right then and there. No man had ever turned down her invitation for coffee.
As the Jeep pulled away, Lucy opened her door and entered the house. She locked the dead bolt behind her and flipped on the ceiling light in the living room. Well, she thought as she moved across the room and sank onto her burgundy silk couch, she didn’t have to wonder if he’d asked her out for sex. “I want more,” he’d said. To most men, sex was more.
She tossed her purse on her antique Chinese coffee table and stared at the brick fireplace to her left. He wasn’t married, and he’d just proved he wasn’t out for a quickie. He wanted more, but was that what she wanted?
Jumping into a relationship seemed a little precipitous. Rash. Crazy. She hadn’t known him long enough. She didn’t have time for a man. Especially a man who could be looking to replace his wife. All of those things spelled heartache for Lucy, but deep down inside, none of those very rational reasons mattered.
She wanted to see more of him. There was something about Quinn, some thing that made her smile and her stomach flutter a little. He intrigued her and made her want to slide her hands all over him. Yeah, she definitely wanted to see what he meant by “more.”
But there was just one small problem. For any sort of relationship to survive, it had to be built on the truth. She had to be honest with him.
No more lies.
Chapter 7
Down2basix: Seeks Nontalker…
The last rays of the setting sun painted the valley in blue and pink as Quinn finished testifying in the Raymond Deluca case. He pushed open the glass doors of the Ada County Court House and pulled a breath of fresh air into his lungs. Outside, a chopped Nissan added its high-pitched whine to the traffic speeding past on Myrtle Street. A cool April breeze tugged at his red tie and the lapels of his navy wool blazer as he headed across the brick sidewalk toward the parking lot.
Raymond Deluca’s defense lawyer had gone after Quinn as he’d expected, attacking the time line and questioning the forensic evidence, trying to make it appear as if Quinn hadn’t done his job. After sixteen years of experience, Quinn had been ready for everything the lawyer had thrown at him. In the end, there had been no way the lawyer could discredit that gasoline transaction at 2:35 a.m.
Quinn moved across the parking lot and unlocked the door to his white unmarked car. Mr. Deluca was up for capital murder and would probably get the death penalty. Quinn supposed he should feel bad at the prospect. He supposed it was the compassionate, human way to feel, but he’d been at the autopsy of Mrs. Deluca and her three children. He’d seen what the fire had done to them, and he was fresh out of compassion for anyone but the victims.
He fired up his car and headed across town. He turned on Grove Street and drove past the Grove Hotel, with its infamous river sculpture on the exterior wall.
The sculpture was supposed to represent the Boise River, but it resembled quake damage more than anything else. It wasn’t uncommon to see tourists standing in front of the multicolored crack, their brows scrunched as they wondered what the hell they were supposed to be looking at. To confuse them further, the crack sometimes wafted steam, which was supposed to resemble fog. It didn’t.
Quinn was the first to admit that he knew zero to nothing about art. There were really cool sculptures and paintings around the city; the crack in the Grove Hotel just wasn’t one of them.
He pulled to a stop at a red light and reached for his sunglasses. With the Deluca case behind him, his thoughts turned to Lucy. He was a cop, trained to pay attention to detail and have near-perfect recall, but he didn’t need any tricks of the trade to recall every second of the night before when he’d stood on her front porch kissing her. He’d held her face in his hands with her smooth hair tangled in his fingers. Her mouth had tasted like warm woman, and she’d
As the Jeep pulled away, Lucy opened her door and entered the house. She locked the dead bolt behind her and flipped on the ceiling light in the living room. Well, she thought as she moved across the room and sank onto her burgundy silk couch, she didn’t have to wonder if he’d asked her out for sex. “I want more,” he’d said. To most men, sex was more.
She tossed her purse on her antique Chinese coffee table and stared at the brick fireplace to her left. He wasn’t married, and he’d just proved he wasn’t out for a quickie. He wanted more, but was that what she wanted?
Jumping into a relationship seemed a little precipitous. Rash. Crazy. She hadn’t known him long enough. She didn’t have time for a man. Especially a man who could be looking to replace his wife. All of those things spelled heartache for Lucy, but deep down inside, none of those very rational reasons mattered.
She wanted to see more of him. There was something about Quinn, some thing that made her smile and her stomach flutter a little. He intrigued her and made her want to slide her hands all over him. Yeah, she definitely wanted to see what he meant by “more.”
But there was just one small problem. For any sort of relationship to survive, it had to be built on the truth. She had to be honest with him.
No more lies.
Chapter 7
Down2basix: Seeks Nontalker…
The last rays of the setting sun painted the valley in blue and pink as Quinn finished testifying in the Raymond Deluca case. He pushed open the glass doors of the Ada County Court House and pulled a breath of fresh air into his lungs. Outside, a chopped Nissan added its high-pitched whine to the traffic speeding past on Myrtle Street. A cool April breeze tugged at his red tie and the lapels of his navy wool blazer as he headed across the brick sidewalk toward the parking lot.
Raymond Deluca’s defense lawyer had gone after Quinn as he’d expected, attacking the time line and questioning the forensic evidence, trying to make it appear as if Quinn hadn’t done his job. After sixteen years of experience, Quinn had been ready for everything the lawyer had thrown at him. In the end, there had been no way the lawyer could discredit that gasoline transaction at 2:35 a.m.
Quinn moved across the parking lot and unlocked the door to his white unmarked car. Mr. Deluca was up for capital murder and would probably get the death penalty. Quinn supposed he should feel bad at the prospect. He supposed it was the compassionate, human way to feel, but he’d been at the autopsy of Mrs. Deluca and her three children. He’d seen what the fire had done to them, and he was fresh out of compassion for anyone but the victims.
He fired up his car and headed across town. He turned on Grove Street and drove past the Grove Hotel, with its infamous river sculpture on the exterior wall.
The sculpture was supposed to represent the Boise River, but it resembled quake damage more than anything else. It wasn’t uncommon to see tourists standing in front of the multicolored crack, their brows scrunched as they wondered what the hell they were supposed to be looking at. To confuse them further, the crack sometimes wafted steam, which was supposed to resemble fog. It didn’t.
Quinn was the first to admit that he knew zero to nothing about art. There were really cool sculptures and paintings around the city; the crack in the Grove Hotel just wasn’t one of them.
He pulled to a stop at a red light and reached for his sunglasses. With the Deluca case behind him, his thoughts turned to Lucy. He was a cop, trained to pay attention to detail and have near-perfect recall, but he didn’t need any tricks of the trade to recall every second of the night before when he’d stood on her front porch kissing her. He’d held her face in his hands with her smooth hair tangled in his fingers. Her mouth had tasted like warm woman, and she’d
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