In Too Deep (9 page)

“So you like standing in the rain,” Quinn said. He nodded toward Will, who still stood behind them. “I see you've already met Will. Patrick could use your help before you take off.”

Cal turned around to look at Will. “I just wanted to make sure this was the right boat, so I asked the first guy who came by,” he said to Quinn, his gaze remaining on Will. “Thanks.”

“Sure. No prob.” Will stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked back toward the dock and Patrick.

“So, what's this about somebody could have gotten killed?” Cal asked, repeating the question he'd asked earlier.

“An accident, that's all.” Lily moved under the wide eave, which provided a bit more protection from the rain. “The storm was gusting up a bit, and I lost my balance and fell overboard. But enough about that. What brings you here?”

“I had business in Juneau and decided to come see you.”

“Three hundred miles is a bit of a detour,” Quinn said.

“Well, true, and I admit that I didn't figure on things being quite so spread out,” Cal returned easily. “Or ferries that have this destination only once a week.”

“Do you need a place to stay?” Lily asked.

“No, I've got a room above the Tin Cup.” He glanced at his watch. “It's late, and I probably should let you go.” Looking at her, he added, “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, sure.” She watched him walk away and couldn't think of a single reason for him to be here except— “Cal, wait.” Crossing the ten feet from the shelter of the warehouse into the pouring rain, she hurried to him. “What's really going on? Has something happened?”

“No.”

Something of her disbelief must have shown in her face because he repeated, “No. I should have figured I'd worry you showing up like this. There's nothing that can't wait. Go home, I'll talk to you in the morning.”

More worried than she wanted to admit, she watched him walk away. When she turned around, Quinn stood under the eave, dividing his attention between her and the two young men on the dock. As Lily turned around to look at them, the image of those seconds just as she fell into the water came back to her. Her and Patrick reaching for the rosette so Quinn
could use his greater strength to hoist it high enough to attach it to the outrigger. Then a sudden jolt as Will slammed into her.

She shivered.

Quinn reached for her hand as she rejoined him. “Time to get you home and dry…again.”

Reassured by his solid presence, she said, “You won't get any argument from me.”

“And how do you know that guy?” Quinn asked, leading her toward his car. “You looked totally stunned to see him.”

“Because I am. I thought—” She took a deep breath and wondered how to tell the truth without revealing Cal's lie about how he knew her. “That part of my life was behind me.”

“The old lab, the old job?” Quinn questioned as they walked toward his SUV.

“Old life,” Lily said.
Why had Cal come?
As Quinn had said, Lynx Point was a long detour from Juneau. And why stand out here in the rain waiting for her if whatever was on his mind could wait? And if it couldn't, why hadn't he called or hired a plane to bring him instead of taking the ferry?

“Ah.” Quinn was silent a moment, then added, “Since you never talk about it, you make it easy to forget that you've been through a lot in the last couple of years.” Another pause, then with a laugh he said, “A little like saying rain is wet.”

“I didn't expect you to—”

“Remember?” He came with her to the passenger side of his vehicle and unlocked the door for her. As she climbed in, he said, “I should have Hilda check you out—make sure you're okay,” he said after he had settled in the driver's seat.

“Nothing that a long, hot soak in the tub won't cure.”

Their conversation turned to the things that needed to be done the following day, ordinary conversation that kept Quinn engaged with her. Sure, they had talked over the past couple of weeks, but until now he'd been distant. The dif
ference between his friendly attitude of late and his now-concerned
friend
was subtle. But it was there.

And, in the process of talking, he drove right past the turnoff to the Ericksen house.

“Stop,” she commanded.

He braked the car. “What?”

“I'm staying at the Ericksens'.”

“I'd forgotten about that. Do you miss living with your sister?”

“No,” Lily said with a soft chuckle. “And to be honest, I think Rosie likes this arrangement better, too.”

Quinn backed up the vehicle, then turned into the tree-lined road that led to the Ericksen house. The headlights sliced through the shimmering rain and an occasional wet branch slapped against the vehicle.

“This road is dark as a tomb,” Quinn said. “You're sure this is the right turn?”

She chuckled, then teased, “Do I strike you as the kind of person who couldn't find her own way home?”

“Who's watching the little munchkin when you work this late?” he asked instead of answering her.

“Sometimes she's at Rosie's. Tonight Hilda's daughter is watching her.”

“She really does have four kids?”

“She really does.”

“I heard that her husband was killed in a fishing accident,” Quinn said.

Lily nodded. “Years ago, not long after Angela was born. After John died…since she'd been through it, too, she understood in ways that no one else did. Since she's been able to raise her kids by herself, she's given me faith that I can manage with Annmarie.”

“I could tell you two were good friends.”

“The best,” she agreed. “And she never held it against me that I envied her when she began to have children. John and I wanted kids in the worst way, and it was a long time
before we admitted that my having a child wasn't in the cards.”

Ahead the yard light flickered through the trees and an old VW Bug was parked in front of the garage.

“But you did. Annmarie looks like you.”

“Actually, she looks like Rosie,” Lily said as he brought the vehicle to a stop next to the other car. “Thanks to her, I have a daughter.”

“I don't understand.”

“Rosie is Annmarie's birth mother. John and I adopted her when she was a day old.”

“She gave up her child?” His voice was sharp with accusation.

“She had a child for me—big difference. Every day, I'm grateful for the gift.” She opened the door to get out. “Thanks for bringing me home.”

Quinn opened his own door. “I'll see you in.”

“Okay.” Surprised again, she glanced at him. His expression revealed nothing of whatever was driving him.

She went to the back door behind the garage, which opened onto a mudroom. She slipped off her coat and hung it on a peg, then toed off her shoes, which she set neatly on a low shelf next to the chest freezer. She opened the door to the kitchen and called, “I'm home.”

“Hey, Lily,” Angela said, coming into the brightly lit room.

Lily glanced back to the mudroom where Quinn was also taking off his shoes, a slightly longer task than her own since his were lace-up work boots that came well over his ankles.

“Hey, yourself,” she said, dropping a kiss on the young woman's cheek and tucking a strand of green-dyed hair behind her ear. “Say hi to Quinn Morrison.”

She did and Quinn greeted her in return.

“New color this week,” Lily said, touching one of the strands of hair again. “I thought purple was the thing.”

“That was last week,” Angela said, making it sound as though last week had been eons rather than days ago.

“And what did you and Annmarie do tonight?”

“Watched movies—and I made sure they were age appropriate.”

Lily laughed. “Thank you. Since your mom's old Bug is outside, I'm guessing that she's letting you drive today.” Lily pulled some bills out of her purse and gave them to Angela.

“Yeah. Good thing she didn't think it would rain. Like I wouldn't know to turn on the windshield wipers or something.” Angela folded the money carefully, then stuffed the bills into her jeans' pocket and shrugged into a jacket.

“You're still available Monday after school?”

Angela nodded and headed out the door. “'Night.”

“Call me when you get home,” Lily called to her.

Angela shot her a disgusted look. “I'm not five.”

“I know. Call me, anyway.”

When the door clicked behind her, Lily glanced at Quinn, who had padded into the kitchen in his stockinged feet. This was the first time they had been alone since… That again. That thing she wasn't supposed to remember and couldn't forget.

“Make yourself at home,” she said with a wave. “I want to go check on Annmarie.”

Wondering what the hell he was doing here, Quinn watched Lily walk away from him. He should have stayed in the car. He should have bid her good-night and left her at the door. He should have…but he found himself following her through the house.

It was large, and though the furnishings were casual, he recognized they were also expensive. A huge leather couch flanked by big brass lamps faced a massive stone fireplace that dominated the living room. Quinn was sure the bank of windows with wood shutters closed against the night would overlook the inlet and the stretch of water that led to Foster Island.

“Nice place,” he said.

From the hallway, she glanced over her shoulder. “A little
too much leather for my taste, and way too many dead animals on the wall.”

The wall above the fireplace held an assortment of mounted heads—an elk with an impressive rack, a bear caught in a snarl, and a bull moose, among others.

In the dim hallway, Lily pushed open a door and disappeared inside. Quinn passed another doorway and peeked in. The master bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed. Farther down the hall, he stopped at the doorway where Lily had disappeared.

Inside he could see her sitting next to her daughter on the bed. Annmarie was evidently sound asleep. Her cat was curled up next to her, and Lily petted her briefly before touching the child's hair. Lily's face went all soft as she gazed at her daughter. Quinn knew for certain that no one had ever looked at him like that. Feeling like the intruder he knew himself to be, Quinn retreated to the kitchen.

Make yourself at home,
Lily had urged. He wasn't all that sure what she'd meant, but for some reason, making her something to eat seemed like a good idea. He opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. Within seconds he decided everything needed to make an omelette was available. A little more searching through cupboards and drawers turned up utensils.

He had whipped up the eggs and was halfway through warming a couple of slabs of ham when he remembered how good a cook Lily was. Again he asked himself what he was doing here, and reminded himself of all the reasons he needed to leave. She worked for him…cooking for her wasn't in the job description, so why was he still here? White picket fences…she was made for them. A saint of a dead husband…who the hell was Cal?

“Whatever you're making smells great,” she said from the doorway. She gently pulled the door closed behind her. The telephone rang and she answered it. Quinn deduced from Lily's side of the conversation that the caller was Angela announcing that she'd made it home.

“You look better,” he said when she hung up the telephone receiver. She had changed out of the baggy clothes that Rona had lent her into a pale yellow sweat suit and the lavender bathrobe he remembered. She had brushed her hair and pulled it away from her face in her California Girl look. There was nothing remotely suggestive about her purple slippers or her choice in clothes. But he remembered. The feel of her slim body in his arms. Oh, Lord, he remembered.

She grinned, moving toward him. “Since I looked like something even a cat would overlook, that's not saying much.”

He didn't bother correcting her. “That guy, Cal. Did you ever date him?” Quinn realized how bald and rude the question sounded the instant the words were out of his mouth.

She laughed as though the idea of dating the man was beyond possibility. “No.”

The flat denial relieved him.

“Hungry?”

She met his gaze, then held it. The oversize island housing a sink and cooktop separated them. Still, the air between them sizzled. He could have been swept away by her soft brown eyes, and he couldn't have broken that contact if his life depended on it. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, and he imagined kissing that very spot where her teeth had been.

“Starved,” she finally said.

The oil in one of the pans on the stove popped, and he glanced at it. With more confidence than he really felt, he poured the omelette mixture into the skillet.

“What can I do?” she asked, her gaze following his own around the kitchen, ending with the bare table. “Set the table,” she decided.

While she did that, he finished cooking the eggs—scrambled rather than the perfect omelette that he wanted.

“This looks good,” Lily said when he set the plate in front of her.

“It's just eggs,” he said. “No big deal.”

She patted the chair next to the place mat she had set out. “Grab another plate, Quinn. You're going to eat, too, aren't you, since you've made more than enough food for both of us?”

To him, it looked like the amount he could have eaten alone, but he retrieved another plate and sat down. She divided the food, giving him most of it.

“You're sure that's enough for you?” he asked.

“It's plenty.” She took a bite, then smiled. “Good. I really was hungry,” she added, then put another bite into her mouth. “Where did you learn to cook?”

He laughed. “Frying an egg is about even with boiling water.”

“Don't underestimate the importance of boiling water. What was your favorite food as a kid—the thing you most wanted your mom to make?” she asked. Then without waiting for an answer, added, “Mine was
lefse,
and though my mother gave me a griddle years ago, I don't make it as well as she does.”