Rules of Attraction (13 page)

“Is that why you became a P.I.?”

“Yeah. Mostly. And I knew I could work alone.”

“Then maybe that's what you
should
do. Tell your story yourself, in your own way, to the reporter.”

Everything inside him rebelled at the idea. “Go more public? No way.”

“If it's handled right, it'll work. Look, we can talk to the people in Dana's office. There are some great spin doctors on her staff. They'll help us come up with something. This guy, Foley? Dana's known him for years. You can trust him to tell it right.”

Quinn scrubbed his face with his hands. “Okay. I'm willing to talk about the possibility.”

“Good. I'll arrange a meeting in Dana's office for this afternoon. I'll give you a call. Answer your phone, okay?”

Quinn nodded. After Sam left, Quinn took a shower, shaved and fixed himself scrambled eggs and toast. He ignored the image of the hurt in Claire's eyes that kept popping into his head. Sam called, setting the meeting for four o'clock. It meant he had four hours to kill.

He looked at the phone, then walked away from it. He wandered to the window overlooking the courtyard, saw a dog run across it. Rase?

Then he saw Claire playing with him, running away, the dog nipping at her heels. What was she doing there? She'd left over an hour ago.

She grabbed Rase's leash the next time he went by. He danced a circle around her, tying her up. She unwound herself. He could see her laugh, could almost hear it in his head.

Why are you still here?

It didn't matter, he realized. She
was
there.

And he needed her.

Driven by that need he hurried down his stairs and into the courtyard. She was smiling, and looking so beautiful. Rase spotted him, barked, then jerked on the leash toward Quinn. He kept walking until he reached her.

“Hey, M.Q., we're—”

He kissed her. Surprise made her go stiff for a few seconds, then she made a throaty sound, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She tasted like…Claire. Warm, sweet, sexy. He wrapped her closer, heard her sigh loudly. He lifted his head, waited until she opened her eyes then kissed her again, angling his head the other way. He dragged one hand through her hair, pulling the band out to free it, then running his fingers through the silky softness.

He lifted her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, looking around.

“Applying a new rule.”

“Yeah? What's that?”

“Every time you kiss me like that I'm taking you to bed.”

“Oh.” Her voice got quieter, softer. “Oh.” She smiled. “How nice. Except it was more you kissing me.”

“You want to change that rule, P.A.?”

“Absolutely not. Just defining the parameters for future reference.”

Rase ran ahead of them then circled back. She'd dropped his leash. It trailed in his wake.

“You really need to train that mutt.”

“He doesn't listen to me.” She nuzzled Quinn's neck.

The feel of her breath against his skin was like tiny lightning strikes inside him. The touch of her fingers slipping under his collar weakened his knees.

He turned his head and kissed her. “Why were you in the courtyard?”

“I was working up the nerve to knock again. I couldn't seem to manage it.”

“So you put yourself in a position where I would see you?”

“I'd almost given up. I was leaving the decision to you. I figured if you didn't want to see me again, you wouldn't come out.”

“I didn't see you until a minute ago.” He kissed her again then climbed the stairs to his front door.

“You can put me down.” She said it halfheartedly.

“I'm trying to be romantic here, P.A.”

She kissed his temple, his jaw, the spot just in front of his ear, then just below it. He felt her tongue drag along his neck. He sucked in a breath.

“You
are
very romantic,” she said. “But I'm not light.”

He grunted as if agreeing with her. She bopped him on the shoulder.

“You asked for it,” he said with a grin.

When he got to his bedroom, he kicked the door shut
on Rase, who whined his displeasure at being left out. Then Quinn laid her on the bed before he dropped onto his back beside her, panting.

“See?” she said, rolling onto her side, bringing herself close to him. “There was no reason for the big romantic ges—” She squealed as he hooked an arm around her and brought her on top of him.

“You're not even winded,” she said accusingly. “Cheater.”

She crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin there, looking him in the eye.

“Beautiful,” he said, running his fingers down her hair, slipping the blond tresses behind her ears. “Beautiful Claire with the pretty blue eyes.”

She went quiet and still.

“I think you're very handsome, too,” she said.

He smiled at her earnestness.

“And very strong.” She trailed a finger across his lips. He sucked it into his mouth.

“Sit up.” He softened the order with a kiss to her palm, then helped her straddle his hips. He peeled her T-shirt over her head, revealing a sports bra that wasn't as easy to remove, and got her to laughing.

She turned serious when he cupped her breasts, letting their weight rest in his palms as he ran his thumbs over her nipples, hard and tight and tempting. He maneuvered their bodies until he could rest his head on a pillow, then he took her hands and set them on the vertical bars of his headboard, bringing her breasts close to his face. He swirled his tongue around a nipple as she let it dip into his mouth. After hearing her breath catch he sucked the nipple deep as he massaged the flesh around it. She moved her lower body along his, finding a rhythm, already driving him crazy.

“You feel so good,” she said, arching her back, closing her eyes.

“So do you.” He jackknifed up, an arm wrapped around her waist, keeping her close, then he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. She stroked his chest with her fingers, then used her mouth, hunching over him. Her teeth scraped the tender skin around his navel. She slid her fingertips along his waistband, slipped them under his jeans just enough to torment.

He wanted to be patient and attentive to her needs, but his own rose up, demanding he take more, give more. Do more.

He pulled off her shoes and socks, slipped his hands under her shorts to cup her rear and slid her shorts off, leaving her naked, then got himself undressed without losing contact with her. They sat facing each other, knees bent, legs entwined. She dragged her hands down his chest, his abdomen. She wrapped a hand around him, explored him with teasing fingertips, drove him wild. He wanted to close his eyes and just enjoy her attention, but he was also enjoying watching her as he stroked her intimately. Her legs dropped open a little wider. He delved a little deeper, with featherlight touches. Finally he had to wrap a hand around her wrist, stopping her from taking him too far, too soon.

“Just enjoy,” he said. “Lie back.”

She fell back. He lifted her to his mouth. She clenched the quilt when he used his tongue on her slowly, lightly. Words tumbled from her, breathless, nonsensical, demanding. She lurched higher; he held her there. A long, low sound filled the room as she gave in to his pleasuring. He didn't let her come all the way down but poised himself above her, pressed into her, closed his eyes at how tight and hot she was. She dug
her fingers into his back as he plunged and retreated, plunged and retreated. The room filled with her flattering sounds, then he joined in, driving, exploding—achingly, relentlessly, soul satisfyingly.

He pressed his head to hers a minute later. She smelled like lemons and woman. He closed his eyes and memorized it.

“Quinn,” she whispered, squeezing him when he relaxed against her.

He lifted his head and kissed her as they both struggled to catch their breath. “What?”

“Nothing.” She cupped his face. “Just Quinn.”

“As in, ‘Thank you, Quinn.' Or, ‘That was the best sex of my life, Quinn,'” he teased.

“Your ego's big enough without me adding to it,” she said lightly, although something serious lingered in her eyes.

He didn't want to know what it was. Not now. There was a lot left unsaid between them. Whether or not it ever got said would be determined in the future. For now, he only wanted to give and take pleasure. It was enough.

They lingered in bed until Rase started slamming himself against the door. Quinn got up to let him in and tossed Claire's scattered clothes to her, picking up his own to put on.

Rase ran into the room, leaped onto the bed and staked his claim there. “How did Rase and Jenn get along?” Quinn asked when they both were dressed.

“Rase likes everyone.” She wrestled with the dog. “Don't you, boy?”

His tail whipping back and forth, Rase barked and grinned.

“Did Jenn like him?” Quinn asked.

“She seemed to. Why?”

“Just curious.” Dogs determine truth about people better than humans do, he thought.

“I mean, she didn't ask about him in her e-mail or anything, but she didn't care if he jumped up on her.”

“E-mail?”

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. There was an e-mail waiting from Jenn when we got back from Santa Barbara.”

C
laire dawdled. She stared into space. She sighed.

Rase ran circles around her in the kitchen, reminding her it was time for his dinner. She ignored him until he dragged his bowl across the floor and nudged it against her ankles with his nose.

She laughed, fed him, then leaned her elbows against the kitchen counter and sighed again.

She'd been in this ridiculous condition since Quinn left. He'd followed her home earlier and read the meaningless e-mail from Jenn: “Just checking in. I'm fine. Hope you are, too. Love, Jenn.” Then he'd gone to a four o'clock meeting.

“Come back when you're done,” she'd said.

“If I can.”

She would ask him to spend the night. They could lie in bed in the dark and talk. She had so many ques
tions for him—about his father and mother, and his life before and since his father went to prison.

When the phone rang she grabbed it on the first ring. “Hello?”

“You'll never find me.”

Claire's good mood evaporated. “Jenn?”

“Mom told me about the P.I. you've got on my tail. You're spinning your wheels, little sister. You will never find me. Not until I want to be found.”

How did Marie— Oh. The newspaper article. She'd come to her own conclusions. “I'm not looking for you,” Claire said.

“I'm not stupid.”

“I
was
looking for you. I stopped.”

“Why?” Suspicion layered the word.

“Because I'm done bailing you out, Jenn.”

“What makes you think I need bailing out?”

“I saw Craig Beecham.”

Several beats passed. “When?”

“Three days ago.”

“Why? Why would you do a crazy thing like that?”

“Believe it or not, I was trying to help you.”

Jenn muttered a string of curses Claire hadn't heard her say before. “What did he say?” Jenn asked finally.

“He said to tell you that his love for you will take him to the ends of the earth. That whatever it takes, he will find you.”

“And you assume what from that?”

“That you've got something he wants.” It hurt Claire to admit that. She'd wanted to be wrong about her sister, wanted to believe that Jenn was a good person. “He didn't say it with any romantic tone, Jenn. It was a threat.”

“Don't you
ever
go back to see him, do you hear me?”

“I have no intention of—”

The line went dead.

 

Quinn hadn't even knocked yet when Claire's front door opened. She must've been watching for him.

“Hi. Jenn just called,” she said. “She—”

“Has anyone called since?” He headed for the kitchen, and the nearest phone.

“No, she—”

“Hang on.” He dialed *69 and listened to the recorded message. “Unavailable at this time. No voice mail.” He dropped the receiver back onto the cradle. “What did she say?”

Frowning, Claire crossed her arms. “Well, first of all, you and I decided not to search for her anymore, so what was all that about?”

“Habit,” he answered as he scratched Rase's ears. The dog hadn't jumped up on him, hadn't needed any command at all. He'd just wagged his tail and waited to be noticed. At least Quinn had accomplished
something.

Claire recapped the phone conversation. “Marie must know where Jenn is,” she said at the end.

“Maybe. But maybe Jenn just happened to call her today.”

“Oh. You could be right. I talked to Marie today, though, and she didn't mention it. She just said she was leaving on vacation tomorrow morning.”

“Going where?”

“She wouldn't say.”

“Didn't or wouldn't?”

“Wouldn't. She implied she was going with a man. I didn't ask questions.” Claire moved a little closer to him. “Your meeting lasted a long time.”

He wondered if Marie was going off to meet up with
Jenn. “I met with John Foley afterward. The journalist,” he added when she didn't seem to make the connection. He'd made a deal with Foley to give him the interview he wanted, first because he hadn't identified ARC as his firm, but more importantly because Quinn wanted a story told about what happens to the family members of felons, how their lives are affected forever. If his story stopped one person from committing a crime, it would be worth it to Quinn.

And as the political spin doctors predicted, he'd made an advocate of Foley, which was far better than an adversary. Who knew when that might come in handy?

“Is he writing another story?” Claire asked.

“Yeah. You can read it in the Sunday paper,” he said, exhaustion hitting him like a sledgehammer.

“Tomorrow? That's fast work.” She gestured toward the refrigerator. “Are you hungry? I made some soup.”

He looked at her pretty face, at the concern in her eyes. Concern for him.
What a good person you are, Claire Winston.
Would she be as kind and selfless if she knew….

He pulled her into his arms, laid his cheek against her hair and closed his eyes. “No. I'm not hungry.” He wanted to sleep with her. Just sleep. Words kept popping into his head, though.

Ethics.
He hadn't told her he was continuing the hunt for her sister. Hadn't told her he'd asked the D.A. to find Jenn's P.O. box. Hadn't told her he was a pretty good computer hacker and he was going to try to trace the route of her sister's e-mail. Hadn't told her he would ask the D.A. to see if they could track Jenn through the *69 callback. Three options, all of them long shots.

Respect.
He'd spent his adult life earning it, making up for his parents, who'd lost it. He wanted his name
associated with honesty and trustworthiness, and yet he was being dishonest with the one person to come along in a long time who deserved his honesty the most, and who trusted him.

Necessity
. He was a problem solver. He could not let his hands be tied, not by Claire or anyone. He needed to remove from Claire's life the problem Jenn was causing. He wasn't sure how yet, but he would do it.

“Will you stay the night with me?” she asked, her words muffled by his shirt.

“Yes.” He bent to kiss her, tenderly, without the passion of the other kisses. “I'd like to just sleep….”

“Yes.” She took his hand and led him from the kitchen.

Rase's nails tapped the floor as he followed. In Claire's bedroom, he went straight to his dog bed, circled it three times, then plopped down.

Quinn and Claire undressed and got into bed from opposite sides. She turned out the small bedside lamp, plunging them into darkness. He felt her reach for his hand, and entwined his fingers with hers.

“I'm a good listener,” she said quietly.

He squeezed her hand. “Maybe another time, okay? I didn't sleep last night.”

“Okay. G'night.”

“'Night.”

Rase sighed. Claire rubbed her thumb along Quinn's finger. Peace settled over him like a down comforter.

“What are you thinking?” he asked after a while, his eyes closed but his thoughts still whirling.

“That I didn't wash my face or brush my teeth.”

He smiled. “That's all?”

“No.”

He waited a while. “Not saying any more?”

“Maybe another time.”

Again she got him with his own words. “I'm sorry about, you know, just sleeping.”

“I'm not.” She rolled toward him and kissed his shoulder. “As much as I love making love with you, this is nice. Really nice.”

He lifted his arm around her, drawing her close. When they were skin to skin, he slept.

 

Early Sunday morning Quinn sat in Claire's kitchen. With his cell phone to his ear, he also listened for sounds from upstairs that she was awake, but so far, nothing.

D.A. investigator Peter Santos, irritated at being awakened on a Sunday morning, said coolly, “Can't this wait until business hours tomorrow?”

“My gut says no,” Quinn answered. “Did you get the post-office box information on Jennifer Winston or not?”

“Yeah, we got it, but Magnussen says we can't afford to stake out the place on the slim possibility she'll show up. The budget won't support the low odds.”

Which is exactly what Quinn had counted on. “I want permission to take care of it. Tell the D.A. I won't charge you unless I locate her.” He wanted to talk to Jenn, to convince her to come forward. His other two long shots hadn't paid off yet.

“If we give you the info, you're working for us. You have to follow protocol,” Santos replied.

Which meant he'd be a police agent for them, like when he first was hired to trail Jenn. Which meant obeying the law.

Which also meant turning her in if he found her.

“I know the rules,” he said to Santos.

“Hold on, Gerard. I've gotta call and check. Magnussen isn't gonna be happy about a six a.m. wake-up call.”

Tough, Quinn thought. Then for at least the fifth
time, he skimmed the newspaper story from the Sunday edition while he waited. It was a good article, balanced and thorough—and cathartic. What caught him off guard were the quotes attributed to his mother. Had his father given Foley the contact information? Had Foley interviewed Robert, too? Maybe a third part of the story was still to be written.

His mother talked about her life in self-exile, about all she'd sacrificed, but she didn't get personal enough to make Quinn squirm.

He wondered what she looked like….

Santos came back on the line. “Magnussen wants to know why you're doing it for free.”

“I lost her.”

A few seconds passed. “Yeah, okay. Here's the info.”

Quinn copied it down. The post office was only a few blocks from Claire's house. Obviously he couldn't stake it out for all the hours it was open, but he would be there as much as possible, starting this morning.

He just needed to keep Claire out of the picture.

 

Quinn was prepared for a long, boring day. He'd awakened Claire with a kiss and told her he had an assignment. She'd looked sleepy and sexy, and he'd wished he could crawl back in bed with her. He'd told her he would call her later, and to go back to sleep.

He parked where he could see the front of the building. While he waited, he decided he would ask Sam to loan him a couple of L.A. investigators for the week, which was all the time he would give to the hope of Jenn making an appearance. The fact that Marie was leaving made him think Jenn was out of town, maybe even out of the country, but he wouldn't give up until he'd exhausted the possibilities.

An hour went by. Yawning, he wished he'd grabbed
something to eat. He kept eyeing a diner across the street until he finally decided to get coffee and breakfast to go. The restaurant had a big window in front. He wouldn't miss anything.

He jogged across the street, placed his order, then went to stand by the window to wait for it. While he'd spoken with the waitress, a white van had pulled up in front of the post office, blocking his view of the entrance. Quinn came to attention. No. It couldn't be….

“I'll be right back,” he said to the waitress, then went outside and down the street a little to where he could see the license plate. He recognized it.

He started across the street just as a woman climbed the stairs to the building. Jenn. No doubt about it. Even though she wore a baseball cap, sweatshirt and jeans, it was Jenn. He would recognize that power-walk anywhere.

The man in the van climbed out and followed her, but stopped at the bottom of the stairs and scrutinized the surroundings. Quinn sped up. The guy intended to snatch Jenn in broad daylight? Did he think no one would try to stop him? If he felt that confident, he must have a gun. Quinn didn't.

He heard a dog bark—and recognized that bark.

He spun around. Claire and Rase were jogging up the street. She waved.

He swore. “Go home. Now!” He didn't wait for her reaction but ran toward the post office to thwart the kidnapping.

The man saw him coming. Quinn froze first, then started up the steps after him—toward Jenn. The perfect hostage situation. Quinn lunged, caught him by the legs and brought him down at the moment Jenn emerged. She screamed. Claire yelled her name. Sec
onds later Rase flew by Quinn and up the stairs. He ran circles around Jenn, lassoing her with his leash.

One problem solved.

Quinn searched the guy for weapons as he bucked and fought. An underarm holster yielded a semiauto.

“Run, Claire!” Jenn yelled. “Run!”

“
You
run!” the guy shouted to Jenn. “Keys are in the van.”

But she couldn't go anywhere with the leash wrapped around her ankles. Rase wagged his tail hard, which kept his body in motion. She couldn't grab him to unhook the leash.

Claire, disregarding Quinn's order, and her sister's, came into the middle of the fray.

“Quinn,” she panted. “What can I—”

“Quinn?” Jenn said, shock in her voice. “You're Quinn?”

“Yeah—”

“That's my bodyguard you've got pinned down. Let him go.”

Bodyguard?

“Let him go.”

Not until they'd sorted out everything. He hauled the guy up but kept a hold on him.

“You lied,” Jenn said to Claire, her eyes cold, her mouth hard. “You said you'd given up looking for me.”

“I did. I swear.” Panic coated her words. She looked at Quinn for confirmation.

Sirens pierced the air. A moment later two police cars slammed to a halt and four officers, weapons drawn, spilled out of the cars.

Not so boring a day, after all, Quinn thought as he put up one hand, half obeying a shouted command. Not so boring at all.

 

Claire had plenty to say, but not from the back seat of a police car. She, Rase and Quinn were being driven home after being questioned. She had never been so angry. Never even close. Rase, picking up on her mood, whined. From the front seat, Quinn glanced over his shoulder. She wouldn't look at him. Couldn't.