In Too Deep (18 page)

“That's right. I'm on my way to have a talk with a couple of the students—especially Patrick Riggs.” Hilda stood, tak
ing her dishes to the sink. “You're going to stay tonight, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She grinned and patted his arm as she headed for the mudroom. She looked at Quinn a long moment, then back at Lily. “I'll call you the minute I know anything more.”

He locked the outside door after Hilda, then came back into the kitchen and closed the door between it and the mudroom.

“Why did you come back?” Lily asked.

“Because staying away was impossible,” he simply said, reaching for her.

She held her arms out to keep him from hugging her and instead cupped his cheek with her palm. “I want you. I really do. But I've got to spend some time with Annmarie first.”

He nodded. “That's fine.” He dropped a kiss on her cheek without otherwise touching her. “I'll be right here when you're finished.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” he said, making an X over his chest.

She went down the hall and pushed open the door to her daughter's room. Annmarie was sitting in the middle of the bed with an assortment of stuffed animals piled around her, the cat in her lap, a book in her hands.

“Would you read to me, Mommy?” Annmarie asked.

“Of course.”
Mommy.
Not Mom, but Mommy—as Lily was when her daughter was at her most vulnerable. Lily settled herself carefully within the nest of stuffed animals. Annmarie climbed into her lap, and Lily turned the picture book back to the first page. The story was a well-loved and familiar one about a little boy whose magical crayon drew pictures that became real, all because of a wish he had made.

When the story was finished, Annmarie tipped her head back and said, “Does wishing make things come true?”

Lily traced the edge of her daughter's bangs with a finger. “I guess it all depends. What are you wishing for, sweetie?”

Annmarie turned around so she could face Lily, crossing her ankles under her knees. “A baby. But I've been wishing for a long, long time.”

“I know you have.”

“Maybe my wish went to Aunt Rosie and Uncle Ian.”

Lily nodded. “Probably. Since you'll be right here, it will be as good as having a baby brother or sister.” It had to be since that child would, in reality, be her brother or sister. Lily closed her eyes against another sharp edge of pain. Rosie and Ian would become Annmarie's legal guardians.

Normal,
Lily reminded herself, then whispered, “Are you ready to go to sleep?”

“I guess so.”

Lily tucked her in, as she did every night. As she did every night, she wound the music box that played Schumann's
Traumerei.
Lily lay next to her daughter on the bed and held her. And as happened every night, Annmarie fell asleep before the music box wound down.

In the dim light Lily studied her daughter, memorizing each feature, praying she'd be strong enough to do the right thing to keep her safe. Praying that the choices she made over the next few hours or days would be the right ones. Imagining the changes as Annmarie grew from child into young woman. And Lily's heart broke that she wouldn't be there to see it.

Her emotions too shaky to face Quinn just yet, she quietly left Annmarie's bedroom and went to her own. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall above the small desk. The picture on the calendar above the desk caught her eye—a gift from Dahlia, the pictures ones taken during her visit the year before. This one was of Annmarie and Lily's mother, the two of them planting flowers. She hadn't changed the month, Lily realized. She flipped up the page and stared a long moment at the next photograph, this one of Annmarie with Uncle Ross and his family at the potlatch given in her grandfather's honor on his eightieth birthday. A date caught
her eye, as did the tiny X in the corner of a box four days earlier. Her period was late.

Lily pressed a hand against her stomach, remembering all the times she had prayed to be late when she and John had been trying to have children. She hadn't been. Not once. Annmarie's longing for a baby zapped through her mind and left Lily trembling. She didn't dare hope for the impossible. Not after having been disappointed so many times before.

She must have miscounted. She flipped the calendar back to the previous month, and unless she had miscounted then, too, her period really was late.

Lily sat in the chair and stared unseeingly into the room. She was at once terrified and exhilarated, and her thoughts raced. Quinn's baby. A brother or sister for Annmarie. The contract against her life. The need to leave before someone got hurt or killed. Her already impossible choice became even worse. If she was pregnant, what did she do about Quinn?

She flattened her hand against her belly, unable to wish she wasn't pregnant though that certainly would be the best thing in this difficult, awful situation.

The telephone rang, startling her out of the turmoil of her thoughts. She crossed the room to the nightstand and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Lily,” came her mother's voice on the other end of the line.

“Mom.” Lily sank onto the bed, tears springing to her eyes at the mere sound of her mother's voice.

They talked for ten or fifteen minutes, and through it, Lily kept thinking of all the things she wanted to share with her mother, but couldn't.
Normal,
Lily reminded herself, trying to keep tears at bay. She wanted to tell her mother about the possible pregnancy, but how could she? Lily wouldn't be here, and the knowledge would be one more unbearable loss for her mother. Lily hated the possibility this might be the very last time they ever talked. Even more, she hated that she couldn't say anything that would seem out of the ordi
nary. So she made plans for a visit that would never happen and let the conversation end as it always did.

“I love you, Mom.”

“And I love you, my daughter.”

Lily pressed the disconnect button on the phone and held the receiver against her chest for a long time.

When she finally felt more in control of her emotions, she went back to the kitchen. To her surprise, Quinn had done the dishes and the kitchen was spotless. He stood at a window in the living room where he had opened one of the shutters and was staring at the rain beating against the window.

He turned when he heard Lily.

“I didn't mean to be so long,” she said, stepping into his arms. “Annmarie wanted a story and then my mother called.”

“The family thing,” he said, leading her toward the oversize chair, which was large enough for the two of them.

“Yes.”

He sat and pulled her with him. “You deserve to know why I ran tonight.”

“I—”

He pressed his lips against hers, but didn't take the kiss any deeper.

“I met Shelly when I was in graduate school—she was a secretary to the dean.” He took a breath and settled his cheek against the top of Lily's head. “It's totally uncool to tell you that she was terrific, but she was even though she was seven years older than me. She had a couple of kids from a previous marriage, and I didn't really spend any time with them until after we were married.” He glanced down at her. “I know, big mistake.”

“Big,” she agreed, taking his hand within hers.

“They hated me.” He took a deep breath. “It would just about kill me to get into that pattern where you and I fight all the time because Annmarie hates me.”

“That's not going to happen,” Lily said, wondering if he realized he was making plans for their future. “You've al
ready spent time with her, and she thinks you're okay.” For the moment, she allowed herself to believe this conversation was a foundation on which they could build a life together. For the moment, she wanted to pretend that she didn't have to leave.

“That could change.”

“Maybe.” She studied the hand she held, liking the strength she found there, but also liking the way he had always, always been gentle when he touched her. “I was reminded tonight that right now is the only sure thing.”

“The only sure thing about right now,” he said, “is that I want you.”

She tipped her head back and smiled at him. “Really?”

“Really.” His arms tightened around her and he lowered his head and kissed her, first on her cheeks, then at her eyes, and finally on her mouth. She kissed him back, trying to convey everything she felt for him in that one caress. If this was all they had…
Don't think about that, or you'll cry.

Though she poured her longing into the kiss, fragments skittered through her.
I think I love him… I'm no damn good for you… You came back.
It all burned into fluttering ashes as she responded to his need and her own hungry heart.

He scooped her into his arms, stood and carried her toward the master bedroom. There, he locked the door behind them, then turned to her, pulling at her clothes and his own until they were skin to skin. Urgent need erupted, taking her again to places she'd never been before, his body so hot against her own that she was ignited and consumed in the fire of his hands and mouth on her body.

Her feelings flowed like molten lava and spilled as tears were too intense, too painful to bear. Fear and love and need and want all flowed together and shattered her until there was nothing left but him. At his first touch of her most private flesh, she climaxed. Somewhere in the distant corridors of her mind was the absolute wonder of it—that it always happened like this with Quinn when it had never been this way before.

Quinn fought to slow down, fought to find some semblance of control. Both were lost to him. The slide of her hot, silky skin against his pushed him over the edge into a free fall that would surely destroy him. The touch of her hands stroking him as though she found him worthy made him soar.

He wanted to touch her everywhere, kiss her everywhere, and he did. She clung to him through each caress, her needy whimpers and the aroma of her heated body erotic beyond anything he'd ever known. Her slender arms brought him close, then closer yet as though being separate from him hurt.

Shared kisses turned fierce. She bucked against him, seeking the joining she needed more than air. At last it was there, and they stilled.

Quinn lifted his body away from hers, absorbing the pulse that fluttered at her throat. His gaze raked her body, utterly feminine and so beautiful to him.

Finally he bracketed her hands with his own above her head, so he could watch her from the point of their joining to her beautiful eyes. He gazed down at her, lost himself within those fathomless eyes. Without warning, the sensation rose to a plateau where joy exploded through his veins. It was more intense than anything he'd experienced in his life.

Lily gazed up at him, caught in the eye of a storm where everything was reduced to this one man, this one moment, and the shattering climax that pulsed endlessly through her before capturing him in the same vortex.

And when they were spent, she wondered how she would bear leaving him.

Q
uinn watched Lily sleep, the fear for her that had driven him back here surfacing once again. She was in terrible danger, a gut level certainty he didn't question.

In the illumination from the bedside lamp he should have turned off a long time ago, her pale hair tumbled around her shoulders and softly curled over the curve of one beautiful breast. Small, perfectly shaped, the dusky nipple was soft now, it would become a tight bud in an instant if he touched his tongue to it. He hardened at that thought. Tempting, but he was content—at least for the moment—to simply watch her.

The haze of satisfaction that enveloped him gradually gave way to his need to do something to eliminate the threat, to make sure she was safe.

Pulling the bedcovers over her shoulder, he gently slid from bed so he wouldn't awaken her. He pulled on his jeans, turned off the light, and left the bedroom. He checked on Annmarie, who was sound asleep and watched over by the
cat. That damn pampered cat that had ended up more than four miles away in that cave.

Too many things didn't add up, starting with the U.S. Marshal. He'd made it clear from the first night that he was interested in Lily's safety. But today, when a dozen or more people had turned out to help, Cal Springfield hadn't been among them. Quinn wondered if the guy had taken off for Anchorage or someplace else again. Quinn had never been the least interested in law enforcement, but he'd give a lot to know how you went about protecting someone without being joined at the hip.

Next…the deal with her car and her keys being locked inside was maybe an accident.
Maybe.
If today had never happened, he might be convinced. But today
had
happened, and Lily could have died. She was the target—he knew it to the marrow of his bones.

The whole idea had been to lure Lily into…what? A trap? The cave was surely that. Its dangers were endless, from being battered against the rocks to drowning. As it was, they'd been lucky and gotten out of there with only Max's broken arm and Lily's deep chill.

Somebody had deliberately set up both things. Since the U.S. Marshal was here, it seemed logical to Quinn that “somebody” was the guy she'd put away. Following his hunch, Quinn went into the study, another room filled with hunting trophies, plus a locked gun safe. Quinn powered up the computer, then returned his attention to the safe. Much as he appreciated Mike Ericksen's attention to safety, at the moment, Quinn would prefer easier access to a weapon.

As soon as the computer was up, he logged on to the Internet, and soon found what he was looking for: a whole series of articles about Franklin Lawrence. His activities as a businessman, his arrest for suspicion of murder, the accounts of the trial, his conviction, and the date for his appeal.

Quinn shut down the computer and stared at the blank screen, concluding Franklin Lawrence had to be the key—he had a lot to gain if the state's star witness died—especially
in some tragic accident that looked like something other than murder. Admit it, Quinn told himself. He knew squat about the tactics required to keep someone safe from a determined killer.

The last time he'd dealt with any personal threat, he'd been a runt. His answer to that was a weight-lifting regimen that had put on more pounds than he had hoped for and had the desired effect of giving him enough size and strength that most people didn't mess with him. This situation required finesse rather than strength.

He prowled through the house, double checking that windows and doors were all closed and locked. Returning to the living room, he turned off the light, then settled into the oversize leather chair that faced the window where he had opened a single shutter so he could see outside. Beyond the window, the night was as black as his worry for Lily. Twice he thought he saw the silhouette of a man in the shadows beneath the trees, and he watched, looking for anything that would suggest someone was really out there. The storm had finally moved on, leaving behind a midnight sky sprinkled with stars. No moon illuminated the landscape, which was varying shades of black.

Movement beyond the window caught his eye, and he sat up in the chair to watch the shadows beneath one of the pines. A black bear waddled across the yard then disappeared within the woods once again. A soft swish of sound caught his attention, this inside the house. He turned his head and found Lily coming toward him, her nightgown sliding softly over her skin.

“What are you doing up?” she asked.

He reached for her. “Couldn't sleep.”

“With me?”

Especially with her, since sleeping was a thousand times more intimate than sex. But she didn't need to know that. “With all that was running through my mind.”

“That bad, huh.” She perched on the broad arm of the
chair and ran her fingers through his hair. He pulled her onto the chair and across his lap.

Now that the moment had arrived for him to confess his suspicions, he wasn't at all sure how to go about it. One thing was certain: the baldly stated, direct approach he usually took wasn't the way to go. So he simply held her and tried to ignore that he wanted her again, nearly as much as he had when he had come through her door a couple of hours ago.

“It would be beautiful out there,” she said sometime later, “if I didn't think someone was watching me.”

So, she did suspect.
“When did you come to that conclusion?”

She rested head against his shoulder, as though she was seeking comfort. “Consciously? Today. Unconsciously? I think I've had that feeling for a while.”

His arms tightened around her. “I think someone is, too.”

“That's why you came back?”

“Partly.” He took one of her hands within his, smoothed his finger across the surface of her fingernails. “I was worried about you being alone.”

She traced a line down the center of his bare chest. “And here I was hoping you wanted me for my body.”

His breath hitched when her hand reached the waistband of his jeans. “That, too.” He pulled her close for a kiss, the need thrumming through his veins and demanding attention.

Her breath was as hot as a fantasy when she whispered, “I thought you'd need some recovery time.”

He'd thought so, too, as she helped him unbuttoned the fly to his jeans. Then it was simply a matter of her straddling him. Languid, this time. Peaceful, like the glistening mirror of the water's surface beyond the window, and a profound sense of being home.

“I keep thinking,” he said, relishing the sheer pleasure of her sliding over him, “that one more time and it will be enough.” He pressed his lips to her neck and shoulders above the scooped neck of her gown. “And I keep being wrong.”

Her breath caught, and when he eased his hands into her hair, he discovered tears at the corners of her eyes.

“Lily?” he questioned. He pressed one hand against her hip, stilling her movement, wishing a light was on so he could see her expression, needing to know what he had done. “What's wrong?”

In answer, she wrapped her arms around his shoulder and pressed her cheek against his, her tears scalding him.

“Love me,” she whispered. “Just love me.” Then she pressed her mouth against his, and the kiss swept him away. Nothing mattered except the feel of her breast beneath the silky fabric of her gown, the heat of her mouth, the undulation of her body moving against his. When he came, he admitted to himself that having enough of her wouldn't happen in the next day or even in the next century.

She collapsed against him, her legs around his waist. “Tell me if I'm too heavy. Otherwise, I may never move again.”

He chuckled. “Not moving…that sounds fine.”

Sometime later she whispered, “My leg has gone to sleep.”

So he helped lift her until she stood next to the big chair, shaking her leg to get the circulation back. He scooted to one side when she sat back down, resting her legs next to his on the ottoman. He loved having her back in his arms, the intimacy of the dark reminding him of the night she had repeatedly checked on him.

“Can I ask you something personal?” she asked, resting her hand over his heart.

“More personal than what we've just done?” He looked down at her, her expression indiscernible in the darkness.

“Maybe. How old were you when you got married?”

He drew a blank. “I'd just graduated from college.”

“Twenty-two or three?”

“Twenty-one,” he said.

“And you mentioned something about your wife having kids.”

“So?”

Against his side, he felt her shrug. “Color me curious. I wondered how old they'd be now.”

He stared out the window into the black night, thinking back and discovering the memories weren't as clear as he'd thought. “Ryan had been ten, I think,” Quinn said, thinking out loud. “Eleven, maybe? And Rachel was a year younger. Which would make them twenty something.” That didn't seem possible.

“You sound surprised about that.”

“Stunned, actually.” He shook his head. “They're older than I was when I married their mother. How the hell did so many years go by?”

“One at a time,” Lily said, her voice oddly gentle.

He rested his cheek against her hair. “And your point to all of this is?”

She took his hand within hers, and even in the dark, hers looked so small, as did her feet next to his on the ottoman. He tipped her head toward his so he could kiss her. She kissed him back, open and giving, as she always was, and as always, his defenses were breached.

“Maybe,” she said when the kiss ended, “fitting into a family is a bit like trying to make yeast grow. Dump it into hot water and you'll kill it, into cold water and it won't grow. Give it the right environment, and it can turn flour, water and salt into bread.”

Quinn stared at the top of her bent head feeling as though he'd been given irrefutable proof the sun was the center of the solar system after believing all his life the earth was. He'd been twenty-one, for God's sake. Just a kid, self-absorbed and selfish and with no clue about being an adult in an adult relationship, much less a father.

Touching his face, Lily said, “If I go back to bed, you're not coming with me, are you?”

He shook his head.

“Okay then.” She went to the couch and lifted the lid of the chest that doubled as a coffee table, bringing out a quilt.
Returning to the oversize chair, she sat on his lap with her legs dangling over the arm of the chair. “We'll sleep here.”

And she covered them with the blanket, once again resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asked a while later.

“Fine.” His arms tightened around her, and he stretched his legs out on the ottoman.

Her soft laugh vibrated against him. “Oh, no, not that again. Fine.”

He pressed his lips to her hairline. “Believe it or not, this time it's true.”

“It better be.” She relaxed against him, her head resting on his chest. Within seconds she fell asleep. And he realized he didn't know why she had cried.

Over those next hours, he divided his attention between the woman in his arms and the night beyond the window. Not until the landscape outside began to change subtly from black to gray did he carry her back to the bedroom where he tucked her in. Then he returned to the living room and stretched out on the couch. He was exhausted and his body hummed with sexual satisfaction. Sleep should have come easily. But it didn't.

 

The phone ringing early the following morning woke Lily up. The instant she realized she was in bed…and alone…her heart sank. Was Quinn still here? She could only hope.

She picked up the phone and scowled at the clock—after seven, so not as early as she'd thought.

“I was afraid I'd wake you,” Hilda said.

“What's going on?” Lily asked, sitting up.

“After our conversation last night, I knew you'd want to know…one of Patrick Rigg's roommates found him on their front steps about an hour ago.”

The silent second that followed was one of the longest of Lily's life.

“He's been beaten as badly as I've ever seen anyone,”
Hilda said, her voice emotionless—that in itself telling Lily how serious the injuries were.

“Oh, God.” Tears sprang to Lily's eyes. Suspicious of him as she had been, she hadn't imagined this. “Is he going to be okay? Is there anything I can do?”

Hilda's voice sounded tired. “It's not good, Lily. He's unconscious, and without a battery of neurological tests, who knows how much damage there is. I've ordered a plane from Juneau to come get him. If we're lucky, it will be here within the next couple of hours.”

Lily glanced outside. Last night's storm was gone, so the medical rescue plane would be able to land.

“One more thing,” Hilda said. “Is Quinn still with you?”

Lily glanced toward the doorway and found him standing there, still in his jeans, shirtless and barefoot, but most important, here. Relief shuddered through her. “Yes.”

“Cal Springfield showed up a little while ago,” Hilda continued, “and he seems to think Quinn might have something to do with—”

“Quinn would never—”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I've seen him angry. Do you remember me telling you about the night I fell overboard?” Without waiting for an answer Lily added, “Quinn was furious—and completely appropriate in his handling of the situation.” She took a breath. “Cal didn't happen to say why he hasn't called me back—I've tried to reach him several times.”

Hilda sighed. “He's on his way out.”

“Good,” Lily said, feeling as though it was anything but. If Patrick had been involved with yesterday's near disaster, it stood to reason his beating also had something to do with that. One more thing that proved to Lily her faceless stalker was getting closer. When Cal arrived, she'd have to tell him of her suspicions and her agreement to go into witness security. Would she have another day, another week? The uncertainty of it tore her apart.