Hearts On The Line. Margaret Daley
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you don’t. I gladly give it to you.” She headed toward her living room. “Let’s go in here.”
As Becca sat on her beige and navy print couch, Quinn took the seat next to her. This was the largest room in her house and all of a sudden it felt as if it were the size of a closet. With her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, she tried to tamp down the racing of her heart. This was a business meeting, nothing else, and it certainly wasn’t a date—she couldn’t even believe she’d thought the word.
“Well, how bad is it?” Becca asked before the silence became uncomfortable and she started prattling.
“The estimate?” He opened his folder and took out a sheet of paper. “See for yourself. This will take care of the kitchen, the flooring in the attic and the ceiling in the bedroom.”
Before she peered at the paper he held, she quipped, “Since your brother was a cop, you do realize how little we are paid?”
He chuckled. “Yes, you’re definitely underpaid for the work you do. After what happened the other day, I’d double your pay.”
Her gaze lifted to his. Suddenly they were back on the rooftop of the unfinished building, both trying to keep David James from jumping. A bond sparked the air, and Becca felt as if she had known Quinn well for years.
She broke their visual connection and reached for the paper. Her hand quivered as she grasped it and hoped he hadn’t seen her reaction to what had just occurred. She didn’t trust easily, having seen the seamy side of life for too many years. And yet there was something in Quinn that called to her, that urged her to put her trust in him.
After studying the figures, she said, “This is very reasonable. This includes replacing the cabinets in the kitchen?”
He nodded. “I’m going to do some of the work in the kitchen myself.”
“You are? Why?” she asked without really thinking.
“Because I haven’t had a chance to do a project like this in a long time and I’m treating myself. I miss working with my hands. Lately I’ve been doing too much of the administrative part of my job, especially with supervising the rebuilding of our barn and shop that was destroyed in the fire. So I’ve decided to personally oversee this renovation, if that’s all right with you.”
“All right? Yes, of course it is! I’ve heard Brendan talk about the staircase you carved in your house. It sounds exquisite.”
“It took me four months, but I like how it turned out. I’ll show you one day.”
The thought of going to his house and seeing some of his work thrilled her. “I’d like that.”
“Actually, if you’ve got some time today, I could take you now. I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I’d be honored to see your work and—” she took the pen he held and signed the estimate “—I agree with your terms.” Handing the paper back to him, she continued, “I never thought I would get personal attention from the owner of the company.”
A dimple appeared in his cheek when he grinned. “The honor is all mine.”
“When can you start?”
“Wednesday. I have a few things to clear up. We’re moving our stuff back into the shop and barn tomorrow. It’s been an intense couple of months getting everything done since the fire.”
“I guess it pays to own a construction company.”
“In this case, yes. I won’t be taking security lightly, either. I’ve hired several extra people to look out for our offices and outlying buildings.”
Relief flowed through her. “Good. I’m glad you’re being careful.”
“If you’re a Vance or Montgomery lately in Colorado Springs, you have to be.”
“Which reminds me, we arrested Ritchie Stark. He’ll be charged in Neil O’Brien’s murder.” She started to stand.
“I know.”
She halted in midmotion, slicing him a look. “How? It just happened late last night.”
“Sam told me this morning at church.”
Becca straightened, for a few seconds hovering over Quinn until he rose. He stood only a foot away, his clean, fresh scent that reminded her of a pine forest wafting to her. Dressed in tan slacks and a navy blue polo shirt, he looked like he had come right from church.
“What was Stark’s motive?”
“He’s not saying at the moment. He lawyered up. Maybe some jail time will loosen his tongue. I doubt he’ll make bail.”
“I keep wondering if all this is connected. Everything started with Max’s attempted murder. I’ve been thinking—Escalante has to be behind the attempt on the mayor because of what happened last year. But what connection does Escalante have with Neil O’Brien? With Dahlia Sainsbury? Was Alessandro right about Dahlia working for Escalante? If so, why is she dead? What changed?”
Becca skirted her glass coffee table and snatched up her purse. “You ask some very good questions. Ones we hope to get answers to soon. Stark’s arrest is our big break. Having suspicions is one thing. We need proof to hold up in a court of law.” She withdrew her car keys. “I’ll follow you to your house.”
“I’ll drive.”
“But that means you have to come back here.”
“I have to anyway. I need to get some measurements in your kitchen. I’ll need a few things from my house.”
“I have a yardstick.”
“Not exactly what I need. It’s only fifteen minutes away and remember, I have the whole afternoon.”
“You sound like you don’t know what to do with free time.”
“Free time. What’s that? I haven’t had any in months.”
“Then I insist you wait until Wednesday to start. I don’t want to take away any of your free time. Believe me, I know how hard it is to come by.”
“So we have established we’re both workaholics,” he said with a laugh, stepping outside onto the porch while she locked her front door.
“Is there any other way?”
“Actually, yes. Before Dad retired and I took over the business, I knew what a vacation meant. This is temporary for me. I don’t intend for my whole life to be work. There’s so much more to life.”
Work was all she knew, Becca thought, not sure she could live any other way. “Vacation? What’s that?”
“Perhaps I need to teach you how to play, Becca Hilliard.”
The idea intrigued Becca more than she wanted to admit. Then she remembered all the unsolved cases of late and knew she wouldn’t be playing anytime soon.
THREE
Quinn pulled into his driveway, wondering if the reason he was drawn to Becca was because they both needed to work less and play more. God, are You trying to tell me something? I know I’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately. I plan to slow down—soon. I don’t want to go back to how I was after Maggie’s death. If You hadn’t knocked some sense into me, I would have self-destructed.
“Somehow I figured you for an ultramodern kind of guy.” Becca gestured toward his large Victorian house, painted white with forest green shutters and a profusion of multicolored flowers adorning the beds along the front.
He switched off the engine. “Why?”
“I’ve seen a couple of the buildings your company has constructed. They’re all glass and chrome.”
“Not all the buildings. Besides, I have to follow the architect’s