inside, she noticed several of the neighborhood boys in the yard between her house and the neighbor’s, with a baseball and a bat.
A small smile curved her lips. The boys next door were nice, always yelling a hello whenever they saw her outside.
She’d just turned away, planning on filling the next few minutes with a brilliant con artist and his FBI handler on a recorded episode of White Collar when a loud crash startled her.
The scream that erupted from her throat was pure reaction. Glass shattered, tinkling to the floor in a shower of shards. A baseball bounced twice on laminate and then rolled. Loud, apologetic and panicked voices sounded outside her window. “Ms. Keller, we’re so sorry! We’ll pay for the window, promise.”
On the other side of the window a handful of wide-eyed faces appeared. They were obviously alarmed by what had happened. But after the initial kick of apprehension and stutter of her heart, Quinn settled back. There were worse things in the world than a broken window.
“No worries, boys. It was an accident.”
Walking around the broken glass—she’d take care of that after she retrieved a pair of shoes—she picked up the baseball from where it had rolled against the leg of her sofa. Popping it up and snatching it out of the air, she sent the cluster of faces a sly smile and a wink.
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