Her Best Friend (12 page)

She knelt over the first-aid kit, concentrating on packing away the supplies, forcing herself to get a grip.

Quinn was not dead. A little bruised, a little bloody, yes. But not dead. She was freaking out, and she needed to reel herself in before she said or did something irretrievably revealing.

“You should go back to the apartment and rest,” she said, not looking up. “There are more than enough people here to help with the cleanup.”

Quinn didn’t say anything and she finally lifted her head to look at him. He had a small smile on his lips, a wry expression in his eyes.

Right. As if he was going to leave before things were put right.

Typical.

She opened her mouth but he beat her to it.

“I know. I’m an idiot. I can live with that.”

He held out a hand. She took it and he drew her to her feet.

“This wasn’t kids fooling around, Ames. You know that, right?”

“Yes.”

“They were here to cause as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible.”

She met his eyes. “You think it’s Ulrich?”

The moment she’d seen the scale of the damage she’d known this was no ordinary act of vandalism.

“You got anyone else gunning for you at the moment I should know about? Anyone else who wants you to fail?”

“No.”

“Then yes, I think it’s Barry Ulrich.”

Even though it was exactly what she’d expected him to say, even though she’d already concluded as much herself, she had a sudden, very inappropriate urge to laugh. It seemed so off the planet. Surreal. Someone was targeting her, trying to intimidate her into abandoning her dream of restoring the Grand. Here, in sleepy old Daylesford.

“This is nuts.”

“Yeah. But at the end of the day, money is money, whether it’s in the big city or out here. Ulrich stands to make a huge profit on this place if he can get it at the right price. He probably figures a little quiet sabotage will get him back in the driver’s seat on this deal.”

“I would rather give this place away than sell it to him, now more than ever.”

Quinn smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I love it when you get all feisty.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the one with a lump the size of an egg on the back of your head because you decided to play hero. I think that officially makes you the feisty one.”

Quinn picked up the first-aid kit and headed for the archway to the theatre.

“I prefer bold, if you don’t mind.”

“I bet you do.”

He grinned at her over his shoulder and for the first time since she’d seen him all bloodied and bruised, the tight, scared feeling in her chest relaxed. He was okay. He really was.

She took a moment to absorb the realization.

Then she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin.

There was work to do. A lot of it. And the sooner she started, the sooner she’d be finished and the sooner Barry Ulrich would understand that she wasn’t the kind of woman who intimidated easily.

These people had gotten up in the middle of the night for her. They’d raced down here and thrown themselves into the task of saving the Grand from disaster. She would never, ever be able to repay them.

For a moment she was humbled by the knowledge, but then she realized that if gratitude was all she had to offer, then she should offer it as graciously and generously and sincerely as possible.

She slipped quietly out the front door and across the street, astonishing the young guy at the bakery with her disheveled, paint-spattered appearance.

“Performance art,” she said, deadpan.

“Right.”

Ten minutes later she walked back into the Grand with a tray piled high with baked goods.

“Amy! You are a goddess,” Eric said when he saw her.

“I’ve got danishes, muffins, doughnuts, coffee scrolls, croissants. Please, dig in. Breakfast is the least I owe you.”

Her mother had made a trip to the hardware store sometime during the night to collect an old card table and a few packages of cookies from the staff room. Amy set her bounty down on the table and turned to face her gathered friends and family.

“But before we eat, I wanted to say a few words.”

Eric groaned theatrically and clutched his stomach.

Amy smiled. “I’ll be quick, I promise. I just wanted to let you all know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and the Grand tonight. This could have been a disaster, a huge setback, but you’ve all helped turn it into a minor hiccup. This has been my dream since I was ten years old, and I will always remember the kindness and generosity you’ve all shown me tonight. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

“Free movies for life,” Eric called out with a cheeky grin.

Amy pointed her finger at him. “Done. Consider yourselves all patrons of the Grand.”

A small cheer went up. Quinn joined her as the others crowded around the card table.

“Nice speech.”

“Thank you.”

“Probably should have run the free-movies-for-life thing past your legal adviser first.”

“I can live with it.”

“Pretty generous.”

She looked at him. He was watching her with warm eyes.

“Have I told you lately that you rock, Amy Parker?”

As always, his approval warmed her. “Is this the head injury talking or the fatigue?”

“Both.”

“That’s what I thought. So now that you’ve proven you’re both indestructible and indefatigable, do you think I might be able to convince you to leave now?”

She kept her tone light, but he was gray with tiredness. She wanted him to rest. Ideally, she wanted to personally put him to bed and fuss over him until she’d proven to herself that he was fine. Since that was never going to happen, she would settle for sending him home.

“I might be persuaded to take a shower and grab a few hours. But only if you promise to call it quits for the day, too,” he said.

“What I do and what you do are two totally separate things.”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I will not rest until you rest.”

“So chivalrous. Definitely must be the head injury. But if that’s what it takes to make you behave like a sensible person, so be it.”

Quinn smiled tiredly. “Then you’ve got yourself a deal, Parker.”

Half an hour later, her rescue team had gone their separate ways and the locksmith had arrived and started installing a new, reinforced door frame and security door. She grabbed Quinn by the arm and dragged him toward the front doors.

“Go get some sleep,” she told him as they reached the sidewalk. She gave him a shove in the back to send him on his way.

He took a step before turning. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Amy wasn’t listening. She was too busy staring over his shoulder at the man in the expensive suit climbing out of a late-model Mercedes on the other side of the street. He was carefully not looking her way, but she’d bet her last cent Barry Ulrich had come down here to gloat and admire his handiwork.

Quinn turned to follow her sight line. She took a step toward the curb. His hand shot out to grab her forearm.

“No.”

She tore her gaze from Ulrich to look at Quinn. “I just want to let him know I’m not about to run away with my tail between my legs.”

“You heard what the police said. Without evidence directly linking Ulrich to the men who broke into the Grand, we’ve got nothing but suspicion. And you don’t need me to tell you that suspicion means zip in a court of law.”

“So he gets off scot-free?”

“Not necessarily. We have to wait and see. And in the meantime you can’t say anything to him. I want you to promise me you won’t.”

She tried to pull her arm from his grasp but he was too strong.

“Could you let me go, please?” she said through gritted teeth.

“Not until you promise me you’ll let me handle this.”

“Believe it or not, before you came flying into town with your cape billowing, I managed fine on my own. I don’t need a babysitter, and I certainly don’t need a keeper.”

“Fine.” He let her go but didn’t walk away. “Just so you know, guys like Ulrich love a fight. You take it up to him, he’ll use it against you and come back at you ten times harder.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So I should cower in the corner and thank my lucky stars he didn’t set the Grand on fire. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Play it smart. Be patient. Let the cops investigate.”

She knew he was right. She wouldn’t get anything except satisfaction out of taking a shot at Ulrich. But still…

She let her breath out on a noisy sigh. “Okay. Fine. You win. I promise not to say anything to him.”

She knew she sounded like a sulky kid but the tight look around Quinn’s mouth relaxed.

“Good choice.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spare me your approval, Sir Galahad. And good night.”

She strode back into the Grand, leaving him standing on the sidewalk. She knew she was taking her temper out on the wrong person, but she hated the thought that Ulrich might get away with what he’d done.

It wasn’t until she’d locked the front doors behind her and slipped out past the locksmith that she remembered she’d promised to take the tray back to the bakery after she was finished with it.

“Damn it.”

Sighing, she swiveled on her heel. There was a single muffin left and she took a bite out of it as she crossed the street, tray in hand. Apple and cinnamon. Not her favorite, but it would do.

The guys in the bakery were busy with the morning rush and she left the tray on the counter after making eye contact with one of them and mouthing her thanks. A great wave of weariness swept over her as she turned to go. She needed to get some sleep.

She saw Ulrich the moment she stepped onto the sidewalk. He was standing a few paces away with a guy she recognized as his foreman. They were facing the Grand and Ulrich was sketching shapes in the air with his hands, pointing to the windows, the roofline. His foreman was making notes on a notebook, nodding his head.

As though Ulrich owned the Grand and his foreman was making plans to bring Ulrich’s vision to life.

Not. Freaking. Likely.

Not in her lifetime.

Anger born of outrage and fear rose up inside her. She didn’t stop to think, just strode across to block their view.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

Barry looked startled for a few seconds, then a patronizing smile curled his lips.

“Ms. Parker. Allow me to offer my sympathies. I hear you’ve had a bit of a rough time overnight.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, and don’t think I don’t know who’s responsible for that, asshole.”

The smile dropped from Ulrich’s face. His pale blue eyes grew hard. “I know you’re not familiar with business and the way professionals usually conduct themselves, so I’m going to give you a tip, Ms. Parker. Watch your mouth.”

“Why, asshole? Because if I don’t you’ll hire someone else to vandalize the Grand? Is that what you’re saying, asshole?”

Ulrich’s nostrils flared. “I’d be very careful what kind of accusations I threw around if I were you.”

“If I were you, I’d remember who owns the Grand.
Asshole.
”

Suddenly Ulrich was in her face, breathing bad coffee breath on her, so close she could see where he’d missed a few whiskers when he shaved this morning.

“Listen up, little girl. I don’t need to lift a finger to ensure you’ll fail because you’ll do that all on your own. If you’d had half a brain, you would have taken my offer while you had the chance. Now you’re going to lose everything. I almost feel sorry for you.”

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then turned away.

“Come on, Brian,” he said to his foreman, not even looking at the other man as he walked away.

Her hands were shaking. No use pretending they weren’t. Barry Ulrich was one scary, angry bastard. She watched him walk away, feeling very small and impotent and vulnerable.

“Hey, Barry!” she called after him.

He glanced over his shoulder impatiently. Amy wound back her arm, took aim and threw in one smooth move. The muffin hit him dead center of the forehead before crumbling down the front of his expensive suit.

He blinked, his mouth open, utterly stunned. A tide of crimson color washed up his neck and into his face. She made a big show of dusting her hands together and turning her back on him. Despite the bravado her heart was banging against her rib cage.

Shit.

He looked so angry. Almost psychotic.

She crossed the street to the Grand, resisting the urge to break into a run, expecting to feel a hand on her shoulder with every step.

She’d grabbed the tiger by the tail and given it a big old yank and any minute now the tiger was going to pounce on her and rip her head off.

It wasn’t until she was in the Grand and the doors locked that she felt safe enough to look back across the street.

Ulrich was on the phone. One hand dusted muffin crumbs off the front of his suit as he spoke, his dead, flat eyes fixed on her.

The reality of what she’d done sunk in.

Quinn was going to kill her.