In Hot Pursuit (27 page)

“What's it to you?” Logan snapped.

Billy held up his hands like a traffic cop. “Nothing. Not a damned thing.” The beer arrived. He raised the bottle to his lips for a long pull, then said the obvious. “You might as well tell me what's going on. I'll get it out of you sooner or later. My charm is legendary, you know.”

Logan grinned, sipped his scotch, enjoying its flavor. But damn, his life was a mess. He rubbed his face again. Might as well lay it all out on the table. Billy was right. He'd eventually drag it out.

“Sorry for the lousy mood,” Logan began. “It's been a rough couple of weeks.”

“Rough? You were traveling around the world with a hot-looking woman. That's not rough to me.”

“That hot-looking woman thinks I'm a piece of shit,” Logan countered, feeling sorry for himself. Why had he allowed Quinn to get under his skin? He had always prided himself on his control. That was shot to hell now.

Billy grinned from the side of his mouth. “Piece of shit, huh? I know you're a good man so that means you did something to piss her off.” He punched Logan on the arm. “Tell me what you did.”

Logan stared straight ahead, considered his options. He could send a telegram, send more flowers, turn up unannounced at her office, talk to her grandmother. He didn't have any options that didn't involve kowtowing. Maybe Billy would have a good idea.

“She thinks I lied to her.”

“About what?” Billy looked skeptical.

“I didn't tell her I worked for the FBI.”

“Why not? That's old news.”

“I just didn't,” Logan spat out. Quinn had been so sure of herself figuring out the identity of the thief and then searching for Rebecca. His voice softened. “I didn't want to bust her bubble.”

“Bust her bubble? Man, you're screwed,” Billy snorted. “You can't make sense when you explain what you did to piss her off.”

“Ah, hell, she was really into figuring out what had happened to the $25 million. I didn't let her know I was experienced at that kind of thing. I talked to Bob Brown at the Embassy in Rome without telling her. She says I humiliated her.” Logan drained his glass, signaled for a refill and another beer for Billy.

“You gotta admit she has a point,” Billy said.

“Hell, I'm screwed.” Logan's fist pounded the oak bar. “What do I do to make it up to her?”

“Is she important to you?”

Logan nodded, hesitated before he spoke. “I think I want to marry her.”

“You are definitely screwed. I think groveling will be a part of your plan.”

Logan groaned. Groveling was the plan.

Tuesday, 9:54 a.m
.

Quinn's first visit to the Cullen Room as a member of the HCU Executive Council began with a whimper. She arrived on time along with Dr. Arnold's assistant, who arranged a tray of drinks. She poured a cup of coffee then found a spot at the conference table. Not knowing if there was a seating protocol, she decided to wing it and took a seat. Jill Bacon arrived. She worked in development so Quinn surmised she was poor Bill's stand-in.

The academic and the student affairs VP's finally arrived. They were talking about the standings for the Houston Astros. Quinn nodded at each VP as he found a seat at the conference table. Damn, every appointed vice president was male. Jill and Quinn, both acting, didn't have a snow ball's chance in hell of being selected for the permanent positions. The Council was a boy's club and neither of the two women had the right equipment.

Dr. Arnold walked in and sat at the head of the table. Quinn stifled a chuckle; his location was too predictable. The assistant took a seat at the end of the table to record the minutes.

Quinn opened her meeting binder and scanned the agenda. The most interesting items were a final discussion of a property acquisition and the status of the $25 million dollar theft. The most important item was a review of the admissions status for the fall term. None of them would have a job if students didn't fill HCU's classrooms.

She quickly surmised the real power in the group belonged to the academic and student affairs VPs. That didn't surprise her as students were the product and faculty, the manufacturer. Finance was a necessary evil, the gatekeeper, the group who said “no.”

Dr. Arnold discussed the details of the property acquisition and asked Quinn to review the alternatives available to finance the purchase.

“Yes, sir.” She made a note to find Scooter's file on the subject.

“The next item is an update on the gift from the Bridge Foundation. A representative from the foundation will be here any minute. Ah, here he is now.” Dr. Arnold motioned toward the door of the conference room.

Damn … the representative was Logan. What was wrong with that foundation? They should have sent Billy.

Dr. Arnold stood to greet Logan, they shook hands. Logan then went around the table shaking hand, saving Quinn for last.

“Good morning, how's the arm?” Logan grinned. Damn him.

“Fine.” She smiled brightly, disengaged her hand. “Thank you
so much
for asking.”

Logan sat across the table from her. Why couldn't he have done a phone conference? Then she wouldn't have to look at him. And he did look good — rested, refreshed, so masculine in a dark suit, yellow tie. Her stomach rolled, a bead of sweat floated down her back. He looked too good. She looked away, focused her attention back on the meeting.

“Mr. Rice, I understand you have something to tell us,” Dr. Arnold said.

“Yes.” Logan looked around the table. “We had insurance on the funds that were transferred and have filed a claim. It will be a while before our claim is fully processed.” He smiled, glanced at Dr. Arnold then at Quinn. “However, once we receive the claim proceeds, we will be transferring the funds to the University. To make up for those lost, of course.”

A round of applause, at least the foundation was a first class organization. She felt Logan's eyes drilling into her. She did not look at him. Rather, she focused her attention on Dr. Arnold. He was providing a high level run down of the police investigation and the search for Rebecca, then he mentioned Quinn's name. She smiled, pleased that he had publicly acknowledged her efforts in tracking down Rebecca. That was the last item on the agenda and a few minutes later the meeting adjourned.

Quinn was backed into a corner, literally. Logan stood near the door, the only exit. She considered sliding past him without speaking. Thankfully, Dr. Arnold pulled him over to the end of the conference table. She scooted around the other end and out the door, waving to Dr. Arnold. She hurried down the stairs and rushed to the sidewalk. Her office was only a couple blocks away. She'd at her desk before Logan finished with Dr. Arnold.

After a block, she heard someone call her name.

“Quinn, hold up.”

She stopped and turned. There he was, the jerk himself, jogging along the sidewalk. He halted in front of her.

“I want to talk to you,” he said, not even out of breath. Damn him.

“Sorry, I'm busy, no time.” She turned and started walking. Three steps and he grasped her good arm.

“Please, this will only take a minute,” he said.

“Don't have a minute.”

“Come on, Quinn, give me a break. I'm trying to apologize to you.”

That pissed her off. Give him a break? Men are so stupid when they think it's all about them.

“You don't owe me anything. Keep your apologies to yourself.” She raised her chin, glowered at him. “If you'll excuse me, I have real work to do.” Her shoulders sliced the air as she turned and marched toward a life without Mr. Logan Rice. Of course, if it truly was the end of Logan and she had no reason to believe it wasn't, why had her heart split in two? There was that.

$ $ $

Quinn's refrigerator was devoid of fresh food. She needed to go to the grocery store but not tonight. This had been her second full day as the acting vice president of finance and she was pooped, one tired puppy. Her arm zinged a bit, reminding her she had been shot less than a week ago. She'd lather it with the salve the Italian doctor had provided and go to bed early. But she was starving and called the local pizza delivery service. Forty-five minutes to wait before gorging herself. She poured a glass of merlot and went to the computer to check her personal email account.

She found three-hundred seventy-three messages. Wasn't she popular? Not really, most of the messages were advertisements. She started at the oldest message and looked at each one, hoping to come across a really good sale.

The pizza arrived around message number ninety-eight. She threw two double cheese and black olives slices on a paper plate, sprinkled them with parmesan cheese, and poured more wine. Back in the study, she munched the pizza, drank the wine, and read more messages.

She saved a few that advertised local sales. She whittled the list down to a dozen or so messages when she came to one with the subject line of “Please read: I'm sorry.” She almost deleted it, assuming it was from Logan, but she hadn't given him her personal email address. She didn't recognize the sending address but opened it anyway.

After the first couple of words, her breath caught in her throat, her heart thump-da-thumped. The message was from Rebecca.

She read it out loud. “Dear Quinn: I'm sure you're surprised to hear from me. Frankly, I'm surprised as well. But that's neither here nor there. I simply want you to know that I am sorry you were shot in Rome. It wasn't something I planned. It just happened. However, I am not sorry for taking the money from HCU. Tell the police I cannot be found. They are wasting their time. Best, Rebecca.”

Holy shit. This was incredible — Rebecca apologized for shooting her. She needed to tell someone about this. What was Logan's cell number?

No, she should call Roddy as this was police business. She punched in his number, paced the study, prayed he'd answer.

“Phillips.”

“Thank god you answered. I have — ”

“Quinn?”

“Yes, I have — ”

“Why'd you call me?”

Did he have the over-thirty-male-form of ADHD?

“Detective Phillips, please listen carefully,” she said slowly. “I have something to tell you. Are you with me so far?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Peachy.” Her pacing stopped in front of the computer. “I'm going to read you an email I received on my personal account. Are you ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

What the hell was wrong with him? He sounded like he was distracted. Maybe he was … on a date.

“Are you with Lynne right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine, I'll make this fast.” She read the email in a clear voice. “What do you think? What should I do about this?”

“First, forward it to me. Second, you do nothing. Third, talk to Logan Rice,” Roddy said.

“Why'd you say that? Why did you mention Logan?”

“I don't have time for couple's counseling right now.” Roddy sighed. “Send me the email.”

The phone clicked. Roddy had hung up on her.

What was going on? Had Logan talked to him? Of course, Logan had talked to Roddy. The question was why. Whatever, she didn't care. She had nothing to say to Logan.

She returned to the computer, found Roddy's email address and forwarded Rebecca's message. Quinn's investigation had concluded with Rebecca's message. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd been a good HCU point person. The police knew the identity of the thief. They knew how the wire instructions had been changed and
now
they could find Rebecca
.

An hour later, as she washed her face, Quinn thought about Las Vegas and Rome and Logan. No, she was not going there. She had no desire for Logan's presence in any city on the planet.

She settled under the bed covers, turned on the TV to catch the cable news. She sighed a deep breath, recognized a queasy stomach and a heavy heart. Yes, she was screwed when it came to Logan Rice, but she would admit it, only to herself, in the dark of night.

Saturday, 1:35
P.M.

“I love your wedding dress.” Quinn said as she and Ruthie window-shopped in The Galleria Mall.

“Me, too. It passed the butt test.”

“That it did.”

Ruthie patted the plastic bag over her arm. “I have a question. Change of subject … what actually happened in Rome with Logan?”

“I don't want to talk about him.”

“At least tell me what it was like seeing him at the council meeting.” Ruthie looked at Quinn with glee-filled eyes.

“You won't let this drop will you?” She resigned herself to giving Ruthie what she wanted to hear. Otherwise, she'd pester Quinn until she broke down from sheer exhaustion.

“Nope.” Ruthie grinned, fully understanding she had won. “I want to hear everything. Start with Rome, no start with Las Vegas.”

Quinn had spent so much time pushing Logan out of her mind she wasn't sure she wanted to bring him back. Her heart clenched. She needed to do this or she'd never get him out of her system.

Ruthie patted her hand. “Take your time.”

Quinn sighed. “I'm glad you're pushing me. I need to resolve this once and for all.” She fluffed hair off her neck. Her head was hot, as usual. “It's hard to know where to start. I was off my game the minute I stepped on the Rice jet. Then a limo met us at the airport and the hotel room at the Grand was a suite the Rice family owns. It was beautiful.” She took another deep breath. “Logan was so cool and totally in control. He knew the damned security chief at the hotel.”

“That makes sense if the family owns the suite,” Ruthie said.

“Yeah, well, money talks.” Quinn sipped her coffee. “He's not like that though. He was so nice and he really tried to help me figure everything out.”