Heather was in the tub when she heard Quinn’s knock on the outside door.
“Come in,” she called.
“It’s locked, honey.”
“Oh!” She hurried as fast as her sore foot would allow. “Just a second,” she called, dripping water all over the bathroom floor. “Ouch!” she cried, having broken a nail as she tried and failed to open her locked overnight case on the bed. Where was her purse? The key was in the bottom of her purse.
“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”
“I just broke a nail. Hold on—I have to find the key to my case.”
“Take your time,” he drawled. “I’m not going anywhere.”
By the time Heather located both her purse and the key, and exchanged the towel for her thigh-length peach toweling robe, her nerves were a little raw. Hobbling to the door, she opened it only to find the hall empty. “Quinn?”
He rattled the knob of the connecting door. Heather jumped, realizing that her nerves were more than raw, they were jagged. Slamming the outside door with more force than necessary, she took a deep breath before opening the other door.
“Hi,” he said, lifting one of two bags he carried. His dark smoky gaze moved leisurely along her petite frame. He hesitated for just a second too long on the base of her satin smooth neck. She looked good, all soft and sweetly scented from her bath.
“Sorry I took so long. I think I fell asleep in the tub.” Heather pushed a thick fall of braids away from her face. She was propped against the dresser, her weight on the uninjured foot.
“How’s the foot?” He made no effort to enter her room.
Heather smiled up at him. His strong chin was darkened by black stubble. His eyes were practically hidden by downcast lids, and thick curly lashes almost caressed the top of his high cheekbones. His wide full lips were moist from where he’d just brushed them with his tongue.
Heather decided that he was much more appealing than whatever was inside those bags he carried. Talk about sweet brown sugar.
“Heather?”
“Hmm?”
“How’s the foot?”
“Much better,” she said.
He nodded. “Good. I got lucky—I located a print shop where we can take Cindy’s picture tomorrow.”
“Oh, Quinn—that’s good news.”
“I also found an all-night diner and the drugstore—all without getting lost. Bought some Epsom salts for that foot.” He held out the bag. “Soak your foot again in the morning and then wrap it. It will feel like new.” He offered the packages. “Good night.”
“Aren’t you going to stay? Eat some of this food?”
The lines around his nose and mouth deepened. He looked almost haggard. There was a sadness in his eyes that he didn’t even try to conceal.
“Quinn,” she said catching his hand and tugging him inside. “Get in here and help me eat this.”
Quinn smiled, captivated by the sultry dark glance she gave him from beneath her long lashes. The same look African women had no doubt given African men since the beginning of time. He watched fascinated by her bare legs as she limped over to the small table near the window.
“Sit,” she said, pointing at one of the two chairs. Peeking into the bag, she sniffed. “Smells good.”
He wouldn’t sit down until she was seated across from him.
“Chocolate shake, my favorite.”
“Mine, too.”
She handed him a cup of creamy New England clam chowder and a salad, hoping the aroma would stimulate his appetite. Neither said much as they shared the late night supper.
Quinn was the first to finish. He glanced at his watch. “I think I better get out of here so you can get some sleep.” He was on his feet, collecting the empty containers.
Heather touched his sleeve before he could move away. “You don’t have to rush off. It’ll be light in a few hours. Besides, I doubt I could sleep anyway. Are you sleepy?”
“You need the rest.”
“So do you. But that isn’t what this is all about, is it, Quinn?” she said softly, watching him closely. “First, you were reluctant to eat with me, and you’re the one who insisted on going out for food. Now you’re hurrying away.” She swallowed the lump in her throat, before whispering. “Please, don’t shut me out. Talk to me. Let me share the worry and the pain. I feel it, too.”
“Heather, I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” he said tightly, focusing on the wall above her head.
“You’re upset—and with good reason. Let’s talk about it.”
Quinn looked at her then, really looked at her. He saw the sorrow, the anxiety, and the fear pooled in her eyes. She genuinely cared about Cynthia... and about him. It had been a long time since he’d felt that kind of caring from a woman. He’d missed it. But he didn’t trust himself enough to reach out to her.
She got up slowly and moved to stand in front of him before she said, “I know you hurt inside.” She rested her palms against his chest, using his strength for support. As Heather looked up into his dark eyes, she realized she had fallen in love with him. Suddenly nothing else seemed to matter.
Quinn shut his eyes, closing out the sight of her golden beauty and her innocent sensuality. The chemistry between them was of the high voltage variety. He hadn’t even tasted his food, his senses had been so tuned to her softness.
It had driven him nuts wondering if she had anything on under that robe. He knew her full breasts were unbound. He’d enjoyed their natural movement. Her nipples had puckered against the terry cloth. Was her lush bottom bare or partly covered by a skimpy pair of panties? The soft fragrance of her skin was hypnotizing. Her braids formed an ebony cloud around her shoulders. He imagined them across his pillow, her head cushioned against his shoulder. His body tightly sheathed within hers.
All that made him male demanded that he touch her, caress her, claim her. If he stayed, there would be no stopping him. He wanted her, badly. At the moment he wasn’t willing to put his control to the test. Besides, he desperately needed her help and support in locating Cynthia. He couldn’t afford to antagonize her with unwanted sexual advances.
“My sole reality is that my baby is out there alone. And there isn’t a blessed thing I can do about it.” Abruptly he was trembling with fear and rage and guilt. “How can I sleep? How can I go to bed tonight and pretend Cynthia isn’t out there unprotected?”
Heather’s arms went around his slim waist. Her slender ringless hands moved soothingly across his back. “We’ll start looking again as soon as it’s light. Quinn, she may be alone, but we know she has enough money to pay for a decent room.” Silently she prayed for the teenager’s safety. “We’ll keep on looking until we find her.”
Quinn held on to her. She was such a little thing. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. But the compassion and the warmth she offered made her worth her weight in gold.
“Yes, we will.” Every time he closed his eyes he saw his daughter’s face. No matter what she’d done, he still loved her.
“You did all the driving. You’ve got to be exhausted.”
“I can’t rest until I know she’s safe.” Quinn steadied Heather before he took a step back from her enticing warmth. Desire should be the last thing on his mind. Yet he ached for the kind of sweet explosive release he instinctively knew Heather could give him. He was a hot-blooded man. And he knew he couldn’t accept her sweet companionship. What he wanted was to make love to her... tonight.
Dropping down to the bed and tucking her bare legs beneath her, she said “Okay, we’ll pass what’s left of the night together. We can play cards, tell old stories about college days.” She didn’t want him to leave... she didn’t want him to spend what was left of the night brooding.
He swallowed before he said, “Girl, you get in that bed and get some rest.”
Heather shook her head, tightening the sash around her waist and resolutely crossed her arms beneath her plump breasts. “We’re in this together.”
The action redirected his interested to the bounty of her softness. His eyes bore into hers, taking in the sexy pout of her soft mouth. Was the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top? Both—he decided after considerable study-were luscious, full, and so inviting. Her pink tongue briefly moistened the succulent bounty. Quinn’s nostrils flared as he fought the hunger licking at his insides, leaving him hard and throbbing with desire to taste her mouth.
“Stay,” she said softly, determined to hide the shock of her recent discovery. She’d been charmed by his smile, intrigued by his intellect, amazed by his strength, dazzled by his thoughtfulness, and thrilled by his wit. He was unlike any man she had ever known. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to see his pain. She longed to ease that heartache.
Her small chin lifted as if she were quite willing and able to meet the challenge in his heated gaze. Humor caused his mouth to lift for an instant. She would win any battle of wills between the two of them. All she had to do was look at him with those soulful eyes and he was lost.
Although amused by her determination to have her own way, he couldn’t seem to look beyond the expanse of her soft brown shoulders and the silky length of her throat. Her skin was like liquid gold, rich and creamy smooth. He studied that tender spot at the base of her neck, perfect for a man’s tongue ... his tongue. Quinn ached to make her purr with pleasure—satisfaction he alone could give her.
Each night since their very first kiss, he’d been unable to sleep until he allowed his thoughts of Heather the freedom to roam. And the memory of how she felt in his arms flooded his senses with pleasure.
Tonight Quinn was hurt and angry with his daughter. His sense of defeat was enormous. And it was overshadowed by a crushing sense of fear. Even though it shamed him to admit it, he knew he needed Heather. If he so much as kissed her tonight, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He was so hot for her, he could take her right here and now—on the bed, on the floor, in the damn bathtub. He didn’t much care where. He wanted Heather Gregory just that badly.
He cursed the conscience that wouldn’t permit him to use her. And in so doing, he ignored the dictates of his body demanding he do whatever was necessary to eliminate the discomfort of his arousal.
No matter how willing and ripe for the taking she might look curled up on the bed, making love wasn’t an option. Abruptly, Quinn turned to leave.
“Quinn—”
“Breakfast at six,” he said tersely, walking through the open doorway between the rooms. He didn’t wait for a response.
He slammed his bathroom door closed behind him. Stripping with little regard for his clothes, Quinn turned on the shower. He couldn’t breathe easy until cold water coursed down his scalding hot flesh.
Heather remained where she was—her heart heavy with love, disappointment, and an odd sense of relief. At least Quinn was using his head—at least he had his priorities straight. For a dangerous instant, she’d forgotten her reason for being in Dayton with him. She’d forgotten everything but how he made her feel.
By mutual yet unspoken agreement they left the door between their rooms open, although neither breached the other’s privacy.
When Cynthia opened her eyes, her head felt as if it were about to explode. She whimpered in pain.
“Wake up, baby,” the elderly black woman said. “This ‘ere cool towel ‘elp ease t’at pain in your ‘ead.”
Cynthia had no choice but to obey. “Where am I?” She discovered her voice was so hoarse she could hardly speak.
“Don’t you be frettin’. Miss Mattie looks out for you. Ain’t nothin’ gonna’ ‘urt ya ‘ere. Lay still, but don’ go back to sleep.”
Cynthia’s head hurt so badly and she hurt all down her left side. It hurt to move. Suddenly the nightmare in the street flooded her mind, and she gasped aloud as the horrible fear and betrayal returned.
“I knows that side stings a bit, too. I cleaned it and put some ointment on it.”
“I remember...” Cynthia mumbled.
“Shush. Mattie ain’t gonna let no one bot’er you. Just close thems pretty eyes and rest.”
As Cynthia felt the cool dampness of the cloth and the woman’s soothing sweet humming, her eyes drifted and she slept.
All too soon the older woman was shaking her awake again. Cynthia’s head hurt so bad all she wanted to do was sleep. But the woman wouldn’t let her sleep for long.
Early the next morning, she needed to use the bathroom. She was so dizzy that she would have fallen without the elderly woman’s assistance. She was so tired, so tired. She was so grateful when the woman let her sleep.
When she awoke again, the late afternoon sunlight peeked in from the frayed edge of the drawn shade. Cynthia lay on a lumpy sofa, a patchwork quilt covering her. Her eyes slowly moved around the cramped but very neat one room apartment. A tiny kitchen area took up one corner of the room. A narrow bed off to the side, a chest of drawers, and nightstand comprised the bedroom area. The living room consisted of a sofa and an old battered rocking chair. Aged photographs graced chipped water-stained walls. The floor was covered with faded blue linoleum which buckled in the center of the room. The old scarred furniture gleamed from lemon-scented polish—everything was old but spotlessly clean.
“Ain’t much,” the older woman said. She was seated in the rocker, a crochet hook speeding along the top row of the pink and white afghan pleated neatly in her lap. “But enough for an old woman. Now tell Miss Mattie how you feels, puddin.”
“Better.”
“Headache all gone?”
“Still hurts. But not like before,” Cynthia said, sitting up very slowly.
“What yo name?”
“Cynthia,” she said, suppressing a moan. “How did I get here?”
“I hears ya screaming down in the alley. I yelled out to leave ya alon’. Called Joe downstairs in the bar to go out t’ere and see about you.” She frowned, “I can’t get up and down ‘em steps too good no more. So Joe brought ya to me. Wants me to calls yo peoples?” Her black watery eyes were filled with kindness.
“They took my wallet, my bracelet, and my mother’s locket.” Tears slowly trickled down Cynthia’s brown face as she realized that her dad was going to be furious when he found out. And she had seven hundred dollars in that purse. He would blame her for all of this. And he would be right. If she hadn’t run away from home, none of this would have happened.
“Did he see my bag? My clothes and makeup were inside.”
“Nope.”
Cynthia’s lips trembled as she realized she was left with nothing more than the clothes on her back.
“You knows t’at man and t’at gal?”
“Him, no, but I met Eva in the bus station. She invited me to go with her, get something to eat. He must have been following me. I’m not sure. All I remember is trying to stop him. I bit him hard and then he pushed me. I hit my head.”
Tears filled her eyes. She groaned because her head hurt when she cried. Stupid! Stupid! She’d gone and given her father another reason to be disappointed in her. Another reason to be sorry he had her for a daughter. She might look like her mother, but she wasn’t like her at all. She made one stupid mistake after another. No wonder her father didn’t want to spend any time with her. She couldn’t blame her father for not being proud of her. She’d never done anything in her whole life to make him proud.
What was she going to do? How could she go home? Seven hundred dollars gone. Her father had told her to stay in the bus station. And she disobeyed him once again. She couldn’t go back home now. She couldn’t!
“Now... now. Can’t nothin’ be t’at bad,” Miss Mattie cooed. “From around here, child?”
“No.”
“Want me to call yo peoples?”
Cynthia shook her head, making herself wince. “No. I don’t have anyone to call.” She had trusted that girl, Eva or whatever her name was—and she had tricked her. Now she was too scared to face her father. After all the things she had done, he’d never forgive her. Not ever. “Excuse me, Miss Mattie, I need to use your bathroom?”
“Go ‘ead. Need help?”
“No, ma’am.” Cynthia tried to return the woman’s grin, but failed.
When she returned having freshened up as best she could, Miss Mattie was at the stove stirring a large fragrant pot. The kitchen, like every inch of the tiny apartment was clean and gleaming with care.
“‘ungry? Got nice bit of beef stew and biscuits. I makes me own. Although my touch is not as light as my mama’s. Lord, t’at woman could make some biscuits. Come, sit down, puddin’.” She motioned to the small card table and two straight-back chairs jammed into the kitchen area.
Cynthia found it best to move very slowly.
“I ‘pect you still a bit dizzy. T’at’s a good size lump on the side of your ‘ead.” Miss Mattie placed the steaming hot food in front of her. “Got some buttermilk and lemonade in the icebox.”
“Lemonade, please.”
She chuckled. “Nice to see you ‘aven’t lost your sweet tooth,” she said opening the aged refrigerator.
“Thank you. And thanks for taking care of me.”
“Glad to ‘elp. You looks like such nice young thang.”
Cynthia did smile then. Miss Mattie reminded her of Mrs. Thornton. She had always been kind to her. Maybe she didn’t have a mother like the other girls. But she did have Mrs. Thornton and she had a friend... Heather. And she had a father. If only she had thought about them before she’d run away. But how could she stay? She had told so many lies. Now it was too late to go back. Her father couldn’t forgive her, and Heather was bound to be disappointed in her. No amount of wishing could push the calendar back.
“How old ya, Cynthia?”
“Fifteen.”
“Why ya out on the street like t’is? Police lookin’ for you, gal?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You run from home?”
Cynthia’s head snapped up too quickly, causing her eyes to fill with tears. “I don’t feel so good.” She dropped her head onto the table. “Please, do you have an aspirin?” She was so tired and she hurt all over.
“Just a minute.” When Miss Mattie returned, she said, “ ‘ere, take t’is.”
Whimpering, Cynthia complied. “I need to lay down.”
“In a few mo’ minutes. But first we gonna’ get some food into ya. Ain’t eaten a spoon full of nothin’ since you been ‘ere. Now come on, baby. Just a little stew.”
Cynthia did feel better after she had eaten. She just couldn’t eat very much. Once she was comfortably arranged on the sofa, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
“Go ahead, sleep do a body good.”
Cynthia woke sometime later. Her head was clear and even her side had settled into a dull ache. “Any stew left?”
“Plenty in the pot.” Miss Mattie smiled from where she was seated at the kitchen table reading her Bible.
Cynthia returned the smile. She was almost finished eating when Miss Mattie asked, “Why you run, puddin?”
Cynthia stared at her. “You have no right—”
“Long as you in my house, ya respec’ me and listen to what I got t’say.”
Cynthia was immediately humble. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What yo plans?”
“Don’t know.” Cynthia realized that she didn’t have so much as a toothbrush to call her own. How in the world was she going to take care of herself? She had no money. No place to stay.
“Not on drugs? I didn’t see no needle marks on ya. But t’ey’s ot’er kinds of fool stuff young folks take nowadays to get high. Well?”
“No!”
“So why’d you run?”
Cynthia clamped her mouth closed. She wasn’t being disrespectful, she just couldn’t answer.
Miss Mattie clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She pursed out her lips. “Kids nowdays sees and knows too much. Ain’t got no business knowin’ all t’at. Havin’ babies for t’ey grown.’ She didn’t notice Cynthia avert her eyes. “Does everythin’ too early, makeup, tight clothes. Too grown, I tell ya. And ends up sellin’ t’eir bodies when thangs gets rough for ‘em. Can’ run away from your troubles, puddin’. Just be waitin’ on down the next block.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Can’t understand unless ya won’ be telling me. But don’t worry about t’at now. Finish eating yo supper, child. Got more if’n ya want it.”
“I can pay you. I got five dollars. I found it tucked in my pocket.”
“Keep yo money. Ya gonna need it more ‘n me.” She picked up her Bible and her glasses, then began reading the text. In spite of her eighty-odd years, her warm brown skin was still soft and unblemished. Her glossy thick white hair was brushed back away from her fine-boned face and French-braided into a single neat pleat.
Over breakfast Quinn and Heather decided to visit the hospitals in the area, as well as hotels and motels they’d called the night before circulating pictures of Cynthia. They were still in agreement that she couldn’t have left on that late night bus.
“How’s the foot?”
“Better,” she smiled. “Thanks to you.” She’d soaked it again that morning. And Quinn had wrapped it for her. Heather had even managed to get her shoe back on.
Neither one of them had gotten much rest. Quinn had been on the telephone most of the night, staying in contact with Detroit and the Dayton police. There had been nothing to report. He looked tired, the skin around his mouth and eyes were pinched and strained. Even on the drive to the diner before breakfast he was popping antacids like candy. Heather shared his worries.
“I think we should add the shelters for homeless women and children the police told us about to our list.”
“Are you crazy?” he exploded. Tossing the necessary bills for their meal on the table, he got to his feet.
“Quinn?”
“I said no.”
Heather quirked a brow at him.
“Ready? By the time we finish with the hospitals in and around the city, the print shop should be open and we can get the posters made. It’s a good thing I thought to bring along that pack of her school pictures.”
Heather waited until they were outside on the sidewalk before she said, “It can’t hurt to try the homeless shelters.”
“It’s a complete waste of time.”
“It’s worth a try,” she insisted, refusing to back down.
Quinn scowled. It hurt too much to even think of his little girl feeling that desperate... that alone. Gently pressing his hand against the small of her back, he spanned her slim waist, urging her forward toward the parking lot. Heather looked fresh and attractive in slim-fitting stonewashed jeans and a white silk blouse with large turquoise buttons down the front. Her black leather jacket protected her from the crisp morning air.
“I know it’s not pleasant to even think about your Cynthia being desperate enough to have to go to a homeless shelter, Quinn. But we can’t just turn our backs on any possibility. No matter how remote it seems we have to try. Honey, please.” The endearment slipped out as she turned toward him, looking up into his dark handsome face.
“Let me think about it, okay?”
Quinn’s wide shoulders and hard chest was covered by a wheat-colored cotton sweater and his long legs and lean hips were encased in navy blue jeans. He carried a denim jacket over one shoulder and on his feet were white athletic shoes. He looked rugged and outdoorsy, not like the smooth sophisticated lawyer she knew him to be.
“Alright Quinn, maybe we should split up so we can cover more ground. I could rent a car.”
“Uh-uh. I prefer to have you with me—we work well together.” He sighed, opening the door for her. “Maybe we’ll get lucky. Or the police will find her. Someone has to have seen her.”
Quinn gave Heather the map and the list. “You navigate, I’ll drive.”
There was no sign of Cynthia at any of the hospitals. Heather and Quinn were both relieved by that stroke of luck. Their next stop was the police station. There was simply no news. So they moved on to the printer and then started working on their list of hotels and motels.
At noon Quinn stopped at their hotel.
“Why are we stopping here?”
“Sugar dumplin’, you’re beat. Get some sleep. I’ll finish up. There are only a half dozen more places to go.”
“Alright,” she said, too tired to argue the point. “Good luck,” she called as he pulled back into traffic. “Bring her back safe.”
Heather wasn’t sure what woke her. She was curled up on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow. She frowned at the phone on her nightstand. It was silent. When it rang again, she realized the sound was coming from Quinn’s room.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly, having run to catch it. Her robe was loose belted around her waist.
The hiss of the shower, the jeans and sweater Quinn had worn were on the chair, alerting her to his return.
“Yes, this is Mr. Montgomery’s room. Can I help you?” A noise behind Heather made her turn around. Quinn emerged from the bathroom.
“Oh...” Quinn said. His deep brown torso sported a towel which stopped at mid thigh. It hung low on his trim hips. His stomach was taunt and firm, his shoulders broad, his chest smooth and hairless.
Heather forced her eyes away. Quivering in response to his masculine beauty, she said in a whisper, “It’s the desk. They want to know if we’ll need the rooms another night?” The look in his eyes was explanation enough. Evidently he hadn’t had any luck in finding Cynthia. “Yes, we’re staying on,” she said into the telephone.