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“You did this in four months? I’m impressed.”
“I wanted something that would capture people’s attention when they walked in.”
“Well, you succeeded. How long have you lived here?”
“Almost four years. I bought this as a fixer-upper and just recently completed what I wanted to do with it.”
Becca strolled into the living room off the large foyer, and again stood transfixed, taking in the beauty before her. The massive mahogany fireplace and mantel were every bit as intricate as the staircase. White crown molding accentuated the dark-taupe-painted walls and bookcases carved with swirls and leaves lined one wall. Glimpses at the titles of some of the books hinted at the man standing beside her. Historical books and biographies adorned the shelves, along with a few mysteries.
She walked closer to the bookcase. “Are you a history buff?”
“Yeah, you could say I am. I believe in order to understand the present you have to understand the past.”
“I agree. People are shaped by their past.”
“Exactly. Escalante has revenge in mind for the Vance and Montgomery families because of what happened last year. You can’t escape your past, no matter how much you want to. It eventually catches up with you.”
The tension in the warm, cozy room heightened. Becca didn’t want to journey back any more into the past. She had given up her dream for her family and didn’t regret raising her siblings. She would never have let them be raised by anyone else, but still she wondered from time to time what her life would have been like if the situation had been different. “How did we get on such a heavy topic?”
“Beats me.”
His grin produced her own smile. “Show me your kitchen. I need some inspiration.”
He swept his arm toward the dining room. A long table with clean, simple lines dominated the space. The maroon brocade on the eight chairs complemented the darkness of the cherrywood, adding an elegant tone to the room.
“You have excellent taste in furniture.”
“Thank you. I just finished making that.” He pointed toward a cabinet that housed a few pieces of a china set that looked old.
Its simple lines matched the table’s, prompting Becca to ask, “Did you make everything in this room?”
“Everything in the house. I still have several rooms to finish.”
“Do you ever sleep?” she asked, stunned by the amount of work that had to have gone into each piece of furniture.
“I don’t require more than five or six hours, which helps.” He shrugged. “My brother says I don’t have a life.”
That was probably what many people would say about her. The connection she had felt that first day on the rooftop strengthened even more. “Is he right?”
His grin reappeared, self-mocking this time. “Yes. I’m working on changing that. I only work six days a week now. Sunday is my day off.” He started toward a door on the other side of the room.
“But you’re working today.” Becca followed him into his kitchen.
His gaze snared hers and held it for a long moment. “This isn’t work.”
Her throat went dry and her pulse sped up. For several heartbeats she saw only him, before she tore her attention away and examined his kitchen, which was one of the reasons she was here.
“Wow,” was all she could say as she swept her gaze around the room.
The first thing she felt was she would like to cook in his kitchen. This was a place where family would want to congregate, with its welcoming warmth in the dark tones of the cherry cabinets, its cream-colored marble countertops with various shades of brown swirls and its hardwood floor with a lustrous finish occasionally broken by an area rug that picked up the room’s golden brown, dark red and forest green colors reflected in the plaid wallpaper. Her gaze rested upon what had to be the focal point, the built-in range with a mosaic tile pattern behind it on the wall with a glass-door cabinet flanking each side. Beautiful one-of-a-kind pieces of china and glassware were showcased.
Quinn walked around, trailing his hand along the counter. “This is my mother’s influence on my life. She felt the kitchen was the most important room in the house, therefore it should be put together first, which is what I did when I moved in here.”
“I can see why you like to cook.” A picture of herself creating some dish in this kitchen flashed into her thoughts and took hold. Its impact stole her breath. “You have carte blanche to do with my kitchen as you see fit. That is, anything within my meager budget.”
The instant the words were out of her mouth she should have snatched them back. She didn’t give control up easily and she had just given him free rein. From the wide-eyed look on his face her statement must have taken him just as much by surprise.
“What do you like in here?”
She spun around in a slow circle with her arms outstretched. “Everything. But I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to replicate your kitchen at my house, especially since this looks expensive.”
“Not as much as you would think, but then I did the labor and I do have some resources.” He paused, his gaze intent on her face. “You know you have to tell me more than that.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want what I have. It’s cold, outdated and impractical.”
He sighed. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
He started to say something else when she added, “But then I also like green, yellow and red.”
His chuckles floated on the air. “Maybe it would be easier if I asked if there’s a color you don’t like.”
“Hmm.” She rubbed her finger along her chin and looked toward the ceiling. “Nope, not really.”
“You’re making this hard for me.”
“But I like all colors. I don’t really have one favorite. That should make it easier. You can’t go wrong with any color scheme you pick.”
“So you would be okay with purple and, say, orange?”
She winced. “Well, maybe not those two colors together, but I do like them combined with other colors.”
With lightness deep in his eyes, he covered the short space between them. “Then I’ll just have to get to know you better so I can figure out what will work best.”
Words lodged in her throat, but for the life of her she couldn’t voice any of them. Mesmerized by the deep chocolate of his eyes, she found herself being drawn into those rich depths, like a hot fudge sundae, lured from the safe, emotional world she had created for herself into an unknown one where feelings dominated and threatened to take over. And, like the sundae, both hot and cold, at the same time.
Swallowing several times, she blurted out, “I trust your judgment after seeing what you did with your house.”
After she said that statement, surprise gripped her like a vise Quinn would work with. The day had been filled with one surprise after another. She took a step back to give herself some space because with him so near she obviously wasn’t thinking straight at the moment. Trust wasn’t something she often gave and especially when knowing someone for such a short time. What was it about Quinn that put her at ease? Yes, they had formed a bond up on the rooftop. Yes, she knew his younger brother, Brendan, and respected him. Yes, she had known who Quinn was casually. But those things weren’t really what made her stay up at night thinking about him or doing something out of character like wearing a sundress, the only one she owned.
Puzzlement drew his eyebrows together. He combed his fingers through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. “You’ve got to give me more than that. What do you like to cook? Fancy meals? Gourmet food? Simple fare?” A touch of desperation entered his eyes.
“Nothing fancy or gourmet, but I wouldn’t classify it as simple, either. In the winter I love to make soups and stews. In the summer things like taco salad, three-bean salad. Then there’s the old standbys like lasagna and spaghetti. I made things my sister and brother would eat. How’s that help you?”
“I’m trying to get a feel for the work space you’d need.”
“I don’t cook as much anymore since Caitlin went into the Air Force a few months ago. With just me and my killer work schedule at times, it’s hard to come home and fix a hot meal. But hopefully one day I’ll do more.”
Quinn leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “No boyfriend to cook for?”
She glanced away from him. “I haven’t had a lot of time to date much, especially now with working and going to school.”
“What are you studying?”
“Psychology, with an emphasis on abnormal behavior. I took two classes during the spring semester, which practically did me in. This summer I’m taking it easy and only taking one, on Tuesday nights. I don’t think it will be a hard class. I begin this week.”
“Okay. This is a start. Let’s go back to your house and let me get some measurements in the kitchen.”
“For a man who doesn’t work on Sunday, you’re sure doing a good imitation of working.”
“Measuring’s nothing. I could do it in my sleep.”
The mention of sleep brought Becca back to the fact that the past few nights—ever since Quinn and she had connected on the rooftop—she hadn’t gotten a full night’s rest. In her line of business that could be dangerous. She needed to exorcise the man from her thoughts, but then, that might be most difficult if he was in her house day after day renovating it.
“I thought all cops liked coffee and doughnuts,” Quinn said, taking a seat at Becca’s kitchen table later that afternoon.
She splayed her hand over her chest. “I’m crushed. You must watch too much TV.”
“TV? What’s that?” He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to watch even the news.
“Occasionally I’ve caught glimpses of one in people’s houses.”
The twinkle in her eyes spoke to him on a level he hadn’t responded to in a long time. Her renovation project was just what he needed to get back to what he loved doing at Montgomery Construction, what he had done before his father had retired. “I live on coffee,” he said while Becca stood at the old stove waiting for a copper kettle to heat.
“I refuse to bring coffee into my house. Nasty stuff.” Retrieving two mugs from the cabinet, she poured some hot water into each one and then dunked tea bags into them. “Here, try this. Tea is much better for you than coffee.” After handing him a cup, she slid her own from the counter, then took the chair across from him. “This is chai tea. You can even have it cold if you like.”
He stared at his mug as though it were a monster terrorizing him. “It looks like dirty dishwater.” He sniffed it, a blend of spices peppering the air. “What in the world is in it? I like my coffee black, no sugar, strong.”
She took a sip of hers, watching him over the rim of her mug, but she didn’t say a word.
“If I try this, then you’ll have to try my coffee. You haven’t tasted coffee until you’ve had a cup of mine.”
“You aren’t gonna convert me.”
Quinn smiled. “I’ve been told I have powers of persuasion.”
Her laughter rang in the air, filling it with a sweet sound. “Sam’s tried. Even your brother. Nope, I don’t change my mind often once it’s set.”
He cupped the mug in his hands. “So no one can change your beliefs?” Somehow he got the impression they weren’t talking about drinking tea or coffee but something much deeper. From a couple of comments she had said, he didn’t think she believed in God. Is that why You have nudged me toward Becca, Lord?
“I’m slow to form an opinion but just as slow to let it go, too.”
Quinn took a sip, winced, then firmly set the mug on the table. “Doesn’t hold a candle to my coffee. Is that the best you have to offer?” He relaxed back in the chair, enjoying the lightheartedness of the conversation. So much had happened lately that was serious, it had been nice for a brief time this afternoon not to have to think about Escalante seeking revenge against his family.
She shot to her feet and stalked over to the cabinet, thrusting open its door. “Take your pick. I probably have thirty different kinds of tea for different moods.”
“What mood is chai for?”
She narrowed her gaze, but that twinkle still danced in her depths. “It’s for helping me to be patient.” After closing the cabinet, she sat again and drank her tea as though she was seeking that patience she had talked about.
Sliding the mug away from himself, Quinn broke the silence with, “As I said before, I’d like to start Wednesday morning. I’ll be in and out at first because I’m still overseeing a few projects. And since the explosion last month at the hospital, we will start rebuilding that physical-therapy wing soon. I’m training Chad Morrison to do some of what I’ve been doing.”
“How do you want to handle getting into the house? I can have irregular hours and won’t always be here in the morning to let you or your crew in. And I can’t guarantee my neighbor will always be home, either. How do you suggest we do this?”
“You could give me a key.”
Surprise danced across her face for a few seconds before she masked her expression and took a long sip of her hot tea. “That’s probably the best way to handle it. It’s just that…” Her voice faded into the silence.
“What? You don’t trust anyone else with your key? Your neighbor has one.”
“I’ve known Mrs. Williams all my life. She used to babysit me when I was young.” She shifted in her chair and looked him right in the eye. “No, I’m not a very trusting person. I realize you’ll have to have a key, but I would rather you be the only one who has access to it.” She finished the last of her tea then added, “I know I don’t have much to steal, but my personal space is very important to me.”
“The renovation may be delayed at times. Are you okay with that?” he asked, her trust in him producing a grip on his heart that frightened him. There were too many similarities between Becca and Maggie, especially in their work. He was starting to care and that was just too risky.
She nodded, relief in her expression.
“Then we’ll do it that way and anyone working here with me, of course, will be trustworthy. That’s a promise.”
His fervent look generated a tightness in her throat. She swallowed and said, “Great. I’ll have one made. I’ll make it a point to be here Wednesday to let you in and give it to you.” She shook her head. “I should have thought about this before I decided to renovate. But as you can see, all I could think about was how much this house needs in order to come into the twenty-first century. Actually, I’m thinking the latter half of the twentieth century.” She pointed toward the carved markings in several of the drawers. “That was done by my brother sixteen, maybe seventeen years ago. He got creative with a knife. Hey, maybe I should have pushed him in the direction of carpentry.”
“I probably did some of that in my younger years. But what happened there?”
Becca glanced where Quinn was looking, even though she already knew what he was referring to. “That was the final straw. Last week the cabinet door fell off. That’s when I decided I had to do something fast. Luckily I persuaded you to help me.”
Closing the notepad he had been writing on, Quinn came to his feet. “I’d better be going. It’s getting late and I have a meeting at church. I’m on the building committee. Go figure.”
“No! I would say you are more than qualified.”
He paused in collecting his elaborate tape measure, which put her yardstick to shame. “With God you don’t have to have experience. He’ll take you any way you want.”
“If you say so,” she murmured, remembering how the Lord had turned His back on her family. He took her father then her mother, leaving two small children without their parents and her as their only hope. Remembering that time submerged her in a renewed feeling of overwhelming helplessness she had fought hard not to experience ever again.
“I don’t. The Bible does.”
Her partner’s faith was strong, and there had been a few times Sam had tried to talk to her about the Lord, but their partnership worked because he respected certain boundaries. She could remember crying and pleading with God to spare her mother. It hadn’t helped. She’d still died, leaving her alone at twenty with two young siblings and no ready means of support.
Quinn headed for the front door. The quiet that had descended between them thickened. Before he left, he gave her a weak smile, a sadness in his eyes that made Becca feel she had let him down somehow.
As she closed and locked the door, she couldn’t shake that feeling, and it bothered her that she cared what he thought. Her anger surged to the foreground. She marched back toward the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea, deciding it was best to keep Quinn at arm’s length.
The blare of the phone startled her. Instead of going to the stove, she crossed the room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
“Becca, this is Sam. I’m at the station. Stark is ready to cut a deal.”
FOUR
“If you ask me, Ritchie—” Becca leaned close to the man who slouched at the table in the interview room, his clothes reeking of day old sweat “—claiming Dahlia is the one who hired you to kill O’Brien is mighty convenient since she’s not around to defend herself.”
