Well, now she knew. He was alive, well and disgustingly handsome.
But what the hell was he doing in Tennessee?
She entered the conference room quietly and set the box on the long credenza that took up most of the length of the nearest wall. Someone had already started a pot of coffee brewing, and she slipped back out of the conference room to retrieve a cooler of ice cubes for the two dozen bottles of water, juice and soft drinks lined up like soldiers at attention on one end of the sideboard.
Halfway there, she heard footsteps behind her and shot a quick look down the hall. The Gates’ CEO, Alexander Quinn, was coming up the hall behind her, his expression impossible to read. As usual.
She turned to face him. “Did I forget something?”
“What happened while you were out?”
She thought about trying to lie, but Quinn had spent a couple of decades in the CIA. Seeing through lies was part of his business. “I ran into someone from the past. From Texas.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “I see.”
“He wanted me to fork over seven thousand dollars. I didn’t know what he was talking about, so I sort of faked it, but—”
“But you’re not sure he believed you?”
“No.”
Quinn was silent for a moment, his hazel eyes holding her gaze without making her feel uncomfortable. For a man who had lived on lies and adrenaline, he had a calming effect on most people, and she wasn’t immune herself. “What’s his name?”
“Jack Drummond.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“Black hair, worn kind of longish. Brown eyes. Olive-toned skin. I believe he’s part Shoshone—he’s from up in Wyoming originally. He’s not super tall—maybe six feet, six-one. Big shoulders, narrow waist and hips. Cowboy.”
Quinn arched one eyebrow.
“No, literally a cowboy. He was on the rodeo circuit back in Texas and the Southwest.”
“What’s he doing in Tennessee?”
“I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say.”
Quinn looked at her a moment longer with that calm, thoughtful expression that made her feel as if he were trying to hypnotize her. Then he gave a short nod. “Go ahead and get the ice. Don’t worry about Jack Drummond. He won’t be a problem.”
She knew Quinn had the means to protect her from her past. And because he needed the skills she offered when she wasn’t playing office gofer, she knew he’d be diligent about it.
But Quinn couldn’t erase the memory of Jack Drummond’s dark eyes or sexy voice from her brain as she grabbed the clean cooler from the storage closet and started scooping ice into it.
She might hate Jack Drummond’s guts and never want to see him again. But she doubted very seriously she could ever stop worrying about him, now that he’d invaded her world again. Had meeting him here in Purgatory been nothing but a strange coincidence?
Or was something a lot more sinister at work?
* * *
“THE GATES?” HANNAH looked up from wiping Cody’s lunch off his hands and face at Jack’s question. “I wonder if she was talking about Alexander Quinn’s private investigation agency. It’s right here in Purgatory.”
Riley returned from grabbing more napkins from the counter and handed them to Hannah. “What about Alexander Quinn?”
“That private-eye agency he runs now—isn’t it called The Gates?”
“Yeah, it is. Sutton Calhoun works there now.”
“Right.” Hannah made another swipe at the mess Cody had made with his peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. “He used to work at Cooper Security, but I think he was from up this way to begin with.”
Jack tamped down his impatience and kept his tone even. “So The Gates is a detective agency?”
“Yeah. Well, investigations and security, I guess. Maybe your friend Mara works there. You could probably ask that waitress and she could tell you where to find the place.” Riley’s gaze sharpened. “If that’s really what you want to do.”
“I need to give her the money. It’s sitting in my bank, taunting me.”
Hannah’s lips twitched at his description, and he didn’t really blame her for finding his description a bit melodramatic. When his sister-in-law had met him, not long after he’d left Amarillo, he was sober only a couple of months, and the call of the rodeo still roiled in his blood. She’d been in Wyoming on vacation, ended up in the middle of a serial murder investigation and had come close to losing her life.
But Riley had been there, watching her back. Keeping her safe.
Falling in love, after grieving for three long, lonely years.
Jack’s sister Emily had been Riley’s first love. His first wife. Her murder had come damn close to destroying both Riley and Jack, though in different ways.
Riley’s response had been to close himself off to all but a few close friends. And to Jack. But Riley’s growing obsession with solving Emily’s murder had eaten away at Jack’s soul. Solving the murder wasn’t going to bring Emily back. And Emily had been all that was left of Jack’s dysfunctional family.
So he’d gone to Texas, moved his base of operations to a little town just west of Amarillo. He’d buried himself in boots and spurs and rodeo groupies who longed to ride a cowboy a whole lot longer than eight seconds.
Then he’d met Mara Jennings, who was anything but a groupie. Fool that he was, he’d considered her a challenge he couldn’t resist, when he should have run as far and as fast from a woman like her as he could.
The groupies knew the score. They weren’t interested in forever with a cowboy. They just wanted the excitement for a few days out of the year when the rodeo came to town.
Mara Jennings had “forever” written in her pretty blue eyes and winsome smile, and he should have known he’d break her heart.
Hell, maybe he had known it.
He just hadn’t cared at that point in his life.
“I’ve had some dealings with Quinn,” Hannah said thoughtfully as she handed her slightly sticky son to Riley. “I could just casually drop by the agency to say hi, and if you just happened to be with me and your friend just happened to be there—”
“If you just happen to be matchmaking, Hannah, you can forget it. Mara Jennings is not the woman for me. She never was.”
That had been the problem.
“Well, maybe you could tell Quinn about the money you owe her, then,” Hannah said.
“I
