she was a bad picker of men. Logan was certain she was fighting with herself.

He had seen desire in her eyes a couple of times before her brain took over. That kiss last night had been phenomenal and her body knocked it out of the park. He'd keep chipping away at her wall, even consider it a challenge. Logan had no problem with that.

The U.S. Embassy was the same as yesterday, lines of people waiting to get inside for visas, U.S. Marines guarding the entrance. He showed his ID and went through the metal detector before entering the building. He was in Agent Brown's office in less than five minutes.

“Bob, long time, no see.” Logan shook the agent's hand.

“Ain't that the truth? You're the last person I expected to see yesterday.” Bob motioned for Logan to take a chair.

“Sorry for the surprise. Coming to Rome was a last-minute decision.” Logan smiled lamely. “But how have you been? It's been what, ten years since we worked together in DC?”

“Life is great. Enjoy the job here and I'm engaged.” Bob pointed to a picture on his desk. “Getting married this Christmas.”