FIFTY-THREE

“ARE you two about finished getting acquainted?”

Matt was done putting away the groceries and (apparently) maintaining his patience. Like a centurion defending his fort, he strode across the room and planted himself in front of us, hands on hips.

“It’s late, Quinn. Time for you to go.”

I stood up. “Is that necessary? You have enough bedrooms in this colossus to open a B and B.”

“He’s not staying here, Clare. He’s got a phone on him that could lead the police to you.”

“I overheard that discussion, and he told you he has a plan.”

“I don’t believe him.”

“Well, I do, and I’ve made up my mind.”

Unfortunately, Matt had made up his. He wasn’t backing off, and I’d have to think fast. So I did—

“Do you want me to leave with him?”

“What?!”

“If he goes, so do I.”

(Honestly, I wasn’t going to leave this house at this hour with an effective stranger, but I was out of ideas.)

Turning my head, I sneaked a wink at Mike, just so he knew I was bluffing. The detective’s response was a raised eyebrow, which I took as some kind of Spock-like code for fascinated amusement.

Matt didn’t see my wink and—thank goodness—believed my con. Grumbling again, this time in Spanish, he acquiesced.

A small victory, but a victory.

In deference to my ex-husband (who was, after all, our host), I suppressed my smile, though I couldn’t quell the joke—

“Looks like you’ll be staying with us, Detective Quinn. Welcome to La Casa Allegro.”


A short time later, I was back in the big corner bedroom. Astonishingly, the detective was sleeping right next door. That had taken some angling.

“I have EMT training,” he told Matt. “I should be closer to her in case she needs help. And, Clare, you should leave your door open. I’ll do the same.”

“Then I’m keeping my door open, too,” Matt proclaimed. “Don’t try anything cute, Quinn. Remember, you’re no better than a stranger to her.”

“Yes, I know.” He turned to me. “Don’t worry, Clare. I won’t touch you unless you need medical help—or you ask me to.” This time Mike Quinn slipped me the wink. “Okay, Allegro?”

Matt’s grunt was his version of approval. (Clearly, he hadn’t seen Quinn’s wink.) Then we all retired to our assigned bedrooms.

Before long, I was burrowing under the covers, trying to keep warm. The house was still chilly, and I was restless. Turning over, I faced the gas hearth, though it didn’t offer much heat.

Like the rest of this place, it was set up for show more than substance, which, come to think of it, sounded like my ex-husband’s second marriage.

Staring into the dancing flames, I tried to imagine what a relationship with a man like Detective Quinn would be like. I could see he was intelligent, mature—and he even got my jokes. He also clearly cared for me; or, at least, the “me” I used to be. But he was so obviously repressed, so stiff.

He seemed surprised when I asked about our sex life. His quiet nod was unreadable—and he certainly didn’t want to prolong the discussion. Then again, my hostile ex-husband wasn’t far away. Who could blame the guy for wanting to prevent World War Three?

Still, this match seemed odd.

Detective Quinn was so different from what I was used to. Where Matt was hotheaded and passionate, the detective seemed calm and deliberate. Was he like that in the bedroom, too? Was there any heat under that cool blue exterior? Or was he just a big human version of this McMansion fireplace?

I couldn’t deny I was curious to find out. Certainly not tonight, and not in this house, but Matt did say physical stimulation might help my memories, and who was I to stand in the way of a neurological experiment?

Turning over again, I stared in the direction of the open bedroom door. The woods outside were dark and quiet, the house like a tomb, save for a distant, rhythmic rumbling. It was Matt. He was already asleep, snoring up a storm.

Well, I’m glad someone is getting some shut-eye.

With our host unconscious, an imp in me considered tiptoeing into the next bedroom. I had more questions for Detective Quinn—and I couldn’t help wondering what the man looked like out of his bureaucratic blue suit.

With a sigh of frustration, I grabbed a pillow to hug. I didn’t have the nerve. What would I say to the man? “Hi, Mike, just passing through.” Even worse, what if he misinterpreted my arrival in his bedroom in the dead of night—and my ex-husband woke up?

For heaven’s sake, I told myself, don’t make things worse. Shut your mind and get some rest. Detective Quinn was obviously exhausted. He’s probably fast asleep, just like Matt. He’s certainly not lying in bed thinking of you!