Rebecca Zanetti - Under the Covers

Quinn cocked his head. “You’re right—I’m sorry for not calling you today.” He tied her scarf more securely. “The call wasn’t for cattle rustling. We found a body on the edge of Miller’s northern pasture.”

She gulped. “A body?”

“Yes. Shot through the head.” He leaned down, his gaze serious. “I don’t want you going anywhere alone for the time being.”

“I won’t.” She took a deep breath. “Why is the DEA involved?”

“We think the deceased was involved with the prescription drug trade.”

So much relief flushed through her, she nearly swayed. Prescriptions had nothing to do with her. Thank God her past hadn’t caught up with her. Not yet, anyway.

Quinn tangled his fingers through hers and started down the sidewalk.

She pulled away. “What are you doing?”

“Walking you back to the gallery.”

She tried unsuccessfully to free her hand. “That is not necessary. It’s barely dinnertime, Quinn. I can walk back by myself.”

“No.” He tugged her into a sidewalk, his shoulders blocking the wind.

“You’re a force of nature, Quinn Lodge,” she muttered, stepping over a mud puddle.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t believe I gave you a compliment.” She sighed. “Is Reese an old military buddy?”

Quinn nodded at a couple of bankers exiting the Maverick Bank for the day. “We served together for five years. He’s a good friend.”

“You really shouldn’t leave him to walk me home. I’m sure you have a lot of work to do.”

“He can make phone calls while I’m gone.” Quinn slid an arm around her shoulders and tugged her into heat. “You’re getting all formal again.” He glanced down. “What I don’t understand is why.”

She was saved from having to answer when they turned the corner and reached her gallery.

Quinn stiffened. “Did you leave the front door unlocked?”

The red door stood slightly ajar. “I don’t think so.” God, had she?

He leaned down. Scrape marks slashed from the lock. He pushed her gently toward the road. “Cross the street and go inside the coffee shop. Stay there until I come and get you.” Without taking his eyes off the door, he flipped open his phone and called for backup. Then he pulled his gun free of his waistband.

“Now, Juliet.” His quiet order held bite this time.

Startled, she jumped and rushed across the road. The bell above the door of Kurt’s Koffees & Muffins rang when she hustled into the shop. Turning, she all but pressed her face against the window in time to see Quinn nudge the gallery door open with his foot and step inside, his gun sweeping.

He disappeared from sight.

Every ounce of her control went into keeping still, when all she wanted was to run across the street and make sure he was all right. But she’d distract him when he needed to focus. So she remained at the window, not daring to breathe.

Two police cars screeched to a stop, and a myriad of deputies headed toward the building, guns out.

Thank goodness.

Minutes passed, although it seemed like hours. Finally, Quinn stalked outside.

Relief filled her, and she sagged.

His gaze caught hers, he hurried across the street, and shoved open the door. A thick hand banded around her arm. “Come with me, Juliet.”

She nodded, slipping through the doorway. A harsh wind slapped her face. Quinn drew her closer, an arm around her shoulders. “I need you to tell me if anything was taken.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I left the door open?”

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t leave the door open.” He maneuvered her inside. “Somebody picked the lock.”

Dread filled her lungs. “Do you think it was the guys from last year?” Several businesses had been burglarized the previous year by a group of kids from Billings looking for fast cash.

“No. We caught them. Plus, they did the standard smash and grab—broke open the door and grabbed what they could within five minutes. This guy picked the lock carefully. I checked through the gallery, as well as upstairs in your apartment, and didn’t discover anything damaged or missing. But you need to check.”

The air felt different. Cold and out of sync.

“My laptop is gone.” She’d left the HP on the desk by the front door before heading to the sheriff’s office. Her heart beating against her ribs, she rushed through the gallery, her gaze on the walls. Sophie’s paintings stood bright, dark, and dreamy as silent sentinels to the invasion. But they were safe. No art had been touched or taken.

Thank goodness. Juliet’s breath whooshed out. Shaking her hands to release the tension, she followed the sheriff upstairs to her apartment, which appeared untouched. Finally, they ended up in her bright, cheerful kitchen, and she flopped at the table. “I guess they only took the laptop.”

Quinn frowned, scribbling in a notebook. “I find that odd.”

“That someone would take a laptop? It sounds like a smash and grab like last time.” She smoothed out the flowered tablecloth.

He stopped writing. “I’m not sure. Something’s bothering me about this. Why pick the lock and leave the door open so you knew? It’s like somebody wanted to scare you.”

“The entire situation bothers me.” She sighed. It seemed doubtful her past had finally found her, but she needed to come clean, anyway. She opened her mouth to spill all, when Reese charged into the room.

He removed his baseball cap. “We have another body.”

Juliet’s mouth snapped shut. No way would she tell all in front of the DEA agent.

“Over on the south side of the county.” He glanced at his smartphone. “I have techs on the way. You coming, Quinn?”

Quinn nodded and then grimaced as his cell phone buzzed. He yanked it to his ear. “What?” After listening, he closed his eyes and blew out air. “Is Colton with her? Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hung up and opened his eyes to focus on Juliet. “Rich Jacoby passed away. The ambulance is taking him to the morgue.”

“Is Colton with Melanie?” Juliet stood, her eyes widening. Melanie Jacoby and her grandfather were incredibly close and the only living relative either had. Now poor Melanie was all alone.

“Yes. She called him after calling for an ambulance. I guess Rich was unconscious in the barn, and then he died. Colt will help with the funeral arrangements, I’m sure.” Quinn grasped Juliet’s elbow to escort her to the door. “I’m having a deputy take you to my place. Stay inside until I get home.”

She tugged her arm free. Almost. “No. The showing is tomorrow night, and I have work to do.”

Quinn’s unbreakable grip tightened. “You can finish up tomorrow. For now, I need you safe until I deal with death.”

Well, since he put it like that. Juliet grabbed two notebooks off the counter. She could confirm details via phone from the sheriff’s home office. “Okay.”

Lines cut harsh grooves into the side of his mouth. “And when I get home, we’re going to talk.”

Quinn hung up his cell phone, his gaze on the watery road outside his truck. The rain had increased in intensity, and his vehicle nearly hydroplaned through Miller’s Crossing. The deputies had better hurry up and place those warning signs before somebody got hurt. Night was about to fall, and visibility sucked.

His mind spun, and his gut ached. Who would break into Juliet’s gallery and steal the laptop? More specifically, who would want her to know so clearly that she was robbed?

His radio buzzed. “Sheriff? There’s a report of a fight tonight at the high school,” Mrs. Wilson said.

He sighed and pressed the button. “I’m on my way.”

Five minutes and several lightning strikes later, he pulled the truck into the high school parking lot. Teenagers milled around, forming a circle. He hit his patrol lights. They scattered like scared rabbits through the rain.

Biting back a laugh, he jumped out and grabbed the closest rabbit by the collar. “Mr. Benson. Who’s fighting tonight?”

Billy’s eyes widened, and he gulped several times. “I, ah, don’t know.”

Quinn did. His gaze caught on the two young men by the bleachers. The juniors stood, guilt on their faces, hands clenched. Pride filled Quinn that they hadn’t fled. “Donny and Luke?” He released Benson with a small shove toward the kid’s Subaru.

Donny nodded his buzz-cut head, and freckles popped out on his pale face. Luke shrugged and shuffled his feet.

Quinn lowered his voice to his best “don’t-fuck-with-me” tone. “Get in the truck. Now.”

The boys almost ran each other over to get in the truck.

Quinn eyed the rest of the group. “Everyone else, get home before this storm hits any harder.” Pivoting on his cowboy boot, he jumped back into the truck and turned off the patrol lights.

Donny stretched his hands toward the heater. “Are you arresting us, Sheriff?”

Luke cleared his throat. “Um, for what? I mean, we were just standing there. Right?”

Quinn maneuvered the truck onto the road. “You planned to fight.”

“Is planning illegal?” Donny asked, hunching his shoulders.

“Could be.” Quinn cut him a look. “I’m sure I could find something to book you on.”

Luke glanced at Donny. “Your mom is gonna be pissed.”

“No shi—kidding.” Donny groaned. “My mom is pregnant—very—and on edge.”

Luke snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“Shut up.” Donny elbowed him without much heat. “She’s kind of old to be pregnant.”

Quinn coughed. “Jesus, Don. She’s only thirty-five. That’s not old, and your parents started early with you.” High school early, actually. But they’d stuck together, and they’d made it.