And when she was spent and weak and truly sated, he wrapped her in his arms and she opened her heart to him.
Q
UINN SAW
M
IRANDA GO INTO
protector mode one more time when the bellman knocked at the door to deliver a mysterious letter attached to a stuffed teddy bear that was as big as Fiona.
It was difficult to conceal a gun in the pocket of her red flannel pajamas. And there was no hiding the protective mama posture she had when she inspected the unmarked gift before letting an eagerly curious Fiona play with it. Miranda turned her back to the room and carefully opened the letter as though it might contain something poisonous or explosive.
When her shoulders sagged after reading the note, Quinn was instantly at her side. He thought she needed to sit, but she shook off attention and handed him the card and a photograph instead. “I’m so glad we didn’t let her see this.”
The card itself was brief, but the picture of Nikolai Titov with a bullet hole in his head and a knife stabbed into his heart spoke volumes.
Quinn was the one who sank into a chair and needed Miranda’s comforting arm around him as he read the message again.
Quinn—
I am a man whose health is failing and whose history has not always been something a family would be proud of. But I still have some influence in Lukinburg.
I give you this gift.
I will not make further contact with Fiona, as I do not wish for any of my troubles here in St. Feodor to endanger her as they did my daughter. But know that she is safe, and that my enemies, and yours, here in Lukinburg, will never trouble her again.
Someday, tell her that her grandfather loved her. Be well, my son. And be good to the beautiful blonde who looks at you both with such love in her eyes.
Vasily
The three of them had breakfast in bed at about four in the afternoon. It was a messy business involving pancakes and dolls and laughter, flannel pajamas and a newspaper that these two women were never going to let him read.
It was a perfect way to celebrate the New Year, a perfect way to celebrate the terror of the past week finally ending, a perfect way to celebrate the beginning of…what?
Quinn watched the contrast of gold and dark hair bent together as they plotted some silly plan that probably involved him eating a pancake with his hands clasped behind his back again. He listened to the whispers and laughter. He drank in the smiles.
He couldn’t ask Miranda to be his new chief of security. Michael had called her less than half an hour ago with some news that had made her throw her arms around his neck and kiss him. Apparently, no amount of money or charm or personal persuasion on the nearest countertop could lure her away from her job at KCPD.
He couldn’t ask her to stay on as Fiona’s nanny. He hoped there would never be another call for someone as fearlessly determined as she to step up and protect his child.
And clearly, unless there were some lessons involved somewhere along the line, he couldn’t ask her to be the cook.
Fiona needed a mother.
And he needed…Miranda.
If he could just figure out what sort of proposition would appeal to her, then he’d do it. A week wasn’t a long time to get to know someone. But he felt more sooner, deeper, differently, with Miranda Murdock than with anyone since his dear Valeska. And it was different than the innocent, rosy-eyed feeling he’d had for his wife. He felt alive, energized, sometimes a little frustrated, but always lucky to be with Miranda.
After Miranda set the tray aside, and Quinn had the chance to sit back and read his paper while they sat together with Petra and read the television listings, he found himself staring.
“What?” Miranda looked up from the grand adventure of a cooking show and tucked that silky fall of hair behind her ear.
“How do you feel about my daughter?” The direct approach might just work with this puzzle of a woman.
Miranda hugged the child at her side. “I’ve fallen in love with her.”
“And her father?”
He’d negotiated million-dollar deals, invented technology on the fly and dealt with people from nations all over the world. But there was no question he’d ever asked where he was this nervous about the answer before.
Miranda smiled. “You’re the smart guy, Quinn. Figure it out.”
Finally, an answer he understood.
He reached for her hand and they hugged Fiona between them.
“I love you, too.”
Thank you to MaryAnn McQuillan.
You opened up your big heart and your busy schedule to take pity on my sore fingers and computer frustration. Thanks for retyping the manuscript for me!
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8230-8
NANNY 911
Copyright © 2011 by Julie Miller
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
*
THE PRECINCT
**
THE PRECINCT: VICE SQUAD
‡
THE PRECINCT: BROTHERHOOD OF THE BADGE
‡‡
THE PRECINCT: SWAT