Read Her Christmas Hero Online

Authors: Linda Warren

Her Christmas Hero (7 page)

BOOK: Her Christmas Hero
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“What the…”

“Are you Quentin Ross?” the woman asked in a direct, no-nonsense voice.

Quinn stared at the gun. It looked big, old and heavy, and he could swear it had rust on it.

“What are you doing in here and what are you doing with that gun?”

“Now listen here, mister.” The woman moved closer, her brown eyes narrowed on him. “I'll ask the questions, and if you know what's good for you, you'll answer them.”

Had they escaped from a home or something? An asylum maybe? This was bizarre.

“Are you Quentin Ross?” the woman asked again, her voice angry now.

Despite the gun, the two looked fairly harmless. Maybe they just needed a lawyer. “Yes. I'm Quentin Ross.”

“Figured you'd be some slick sonobitch.” She flicked a glance over his suit, white shirt and tie as if she was looking at dog poop.

“What?” He was taken aback by the vicious words.

“Listen up. You're gonna do exactly what we tell you or Enzo's gonna shoot you.”

Quinn's body tightened. He wasn't afraid, just getting more annoyed by the minute. “What would that be?”

“Give Britt back her baby—tonight.”

Britt.

Then it dawned on him. The infamous grandmother.

“I don't have Britt's baby. He's with his father.”

“But you made it happen. Now make it unhappen.”

“Ma'am…” He took a step toward her, hoping to make her understand.

She moved back. “Don't come a step closer or Enzo will shoot.”

At that precise moment they heard a snore, and both of them glanced at Enzo. Standing there, he'd fallen asleep, his chin on his chest, the gun still in his hand.

“Enzo!” the woman shouted.

He blinked and looked around. “Did we find him?”

“You idiot.” She jerked the ancient gun from his hand. “I thought I could depend on you.”

“You can, Ona, but I'm tired after walking up all those stairs.”

“Why didn't you take the elevator?” Quinn asked.

“Because we didn't want anyone to see us, that's why, hotshot.” The woman waved the gun at him. “Now are you going to do what we want?”

Enzo appeared shaky, and Quinn grabbed his arm before he collapsed. “Here.” He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

“Bless you, son. That's mighty nice.”

“He's not nice, Enzo,” Ona yelled. “He's the lawyer who took Britt's baby.”

“You sonobitch. You shouldn't have done that. Now we're gonna have to hurt you,” her companion stated.

The man couldn't hurt a cockroach. But Quinn wasn't so sure about Ona.

“Enzo, you're looking a little pale.” Britt's grandmother tucked the gun under her arm and opened her suitcase of a purse. “Probably low blood sugar. Here.” She handed him a candy bar. “Eat this.”

Quinn knew he could overpower them at any time, but he decided to let this play out. Just to humor them. And that was the most insane thing he'd ever done, except for jumping into a swollen creek to save her granddaughter.

Enzo took a bite and glanced at him. “Got any beer?”

Quinn had liquor in his office, but he wasn't offering it to Enzo. That was the last thing the man needed. “No. But I have water. Just a minute.” He went into the small kitchen off Denise's office and found a bottle of water. He glanced at the phone, knowing he could call the police. But he wasn't sure what that would accomplish. And he
didn't relish the thought of putting Britt's grandmother in jail, even if she was off her rocker.

When he returned, Ona had pulled up a chair next to Enzo, the gun and purse in her lap. He removed the cap and handed Enzo the water, and then carefully reached over for the gun.

But Ona was too quick. She jerked it away. “Not so fast, hotshot.” She pointed the weapon at his chest.

“I don't think that rusty gun will fire,” he told her, not batting an eye.

“Wanna find out?” A gleam entered her eyes similar to one he'd seen in Britt's.

“Fired in 1945,” Enzo said, munching on the candy bar.

“Go ahead then, shoot me.” Quinn held out his arms, thinking the only way to deal with insanity was with more insanity.

Chapter Seven

Quinn and Ona stared at each other.

Her eyes squinted down the barrel of the gun. “You don't think I will, do you?”

“No, ma'am.” He lowered his arms. “You wouldn't shoot a man in cold blood.”

“Don't be too sure about that, hotshot. My Britt's heart is broken and I aim to change that.”

Enzo choked, gasping for air. Ona laid the gun on her purse and slapped him on the back.

“Goddamn nuts,” Enzo choked out, his eyes watery. “You know I can't eat nuts with my false teeth.”

“Good heavens, they're just little bitty things.”

“But you know—”

“Give it a rest, Enzo.”

While they were arguing, Quinn reached down and slowly removed the gun, slipping it into Denise's desk drawer without either of them noticing.

Enzo took a big swallow of water and handed him the bottle. “I'd rather have beer.”

Ona looked around and then directly at him. “Did you take my gun?”

“Yes, I did, and you're not getting it back.”

“Listen here…” She started to rise, but Enzo caught her arm.

“Leave it alone, Ona. We can't kill nobody. I tried to tell you that.” The old man stared at Quinn through his thick bifocals. “But I have mob connections and I can get someone to take him out.”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “You have mob connections?”

“As a boy in Chicago I ran errands for the mob, and I still have connections.”

“So you see, you better give Britt her baby.” Ona was big on threats.

Quinn's patience was wearing thin. “Okay, now listen. This is only a separation. Britt will have her baby back soon. And you don't need to hurt anyone to accomplish that.”

“But not quick enough,” Ona wailed, a tear sparkling in her eye. Quinn would have sworn that this tougher-than-nails woman never cried.

“I'm Phil Rutherford's lawyer, so I can't say anything else. Just rest assured things will change.” Quinn wasn't making empty promises. He planned to get to the bottom of the custody hearing.

“See, I told you he's a nice man,” Enzo said.

“You're so gullible.” Ona pursed her lips, not convinced.

Enzo leaned forward. “Do you know if a bus runs by here at this hour? I'm ready for bed.”

Quinn sighed. “I'll see if I can get you a ride home.”

“We don't need your help,” Ona retorted.

“Yes, we do.” Enzo overruled her. “It's past my bedtime.”

“You sleep all the damn time.”

“I'm ninety-two and I can damn well sleep anytime I want to, missy.”

“Mob connection, ha!” Quinn heard Ona say as he walked into his office, letting them argue.

He sat at his desk and opened the Rutherford file. Britt's number was in there, and he had to call her. If she didn't answer, or hung up on him, he'd have to take Bonnie and Clyde home. Leaving them to their own devices at this time of night would be dangerous.

Punching in Britt's number, he waited. And waited. Evidently she had caller ID and wasn't taking his calls. Damn it! She was one stubborn woman, and he knew exactly where she got if from—the fireball in his reception area.

“If you'd have bought me beer like I asked, this would have gone better.” The argument was still going on.

“You'd have been drunk on your ass,” Ona retorted.

“You're becoming one bitchy old woman, Ona.”

“Old? I'm nine years younger than you!”

“That ain't saying much.”

Quinn slipped into his black coat and noticed that neither Bonnie nor Clyde had a jacket. It had been fifty degrees earlier, and the temperature was dropping.

“Where are your coats?”

“Don't need one,” Ona replied.

“Forgot them at my place,” Enzo replied. “Ona has a head like a rock.”

“Shut up, Enzo.”

Slowly, they made their way to the elevator. Quinn decided that Enzo really needed a cane, and he wondered if they'd forgotten that, too. He made them wait in front of the building while he went to the parking area to get his car. Enzo couldn't walk any farther, and Quinn wanted to get them out of the weather as soon as possible.

When he pulled up to the curb, both of them were shivering. He just shook his head and helped them into his
Mercedes, which was nice and warm. Before he drove two blocks, Enzo was asleep, snoring.

Quinn had to wake him at his assisted living facility. With his and Ona's help, Enzo made it to his room. The place had a distinct smell and it wasn't pleasant. A sad fact of life. At least Enzo was able to get around and go on crazy missions with Ona. Dim lights lit the hallway and the sound of coughing could be heard, but otherwise everything was quiet.

Inside, Enzo said, “I missed my supper.”

“I'll fix you something,” Ona offered, and hurried to the com pact refrigerator in a corner. Enzo sank onto the twin bed and was instantly asleep again.

“He's out,” Quinn said to Ona.

She closed the refrigerator and came over to Enzo. Lifting his feet onto the bed, she removed his worn tennis shoes, jerked a quilt from a recliner and covered him. She kissed his forehead. “'Night, Enzo. I'll call you tomorrow. Don't worry, we'll think of something else.”

Back in the car, Quinn asked Ona, “You didn't mean that, did you?”

“What?”

“About somethin' else.”

She pulled the wool coat she'd retrieved from Enzo's room tighter around her. “I'm not going to rest until Dillon is with his mother again.”

“Give the court some time to work.”

“Harrumph.”

“I'm not trying to hurt your granddaughter.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

“Try having a little faith and trust.”

She turned slightly in the darkness of the car and he felt those razor sharp eyes slicing into him. “I stopped believing and trusting the day my son was killed in Vietnam.”

“I'm sorry.” Quinn remembered Britt saying something about her grandmother's losses in life. It certainly had hardened her.

“Don't be. If the gun had worked, you'd be a dead dirt-bag.”

“You never pulled the trigger.”

“Minor technicality.” Ona looked out at the traffic and at the buildings they were passing. “Are you taking me to the warden?”

“Who's that?”

“My daughter.”

“I'm taking you to Britt's.”

“Good. The lecture won't be as severe. Carin can ramble on for days.”

He pulled up to Britt's apartment complex. It was a new er brick building in a good area of Austin. A small children's playground was to the left. That must have been one of its selling features for Britt. Another pang of regret hit him at his involvement in the case.

Turning off the engine, he asked, “Ready to face the music?”

There was a long pause. “A baby should be with his mother.” The words came out low and hoarse.

“Yes, ma'am. God willing, that will happen soon.”

“It never would have happened if you hadn't represented that low-life sleazebag.” She opened her door. “I hope you can live with yourself.”

He sighed. That was becoming harder and harder.

 

B
RITT PACKED WHAT SHE
needed in a carryall. She'd didn't plan to spend the night. The sooner she was back in Austin the better.

Her doorbell rang and she went to answer it, look
ing through the peephole first. Her mother. Britt quickly opened the door.

“I can't find Mama anywhere,” Carin said, walking in and removing her coat.

Britt closed the door. “She's not at Enzo's?”

“No.” Carin sank onto the sofa, placing her purse beside her. “Uncle Enzo's not there, either. The lady at the home said he was there earlier and Mama was visiting him, but they don't know where they are now.” Carin gripped her hands together in her lap. “Where are they, Britt? And what are they up to? I keep waiting for a call.”

She sat by her mother and hugged her. “Is the home looking for them?”

“Mrs. Gaston said they would, but—”

The doorbell rang.

“I'll get it, and please stay calm. We'll find them even if I have to cancel my flight.”

“You have enough to worry about.”

“It's no worry. I love Onnie.”

Britt hurried to the door and once again looked through the peephole. Him again!

“Go away. I'm not talking to you.”

Carin got to her feet. “Who is it?”

“No one who matters.”

“This is not a social call. Your grandmother is with me.”

What?
Britt yanked open the door. “Onnie, where have you been?”

“Mama.” Carin hurried to confront her mother. “I've been worried out of my mind.”

“You're always worried.” Ona shrugged out of her coat.

“Where have you been?” Carin demanded.

“Somethin' had to be done, so Enzo and I decided to kill Quentin Ross.” Carin fainted.

“Mom!” Britt screamed, and knelt beside her. “Mom. Mom!”

Quinn bent to help. “Don't touch my mother,” she growl ed in a low voice.

They eyed each other over her prone body for a second. Britt was angry and wanted him out of her apartment. His eyes flashed a blue warning. Looking away, he lifted Carin's head. “Mrs. Davis.”

“Oo-o-o-h.” She reached for her forehead.

“Are you okay?” Britt helped her sit up. Quinn held on to her, too. Britt shot him a go-to-hell glance.

“Did Mama say…?”

“It's okay, Mrs. Davis,” Quinn murmured. “As you can see, I'm alive.”

“He wouldn't be if I had my way.” Onnie sat with her arms crossed over her chest, a stubborn expression Britt knew well firmly in place.

“Have you lost your mind? What were you thinking?” Carin was recovering, going into full rant.

“I was thinking of helping my granddaughter. That bastard took her baby.” Onnie pointed at Quinn, unmoved by Carin's anger. “Somebody had to do somethin'. Dillon needs to be here, with his mother. With us.” Her voice wavered on the last word and Britt went to her.

Sitting beside her, she gave her a hug. “You know, I thought about killing him myself—with my bare hands.” Her eyes held Quinn's as she said the words.

The blue eyes darkened and she knew she'd hit a nerve.

“Hot damn. Now we're talking.”

“Britt!” Carin gasped.

“But I don't want to go to prison. I just want Dillon home.”

“Me, too,” Onnie said under her breath, and Britt hugged her again.

“Tell me what happened,” Britt suggested, rubbing her arm.

“Let the hotshot attorney tell you.”

Britt glanced at Quinn. For a moment she didn't think he was going to say anything, but then he began to speak.

“Enzo and Ona showed up at my office earlier with a gun, threatening to shoot me if I didn't get Dillon back. I explained it was the judge's decision, not mine and—”

“Oh, but you had a big hand in it, didn't you.” Britt got to her feet, unable to stop the words she'd kept locked inside and sworn she would never say to him. Not one word. But…

“I didn't know you were Roslyn Davis.” He got that in before she could finish her tirade.

“It didn't stop you, though, did it? You stood there and took my child even after all the bad things I told you about Phil. You put my baby in his care. How could you do that? How could you do that to Dillon? To me?”

“I was honor bound—”

“Shove your honor,” she shouted, and her mother touched her arm.

“Sweetie, do you know Mr. Ross?”

Britt gulped a breath. “Regrettably, yes. He's the man who pulled me from the flooded creek.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Carin placed a hand on her chest.

“And I almost shot him,” Ona quipped.

“You couldn't pull the trigger, Ona,” Quinn told her. “The gun is still at my office. I'd appreciate it if someone could pick it up tomorrow.”

“Throw it away,” Carin instructed. “I never want to see that thing again.”

“Now wait a minute.” Onnie was on her feet.

“Throw it away,” Carin said again. “It's time for us to go home. It's getting late.”

Carin and Ona slipped into their coats. “I'm going to put an alarm on the front and back doors so I know when you're leaving,” Carin informed her mother.

“Why don't you put bars on the windows, too?”

“I might.” Carin kissed Britt. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.” She looked at Quinn. “I don't know what to say to you, Mr. Ross, so I'll say nothing. Let's go, Mama.”

Britt kissed her grandmother and the door closed, leaving her and Quinn alone. She walked back into the living area, which suddenly seemed smaller than usual due to Quinn's overpowering presence.

“You can leave,” she murmured.

“Not until I've said my piece.”

“Oh, please.” She wrapped her arms around her waist as if to ward off any attraction she might feel.

“Family law is not my field. It was when I first started, but then I switched to defense. Phil and I were in law school together. We weren't close, just acquaintances with the same classes and same friends. Philip Sr. gave me my start, and I worked for his law firm for several years. I've always been grateful for that. When Phil called me to take over for his ailing attorney, I agreed. The file on Roslyn Davis was very clear—she was a bad mother leaving her child for long periods of time.”

“How dare you!”

“I'm telling you what was in the file. That's not my opinion.”

Their eyes locked and she saw the concern, the empathy in his eyes. No! She would not weaken.

But she found herself asking, “What's your opinion?”

“I believe what you told me in the woods.”

Unbelievable relief flooded her, surprising her. Why should she care? But she couldn't deny that she did.

BOOK: Her Christmas Hero
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