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“So he’s the killer?”
“No, he’s got an airtight alibi. He was in jail at the time. But he did tell us where he got the gun. It seems Ritchie Stark threw it away, and Eddie decided to retrieve it from the dumpster. No use letting a perfectly good gun go to waste, which was a big break for us.”
“Our Mr. Stark is stepping up in the world. He’s done some shady things in his illustrous past, but murder hasn’t been one.”
At a stoplight Sam peered at her. “That we know of. We have several unsolved cases at the moment, the Sainsbury and O’Brien murders to name a couple.”
“And your dad’s attempted murder being at the top of the list.”
“I’ve got a tip on where Stark is right now. I thought we would pick him up and have a little discussion with him down at the station.”
Standing behind Sam, Becca studied Ritchie Stark as he sat at the table in an interview room, his dark hair slicked back, his beard cropped close. Thin to the point of almost looking like a scarecrow, he tapped his fingers against the wooden top, his eyes downcast.
“We’ve got you, Ritchie. You disposed of the weapon used to kill O’Brien.” Sam leaned across the table, his eyes pinpoints.
“I found it! I ain’t the violent type, so I thought I should throw it away. Didn’t want no kid gettin’ hold of it.” Stark lifted his pointy chin, the tapping of his fingers increasing.
“Yeah, sure,” Becca said with a humorless laugh. “Your fingerprint was found on one of the bullets still in the gun. Who hired you to kill Neil O’Brien?” She came around her partner to take the chair at the end, close to Stark.
“I ain’t talking. I wanna see a lawyer.”
“If you cooperate, I can convince the D.A. to go easy on you.” Sam pushed to his feet. “If you don’t—” he shrugged “—murdering a prominent city employee won’t sit well with a judge or jury.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. “I knows my rights. I wanna talk to my lawyer!”
Becca rose, too. “Sure, Ritchie. If you want to play it out that way, life in prison with no parole is fitting for you. I personally don’t think we should go easy on you.” She started for the door, glad to get away from Stark’s annoying drumming of his fingers on the table, a sure sign the man was lying. “You deserve to rot in prison.”
While Sam stayed back, Becca left the room and watched through the two-way mirror at her partner and Stark, looking for any signs of the skinny man’s armor cracking. Other than his nervous drumming, he remained tightlipped.
“I have pull with the D.A. I still can put in a good word if you cooperate. You aren’t the one we want. We want the person behind everything,” Sam said in parting.
Stark glared at the door that Sam had left through, his thin face pinched into a scowl.
“We’ll let him stew for a while. Take our time getting him his lawyer.” Sam moved to stand beside Becca.
“I know we cleared Colleen Montgomery of O’Brien’s murder, but now there’s no doubt she’s innocent with this new proof.” Becca thought of Quinn and his deep commitment to his family. She’d have to tell him the good news when she saw him next.
“Now all we have to find out is who was behind the murder and why?”
“Do you think there’s a connection between Neil O’Brien, Baltasar Escalante and Dahlia Sainsbury?” Becca asked, her mind spinning with all the incidents that had occurred over the past few months in Colorado Springs, all wrapped up in the Vance and Montgomery families, who had been instrumental in Escalante’s downfall the year before. But what kind of connection would there be between a fire chief and a drug lord?
After the incident in the tunnels below the museum the week before, she and Sam had learned from Alessandro Donato that Baltasar Escalante had been behind the drugs coming into the city recently, that he’d survived the plane crash last year and had a new face. When she thought of the drug lord, who was also a cold-blooded killer, being alive, she grew chilled. There was no love lost between him and the Montgomery and Vance families.
Again she pictured Quinn Montgomery with his russet hair, chocolate brown eyes and cocky smile that could melt a woman’s heart. He could take care of himself, she was sure, but worry over his safety took hold and she couldn’t shake off her concern. Someone had tried to burn his business down and had nearly succeeded, leaving only his offices intact. What if he had been in the shop or barn when it had been set on fire? The very thought sent another chill through her.
Standing before the full-length mirror on her bedroom door, Becca still couldn’t believe she was wearing a sundress and sandals at home on her day off—her relaxing, lazy day. To make matters even worse she was wearing lipstick—this from a woman who didn’t have time or patience to fool with putting on makeup. But Quinn would be here in a few minutes and for some insane reason she couldn’t put on her usual attire of jean shorts, oversize T-shirt and no shoes. First capris and now a dress!
She heard a truck door slamming. Giving herself a once-over, she smoothed her hair, pleased that it was at least cooperating and turning under. Something else she usually didn’t do was wear her hair down. What was the world coming to? Next she would be decked out in spiked heels, an evening gown and body glitter.
By the time Quinn rang the bell, Becca’s hand was already on the handle. She opened the door for him. His smile of greeting did exactly what she was afraid of—sent a warm, fuzzy feeling zipping through her.
“Hi. You’re right on time.” Becca stepped to the side to allow Quinn into her house.
“I aim to please.”
“That could be a company motto.”
He turned to face her, his head tilted to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face. “You know, you’re right. I may have to steal your idea.”
“No, you don’t. I gladly give it to you.” She headed toward her living room. “Let’s go in here.”
As Becca sat on her beige and navy print couch, Quinn took the seat next to her. This was the largest room in her house and all of a sudden it felt as if it were the size of a closet. With her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, she tried to tamp down the racing of her heart. This was a business meeting, nothing else, and it certainly wasn’t a date—she couldn’t even believe she’d thought the word.
“Well, how bad is it?” Becca asked before the silence became uncomfortable and she started prattling.
“The estimate?” He opened his folder and took out a sheet of paper. “See for yourself. This will take care of the kitchen, the flooring in the attic and the ceiling in the bedroom.”
Before she peered at the paper he held, she quipped, “Since your brother was a cop, you do realize how little we are paid?”
He chuckled. “Yes, you’re definitely underpaid for the work you do. After what happened the other day, I’d double your pay.”
Her gaze lifted to his. Suddenly they were back on the rooftop of the unfinished building, both trying to keep David James from jumping. A bond sparked the air, and Becca felt as if she had known Quinn well for years.
She broke their visual connection and reached for the paper. Her hand quivered as she grasped it and hoped he hadn’t seen her reaction to what had just occurred. She didn’t trust easily, having seen the seamy side of life for too many years. And yet there was something in Quinn that called to her, that urged her to put her trust in him.
After studying the figures, she said, “This is very reasonable. This includes replacing the cabinets in the kitchen?”
He nodded. “I’m going to do some of the work in the kitchen myself.”
“You are? Why?” she asked without really thinking.
“Because I haven’t had a chance to do a project like this in a long time and I’m treating myself. I miss working with my hands. Lately I’ve been doing too much of the administrative part of my job, especially with supervising the rebuilding of our barn and shop that was destroyed in the fire. So I’ve decided to personally oversee this renovation, if that’s all right with you.”
“All right? Yes, of course it is! I’ve heard Brendan talk about the staircase you carved in your house. It sounds exquisite.”
“It took me four months, but I like how it turned out. I’ll show you one day.”
The thought of going to his house and seeing some of his work thrilled her. “I’d like that.”
“Actually, if you’ve got some time today, I could take you now. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I’d be honored to see your work and—” she took the pen he held and signed the estimate “—I agree with your terms.” Handing the paper back to him, she continued, “I never thought I would get personal attention from the owner of the company.”
A dimple appeared in his cheek when he grinned. “The honor is all mine.”
“When can you start?”
“Wednesday. I have a few things to clear up. We’re moving our stuff back into the shop and barn tomorrow. It’s been an intense couple of months getting everything done since the fire.”
“I guess it pays to own a construction company.”
“In this case, yes. I won’t be taking security lightly, either. I’ve hired several extra people to look out for our offices and outlying buildings.”
Relief flowed through her. “Good. I’m glad you’re being careful.”
“If you’re a Vance or Montgomery lately in Colorado Springs, you have to be.”
“Which reminds me, we arrested Ritchie Stark. He’ll be charged in Neil O’Brien’s murder.” She started to stand.
“I know.”
She halted in midmotion, slicing him a look. “How? It just happened late last night.”
“Sam told me this morning at church.”
Becca straightened, for a few seconds hovering over Quinn until he rose. He stood only a foot away, his clean, fresh scent that reminded her of a pine forest wafting to her. Dressed in tan slacks and a navy blue polo shirt, he looked like he had come right from church.
“What was Stark’s motive?”
“He’s not saying at the moment. He lawyered up. Maybe some jail time will loosen his tongue. I doubt he’ll make bail.”
“I keep wondering if all this is connected. Everything started with Max’s attempted murder. I’ve been thinking—Escalante has to be behind the attempt on the mayor because of what happened last year. But what connection does Escalante have with Neil O’Brien? With Dahlia Sainsbury? Was Alessandro right about Dahlia working for Escalante? If so, why is she dead? What changed?”
Becca skirted her glass coffee table and snatched up her purse. “You ask some very good questions. Ones we hope to get answers to soon. Stark’s arrest is our big break. Having suspicions is one thing. We need proof to hold up in a court of law.” She withdrew her car keys. “I’ll follow you to your house.”
“I’ll drive.”
“But that means you have to come back here.”
“I have to anyway. I need to get some measurements in your kitchen. I’ll need a few things from my house.”
“I have a yardstick.”
“Not exactly what I need. It’s only fifteen minutes away and remember, I have the whole afternoon.”
“You sound like you don’t know what to do with free time.”
“Free time. What’s that? I haven’t had any in months.”
“Then I insist you wait until Wednesday to start. I don’t want to take away any of your free time. Believe me, I know how hard it is to come by.”
“So we have established we’re both workaholics,” he said with a laugh, stepping outside onto the porch while she locked her front door.
“Is there any other way?”
“Actually, yes. Before Dad retired and I took over the business, I knew what a vacation meant. This is temporary for me. I don’t intend for my whole life to be work. There’s so much more to life.”
Work was all she knew, Becca thought, not sure she could live any other way. “Vacation? What’s that?”
“Perhaps I need to teach you how to play, Becca Hilliard.”
The idea intrigued Becca more than she wanted to admit. Then she remembered all the unsolved cases of late and knew she wouldn’t be playing anytime soon.
THREE
Quinn pulled into his driveway, wondering if the reason he was drawn to Becca was because they both needed to work less and play more. God, are You trying to tell me something? I know I’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately. I plan to slow down—soon. I don’t want to go back to how I was after Maggie’s death. If You hadn’t knocked some sense into me, I would have self-destructed.
“Somehow I figured you for an ultramodern kind of guy.” Becca gestured toward his large Victorian house, painted white with forest green shutters and a profusion of multicolored flowers adorning the beds along the front.
He switched off the engine. “Why?”
“I’ve seen a couple of the buildings your company has constructed. They’re all glass and chrome.”
“Not all the buildings. Besides, I have to follow the architect’s plans. I execute someone else’s dream.”
She angled around so she faced him in the cab of his truck. “Did you want to be an architect?”
Her innocent question threw him back twelve years in the past, to a time when he had been full of dreams. “At one time,” he said, aware there was a pensive quality to his voice, but he couldn’t disguise it.
“What happened?”
“Life’s little unexpected twists. My father had a bad accident and needed me to run the business. He was laid up for almost a year. In fact, he still uses a cane because of that accident. I quit college and never went back even when he took over the reins again.”
“Why not?”
He sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly. “I found I also love working with wood, making beautiful things. And my father needed me. The company was growing so fast and he couldn’t do it all.” Remembering the war that had raged inside him brought back a rush of emotions he hadn’t experienced in years. He had wanted to return to college and finish his degree in architecture. His father had wanted him to continue working in the business so he could take it over one day.
“Family has a way of consuming our lives.”
“Yes, but it’s a good thing. I want a large one someday. You should see some of our family gatherings. Kids running all over the place. Laughter. Adamant discussions that never totally explode into an argument. That’s why I went into the business. For the family.”
Becca picked up her purse from the floor of the cab. “I know what you mean. After my mother passed away, it was either me raising my siblings or the state placing them in foster care. I couldn’t let that happen. I quit college, got a secretarial job at the police station and took them in.”
“When did you decide to become a police officer?”
“Almost from day one. But it was two years before I went to the police academy.” A thin layer of perspiration coated her upper lip. With the air-conditioning off and the windows rolled up, heat began to build up in the small cab. “How about the grand tour?”
He laughed. “I’m not sure about the grand part, but I’ll show you a few of the things I’ve done to my house. It might give you some ideas of possibilities for yours.”
When Becca climbed from the truck, she scanned the lawn with its lush green grass, not a weed among the blades. Landscaped and well-tended beds added a richness to the front of the house with its orange, yellow and red flowers. “Do you like to do yard work, too?”
“Not my thing. I have someone come once a week to work in my yard. I love a beautiful lawn. I just don’t want to do the work.”
“A man after my own heart,” Becca murmured, then realized what she had said. She didn’t normally blurt out the first words that came into her mind, but with Quinn she found herself relaxing around him to the point where she had talked about things she usually kept private. Most unusual and not altogether unpleasant.
She mounted the stairs to the wraparound porch with forest green wicker furniture and a swing mounted from the ceiling. Her assessment of Quinn Montgomery was evolving and shifting the more she was around him. He was a wealthy, successful businessman, a prominent figure in Colorado Springs society, and yet he seemed so down-to-earth and nonchalant, except where it concerned his family, when a fierce protectiveness entered his demeanor. She liked that about the man.
When she stepped into his house, her breath caught at the beauty of the staircase that curved down from the second floor. Made of a rich mahogany, polished to a shine, its intricate carved railing made a sweeping statement of beauty as a person entered his house.
