Rules of Attraction

Suspicious of the deviations in her pattern today, Quinn followed the newly unpredictable and decidedly sexier Ms. Winston into the building instead of waiting for her to return to her car. Deviation from the norm often resulted in the big breaks in a case.

He trailed her down a wide, quiet hallway, watched as she disappeared through a doorway topped by a sign that read Donor Room. Not wanting to be directly on her heels, he stopped to drink from a water fountain then pretended to read some flyers on a bulletin board. Finally he put himself in a position to peer into the room. He didn’t see her so he moved a little closer, stepped through the doorway—

“You’re here to make a donation?” someone almost shouted behind him.

The tone of voice was more demand than query. Quinn turned and eyed the white-haired pixie with the big voice. The top of her head barely reached his sternum. He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds.

“No, I—”

“Why not?” she asked, looking him up and down. “You look healthy.”

Because I’m following a woman the district attorney is convinced is hiding five million embezzled dollars, that’s why not. “I don’t have time,” he said.

“Hardly takes any time at all,” the human steamroller said, challenge in her eyes. “In and out before you know it.”

Her name tag identified her as Lorna, a 15,000-hour volunteer. Quinn ignored her as he scanned the room then zeroed in on Ms. Winston. She had donned a purple smock over her clothes and was putting cookies on a plate next to cartons of juice. Jennifer Winston, the juice-and-cookies lady? He couldn’t reconcile it with what he knew of her. Although he had imagined her living a double life….

“Scared of needles?” Lorna asked.

He met her placid gaze directly, coolly. “Yes.”

After a moment she cracked a smile. “Thought not. Come on, then.”

He focused on the fact that Ms. Winston wasn’t going anywhere. He could observe her and do his civic duty at the same time. It was a little risky getting so close to her, close enough she might remember him later and realize she was being followed again, but the thrill revved his adrenaline. The challenge of meeting her face-to-face while still tailing her appealed to him. Hiding in plain sight. He excelled at it.

He answered the long list of health-related questions, had his iron level tested, then settled in a padded lounge chair. He sought out his target as the nurse inserted the needle in his arm. Lorna and Ms. Winston were laughing together. He hadn’t seen her this mellow or friendly. Until now, she’d seemed like a woman on a mission, determined and direct. Now, she smiled at everyone, drawing smiles in return. She tossed her shoulder-length blond hair flirtatiously, lifted a hand to wave to someone entering the room—then noticed him.

From thirty feet away Quinn saw her falter in her conversation. Her smile faded. She lowered her arm slowly.

Had he been made? He went on alert, ready to go after her should she run. But then Lorna elbowed her and said something that put some pink into Ms. Winston’s cheeks and made her dip her head a little, as if embarrassed.

Quinn relaxed. Male/female connection? Now that intrigued him. He believed the reason he was never noticed by his subjects was that he was ordinary looking. Unmemorable.

On the other hand, there was something to be said for animal magnetism. As Ms. Winston maintained eye contact, his pulse sped up. Which was a normal reaction to the risk, he decided, of her being able to spot him following her after this. But it had been a while since his hormones had mutinied on their own like that.

A few more minutes passed. She looked away and back several times. He didn’t pretend disinterest, deciding instead that he could take an entirely different approach to his surveillance, a much more personal one. It would require playing a role, acting as if he didn’t know her boyfriend had been convicted of embezzlement and now occupied a cell in a federal prison—and that she was thought to be his accomplice.

Quinn had to be especially careful, however. Agreeing to take on the case for the D.A.’s office made him a police agent, which meant he needed to stay within the boundaries and scope of the law.

Ms. Winston took a few steps toward Quinn then hesitated. He held her gaze. She came closer. Close enough that he saw her eyes. Blue. Bright blue, not brown.

His gut clenched. Blood rushed through him, a feeling as close to panic as anything he could remember.

This wasn’t Jennifer Winston but her half sister, Claire. First-grade teacher, blue-eyed, brunette-until-today Claire—the good sister.

Curses whipped through his mind. Jennifer was no longer being watched. She could skip town and no one would find her, especially if she had the five million dollars her boyfriend stole.

“Take the needle out,” Quinn ordered the nurse. The good sister stopped. She backed up as the nurse spoke.

“Just a minute more—”

“Now. Or I’ll do it myself.” He reached for it.

“I’ll do it!” The nurse shoved his hand away, then slid out the needle and pressed a folded gauze pad to the site.

He stuck his thumb on the gauze and swung his legs over the side of the lounge. He had to see if Jennifer Winston had left town, if her sister was a decoy. What else could she be?

“You’ll need to sit over at that table and have some juice and cookies,” the nurse said. “Claire will go with you.”

He stood. Claire could go to—

The room tilted as unearthly quiet bombarded it.

“Hey! I have to bandage that!” The voice seemed to come through a tunnel.

He took a step. Darkness teased his vision, first at the edges, then closing in until only pinpoints of light remained. Bright. Disorienting. Nauseating. Take a deep breath. Put your head down.

Down….

“It’s always the big ones,” Lorna said, coming up beside Claire after the fiercely attractive man collapsed to the floor, the blow softened by the nurse’s hold on him, slowing his descent. “I’ll get his keys,” Lorna added. “I have a feeling he’s going to fight us about staying here for a while.”

Claire studied the unconscious man while Lorna dug her hand into the man’s pocket and pulled out a set of keys. Well, shoot. Claire had really wanted to flirt with him, to test whether blondes do have more fun. Her sister had talked Claire into a makeover the night before, her first day of summer break from teaching. She had been nervous about testing the waters with her new look. She’d even worn one of Jenn’s outfits, because hers just didn’t seem to go with that blonde-and-fun thing. When the stranger had made eye contact with her, she’d thought he was interested. Now he would probably be too embarrassed to talk to her, much less flirt.

Maybe it was only certain blondes who had more fun….

So much for the great experiment, she thought with a sigh.

“Mr. Gerard,” Lorna said, crouching beside him and patting his cheek.

His eyes opened. He looked around in momentary confusion, then focused on Claire. His eyes were brown, flecked with gold, like amber, and a little eerie to stare at for long. His short black hair required little fuss, a practical, not-quite-military look. Mid-thirties, she decided. A solid, muscular body dressed in black jeans and a gray sweater—clothes that would make him blend in with a crowd except that he was over six feet tall and extremely attractive in a rugged, angular, mesmerizing kind of way.

Why had he been in such a hurry to leave? It was almost as if seeing her up close had triggered something in him. Yet he didn’t seem the type to shy away from anything, much less an unintimidating first-grade teacher whose newly blond hair and trendy outfit would never hide the fact that she was neither beautiful nor sexy, even if she felt a little bit of both after her makeover.

Finally he looked away and sat up.

“Juice and cookies, Mr. Gerard,” Lorna said. “You won’t be allowed to leave until we give the okay.”

“You think you can stop me?” he challenged, standing. He wobbled a bit.

Claire leaned forward, ready to help prop him up.

Lorna dangled his keys.

For a second, Claire thought he might smile. “You in the habit of taking advantage of unconscious men?” he asked Lorna.

“Do you need a wheelchair to take you to Claire’s table?” she countered.

His mouth twitched. “I can manage.”