The Mighty Quinns: Malcolm. Kate Hoffmann
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only two of us here,” she said.
He leaned closer. “I know. The perfect plan, don’t you think?”
“Thank you,” she murmured, grabbing her beer and crisps. “And—and welcome home.”
She hurried back to her table, needing just a moment to regroup. All right, he was handsome and very charming. And that smile was enough to melt any woman’s resistance. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t act like a professional.
Amy fixed her attention on her computer screen, afraid to risk another glance. The problem was, she really wasn’t a professional journalist. She knew exactly what made for a perfect story, she could even write a perfect story. She’d just never gone out and found a story. There were probably all sorts of tricks that journalists used to get their subject to confess all their deepest secrets. She just had no idea what those tricks were. She’d been more worried about beating her father and her editor to the story than to research journalistic practices.
Should she introduce herself right off the bat or should she get friendly with him first and ease her way into an interview? Maybe she could just get him to talk about his work or his family and he wouldn’t even realize she was interviewing him. Was that ethical? Probably not, but it might be the only way she could get what she needed.
“So what are you staring at? You seem awfully intent on that screen. Let me guess. Porn?”
Amy froze, then slowly looked up. “No, not porn. It’s my work computer. I can’t watch porn on my work computer. That would be against the rules.”
“Do you always follow the rules, then?”
“I—I try to,” Amy murmured. Mal pulled out the chair across from her, turned it around and straddled the seat. He rested his arm across the back and took a slow sip of his beer. “Go ahead. Carry on. I don’t want to interrupt your work.”
Amy’s heart slammed in her chest as she refocused on the screen in front of her. Here he was, ready to talk. Now she just had to keep up her end of the conversation. “Thank you for the drink—and the crisps.” She glanced up to find him grinning at her. “What?”
“Nothing,” Malcolm replied. “I’m just enjoying the view.”
She scanned the room. “I—I don’t understand.” Then she realized he was talking about her. Amy’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“I haven’t seen a beautiful woman in a month, so I’m just going to sit here and stare at you, if you don’t mind. I’ll try not to bother you.”
Pretty? Did he really think she was pretty? She’d never really applied that term to herself. She wasn’t unattractive, just...ordinary.
“You must have been gone longer than a month if you think I’m pretty,” she murmured, unable to keep herself from returning the smile.
“Aw, now, don’t say that. You’re lovely.”
She glanced around the pub. “I don’t have much competition,” she countered.
“Well, I happen to be a very good judge of beauty. I’ve seen some of the most beautiful places in the world. So trust me on this.”
“Thank you,” Amy said. “For the crisps and the compliment.”
“I’m Mal Quinn, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Amy said.
A long silence fell between them as she tried to decide what to do. In the end, she didn’t have a choice, the introduction just came out. “I’m Amy Engalls. I’m a reporter from High Adventure magazine and I’ve come here to interview you.”
She quickly grabbed his hand and shook it, then held on tight, hoping that he wouldn’t get up and walk out the door.
He studied her silently, as if he needed time to form a response. “Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.” Mal slowly got to his feet. “I suppose you want a quote. I’ll make it quick and painless. No comment.”
He pulled out of her grasp and headed toward the door. Amy hurried after him. “Wait. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”
“No explanation necessary,” he muttered. “Billy, it was nice seeing you again.”
The barkeeper watched them, confused. “You goin’ already, Mal?”
“Yeah. The place is a little quiet for my tastes right now. I’ll be back later.” He set his glass on the bar and walked out.
Amy looked at Billy and groaned. “I’m sorry,” she called.
“What the hell did you say to him?” Billy asked.
“No comment.” She hurried over to her table and gathered her things, hoping she could catch up to him. A real reporter wouldn’t give up her story without a fight, and neither would Amy.
* * *
THE MOMENT MAL got outside the pub, he let out a long string of profanities. He’d realized he’d have to deal with this sooner or later, but he hadn’t expected it this soon. What the hell was a reporter doing here, in his hometown? The story must be much bigger than he’d ever assumed.
And how the hell was he supposed to react? He and his family had dealt with the loss for nearly twenty years now, and yet the pain hadn’t dulled at all. There were still the “what ifs,” all the possible scenarios that could have unfolded that day on the mountain that could have resulted in a different outcome. Those were the worst.
What might it have been like to grow up with a father? It wasn’t as if his childhood had been bad. There’d just been a huge, gaping hole in his family that Max Quinn should have filled. How was he supposed to explain these things to a total stranger? This wasn’t about some frozen body on Mount Everest. This was about his father.
“Mr. Quinn!”
He spun around to find the reporter running toward him. In the next instant, she stumbled over a crack in the pavement and before he could reach to help her, she went down, face-first. “Oh, hell,” Mal muttered, racing to her side.
By the time he got to her, she had managed to sit up, but both her knees were scraped and bleeding and her computer was in pieces around her. “Oh, no,” she said, picking up the shattered bits of plastic.
“Are you all right? Did you hit your head?”
She reached up and touched her forehead. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Anything broken? Does it hurt anywhere?”
“Just my pride,” she said, wincing.
He met her eyes and his anger softened. She was only trying to do her job. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so rude. “Can you stand?”
She nodded her head. He took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Thank you.”
“What’s your name again?”
“Amy Engalls.”
“Amy Engalls from High Adventure,” Mal said. “Any relation to Richard Engalls, the publisher?”
“He’s my father,” she said.
“And that would make David Engalls your brother?”
“Yes,” she said.
Richard Engalls had built his media empire, in part, to fund his love of adventure. He’d circumnavigated the globe in a balloon, had attempted to row across the Atlantic, and had climbed all Seven Summits. He’d also funded a number of expeditions and was the go-to investor in adventure expeditions after the National Geographic Society. Mal had also met David Engalls, the younger version of his father, who was very good at spending millions of Daddy’s money on his own exotic adventures. Mal’s opinion of David was that he was a horse’s arse—but a very wealthy