Читать книгу: «Urgent Vows»

Chapter One

2:35 p.m. Friday

“It should have been me. Not them,” Quinn Mc-Clure told the solemn-faced lawyer who’d agreed to this cloak-and-dagger meeting in a fast-food restaurant. But then, never in a million years could Quinn have imagined himself, with two young children in tow, on the run from a hit man.

Of medium height and average build, wearing a conservative gray suit topped with a black overcoat, Tom Parrish glanced up from the pages of the last will and testament of Quinn’s brother, Quentin Mc-Clure. Parrish was sharp, with a glint of ingrained caution evident in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Quinn nodded. He’d never felt so numb. His thoughts seemed disconnected from his body, neither fully registering the actions of the other. Or maybe it was that the part of him which had always been linked to his identical twin brother, Quentin, was irretrievably severed. And yet, Quinn had to think. Had to resist sinking into the black whirlpool of grief that had opened in the pit of his stomach. He had to do what was best for the children before he hunted down the bastard who’d gunned down Quentin and Carrie in their sleep.

A Mountie always gets his man. Even ex-Mounties.

Parrish set Quentin’s will aside on the table and picked up Carrie’s. Quinn’s fingers trembled as he tried unsuccessfully to blot the horror of identifying his brother and sister-in-law’s bodies from his mind. Tried not to remember the last joking conversation he’d had with Quentin when his brother had dropped by Quinn’s office Wednesday evening to pick up the ticket Quinn had bought him for a Senators’ hockey game.

Parrish’s narrow brow furrowed. “Both wills appoint a Charles Duncan as the children’s alternative guardian.”

“That’s Carrie’s dad,” Quinn explained, struggling to keep his teeming emotions from his tone. “He had a debilitating stroke just after Christmas. He’s in a nursing home in Nova Scotia. I guess Quentin and Carrie never got around to selecting someone else—”

Quinn swallowed hard, unable to continue. Heat seared the backs of his eyelids. He hadn’t called the nursing home yet. He couldn’t bear to think of Charlie being told such news by a stranger. Couldn’t bear to think of Charlie’s grief at learning his only child and her husband were dead. That his grandchildren were orphaned.

Twenty-six hours had passed since Quinn had received the horrible call early yesterday afternoon informing him that Quentin’s and Carrie’s bodies had been found in their home. He told himself that he’d made it through the first horrific day and could make it through another. He’d been an RCMP officer too long not to immediately suspect the grisly truth when he’d arrived on the scene. It looked like a professional hit. Forced entry in a neighborhood that hadn’t seen a break-and-enter in over three years. Victims shot at close range with a .22 semiautomatic. None of the neighbors had heard a sound, and there was no sign of the spent casings, which indicated the hit man had used a silencer. Not a damn thing was taken. A quick in-and-out job. Quentin’s wallet and Carrie’s purse weren’t even touched.

Damn. It was his fault.

Every day of his life he’d live with the torturous knowledge that the hit man had followed Quentin home by mistake. Quentin hadn’t had an enemy in the world. But Quinn had a long list of enemies—all of them criminals, and not one of whom appreciated his efforts to toss their sorry asses in prisons all over the globe for counterfeiting anything from currency, credit cards, checks and travel documents to high-end designer clothes, salon products and stuffed toys.

A forensic examiner specializing in counterfeit detection and prevention, Quinn had left the RCMP at the invitation of Oliver Wells, a forgery specialist who was ready to retire from the RCMP and wanted to open up a private consulting firm. Their clients were many and varied: government agencies, financial institutions, insurance companies, law-enforcement agencies, private-investigation and security agencies, and private companies all over the world sought out their technological expertise to deter fraud and their investigative skills to combat it.

Once Quinn had realized his twin’s death was a professional hit, it hadn’t taken him long to provide the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police with a short list of crime syndicates and individuals who possessed the motivation and the resources to order a hit on him. Not that he thought a list would do much good when the hit had likely been ordered by someone outside the country.

Quinn had a more straightforward means of finding out who’d hired the hit man. He planned to extract the information from the bastard when he came back to rectify his mistake. Oh yes, Quinn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the cold-blooded killer would return to finish the job he’d been hired to do. And when he did, Quinn planned to be ready and waiting. But first, he had to make sure that Quentin and Carrie’s children would be well taken care of in the event something happened to him.

Quinn cast a watchful eye toward the play area of the restaurant where his friend, Gordon Swenson, who’d arranged this meeting with the lawyer, was supervising nineteen-month-old Kyle and three-year-old Melanie’s antics in the ball room. Then he panned the room, checking for anyone or anything that seemed unusual or out of place. The police hadn’t released the names of the victims to the press yet, but that didn’t mean the hit man hadn’t already been alerted to his error.

Tom Parrish carefully placed Carrie’s will on top of Quentin’s and aligned the corners. “Given what Gord has told me over the phone about your circumstances, Quinn,” he ventured in a low tone, “the best way to ensure that your niece and nephew don’t end up wards of the Crown—in the unfortunate event of your death—would be for you to marry and appoint your wife as their guardian in your will. As their aunt, your wife would be considered a relative of the children and it’s unlikely the court would choose not to uphold your request, particularly since there would be no opposing claim. Have you been seeing anyone lately you might consider marrying?”

Quinn shook his head. He’d only ever considered marriage once in his life—very briefly—and that was a decade ago. “The ladies I occasionally date aren’t the nurturing types. Besides, Kyle and Mel deserve a mother who’ll love them as much as Carrie did and be willing to raise them on her own if she has to. From a security perspective, the children would be safer with a stranger. We don’t know the resources behind whoever ordered the hit. Once they realize I’ve gone into hiding with the children, they’ll start digging into my background looking for people who might be in a position to help me out. That’s why I came to you instead of my own lawyer. It minimizes the risk of discovery because there are no links to trace.”

Quinn rubbed his jaw, feeling the rasping bite of the stubble on his chin. “Gord told me you come from a big extended family. I don’t suppose you know any single women willing to take on two kids?”

Parrish looked thoughtful for a moment. “My wife will probably string me up for suggesting this, but one of her sisters runs a day care out in Kanata. She’s a terrific person. Funny, caring. Loves kids. My daughters are five and two and they adore her. She’s definitely the kind of person you think should have kids of her own, but she lost her fiancé a few years ago in a car accident and she’s pretty much given up on the idea of having a family. You could talk to her, see if she’s willing to help you. To my knowledge she’s not seriously involved with anyone, but she likes to keep her personal life private. It drives my wife nuts.”

“I’d make it worth her while. Money won’t be a problem.”

Parrish didn’t bat an eyelash. “Since I’m your lawyer and she’s my sister-in-law, I’ll make sure she’s adequately provided for. But the only reason she’d do it is because she loves children. I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I’ll take every precaution necessary to make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word. I only plan to stay long enough for the kids to bond with her.” Quinn couldn’t believe he was even talking about marrying a perfect stranger. “How soon could we be married if your sister-in-law accepts my proposal?”

“Monday at the earliest. The two of you would need to go down to city hall and apply for a marriage license in person. There’s no waiting period or blood test required in the province of Ontario. Unfortunately, judges no longer perform civil ceremonies in this region, but I can make all the necessary arrangements with a nondenominational minister and draft your will once you talk to Hope.”

Hope? Quinn’s heart thumped queerly in the numb cavern of his chest. “Your sister-in-law’s name is Hope?”

“Yes, Hope Fancy, if you can believe it.”

Quinn couldn’t. He’d never thought he’d hear that quaint, old-fashioned name again.

Parrish removed a cell phone from the pocket of his overcoat. “Maybe I should call her and tell her I’m sending a visitor her way.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Quinn said sharply. Too sharply. He softened the edge to his request, realizing Parrish didn’t have a clue he’d known Hope long ago. “Cell phone calls can be picked up on scanners. I’d prefer a letter of introduction and directions to her place. I’ll take care of the explanations myself.”

Quinn just hoped she wouldn’t hate him even more for what he was about to do.

SO MUCH FOR eloping with David and living happily ever after!

Hope dropped her suitcase containing the silky jewel-toned lingerie she’d bought for her honeymoon on the mat inside the darkened foyer and sagged against the firm panels of the front door as the humiliation she’d been holding back for the last hour and a half burst from her heart in a guttural moan.

Why on earth had she been jinxed with the uncanny ability to pick the wrong men to fall in love with? As if two broken engagements and the death of one fiancé in the last ten years weren’t hard enough for a woman to endure, she could now add being jilted at the altar to her list of challenging life experiences.

Her chin jutted up stubbornly in her own defense. Not that those two broken engagements were anything to be ashamed of. She had loved Quinn Mc-Clure with her whole heart and soul, and the week they’d been engaged had been tantamount to heaven on earth. If his father hadn’t died, her life might have been so different…. She hadn’t dated anyone else for over a year and a half, hoping that Quinn would somehow come to his senses.

But Quinn hadn’t and she’d met Steven. Her engagement to the Realtor had been a mistake. He was everything Quinn wasn’t, which was the problem. Though charming and successful, he simply wasn’t Quinn. Telling Steven the truth had been the right, though painful, thing to do. Hope ran into him now and again in parks and at Ottawa’s many museums and had met his wife and his growing family: two daughters and a third child on the way. No, that had worked out for the best because two years later she’d met Matthew, a veterinarian, whose quiet strength, Nordic good looks and infinite patience had helped her recover from the damage Quinn had done to her heart. They’d dated for over a year before Matthew had asked her to marry him. Hope’s only regret was that she had insisted on a long engagement to give them time to truly get to know each other. He’d died in a car accident three weeks before their Valentine’s Day wedding.

Four years had passed since Matthew’s death and Hope had decided she’d had quite enough of love until David Randall had entered her life six months ago.

Thank God she hadn’t told anyone she and David were eloping tonight—not her family, not even Marie Elizabeth, her closest friend since grade school.

David’s suggestion that they elope, which had seemed so sensitive and romantic at the time of its offering, had saved her from being subjected to yet more sympathetic looks and exclamations of “Not again!” Kanata was a small town and people had long memories.

Though, of course, David’s secretiveness had garnered him precisely what he’d wanted…he would still be a groom, only the louse would be married to his old flame Susan, who’d driven up from Toronto to stop him from marrying her.

Hope had no idea how Susan had learned of their plans, but she’d made quite a dramatic scene, rushing into the quaint stone chapel wearing a sleeveless, silver-blue frothy confection and glittering silver sandals that put Hope’s demure and practical blush-pink suit and white pumps to shame. Susan’s Cinderella-gold mane had flowed gracefully onto her tanned shoulders, her bottle-green eyes liquid with tears as she’d professed her undying love for David and pleaded with him to marry her instead.

Hope had let them have each other and counted herself lucky she hadn’t wasted another thousand dollars on a fancy wedding dress for a ceremony that would never be performed. At least, she’d been able to wear her wedding dress this time.

Figuring she’d indulged in enough self-pity, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and felt along the wall for the light switch. She blinked as the soft hazy pools cast by the table lamps brightened the redbrick Victorian farmhouse’s cheery front parlor. The lace curtains, the wide varnished pine floorboards, the rose-patterned wool area rug, the plump cushions lining the blue chintz sofa and the photographs cluttering the walls, soothed the hollow ache in her heart with their homeyness. The truth was, she had everything she needed: her health, a home, a successful business and children in her life…even if they weren’t her children.

Besides, she was beginning to think husbands were more trouble than they were worth.

Hope kicked off the white pumps, burrowed into a corner of the sofa and covered herself with a rainbow-hued afghan she’d made several frigid winters ago. It had the sweet nostalgic scent of the children who played with it day in and day out, used it for a blanket, a tent or a king’s robe. Hope’s jaw ached as she clamped back on a fresh crop of tears stinging her eyes.

Maybe somebody up there was trying to tell her something…. Her thirtieth birthday was a dim memory. Her younger sisters Grace, Faith, Charity and Patience were all married and had children—some of them teenagers. And her best friend Marie Elizabeth, who’d divorced her first husband, was happily ensconced in her second marriage and busy blending two families together.

The telling silence of the empty house she and Matthew had bought forced Hope to acknowledge painfully that she was a crummy judge of male character. She’d have been much better off if she’d turned down David’s dinner invitation when they’d been introduced to each other by a mutual friend at a coffee shop, and hadn’t let herself be swayed by the boxes of raspberry jelly donuts he’d leave on her porch. But he’d seemed so perfect—a stable and dependable accountant who shared her family values.

However, there was plenty of contentment to be found in the fact she was a wonderful aunt, sister, daughter and friend, and made a valuable contribution in the nurturing of all the children who passed through the doors of Home Away from Home, her day- and night-care center. She could buy her own jelly doughnuts.

An early spring wind sighed heavily in the eaves, the rafters cracking and groaning as if agreeing with her decision. The throaty purr of a motor turning in the drive and the pinging of gravel crunching beneath tires mingled with the sound of the wind. Hope saw a twin beacon of headlights swing across the front window for an instant.

Oh no!

Her pulse pounded through the veins in her wrist as she lifted the lace panel and peered out into the night, hoping David hadn’t followed her. Another dramatic scene she did not need.

She briefly considered turning off the lights and refusing to answer the door, but that would make her a coward. David was an adult. He had the right to choose whom he wished to marry. She just didn’t want to hear any explanations that were supposed to make her feel better—and ease his guilt!

The yard security lights flashed on as the car drew to a halt, illuminating the driveway and the rain-withered, misshapen snowmen rising like ghostly creatures from the snowdrifts still covering her front lawn. Winter hadn’t completely released her grip on the land.

A figure emerged from the driver’s side. A man. But he seemed taller and more imposing than David, his shoulders seeming to take on superhuman proportions. Or perhaps that was her imagination? No, it wasn’t David. This man had a thick, full head of black hair that gleamed with a bluish sheen beneath the light. He wasn’t one of the fathers or stepfathers of her routine charges either. But something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

His every footstep rattled the wet loose gravel until he hit the red-brick path that wound up to the house, then he moved soundlessly, almost stealthily, pausing with obvious uncertainty on the rim of the sagging porch as if he weren’t sure he’d found the right address. But an enormous colorful placard in the shape of a house, with children playfully peeping out of windows, was impossible to miss at the end of the driveway. Was he just someone asking for directions?

She saw him look back over his shoulder toward the white sport utility vehicle. Unease slithered down the bones of her spine. Hope dropped the curtain and clambered off the sofa, not for the first time wishing she had a dog—something big with an intimidating growl. But a lot of toddlers were scared of dogs, and she didn’t want any child under her roof to feel anything but happy and safe. Besides, she’d developed a mother’s fine sense of hearing and wakened immediately at the slightest sound.

Telling herself she was being ridiculous, Hope quickly and silently moved to the kitchen and grabbed her cordless phone off the end of the counter as the man’s knuckles thumped against the screen door. Whoever he was, at least he’d obeyed the instructions on the card posted over the doorbell requesting people not to ring the bell as children could be sleeping.

“Just a minute,” she called softly. None too gently, she wrestled her suitcase into the crowded hall closet, then engaged the security latch at the top of the door which prevented her young charges from sneaking out to climb the old apple tree the moment her back was turned.

She flicked the porch light on. Phone clasped firmly in her damp hand and her finger poised to dial at the first sign of trouble, she eased open the door. The bolt slid along the latch and caught, granting her a six-inch crack through which she could speak without appearing rude.

She had an unfettered view of a chest that rose and expanded like a rough-hewn peak to the jagged thrust of a granite jaw and lean cheeks. Slate-gray eyes, glinting with uncertainty down the blade of a sharp, chiseled nose, impaled her. Disbelief slapped her in the face.

Hope dropped the phone, oblivious to the clattering it made as it hit the floor. She must be dreaming. The man in black jeans and the black anorak zipped up to his chin had to be a figment of her imagination. “Quinn?”

He dug his fingers into his hair, sweeping it back from his broad forehead. His words were low and strained. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this unannounced. But I need you. It’s an emergency.”

He needed her? Surely this was a joke. No, a nightmare. Any moment now she’d wake up with a start on her couch, but Hope didn’t want to wake up. Quinn was gazing at her with the same hungry intensity he’d looked at her with ten years ago; as if he were devising a plan to sweep her off to a secluded spot where he would promptly persuade her that they both had on far too many clothes.

The thought of Quinn naked, making love to her, brought a sharp stab of pain to her abdomen. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she murmured, resisting his intrusion into her heart. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He stuck the toe of his boot in the door, preventing her from closing it in his face. “Please, Hope. Your brother-in-law, Tom Parrish, sent me. He thought you could help me out of a jam.”

Hope didn’t even know that her brother-in-law knew Quinn. Tom and her sister Faith hadn’t met until years after Quinn had gone back to the RCMP Fraud Squad in Toronto. “What does Tom have to do with this—?” She broke off as the piercing wail of a child’s cry split the air—a wail of fear that pierced Hope’s heart. A child. He had a child. After what he’d told her….

“Just a sec.” He leapt off the porch in a bound, calling over his shoulder, “That’s Kyle. Once he gets going, he’s sure to wake up Melanie.”

Kyle? Melanie?

Not one child. Two. The man who’d broken her heart when he told he’d never be a family man had children. And, obviously, a wife.

Damn him. It was too much. She supposed now he wanted her to baby-sit. It was almost laughable.

As Quinn swooped down on the car like a hawk upon a mouse, Hope unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch in her nylons, shivering as the cold from the planks bored into the soles of her feet.