Her Christmas Hero (8 page)

“It doesn't change anything, though. I am now Phil's lawyer of record for this case.”

She stiffened. “Then we have nothing else to say to each other.”

“I'm breaking the rules by even talking to you.”

“Then leave.”

But he didn't. He kept staring at her with those blue, blue eyes. “I find that hard to do,” he admitted in a hoarse voice.

Could her life get any crazier? They were pulled together by emotions and torn apart by circumstances out of their control.

She swallowed. “Thank you for not calling the police on my grandmother and Enzo.”

“It's kind of hard to have Bonnie and Clyde arrested.” A twinkle was back in his eyes.

“Bonnie and Clyde?”

“That's my name for them. Kind of fits, don't you think?”

“Mmm.”

“I really thought you were exaggerating about your grand mother.”

“No, Onnie's in a class all her own.”

“Yeah.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, drawing her attention to his long, lean body, and from out of nowhere she remembered the feel of his lips on hers, that hard form pressed into hers. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I think it's wise if we don't see each other outside of the courtroom.”

“That's probably best.” But he didn't move or make an attempt to leave. They kept staring at each other as if their eyes could say what they couldn't. He cleared his throat. “Someone from my office will meet with you at eight on Sunday morning at Phil's condo.”

“I'll be there.”

“Britt…”

The entreaty in his voice sent her nerves spinning, but she maintained her dignity. And that was about all she had left. “Please, we've said enough.”

He nodded and headed for the door, stopping at her side. “I'm sorry things turned out this way.”

A tangy, manly scent reached her nostrils. She resisted the temptation to fill her system with the taste of him. If she turned, their faces would be inches apart. So close. So tempting.

She couldn't. Wouldn't. She bit her lip as he walked out the door.

Quinn was back in his office early the next morning. He retrieved the gun from Denise's desk and placed it in the safe until he figured out what to do with it. The thing was as rusty as a nail left out in the rain. The chamber wouldn't even move. Bonnie and Clyde couldn't even see that the gun was no longer usable. But it had worked for their purpose—getting his attention.

Last night, he'd thought of telling them they were trying to shoot the wrong man—that Phil should be their target. But then they might actually try to kill him. Quinn hoped it never occurred to them to go after Phil because he would most definitely have them arrested.

Quinn's own grandparents had been quite sane, so he'd never met anyone like Ona. Britt's life must have been entertaining, at best.

Britt.

Last night he'd wanted to touch her, to take the pain from her eyes and to explore all those feelings he'd experienced in the woods. No woman had ever made him feel like that—an all-conquering male who could move mountains. The gulf was so wide between them now that any relationship was out of the question. That's why he'd left, when he'd wanted to linger.

And then there was Deidre.

He sighed, wondering why he hadn't heard from her. Anytime he'd canceled on her, she'd usually pout for a few days and then call as if everything was fine. Soon he'd have to decide about his relationship with her. If they even had one.

His cell buzzed. He looked at the caller ID. His sister. He clicked on.

“Hey, sis, what are you doing up so early?”

“Remember? I have a one-year-old.”

“Oh, yeah. How is J.W.?”

“He's awake and helping Jody get dressed for school.”

“Mommy!” Quinn could hear Jody shouting in the background.

“I guess he's helping a little too much. I have to go, but I wanted to see if you can come for dinner on Sunday.”

“Sorry, sis, I have plans.”

“Please tell me you've met someone.”

“No, just business plans.” But Britt's face was right there at the front of his mind.

“Mommy!” This time Jody was screaming.

“Bye,” Peyton said, and hung up.

Quinn laid his phone on the desk, feeling a pang of envy. His sister was happy. He was glad one of them had found happiness. Home and family. The older he got the more important those two things became. But as he'd told Britt, he'd probably wind up a crusty old bachelor.

His career always came first and he'd worked hard to get where he was. The Rutherfords were now jeopardizing that success. As long as they could pull his strings everything was fine, but how long could he allow that? Philip Sr. had deep pockets and long arms when it came to the Texas Bar Association. At the first sign of an ethical violation, he would have Quinn disbarred in the blink of an eye.

Quinn shifted uneasily in his chair. He didn't like anyone having that much power over his career. Over
him.

A tap at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” he called.

Levi walked in with a folder in his hand. It wasn't unusual for the investigator to be here early. If he was working a case, he was sometimes in the office before Quinn.

Levi slapped the folder on the desk. “That was a piece of cake.”

“What do you mean?”

He sank into a chair and crossed one booted foot over his knee. “The men were easy to locate and willing to talk.”

“And?”

In one swift movement Levi was on his feet and had opened the folder. It always surprised Quinn how fast he could move.

“This man—” Levi poked one photo “—is a New York businessman with dealings in the Middle East. He has two boys, ages two and four. He and Ms. Davis had dinner during a layover and talked about their children. Same with the pilot from Atlanta and the race car driver from Italy. They talked about their kids—that's it. And they were not happy that photos had been taken of them. But none of them were worried, since they all have secure, happy marriages. All three had told their wives about Ms. Davis and how she made their time away from their families so much easier.”

Just as Quinn had suspected. “And the trashed con do?”

“No police report. Nothing. That was a dead end. But I used a computer program to blow up the photos, and if you'll look closely—” he pulled out two large photos “—you'll see there's a lamp knocked over and women's clothes thrown on the floor. Nothing else is disturbed.”
He pointed to the other photo. “This is in a bedroom. The bedding is all tumbled up and grocery items are strewn around. You can see a busted bag, a box of long candles, unopened, French bread, a salad mix, a piece of meat—looks like prime rib—and two potatoes. Nothing else is disturbed. If you ask me, it appears as if someone dropped the bag. I wouldn't call that trashing a condo.”

“Thanks, Levi. This helps a lot.” Everything was just as he suspected. Britt was being railroaded, and Quinn knew without a doubt that the Rutherfords were not planning to give Dillon back to his mother. And they would use Quinn as long as he allowed it. He had to bide his time and gather more evidence. When Philip Sr. made his move, Quinn had to be prepared.

“One more thing,” he said as Levi made to leave. “Ms. Davis is being tailed. I want to know who, and who hired him.”

“Sure.” Levi rubbed his chin. “Is this personal?”

“Yes.” Quinn surprised himself with the answer. It felt good to admit that out loud.

Levi hesitated, which was unlike him. He was a man who did his job and didn't ask questions. “Ms. Davis is very beautiful.”

Quinn looked up. “It's more than that.”

Levi raised his hands. “I'm not prying or giving advice, but you're Phil Rutherford's attorney.”

“Yeah.” Quinn leaned back in his leather chair. “That does present a problem.”

“You wouldn't be the first man to lose his head over a woman.”

“Have you?” Quinn lifted an eyebrow.

“Hell, no. I have more sense than that.”

The quick denial told Quinn that he had.

“Just be careful,” Levi added. “The Rutherfords have a lot of power in this town. In this state.”

Quinn nodded; he knew that better than anyone. He leaned forward. “Damn, Levi, this is the first time we've had a personal conversation.”

“And let's keep it that way,” his colleague replied with a half grin. “Just know I have your back…and your ass.”

“Thanks. Oh, don't you want Ms. Davis's address?”

“I wouldn't be much of a detective if I didn't already have it.” With that, Levi sauntered out the door.

 

B
RITT FLEW TO
N
EW
Y
ORK
and did what she had to. Her friends, Wendy and Donna, were getting ready for a flight, and she was glad for the chance to say goodbye. They hat ed to see her go, but understood. She didn't linger in the city she loved. She didn't see a Broadway show, shop, stroll through Times Square or visit Central Park. Her focus wasn't in New York anymore. It was in Austin—with Dillon.

When she arrived back, she quickly packed a bag and drove to Taylor to spend the weekend with her mother and Onnie. Britt couldn't stay in the apartment without Dillon, even though she knew she would eventually have to. But not this weekend.

The main purpose of the visit was to talk to her grandmother. Onnie had to understand how wrong she had been to try to hurt Quinn. But talking to Onnie was sometimes like talking to a wall. Britt didn't need any more aggravation, and neither did her mother, so for all their sakes, she hoped Onnie would listen to her.

She planned to stay Friday night and soothe ruffled feathers, and come home on Saturday to get ready for her day with her son. She hoped he was settling in and not missing her. Her focus was on this Sunday, when she'd be
able to see and hold her baby. That was all Britt could think about. She would make the most of her time with Dillon. Until the next time. Until he was with her again.

 

Q
UINN HAD THE CONVERSATION
with Deidre, but it wasn't fun. She'd called from the lake to tell him that since he was so busy, she'd invited another man. Quinn hated when she tried to make him jealous. He told her to have a good time, and she became angrier, telling him this was it. They were over. He agreed and she hung up on him.

Staring at the phone, he wondered why some women had to manipulate, to control. He was so tired of the endless tug-of-war between them. It was time for it to end. And, oddly, he wasn't upset.

Denise walked in and handed him a letter. “This just came by courier.”

“Thanks.” He ripped open the envelope and a check fell out. For twenty thousand dollars. His stomach clenched and he glanced at the attached letter:
Quinn, I appreciate your help in securing my grandson's future. Your loyalty will not go unnoticed. Enjoy the bonus.
It was signed by Philip Sr.

“Son of a bitch!”

Quinn grabbed a page of letterhead stationery and scribbled a note that read thanks but no thanks. Slipping the check inside, he sealed the envelope and shouted for Denise.

She ran in, her eyes huge. “What? What?”

Handing her the letter, he said, “Get this back to Philip Rutherford Sr. as soon as possible.”

“Oh, okay. I thought there was a fire in here.”

“Take care of the letter,” Quinn snapped.

She hurried away and he sucked in a deep breath, the air burning his lungs. Damn! He hit the desk with his fist,
the sound echoing in his ears. The Rutherfords were setting him up to take Britt's baby—forever. He knew that without any doubt. It was time to pay the piper.

Standing, he stretched the tight muscles in his shoulders. When Quinn's interest had turned to defense, Philip had supported his decision. After courtroom training and several more law classes, he'd joined the Rutherford defense team, but it wasn't quite his niche. Quinn disliked the expensive retainers and the total lack of respect for the victims. He'd wanted his own firm, to do things his way. Philip had again supported him, sending him clients when his own team was backlogged. Without that help, Quinn wouldn't be where he was today.

How much was that support worth?

His soul?

Guilt scraped across his conscience and he couldn't breathe. He needed air, freedom. Grabbing his coat, he head ed for the door. “Cancel my appointments for the afternoon,” he said to Denise. “Reschedule for Monday.”

“What?”

But he wasn't listening. He hit the stairwell, slipping into his coat. In a matter of minutes he was in his car, driving out of Austin toward Horseshoe, Texas. And his sister.

It was ironic that as an adult he turned to her for advice. In their youth, Peyton had always been running to him.

Right now, Quinn had to face his options and make the right decision for himself.

And for Britt.

 

A
N HOUR AND A HALF LATER
he sat in the living room of the large Victorian house Peyton and Wyatt had renovated. J.W. sat on his lap, holding a worn teddy bear, listening to a story Quinn was reading. Peyton and Wyatt were curled up on the sofa side by side, watching them.

Jody ran in in her pajamas and fuzzy slippers, followed by her yellow Lab, Doolittle. “I'm ready for bed,” she announced.

Wyatt stood and lifted a sleeping J.W. out of his arms. Quinn never realized how good it felt to hold a child. He could only imagine Britt's torment at not having her son with her.

“Time for bed, kiddos,” his brother-in-law said. “Daddy will put you to bed.”

“What about Mommy?” Jody asked.

“Mommy is visiting with Uncle Quinn.”

“Oh.” The little girl ran to Peyton and kissed her. “'Night, Mommy, and don't forget Erin's coming for a sleep over tomorrow. Love you.”

“How could I forget?” Peyton kissed her daughter. “I love you, too. I'll check on you later.”

Jody hugged Quinn. “I'm glad you surprised us.”

“'Night, Jody.” He hugged her back.

Wyatt, the kids and Doolittle walked up the stairs. Quinn watched them go and then concentrated on the crack ling fire. He rarely lit the fireplace at his house, and tonight he found looking at the flames warm and soothing. Calming.

Peyton got up and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, facing him. The flames behind her highlighted her blonde hair, and she gazed at him in concern.

“What's going on, Quinn? You said you were busy and now you're here.”

And just like that he told her everything that had happened since the flood.

When he'd finished, she stood, and he knew that look on her face. He'd seen it may times when she was younger. She was angry.

“That stupid judge took her child?”

“Yes.”

“And you let it happen?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Quentin Ross, I can't believe you'd do such a thing.”

“Haven't you listened to anything I've said? They're setting me up and they're framing Britt.”

“You're the best lawyer I know. You can change things.”

“I'm the Rutherfords' attorney. If I do anything to thwart their plans, I'll lose my license. And Philip Sr. will make sure I never practice law again—anywhere.”

“So it comes down to what you value more—your career or your conscience. Can you live with yourself if you take that baby from his mother?”

Quinn looked down at his hands, clasped between his legs. Peyton had a way of getting to the point, and the truth dug into him.

“I think this has a lot to do with Daddy,” she added thought fully.

His head shot up. “What?”

“He said you didn't have what it takes to be a cutthroat defense attorney. He said you were too soft, and you've been trying to prove him wrong ever since.”

Was he? Why did Peyton have to dredge up something Quinn didn't want to face—his father's disappointment in his choices? Malcolm Ross had said that he should consider political law, like his mother. Or teaching. That was Quinn's forte—winning people over with his charm and rhetoric. But the thought of politics and teaching bored him. So he'd gone against his father's wishes and pursued his own goals. With the help of Philip Rutherford Sr. Oh, God! Had his dad been right?