rugged-looking man whose gaze lasered in on him.
“I’m Quinn Morrison.” He offered his hand. “You must be Rosie’s husband.”
“Ian Stearne,” the man said, shaking Quinn’s hand. “Rosie tells me you’ve been playing chicken with Lily’s car.”
“Chicken-brained is more like it,” Quinn said. “I had the dumb-ass idea that I could catch it.”
“And he would have, too, if it hadn’t been locked,” Lily offered. She carried a steaming platter of crispy fried chicken to the table.
Ian gave her a sharp look. “Your car rolled down the hillside, and it was locked?”
“And the keys were in the ignition.” Lily returned to the stove where she poured steaming green beans into a serving bowl. “I would have sworn I put them in the drawer of my desk, but I must have left them in the car.” As had happened before, Lily’s casual words belied the pain in her eyes, which gave Quinn the impression she didn’t want anyone to know how frightened she had been.
“That makes no sense,” Ian said.
Rosie motioned for them to all sit.
Quinn pulled out a chair, wondering what was behind Ian’s protective attitude toward Lily.
“The handyman—Max—called,” Ian said. “Frank Talbot picked up your car and towed it down to the garage.”
“That was good of him.” Lily took the seat next to Quinn and promptly passed him a napkin-covered basket that he discovered was filled the warm corn bread. “I bet I have to send it off to Juneau to get it fixed.”
“Not as convenient as San Jose,” Ian said.
“Speaking of California,” Rosie said, glancing at Lily. “Cal called today asking for you. Said he was just checking in.”
If Quinn hadn’t been watching Lily, he would have missed the shadow that chased across her face before she smiled. Old boyfriend, maybe? The twinge of jealousy over that thought surprised Quinn.
“He’s been calling a lot,” Ian said. “Everything okay?”
“As far as I know,” Lily said. She gave Ian the sort of smile that suggested the subject was closed, then asked, “Did the windows for my house arrive today?”
“They did,” he said. “We’re right on schedule to have the exterior weather-tight by the first of October.”
The next few moments were taken up with the discussion of Lily’s house, which was under construction, while food was passed around the table. The routine was clearly ordinary to Lily and her family, but for Quinn… He figured the last home-cooked meal he’d had like this was last Thanksgiving. Lily hadn’t been whistling “Dixie” when she promised comfort food. Fried chicken and corn bread. One of his favorite meals…one he’d enjoy a whole lot more if his head wasn’t once again pounding.
“Any strangers hanging around the center?” Ian asked.
Lily uttered a soft chuckle, her gaze amused when she looked at Ian. “You have the most suspicious mind. No, it was nothing like that. Just a stupid accident.”
Ian’s expression suggested that he didn’t agree.
Quinn realized that he didn’t think it was an accident, either.
With a sudden rush of clarity, Quinn remembered a conversation he’d had with Dwight Jones on the ferry yesterday. As chief geologist for Anorak Exploration, Jones’s views on the natural resources surrounding Kantrovitch Island were diametrically opposed to Quinn’s. Jones had been more than a little hot that Quinn had filed a request for an injunction to stop the exploratory drilling within a twenty-mile radius around the hydrothermic vent.
“If you want to play hardball,” Jones had said, “you’ll be getting yourself in way deeper than you can imagine. We will be drilling. Get used to it.”
Until now, Quinn hadn’t thought that anything about their conversation could be construed as a threat. Was it? He wished he didn’t feel so woozy and out of it, which left him with the feeling that he had overlooked something important.
Though their professional differences kept them from being close friends, Quinn liked Dwight well enough. They had gone kayaking a couple of times, which had been fine. As had their occasional Friday afternoon basketball games on the dock.
“That’s some mighty deep thinking you appear to be doing there,” Ian said.
Quinn nodded, meeting the other man’s narrowed gaze. “Just remembering a conversation I had on the ferry yesterday. I’ll check it out.”
The narrowed gaze became a frown. “You bring trouble to Lily’s door—”
“Stop it.” Lily flashed Quinn an apologetic smile. “You’ll have to forgive Ian. He sees a boogeyman behind every bush.”
“That’s ’cause there were bad mens. Lots of them,” Annmarie piped in.
“As for those bad men—” Lily said “—that’s behind us, and they’re in prison.” At Quinn’s questioning glance, she added, “I testified in a murder case last spring, the man was convicted and he’s in prison. Since then, Ian has been a little edgy.”
Quinn caught the other man’s gaze, certain there was a wealth of information that Lily had left out of her light explanation. Ian Stearne didn’t strike him as a man who imagined things. He did strike Quinn has the kind of man who took care of his own, though. Quinn admired that.
“Lily’s car is almost identical to mine.” He cleared his throat. “If today wasn’t an accident, it has to do with me…not her.”
“Something involving Anorak?” Rosie asked. “They’ve made it real plain to the fishermen they expect to begin drilling soon.”
Quinn knew better than to throw even the most casual of stones before checking his facts. “I don’t know, but like I said, I’ll check on it.”
“Eat,” Lily urged. “Our dinner is getting cold, and I’ve had about enough of this. Today was an accident. That’s all.”
Quinn hoped she was right. He flat-out hated the idea that somebody else’s argument with him could have put Lily or Annmarie in danger. The quicker he figured out if Anorak or Dwight Jones had anything to do with today, the better.
His name being whispered brought Quinn wide awake.
After a second of disorientation he remembered where he was. Spending the night with Lily and her family. He really had intended to go home, but instead found himself in Lily’s queen-size bed, while she slept with her daughter.
He’d watched Lily and Rosie put clean sheets on the bed, but they still smelled like Lily, a scent he liked better by the hour. Long after he’d gone to bed and turned out the light, he had imagined having her in bed with him, naked, hot and willing. She wouldn’t be so worried about waking him at the two-hour intervals that Hilda had prescribed if she knew how unruly his thoughts were.
He turned his head toward
