In Too Deep (11 page)

A lump rose in her throat merely thinking about it. The idea of walking away from her family…she couldn't imagine it. “You can't ask that of me.”

“Staying for your boyfriend?”

Quinn. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“I don't like you being here by yourself, but you make it easy to disappear, Lily. Say the word, and I can have you out of here within the hour,” Cal said.

“Do you have any idea what that would do to my family?”

“That's not my concern. You are.”

A year ago she would have assumed he was overstating the situation. But that was before Franklin Lawrence had gone after her family members to keep her from testifying. Still, the choice was unbearable. Disappear and have her family assume the worst. Or stay, only to have the worst happen? How could she do that to all of them?

“I know this isn't easy,” he said. He sounded sympathetic enough, but she wondered how many times he'd repeated those same words. “I'll stick around for a few days until you decide.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” she replied, unable to resist sarcasm. She took in his trench coat and dress shoes. “You might change the wardrobe to fit in a little more. Nobody around here wears a suit unless there's a funeral or a wedding, and sometimes not even then.”

“Understood.” He stepped off the porch. “And remember, Lily. I'm your good friend who used to work with you at the university.”

She supposed his request was reasonable. She'd have to clue Ian and Rosie in since they both knew exactly who Cal Springfield was, and she'd have to come up with a convincing story. In a word, lie. She already hated it.

The sound of two cars coming up the tree-lined drive reached Lily. The first vehicle was Ian's pickup truck and the second was Quinn's SUV. Behind Lily, the door opened and Annmarie skipped down the steps. The instant Ian got out of his truck, she ran toward him.

“Uncle Ian.” She lifted her arms with the expectation of being swung around, and she was.

“How's my petunia?” Ian said when he set her down.

“I'm fine,” she told him with a grin, adding her usual retort to his pet name for her, “And I'm still not a flower.” She turned her attention to Quinn. “Hi, Mr. Quinn.”

“Hey, munchkin.”

He tousled her hair, and after she tugged on his hand, his fingers closed around hers. Lily wondered if he had even been aware of that slight hesitation. His eyes, when they met hers, were warm, which gave her hope. His expression this morning was a far cry from the one he'd had that morning at Rosie's house.

Ian spared Quinn a glower before striding toward the porch. As soon as he reached the top step, he extended his hand to Cal. “Last time I saw you was at Lily's house before she moved.”

“It's been a while,” Cal said, a flare of surprise chasing through his eyes. “Stearne, if I remember right.”

“Not that long. Just this past spring.” Ian glanced over his shoulder. “This is Quinn Morrison. Lily works for him.”

“We met last night,” Quinn said.

“Right before you brought Lily home,” Cal added.

That earned Quinn another frown from Ian. Folding his arms across his chest, Ian rocked back on his heels. “Why are you here, Springfield? Lynx Point isn't exactly a hotbed of crime and corruption that would require a federal marshal.”

“I—”

“You're a cop?” Quinn interrupted. “You said were an old friend from the university, or did I miss something?” When he looked at Lily, his expression was irritated. “He lied and you went along with it.”

Cal glanced back at Lily. “I was—”

“One of the marshals assigned to Lily when she was in protective custody,” Ian said.

Cal nodded. “And like I said last night, I was in the area and decided to look her up.”

“And like
I
said last night, getting here is a bit of a detour from anywhere.” Quinn came to stand next to Ian.

He wasn't as tall, but his shoulders were broader. At this moment he was even more intimidating than her brother-in-law. That surprised Lily. She hadn't imagined Quinn in the role of overprotective warrior.

“Why lie?” Quinn asked Cal.

“To keep just this from happening. People hear U.S. Marshal and they tend to get a little uptight.” Cal glanced back at Lily. “You didn't mention your neighbor had moved up here.”

“He was your neighbor?” Quinn asked, jerking his head toward Ian. “Before you moved here?”

“He married my sister,” Lily said, answering Cal's question first. “And yes, Ian was my neighbor and, after John died, my closest friend.”

“That still doesn't explain what you're doing here,” Quinn said, directing his focus back to Cal. “Or why you lied about working with Lily.”

“I'd like to know that, too,” Ian said.

“And who appointed you bozos to be in charge?” Cal stood to his full height, which was still inches shorter than either Ian or Quinn.

In his own way, Cal was as imposing. He made a point of letting his trench coat flap open so they could all see the weapon in his shoulder holster.

“Oh, please,” Lily interrupted. “This is quite a lot more testosterone than anyone needs so early in the morning.” She took Annmarie's hand. “Come on, sweetie. Let's finish breakfast and get ready for work.” She opened the door to the house and paused to look back at Ian and Quinn who were providing a solid line of defense against whatever threat they thought Cal presented. “I'd appreciate it if you all didn't manage to kill one another before I'm ready to go. I'd have to call Hilda, and she's busy enough without having to put on her safety officer hat.” She took a step inside, then turned back. “There's coffee in the kitchen if anyone wants it.”

When she returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later, Quinn sat at the breakfast bar with Annmarie, who had coerced him into coloring with her. Ian stood in front of the sink, his arms once again crossed over his chest, the scowl back on his face. Cal was nowhere to be seen. When she glanced out the window, the pickup was gone.

“What's he doing here?” Ian asked.

She poured a last cup of coffee into her travel mug and turned off the coffeemaker. She didn't answer until after she'd added cream to her cup. “Which ‘he,' Ian? Quinn or Cal?”

Ian glared at Quinn. “Take your pick.”

“Quinn brought me home last night, so I suspect he's back to give me a ride to work.” She took a sip of her coffee. “And you know very well that Cal has been checking on me every couple of weeks since the trial ended.”

“That doesn't explain why he popped out of the blue.”

“You'll have to ask him.” Lily looked away from Ian's penetrating glance and found Quinn watching her with just as much interest. With far greater care than necessary, she snapped the lid on top of her mug. The most important decision of her life loomed before her, and she had no one to talk to about it. Despite being surrounded by people she loved, she had never felt more alone or more adrift.

Avoiding Quinn's gaze, she asked, “Ready to go?”

Quinn nodded and stood.

Lily kissed her daughter. “You be good for Rosie today.”

She grinned. “I'm always good. Auntie Rosie says so.”

She patted Ian's shoulder as she passed him. “Lock up on the way out.”

Quinn held the door open for her as she stepped onto the porch. She'd have to be blind to miss the wary exchange between Quinn and Ian. They might be united in their front about Cal, but it was clear they didn't think much of one another.

For as long as she could remember, the people she loved most seemed to think she needed a protector. Ian was like the brother she had never had, and Quinn…the feelings that had swept through her last night were once again right there at the surface, making her long for a future she had been so sure would be denied her after John died. She glanced at Quinn, a man so different from her husband, a man who had
somehow also cast himself in the role of protector. Not that she needed one.

She had carried around the burden of being a witness to a murder for months without help and had managed to keep her life together. Not without a price, she silently admitted. But if things were normal—happy—for Annmarie, sleepless nights were a smile price to pay.

As he had last night, Quinn held the car door open for her. When they were under way, he said, “Why'd you go along with the lie last night?”

She met his gaze. “I assumed Cal had his reasons.”

“One of the two things I hate most are liars.”

“I didn't lie to you.”

“Not if you don't count the lies of omission.”

That covered way more ground than she cared to think about. “Who lied to you, Quinn?” When he glared at her, she added, “Enough for you to hate liars and push me into the pit with them.”

“This isn't about me.”

“No, I don't suppose it is,” she agreed, turning her head away from him.

A long ten seconds passed before he said, “Lies were a constant when I was growing up.” Still she didn't say anything, and after another stretch of silence he added, “My mom would promise to come visit, promise that she'd stay sober. She didn't. The social workers would promise that the next home would be okay, but they had no way of knowing.”

“Those sound like broken promises, not lies.”

“Same difference.” He sighed, then flexed his hands over the steering wheel. “Okay. Maybe you have a point.”

“What's the other one?” she asked. “That you hate most.”

His gaze never left the road. “People who don't give a rat's ass about their kids.”

The vehemence in his voice and his choice of words gave her pause. The magnitude of those nineteen foster homes he'd so casually mentioned knifed through her, making her
ache for the little boy who had suffered through years of broken promises. In his shoes, she'd hate liars just as much.

“Those lies of omission…” she finally said. “With Cal—”

“Things get a little complicated,” Quinn concluded. “He's not trying to talk you into witness protection, is he?”

She glanced sharply at Quinn. “Why would you think that?”

“Simple. I asked Ian if you'd had any fallout from the trial. So is that why he's here, to talk you into witness protection?”

“He could try,” she said, hating the lie of omission.

Quinn didn't reply, and she didn't dare look at him.

“Were the Niksen bottles damaged last night?” she asked.

“They looked okay,” he said.

“Then we have a busy day.”

“Let's hope,” he said.

She managed to hold up her end of the conversation during rest of the drive into Lynx Point and up the hill to the research station that overlooked the community. Her attention, though, circled around Cal's announcement.

Franklin Lawrence wanted her dead. She wanted to believe that simply wasn't possible, but that didn't keep the icy knots from churning in her stomach. She couldn't imagine her life with the choice that Cal had put in front of her. Take Annmarie and live among strangers. Never again talk with her parents or her sisters or her best friend.

Lily glanced at Quinn. To leave this man she was pretty sure she was already in love with. A man who needed her despite everything he professed to believe about himself.

Give up her life? Walk away from everything and everyone important to her? How could she?

F
rom his seat on the steps of Lily's porch, Quinn watched her come down the shady driveway in Rosie's car which she'd been driving these past weeks. Only hours ago he had picked her up to drive her to work—hours that he'd been counting down all day as he mostly thought about making love to her again rather than doing the work—tons of it—that needed to be done.

Time for Plan A if little Annmarie was with her. They'd go for a sunset sail, eat the sandwiches he'd picked up from the Tin Cup. If Annmarie wasn't with Lily—and he didn't see her in the car—Plan B. He was crazy for thinking that Lily would fall for anything so obvious as a sail into the sunset. He was struck with the image of some Lothario giving her a leering grin and inviting her to see his etchings.

What he intended, though, was romance. After taking her like some hormone-crazed kid last night, she deserved that.

A smile on her face, she gave him a little wave as she parked the vehicle. Feeling awkward and unsure of himself—
and annoyed by the fact—he waited while she gathered her stuff together and then opened the door.

“Hey, you,” she said casually, coming toward him, a jacket and tote bag in her arms. “I didn't expect to see you.”

He stood, then jammed the tips of his fingers into his pockets so she wouldn't see how nervous he was. “Let's go for a sail.” He nodded toward the powerboat he'd rented from Milt's Fishing Charter. He'd tied it up to the narrow dock that flanked the huge boathouse where Mike Ericksen stored his yacht.

“I—”

“Haven't picked up Annmarie,” he finished.

Lily nodded.

“So, call your sister.” He didn't add anything more. He wanted Lily alone, but if she wanted to bring her daughter… That wasn't as preferable as having Lily alone, but okay.

Lily climbed the steps to the porch, her gaze once again back on him—considering and wary, just as it should be. As he'd told her last night, he was no good for her. That didn't keep him from imagining her naked.

As if coming to some decision, she smiled at him, then touched his arm as she passed him. “All right.” After she unlocked the door, she held it open for him. “Want to come in?”

Oh, man, was that a loaded question. Did he ever. Too much. “No.” Grabbing the first excuse that came to mind, he added, “I've got a couple of things to double check on the boat.”

“I'll be back in a couple of minutes.” She let the door close behind her as she disappeared inside the house.

Quinn ambled toward the boat. If he had invited her to paddle over to Foster Island in his two-man kayak like he'd first planned, he'd have a way of working off all this nervous energy. Never mind that he would have been wishing that he'd rented the boat instead. Since she hadn't told him to take a flying leap for simply showing up…maybe she'd been thinking about last night, too.

He paced to the end of the dock and stared out at the water, which was beginning to smooth into a glassy surface as it often did this time of day. Remembering that he'd told her he had things to check, he boarded the boat. Except he'd already done all that, and everything was in perfect running order. A couple of minutes later, she came out of the house wearing jeans and a lightweight parka.

When she reached the craft, she shaded her eyes and said, “Annmarie is going to have dinner with Rosie and Ian. They'll bring her home in a couple of hours.”

“So we're all set.”

“Yes.”

His hand was warm as he helped her step into the boat. Lily sure hadn't expected to find him sitting on her porch when she arrived home, and doubly surprising was his invitation for a sunset sail. She was glad, though, since she had used up all her courage last night. She'd half expected him to revert back to the friendly professional colleague, as he'd done after his concussion. She hadn't seen him all day, since they'd both had dozens of things that had taken priority.

She peeked into the doorway of the cabin. Even in the dim light, the tiny space looked inviting, made even more so by the mouth-watering aroma of food. A basket sat on the table.

“You brought a picnic,” she said.

“Just sandwiches.” He climbed the ladder to the flying bridge, and she followed him.

“That sounds good.”

He turned the key of the ignition. “You haven't asked what kind.”

“If the aroma is any indication, meatball with homemade sauce from the Tin Cup.”

He chuckled. “Good thing I didn't want it to be a secret.”

“If you've got some of their chocolate cake, I'm yours.”

He slanted her a glance over his shoulder. “Promises, promises.”

She grinned at him, a flutter of anticipation curling through her at those very ordinary teasing words.

He flipped switches and touched controls, indicating a familiarity with the craft. He chose to stand behind the wheel though he could have sat on the tall captain's stool.

Within seconds Quinn had them under way with a minimum of fuss and hardly a wake to mar the surface of the water. Once he was away from the shore, he opened the throttle and the powerboat picked up speed. The motor generated so much noise that they would have had to shout at each other to have a conversation.

Deciding that was okay since she didn't know what to say to him, Lily zipped up her coat and enjoyed the brilliant colors of the sunset despite the autumn chill in the air.

As if sensing her when she came to stand next to him, Quinn pulled her close so she stood between him and the wheel.

As happened every time she stood within the shelter of his arms, she felt protected and cherished in ways she was certain she never had. That always vaguely surprised her. Comparisons that were unfair to both Quinn and John—especially John—hovered at the edge of her mind. She pushed them away and focused her attention on the brilliant scenery in front of her—the landscape of her childhood that she had missed more than she had ever been willing to admit.

It was this kind of sunset she imagined seeing through the windows of her house, and she turned around to see if it was visible within the pines between the Ericksens's house and Rosie's place. It was, the newly installed windows reflecting the red glow of the sunset.

“Look,” she said, nudging Quinn's arm. “See the place up there north of Mike's place? That's the house I'm building. Or rather, that Ian is building. He's my general contractor.”

“You're going to have a great view.”

“I have to be patient. It won't be ready to move into for months yet.” Ahead of them the water was glassy-smooth. The sky and water caught fire. The incandescent sunset lit the scoured rock walls of Foster Island. Unlike most of the
islands, it wasn't shrouded in trees, so the elemental shapes from the last Ice Age were still visible—mythic and mysterious. More distant islands marked the border between earth and sky.

“Beautiful,” she breathed.

Quinn cut the motor. The silence that followed was broken only by the nearly silent slap of water against the boat as it rocked gently. He eased back until he rested against the seat behind the wheel. He crossed his arms around Lily and rested his chin against her temple.

“I love this so much,” she said. “It makes me wish I had come home years ago.”

“You're lucky that you have a place to come home to.”

She turned slightly in his arms so she could look at him.

“Tell me what that's like,” he said.

“All my relatives are great storytellers,” she said with a smile. “First you have the Norwegian side of the family who have fish stories that are so big—”

“They'd sink a good-size boat?”

She laughed. “Something like that. And then you have the Tlinglit side of the family who can keep you entertained for hours with their stories. Hilda and I are cousins, you know.”

“So that's where you get your dark eyes.”

“Yes.” She paused. “You're sure you want to hear about all this?”

He nodded.

While they watched the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon, she told him about her aunts and uncles, her life that embraced traditions from both cultures, and how she hadn't known how much she missed it all until she had returned home. Her thoughts strayed to Cal and the witness security program. That life sounded sterile and unbearable—more so now than ever.

“I always imagined what it would be like to have aunts or uncles,” Quinn said when she fell silent.

“I'll share mine with you,” she said. “They'd like you.”

He didn't have anything to say to that, so he didn't try, but instead pressed a kiss against her temple.

“This is my favorite place,” he said.

“Really?” She looped an arm around his neck. “That might give a girl ideas.”

“About last night—”

“Don't you dare tell me that you regret it.”

She stiffened slightly in his arms and not nuzzling her neck became impossible.

“I don't regret that,” he murmured against her tender skin.

She relaxed within his embrace though her hands tightened around his arms. Her head fell to the side, offering him that smooth expanse of skin between the collar of her coat and her nape. The scent of her skin sank deeper into him.

“Careful,” she whispered around a soft chuckle. “The last time you did that you left marks.”

“I remember.” He had a fleeting memory of biting her neck as he was now, branding her as his.

He felt her nod. “So, if you don't want people to talk…”

He didn't, but damn. Reluctantly he moved his lips from her neck to the side of her face. “I didn't intend to do this.”

“Hmm.”

He wondered if she was agreeing with him or gently mocking him. The latter he deserved.

Finally, “What did you intend?”

“This.” He turned her in his arms so he could give her the kiss he'd been wanting all day. Kissing her, just kissing, was a thousand times better than sex had been with anyone in years. She kissed back without any sense of self-preservation. How could that be? he wondered. Didn't she know, didn't she understand that she was supposed to be building barriers between them? Instead she offered her vulnerability with such trust that she once again humbled him.

Letting go of her mouth, he steered her toward the ladder that led back to the deck. Clumsily, he descended the steps, turning instantly to reach for her. One more set of steps and he'd have her inside the small cabin. She followed him with
out hesitation, matching him kiss for kiss and heating his blood until it was molten like the sunset.

Inside the cabin, light blazed through the portholes, casting everything in crimson.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as her gaze lit on the blanket he had laid over the bed tucked under the bow. “I can see that you've been planning a little more than dinner.”

“A little,” he admitted. “Your turn to say so if you want to go home.” He pulled far enough away that he could see her face, praying she'd want to stay, praying that she'd tell him he was out of his mind and no way did she want this. If this ended right now, his battered heart might survive.

“To quote my good friend, Dr. Quinn Morrison—and a very bright man, I might add—‘Are you crazy?'” She touched his face with the back of her hand, then began to unbutton his shirt.

He covered her hands with his own. “You're sure?”

She pushed his hands away and resumed unbuttoning. “I've heard sex is supposed to be fun.” She tugged at his shirt, held firmly in place by his belt. “I've never made love on a boat.”

He hadn't been aware that his heart had even stopped until it began beating again. “Me, either.” Kissing her and unzipping her parka was easy enough. He could do that.

“And to think you were planning all this when I was so afraid you were already dumping me.”

Those startling words shouldn't have been accompanied by her lifting her arms so he could pull the turtleneck over her head—but they were. She was teasing him, he realized, her lips curved in a smile, a come-hither expression in her eyes. His stomach tightened a notch as his gaze lit on the dark blue lace of her bra, then on her exposed skin—bathed in glowing light and so beautiful. The idea of leaving this woman didn't even compute.

He drew her close simply so he could feel the satiny-smooth texture of her skin beneath his hands. She pulled his head toward hers so she could reach his mouth and bestow
another of those kisses that reached clear to his soul. Beyond the arousal that had reached the point of pain, his heart felt as though it might crack open. Just kissing. She could do this to him simply by touching her mouth to his.

She tugged again at his shirt, and when it didn't come loose, her hands her were at his waistband, pulling open his belt, her touch inches away from where he most wanted and already so arousing he felt he might explode.

Remembering how fast things had been over last night, he dragged in a breath, willing his mind—and his libido—to slow down, way down. They had time, and he'd do this right or die trying.

“Shoes.” He pressed a kiss at the corner of her mouth and pushed her back onto the bed. When he lifted her foot to take off her shoes, he discovered that she was wearing deck shoes that easily slipped off. His own were his usual hiking boots. So much for seduction planning.

“Need help?” Laughing, she arched a stockinged foot along his calf.

“All I can get,” he said huskily. Sitting next to her, he made short work of the boots.

The instant they were off, she was back at his belt. When she was finally able to get it open and his shirt pulled from his waistband, he discovered her hands were trembling, too. He helped her push off his shirt and jacket. In a single, twisting movement he pulled the T-shirt over his head.

“Oh, look at you,” she whispered, sliding her palms up the front of his chest. Within the hair that covered his body her hands looked impossibly feminine.