The Truth Seeker (12 page)

She picked up water glasses and stacked them on the tray, swirling a finger in the ice bucket now full of room temperature water. Quinn needed someone to look after him.

“You like to sleep in the ice age?” It was all of sixty-five degrees in the room he had the thermostat turned so low.

He glanced back as he locked the safe. “This is comfortable.”

“If you’re an Eskimo.”

He tossed his hat on the side table. It landed with a thud, sending a yellow phone message fluttering to the floor. “Let’s go eat.”

“After you take something for that headache.”

He paused and nearly scowled, making her want to laugh. He had a thing about aspirin; he really didn’t like taking them. “Yes, ma’am.”

She leaned against the door to the bathroom while he rummaged through his shaving kit for the aspirin bottle. He opened the childproof cap and shook one tablet out into his palm.

“Two tablets, Quinn. One isn’t even going to remove that frown let alone the pain.”

“Just how much medical school did you have?”

“Enough to make it an order.”

He swallowed them with a grimace and shut off the bathroom light. “Let’s go eat.”

“Which restaurant?”

“Sinclair’s, downstairs.”

It wasn’t the casual restaurant she had expected; this was upper tier elegance and they were both underdressed. The room lights were dim, the music subdued, the decor rich. A group of five businessmen were finishing a late meal; two couples had tables near the windows.

“Two, Michelle, nonsmoking.”

“Right this way, Mr. Diamond,” the hostess replied with a welcoming smile.

That answered Lisa’s question as to which restaurant Quinn normally frequented. She would have placed him at the more sports-oriented restaurant one level down, not amid this elegance. Apparently she had been wrong.

The hostess led them to a white linen covered table, two large vases of long stem roses framing the nearby window; she laid down two menus for them. Quinn held Lisa’s chair for her. The hostess took their drink order and left.

Lisa glanced around before opening the menu. “This is a gorgeous restaurant.”

“Peaceful,” Quinn agreed. “They’ve got great steaks here.”

“Another time for me. Unlike you, I had dinner.”

Their waitress joined them a few minutes later, bringing Quinn’s coffee and her ice water.

“Good evening. Would you like more time, or are you ready to order?”

Lisa closed her menu. “I’d like a bowl of French onion soup and a side salad, blue cheese dressing.”

Quinn held up two fingers. “The same, Sandy.” He handed the waitress the menus.

“Soon.”

“Not if you listen to Jennifer. She wants it tomorrow.”

“Understandable. Are you going to stand up as one of her brides-

“It will be right out.”

Lisa watched Quinn watch the waitress walk away. “You know her?” He’d been around Chicago enough in the last year she wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“She used to work over at the Renaissance Hotel, breakfast shift, if I remember correctly.”

“You remember the waitresses.”

He glanced back at her, a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “Sure. You don’t?”

“I don’t live on eating out.”

He buttered a piece of the hot bread and offered it to her.

She accepted. “Is this called breaking bread together?”

“The Arabs say you can’t fight with someone you eat with.”

“Do we need to sign a peace treaty?”

“Insurance never hurts.” He leaned back in his chair, stirring sugar in his coffee. “What’s this I hear about Jennifer possibly getting out of the hospital?”

Lisa felt her fatigue disappear as a relieved smile took its place.

“The doctors brought up the possibility this morning when the latest blood work showed marked improvement. If she gets another positive panel, she could be out of the hospital in a couple weeks.”

“That’s fabulous news.”

“If it happens, the original wedding plans will be back on. Jen and Tom will get married in Houston near her home, so some of her pediatric patients can come.”

“October ?”

“Yes.” It was Jennifer’s parents’ anniversary date, her way of remembering them on her special day.

maids?”

“Yes. She’s asked Kate, Rachel, and me.” She’d been ducking that last dress fitting, not wanting to admit they might have to loosen the fabric of the dress so she could handle wearing it for three hours.

Anything tight brought a lot of pain. If Kate was there and heard about it, Lisa would have the entire family to deal with again. She was supposed to be telling them the truth when they asked how she was feeling, and she had been doing a decent job of lying this last week.

“The wedding pictures will be lovely. A bride and three princesses,”

Quinn commented, and she couldn’t stop the blush at that speculative gaze. “Have you decided on a wedding gift yet?”

She’d been worrying about that for weeks; gifts were not her thing and were never easy to choose. “I don’t have a clue.”

“We’ll go shopping.”

“We?”

“A really nice painting from both of us.” He smiled. “Your taste, my money.”

Oh, that would go over just wonderful in her family. Even if it was an interesting offer. She weighed the need against the comments that would be inevitable. “I’ll buy the painting, you can buy the frame.” The two were often equally expensive, and she was out of time to figure out what to get.

“Fair enough.”

She was glad to see the laugh lines back around his eyes, even if it was amusement at her expense.

“Who’s making the wedding arrangements for Jennifer?”

“Rachel has been coordinating the details since July, Tom and Marcus are handling the logistics.” Their soup and salads arrived. “I’m surprised you didn’t order a steak.”

“Wait until you taste this. You made an excellent choice.”

He was right; the soup was delicious.

Lisa was pleasantly surprised as the meal progressed. He was good company. Maybe it was the fact they were both coming off a stressful

“I’ve enjoyed the evening,” Quinn replied, refilling his coffee from “Jack would murder me.”

“Blame me.”

She thought about that

Jack and Quinn

it would be about even.

He chuckled at her expression. “Remind me never to suggest

day that made it easier to relax; whatever the reason, she stopped trying to think before she answered a question. And if some of her answers brought a smile, it was at least as much his fault for the question as hers for the answer.

She looked at her watch as they lingered over coffee at the end of the meal and was surprised to find it was almost eleven. “It’s late. I’d better head home.”

the carafe Sandy had brought to the table, obviously not bothered by the time. “Finish telling me about Jack. Is he going to have to move fire districts with the station house consolidations?”

“His has become one of the new hub stations. They’ve transferred another engine and two crews.”

“How much more territory are they covering?”

“A mile and a quarter out from the station. It’s dangerous.”

“Budget cuts always are.”

“Well it’s my brother being asked to assume the risks.”

“Who have you complained to?”

“Besides the fire commissioner, the mayor, and Jack’s city councilman?”

“Write the newspapers next. Give them a good human interest story—sister who knows the risks is worried about her brother.”

something I don’t mean.”

“I’ll think about writing the newspaper.” She looked at him and slowly smiled. “Do you play the harmonica?”

“What? Where did that come from?”

“Ranch

cowboy

riding the range

playing the harmonica. Do you play?”

“I’m supposed to find the logic between that question and talking about Jack?”

“Yes. But you probably wouldn’t understand. Just answer the question.”

He slowly tipped back in his chair and gradually grinned. “Well, ma’am, now that I think about it—”

“You do! Oh, this is perfect. Can you teach me to play?”

“Explain first.”

“Jack. He dared me to learn to play a musical instrument.”

“When was this?”

“We were taking a walk the other night around the park

”

“Mistake number one.”

She grinned at him for realizing it. “And we got to talking about what we hadn’t done as kids because we grew up at Trevor House. Jack never got a chance to be a Boy Scout and I never took piano lessons.”

“And the bet became?” He winked at her surprise. “O’Malleys. That wasn’t hard to see coming.”

He did know them; Marcus had walked into a few family dares over the years. “I have to learn to play a musical instrument and Jack has to do a dozen good deeds. The bet is payable by his birthday. Lose, and you’re paying the other person’s bills for a month—with your own money. I don’t intend to lose.” She couldn’t afford to.

“I’ll teach you to play.”

“What’s it going to cost me?”

He shook his head. “Uh-uh, I’m saving this one.”

“Quinn.”

“I’ll be nice. It’s me or the local piano teacher.”

It wasn’t that hard of a decision to make. “I can afford a harmonica.”

“I’ve got a story I need to tell you.”

It was late. Quinn had insisted on giving her a lift home, that they’d

get her car the next day. Lisa turned her head against the headrest, pulled out of her quiet reverie of a relaxing evening by his words.

Secrets. How well she knew them, how well she understood that slightly different tone that came into someone’s voice when the territory of such a memory was invaded. “We can take a walk around the pond, if you like.”

He parked in front of her house instead of pulling into her drive.

“No. I think I’d just rather sit out here if you don’t mind.”

The passenger door was already locked; Lisa turned to rest against it. “If you’d like. I’m comfortable.”

She saw his smile in the faint light of the streetlight. “I’ll make it the Cliff’s Notes.”

He reached over and adjusted the side mirror, killing time rather than speaking, for the street was quiet as it passed midnight. “Did Marcus ever tell you about the reason I became a marshal?”

“I once heard a rumor that it was to cover his backside,” she replied, grateful it was true. She didn’t have to worry as much about Marcus knowing Quinn was with him.

“That’s the reason I stay a marshal,” Quinn replied with a chuckle.

“Then no, I don’t think I heard. Why did you?”

He hesitated over his words. She knew this man; hesitation wasn’t a normal part of his makeup. She settled deeper into the seat, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot across her back and curled her toes inside her tennis shoes. “We keep secrets in this family very well.

Despite the grapevine, there’s another, quieter code of honor none of us would ever think to break. Marcus doesn’t talk about you, not the confidences

neither do Kate or Jennifer.”

“I know that, Lisa. It’s just been private for a very long time.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. A secret shared implied a two-way street. And she didn’t want to be sharing hers.

“When I was twentyfour, back from college, working at the ranch, I found buzzards circling what I thought would be a heifer who had

died giving birth. What I found was my father, shot in the back. His killer has never been found.”

There were no words for the grief she felt at the news. It welled up inside; she could see the scene as he would have encountered it. “It was a hot day?” she whispered.

“June , not a cloud in the sky. Out in the south pastureland by the bluffs.”

Sandy soil, limestone based, coarse grass—it would have helped slow the ravages of decay beginning at the moment of death, but only slowed not stopped the reality. “I am so sorry.”

“I became a marshal when it became obvious the case had become cold. I’ve been working it in my spare time ever since.”

“That’s why you don’t spend much time at the ranch.”

“I love the land and ranching as a lifestyle. I’ll go back to it full-time eventually, but for now it’s a reminder that there is unfinished business.”

He sighed. “That’s the start of my story. There’s more.”

“I’m listening.”

“A girl named Amy Ireland disappeared the same day my father was shot. She didn’t live close by, but for Montana distances, her family would be considered neighbors. She was seventeen at the time. The police considered the possibility of a runaway, foul play, an accident

they worked the case for years until having to accept it also was cold.”

“You think they are linked. The disappearance of Amy and the murder of your father.”

“I’ve been working both to try to find out.”

For twenty years he had been working the two cases during his off hours. She needed a better word than tenacious. Committed. He wasn’t going to ever give up. She admired him for that. And for all the years she had known him, he had never said anything. She was disappointed in that but had to accept that her attitude toward him over the years had probably been the reason; it hadn’t encouraged confiding something this

“I’d like to help.”

“I’ve been trying to avoid asking you to get involved.”

That hurt. He saw it and shook his head. “Lisa, it’s not personal.

critical. And then it clicked. “This has something to do with the Rita Beck file you requested.”

“It does. Lincoln found a connection between Amy and Rita. They were friends when they were sixteen.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I’ve spent the last three days looking at everything I know about Amy and the two-week visit she made to Chicago for an art camp. I’m more convinced than ever that the break I need might be found in their friendship—a teenage confidence, something Amy told Rita, that from the perspective of today will mean something.”

There’s a lot that’s going on unrelated to this right now, and I’d rather be cautious and limit this to Marcus, Lincoln, and myself.”

Something that had him worried—something dangerous. Kate acted the same way when her gut was telling her something wasn’t right. She didn’t want people around. “Then why tell me now?”