take you off regular patrol—” He held up his hand, palm facing her to stay the retort she’d opened her mouth to make. “Priorities, Kincaid. And this case is now yours. You’ll be the DPS liaison with all the other law-enforcement entities involved. Basically, you’re heading up a task force to locate the baby’s biological mother, to expedite the investigation and to act as the bridge between law enforcement and Deacon Tate.”
“Bridge? What does that mean?”
“That means you are to stay on top of him—”
Quin all but sputtered as her mind went places it had no business going, and all her feminine parts perked right up at the thought.
“And this investigation. You’ll work in conjunction with Child Protective Services from the Department of Human Services. The assigned CPS social worker will contact you. There is to be no direct contact with Mr. Tate unless you are present.”
The cop side of her brain finally overrode the rest. “Wait. What does that mean, exactly?”
“What it means—exactly—is that you need to work closely with Mr. Tate. He is not to be disturbed by CPS or any law-enforcement agency involved in this investigation. You’re point, Kincaid. You take any questions directly to him.”
Quin stared, working hard to keep her mouth from gaping. She finally uttered, “Are you kidding me?”
“This is not something to kid about.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“Yes, there is a but, sir. I’m scheduled for vacation time next month.”
“Then you better get busy and find the mother, determine if Mr. Tate is the biological father and round up any other pertinent information.”
She sat there, staring, her brain emitting nothing but white noise as it tried to wrap itself around the situation.
“Dismissed, Kincaid.”
Quin rose, pivoted and headed for the door. The lieutenant’s voice stopped her just as her hand touched the knob.
“FYI, Kincaid. No leaks. If any information beyond what DPS releases about this investigation gets out, it’s all on your head.”
Her mouth felt numb, just like her semicoherent brain, but she muttered, “Yes, sir,” then exited. But the lieutenant still wasn’t done.
“You need to get out to Mr. Tate’s ranch and talk to him, Kincaid. Welfare check on the baby and all that. ASAP.”
Oh, whoop-de-do. She had plans for today and none of them included driving to Timbuktu to deal with a spoiled star. Except there was a baby involved and seriously, what single guy was truly capable of 24/7 child care?
First, she had to locate directions. Then she’d just drop in on the man himself. And give him a piece of her mind.
When Quin pulled up in front of Deacon Tate’s gorgeous log home, she found a driveway full of vehicles. She parked at the end of the line and trudged past a dark-colored Dodge Challenger. She noted the manufacturer’s badges. It was an SRT Hellcat HEMI muscle car—a model that cost almost as much as she made in a year.
The next vehicle was far less flashy—a black Ford Expedition, platinum edition. A white four-wheel-drive Ford F-250 pickup with the emblem for Barron Exploration plastered on the door was parked close to the walkway leading to the front door. Next to it was a Lexus LX 570, its metallic pearl-white paint almost blinding in the bright winter sun.
So much for confronting Tate alone. Quin marched up the fieldstone walkway and stopped at the double-wide wooden doors. She looked but couldn’t find a doorbell, nor was there a door knocker—just a numeric keypad. Using the heel of her fist, she banged on the door.
A muffled voice called from inside. She pounded the door again. And waited. She had her hand on the handle when the door was jerked open. Off balance, she fell into a hard body. Muscular arms gripped Quin’s waist, steadying her. Heat spread from strong fingers, radiating through her Kevlar vest to tease her skin.
She looked up into a pair of star-sapphire eyes and got a little lost in their mysterious depths.
“Don’t just stand there, Deacon,” a woman’s voice ordered. “Let the poor girl in.”
“Certainly.” A boyish grin teased his mouth, and Quin’s heart did a funny little flutter kick. “Please come in, Trooper Kincaid. We were just having breakfast. Are you hungry?”
She was so focused on his mouth that her brain went to the one place she didn’t want it to go. She blinked to break the spell he’d cast. Quin once again considered the effect this man had on his female fans, and she frowned at the thought of the lingerie collection he and his bandmates probably laughed about.
“Quin?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Of course you are, hon. Come on in and sit. I’ll get you a plate.” The feminine voice came from inside the house and wasn’t asking.
Quin watched Deacon walk through the large open living area toward a fabulous kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it looked as if it should be the centerfold in a decorating magazine.
“Don’t dawdle, hon. Food’s gettin’ cold.”
As Quin trailed in Deacon’s wake, she studied the other people gathered around a granite island that looked big enough to land a small plane on. There were three men, two of whom she recognized from the previous night, and an older woman. The family resemblance was strong.
Deacon stopped at one of the bar stools and pulled it out for her. She settled on it and a plate heaped with bacon, sausages and eggs appeared in front of her. Deacon snagged flatware and a napkin—cloth—for her use.
“Share the biscuits and gravy, Cooper,” the woman said. “I’m Katherine Tate. I take it you’ve met my sons Deacon and Dillon. These are two of my other sons, Cooper and Bridger. Coffee or something else t’drink?”
Her head was spinning a little. “Oh, coffee, please.”
“Cream or sugar?”
She glanced at the oldest of the men present, though he wasn’t old. Quin guessed him to be in his midthirties. “A little sugar, please, and vanilla creamer if you have it.” She offered a tight smile to the men’s mother. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Tate. I’m Quincy Kincaid. I’ve been assigned by OHP as liaison on this case.”
Katherine’s eyes narrowed. “Case? This isn’t a case, Miz Kincaid. This is a little girl. Who has a name.” At that moment, a soft mewl issued from a soft-sided criblike thing Quin hadn’t noticed upon her arrival. “I’ll get the baby, Deacon. Finish your breakfast before it gets cold. And take your hat off, Miz Kincaid.”
Quin removed her hat and set it on the stool next to her. Ignoring the stares from Deacon’s brothers, she concentrated on the food in front of her.
