Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (v1.2) (36 page)

Quinn sobered fast. “You’d do that, Shelby? You’d refuse the money to make me happy? You’d live on my earnings— which aren’t all that shabby, by the way.”

She nodded, firmly. Definitely.

“Wow,” he said, feeling humbled, more than humbled. “Um… how much money are we talking about here anyway?”

Shelby averted her eyes. “Thirty million dollars.”

Quinn stepped back and rubbed at his mouth with one hand, realizing that mouth had gone very dry. “Thirty million,” he repeated. He gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “You’d turn down thirty million dollars. For me. My God…”

She stepped away from the wall, bent, and picked a lone dandelion on the grass, twirled it between her fingers. “So, do you want me to turn it down?”

Quinn began to laugh. He laughed so hard he had to sit on the grass, pulling her down beside him. “Darling, I may not be the smartest man in the world, but do I have
idiot
tattooed on my forehead?”

“Oh, Quinn,” Shelby said, falling into his arms. “I love you so much.”

He lifted her chin, thinking this would be as good a time as any to stop talking and start kissing this woman he loved. But she broke away from him and stood up once more.

“I have a confession to make.”

He stood up as well and looked at her closely, still trying to collect his thoughts. “What? You eat crackers in bed? You’re not a morning person? You can’t cook?”

She narrowed her eyelids, glaring at him. “You know darn full well that I can’t cook,” she said. “But that’s not it. It’s that… it’s that… well, I got this
letter
in the mail. A threatening letter, telling me to leave town. And then there was that kidnap attempt or whatever it was, remember?”

Quinn’s jaw tightened. “I remember.”

“I thought it was you,” Shelby said as quickly as possible. “I thought, once I’d figured out who you were, that you were tired of baby-sitting me and sent the letter, tried to scare me, just so I’d go home and you could quit the job, get back to more interesting work.”

He stopped her nervous pacing by simply grabbing her by the shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. “Shelby, I quit the job, as you call it, the morning after we went bowling. That’s when I knew that this was a whole hell of a lot more than just business, that
you
meant a whole hell of a lot more to me than just business.”

“Oh,” she said quietly. “That’s… that’s very
nice.
But aren’t you angry with me for thinking you were the one who sent the letter?”

“Letters, Shelby, in the plural. While we’re in confession mode, let me tell you that I broke into Brandy’s apartment, rifled through your purse, and found the first letter. Then I copped a second one from your mail the morning of the kidnap attempt. I may not have been officially
on
the job anymore, but I still
did
my job. And, no, I’m not upset that you thought it could be me, although I wish I would have thought of that, because then I would definitely have had this talk with you and not let you lure me into bed instead.”

“Lure
you into bed! Why, you—”

“Gotcha,” he said, then frowned. “But I did investigate, tried to figure out who’d sent the letters, who’d hired the goons. And I think… well, I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure it was Westbrook.”

“Parker?” Shelby remembered drinking about Parker as a suspect, remembered dismissing that thought. “But I don’t understand. Why would he do something like that?”

“Well, I thought about that,” Quinn told her, reaching out and taking her hands in his, running his thumbs over her skin. “I mean, he knew where you were—everyone knew where you were, sweetheart; you don’t cover your tracks too well. He could have just driven up here, told you he loved you, begged you to come home.”

“I don’t think so,” Shelby said quietly. “Because he probably couldn’t take the chance that I didn’t love him. Which I didn’t, which I don’t. So he tried to
scare
me into coming home? I never planned to be away all that long. Why couldn’t he have just waited?”

Quinn lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed her. “For one, sweetheart, I think he guessed that I was making my own pitch, and worried that I might be succeeding. But there’s another reason, one I really don’t want to tell you.”

She squeezed his hands. “Tell me.”

“All right, but this is tricky, because I didn’t exactly break the law to find this out, but I did bend it a little. Westbrook is broke, sweetheart, worse than broke. He’s been skimming money from his investors, embezzling funds, and if he doesn’t get an infusion of money soon—that would be your
small
inheritance, sweetheart—he’s probably headed for prison.”   Shelby bit her bottom lip as she gave this information some thought. “I don’t care,” she said at last.

“That’s good, because there’s more. He has a mistress.”

Shelby actually grinned. “Now I really,
really
don’t care.” Quinn’s grin was wider than hers.

“That’s good, because he actually has two of them.”

Shelby laughed out loud, relief flooding through her.

“I thought there was something wrong with me,” she told Quinn when she could catch her breath. “I thought I was unlovable, cold. But it wasn’t me; it was never me. It was
him.
Oh, Quinn, I feel so
good!”

“Good enough to finally let me kiss you?”

She tipped her head and smiled up at him. “That depends. How much do you want to kiss me?”  He drew her closer into his arms, knowing just what to say. “I think I’ll die, right here and now, if I can’t kiss you right here and now. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Shelby’s arms slid up around his shoulders, one hand pressed to the back of his neck as she pulled his head down to hers.  “As Brandy says, that works for me…”

“Somerton? It’s me, Shelby.”

She counted to three while Somerton collected himself, then smiled as he said, “Shelby? Shelby, is that really you? Are you all right? Where are you?”

“You know darn full well where I am, Somerton Taite,” she told him, “and you’ve known all along. That’s why you sent Quinn to watch over me. For which you have my undying thanks. Don’t you want to know why I called? I wanted you to be the first to know that we’re getting married.”

She could hear Jeremy in the background, rhapsodizing over the fact that she was on the other end of the phone, then listened as Somerton, his hand over the receiver, said something that sounded like, “Married. Yes. That is what she said. What? Yes, yes, I’ll do that. I’m sure she’ll value your input on both her gown
and
the flowers. Now calm down before you strain something.”

Shelby laid back against Quinn’s chest and put a hand over her own receiver. They’d spent a lovely night in his bed, and a lovely morning, until she decided that she really should call Somerton. “Jeremy is rhapsodizing, I believe. Isn’t that sweet? You like him, don’t you? I mean, you aren’t upset about him or anything?”

“Not on your life, sweetheart. And remind me to tell you about something Somerton did last time I was there. You’ll love it.”

“Pardon me?” Shelby said, taking her hand away from the phone as she sat up once more. “Say that again, Somerton, all right? I want Quinn to hear this.”

She held the receiver so that they both could listen, looking at each other as Somerton repeated himself. “I
said,
there’s a warrant out for Parker’s arrest. He’s—”

Quinn grabbed the phone, no trace of humor in his voice as he barked, “Somerton, it’s me, Delaney. Who told you there’s a warrant out for Westbrook?”

“Who told me? Let me think. Oh, and by the way, you still haven’t asked me for Shelby’s hand in marriage. We’ll see to that later, all right. Now… was it Dex Sandier, yesterday afternoon at the club? Or maybe it was Mimi Brock, at last night’s Celebrate June for Our Dolphin Friends dinner? Well, no matter. Everybody was talking about it.”

“About Westbrook being under arrest,” Quinn prodded, trying not to lose his patience. “He is under arrest, isn’t he? Locked up? Or is he out on bail?”

“No, you must have misunderstood me, Quinn,” Somerton said. “I meant that everyone has been
talking
about Parker, which is what led to the warrant, I believe. I don’t know quite all the particulars, but someone started asking some rather pointed questions about Parker, about his business, and everyone began saying out loud what they had only been thinking, and then someone, I don’t know who, visited the district attorney’s office.”

“Grady,” Quinn said to himself, then only grinned at Shelby as she looked at him quizzically. “Okay,” he said, raising his voice to interrupt Somerton, who was now saying something to Jeremy—something about garden weddings definitely being “in” this season. “So somebody stumbled onto Westbrook’s con—I meant to say, problems—and someone from the district attorney’s office paid him a visit—and then what? Sounds to me like this investigation went a little fast.”

Somerton sighed into the phone. “You do want all the sordid details, don’t you? Very well. Someone went to see Parker, and someone in Parker’s office became quite agitated and, that same day, paid a visit to that somebody’s office downtown. Asking for immunity from prosecution, I believe the term goes. That same day, Thursday, I believe, the warrant was put out for Parker’s arrest. And, before you ask me, no, nobody has seen him since. What? Oh, yes, Jeremy, quite right. Jeremy says Parker’s done a flit.”

“Damn,” Quinn said, picking up Shelby’s hand and squeezing it. “Westbrook is on the lam,” he told her, already mentally packing her bags to get her out of East Wapaneken. “All right, Somerton. We were calling you to say that we were planning to remain here for another week or so—your uncle wants to collect a paycheck before he comes home. But now we’ll be leaving today, even if Al stays.”

“Al? Who is Al? Are you saying Uncle Alfred is there? That he’s
working?
I don’t believe it.”

“We’ll tell you all about it later. Right now I just want to get us packed and out of here.”

He put down the phone, then picked it up again immediately and punched in some numbers.

“Quinn? What’s wrong? You said he’d be arrested; you told me that last night. I don’t see why you’re so upset now, if you already—”

“Shh,” he said, kissing her cheek, then said, “Grady, it’s me. Yeah. Nine o’clock. On a Saturday morning. No, I’m not drunk. Don’t hang up. Westbrook, remember him? There’s a warrant out for him. Do you know anything about that?” He listened for a moment, then grinned in spite of himself. “Yeah, as the driven snow, right. Okay, listen to this. He’s skipped, taken off; they can’t find him. Now, what would you do if you were broke, being chased by the cops, and needed to get out of the country? Needed to, before you left the country, make sure you’d have enough money to keep yourself in the style to which you damn well want to stay accustomed?”

There was another pause at Grady’s end, during which time Shelby almost forcibly ripped the receiver away from Quinn’s ear so that she could listen, too.

“If I almost got away with it when I wasn’t even trying to get away with it…” Grady said, thinking out loud.

“Right. That’s what I thought, too.”

“So you woke me up to ask me what you already know? G’bye, Quinn, I’m going back to sleep. Take care of her.”

Shelby took the receiver from Quinn’s hand and replaced it on the hook. “You and your partner believe Parker might actually try to kidnap me? For
real?”

Quinn stroked her cheek and tried to push her back down on the mattress, divert her mind for a while. “Now, sweetheart…”

The next thing he knew he was sprawled on the floor and Shelby was pulling on his white dress shirt from the night before, the shirt that made up part of the trail of clothing from the living room to the bedroom of his small apartment.

“Don’t you ‘now, sweetheart’ me, Quinn Delaney!” she exploded, searching through more clothes that lay on the floor. “You’re full of it, both you and your rude partner. We said we’re staying here another few days, and we’re staying here another few days. Besides, I’m meeting with the Memorial Committee at Tony’s in fifteen minutes to add up our profits. Where are my
damn shoes?”

She was angry, more than angry. She was frightened straight down to her bare toes. To think that she had been engaged to marry a criminal—one with two mistresses, no less—was one thing. To believe that he was now going to kidnap her, hold her for ransom?
Oh, no. No, no, no.
That was just too much!

“Shelby, listen to me,” Quinn said, rummaging among the evidence of last night’s passion in order to find his own shoes. “It’s just a hunch, but it’s sure a hell of a lot less than a thirty million-to-one shot, and you know it. The guy obviously doesn’t think like the rest of us.”

Shelby stopped in the act of pulling on the fairly wrinkled slacks to her Armani suit. “He thinks like you, at least,” she said, her fingers clumsy as she zippered the slacks and closed the single button. “And I don’t appreciate being frightened, Quinn. You’re scaring me.”

“That couldn’t be avoided, sweetheart,” Quinn said, following after her as she headed into the bathroom, picked up his toothbrush, and squirted paste on it. “I just wish you were scared enough to let me take you home. I mean, hey, I’d love to hear that Westbrook turned himself in, or that someone caught him trying to hop a plane to Brazil. But he’s been banking on you for too long, sweetheart, banking on your being his salvation. And, one way or another, I think he still sees you that way.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “As the golden goose.”

A shiver ran down Shelby’s spine, and she put down the toothbrush and walked into Quinn’s arms. She pressed her head against his shoulder. “All right, now I’m really scared. Not angry, scared. And I’m not stupid. I’ve lived with the threat of kidnapping all of my life, and I know the consequences of acting as if security isn’t always necessary. But I really want to say good-bye to everyone, Quinn. Can’t we at least do that?”

“Yeah, babe,” he said, stroking her hair. “We can do that. Now let me throw on some clothes, walk you
home
to shower and pack, and then we’ll head to Tony’s in time for the meeting. All right?”