Chapter 2

Quinn opened the back passenger door of the Town Car. Just as I was about to angle myself in, a strident female voice called out.

“Quinton!”

Quinn went very still. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. He turned and said in his cool Ice Man voice, “Hello, Susan. How are you?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you. Mitchell and Barbara McVeigh told me about running into you after Christmas, and you were with a man.” She glared at Mark. “Is this the faggot you dumped me for? Were you gay all the time we were seeing each other? Do I need to have myself and my fiancé tested?”

“The correct term is bisexual, and you needn’t get tested on my account. We never had sex, if you’ll recall.”

She turned an ugly shade of red and drew back her hand to slap him. Quinn, being a gentleman, would have allowed it.

On the other hand, I was no gentleman. I caught her wrist and closed my fingers around it. Her eyes widened, and she whimpered and tugged futilely.

“Mark.”

I let her go, and she stumbled backward and would have lost her balance, if Novotny hadn’t caught her. She jerked herself away, glared at him over her shoulder, then turned her glare on me.

Which didn’t faze me in the least.

“Listen to me, woman. Whether Quinn went with me or anyone else, you and he wouldn’t have worked out. You’ve got someone, so leave Quinn alone. And just remember this—I have friends all over town. If it gets back to me that you’re bad-mouthing him, I’ll come after you.”

“You’re—you’re threatening me? I’ll… I’ll report you to the authorities!”

“Y’know something? You’re boring me. Go away. Portia, do you want to sit in the back with me or in the front with Novotny?”

“In the front, Mark.”

Novotny bounded forward and opened the door for her. I was surprised he didn’t insist she sit in the backseat because it would have been safer.

Quinn was speaking to Susan Burkhart in such a quiet voice I couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Quinn, get in the car, would you? We’ve got stuff to do.”

“Of course, Mark. Susan, I won’t say it was nice seeing you again, but I do wish you every happiness.”

She gave a breathless little shriek, and Quinn turned his back on her. She saw I was watching, and she changed her mind about whatever she’d planned to do. Instead, she bolted down the sidewalk

First smart move she’d made since she’d accosted Quinn.

He waited until I settled myself in the backseat, then went around to the other side and got in

“I’ll say one thing about having you around,” Novotny muttered as he shoved the key into the ignition and started the engine with an annoyed twist. “Things are never dull.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or not.

2

NOVOTNY PARKED THE Town Car in the long driveway of the house Quinn had inherited. “I want to check out the garage,” he said. “Portia, will you join me?”

“Of course.”

Novotny took an umbrella, and they headed along the driveway. It wasn’t long before they were out of sight around the far side of the huge, sprawling house.Six thousand square feet that consisted of three stories, six bedrooms, a loft, and six and a half baths. There were outbuildings in addition to the house, and it was all set on two and a half acres

“Jesus, Quinn,” I growled as I got a good look at the condition of the house.

It was over a hundred years old, and frankly, it looked it. Shutters hung lopsidedly on rusted hinges, and windows were cracked or broken; shingles had fallen from the roof; trees encroached to within feet of its foundation; and ivy grew up the front walls, enclosing the porch like a shroud. The only thing that was new was the lock on the front door.

I braced my weight on the cane. “I thought your cousin said this place wasn’t in bad shape.”

“Possibly she’d become so used to its condition that it struck her that way.”

Possibly… but I wondered.

Heather Snow was the daughter of Nigel Mann’s half-brother, which made her Quinn’s cousin. After Addison Mann had kicked the bucket, she’d inherited the house that had belonged to a Mann from the time it had been built, shortly before the Spanish American War.

The house came to Quinn after Ms. Snow, the victim of a hit-and-run accident, passed away—something I’d have to look into because she was Quinn’s cousin and Quinn cared. And in addition, that “accident” sounded hinky.

Quinn looked from me to the steps that led up to the porch, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin. “Shall I carry you?”

That yanked me out of my sour mood, and I grinned back at him. “Over the threshold, you mean? Nice thought, but…” It might be 2003, but marriage wasn’t legal for same-sex couples in this country, dammit. That was too maudlin, so I said, “I think it might be a little uncomfortable for you to carry me.” I was six foot three and weighed a buck ninety-five, whereas Quinn stood five ten and tipped the scales at about thirty pounds less.