The caterer waved her over.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Sophie. Turning on her decadent three-inch heels, she glided around people to the makeshift kitchen. “How are things going, Raul?”

The stooped man tossed a white braid over his shoulder. A former chef from France, Raul had retired to Montana years ago. He had to be in his mideighties at the earliest. “Excellent. It’s time to cut off the champagne and collect the empty trays.”

“You’re the boss.” Juliet laughed and headed into the chaos of the empty kitchen.

“Now that’s a laugh I’ve missed.” A low voice echoed from around the corner.

“Freddy.” Fear made Juliet’s ears ring.

“JJ.” Her stepbrother came into the room, his smirk baring sharp incisors.

“Darn it, Fred. How did you find me?” Her hands trembled.

He rubbed his nose. “I may not be as smart as you, but I can figure some stuff out.”

“Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.” Would her past ever leave her alone? She forced herself to keep from running for the hills.

“The cops? Or Sheriff Snuggle-Bunny?”

Freddy knew about Quinn. Her knees weakened. “There’s nothing snuggly about Quinn Lodge. He’ll take you out back and skin you like the weasel you are.”

“Don’t call names.” Freddy flashed the diamond in his incisor. A Third Street hooker once told him diamonds in teeth were cool. His tailored leather jacket, black jeans, and spotless cowboy boots couldn’t be more out of place in Maverick, Montana. Of course, he only wore the boots because they gave him a couple extra inches in height.

“You look like My Cousin Vinny. Without the charm,” Juliet muttered.

“I kinda like that movie, Juliet Jennifer Spazzoli.” He snorted. “Montgomery suits you better.”

Montgomery had been her maternal great-grandmother’s maiden name. “Why are you here?”

“What? I can’t meet up with family? It’s been too long.” He shoved an entire canapé in his mouth.

If she screamed, Quinn would come running. “Did you break into the gallery yesterday?”

Freddy lifted a narrow shoulder. “I needed a computer and figured my little sister would lend me one.”

“What’s the truth, Freddy?”

“I need help.” His beady eyes beseeched her. “For old time’s sakes.”

The door opened, and Quinn stepped into the kitchen. “Hey? Are there any more of those shrimp deals—” His chin lowered as he took in the situation with one glance. “Who’s your friend, Juliet?”

Freddy coughed and leaned forward to extend a hand. “Fredrick Spazzoli from out of town. I, uh, collect Western art and was hoping to acquire a couple of the, you know, the amazing pieces here tonight.”

They shook hands, and Freddy winced.

Quinn cut his eyes to Juliet. “Juliet?”

She took a deep breath. “His name is Fredrick Spazzoli, he’s my stepbrother, and the last thing he wants to collect is art.”

Surprise flashed across Freddy’s face, while no expression marred Quinn’s. He focused back on Freddy. “And?”

Juliet clasped her hands together, drawing dignity around herself like a wool coat. “He’s a criminal who has never been caught. I don’t know why he’s in town, but since there seems to be DEA activity, my guess is Freddy’s up to his old tricks of moving drugs.”

Freddy flushed a deep red. “I’d watch yourself, JJ.”

Disbelief rippled through her so quickly she swayed. “Did you really think I’d lie to him? For you?” Damn man had never understood her.

“Why not? You’ve been lying to him since you got here.” Freddy snorted snot up his nose.

“Not for you,” she muttered.

Quinn squared his stance. “What exactly are Freddy’s old tricks?”

“They run the gamut from illegal betting, extortion, petit theft, grand theft, and most recently, drug running.” She was dropping her own coffin into the ground, but it was too late to turn back now. “My mother married into the Spazzoli crime family. They were small time…nothing like the mob people you see on television. But, they were into crime.”

Wounded outrage pursed Freddy’s lips. “I think that’s slander, little sister. I mean, since you have absolutely no proof, and your Cuddles here can’t arrest me just on your say-so.” He edged closer and stopped when Quinn’s shoulders went back. “Besides, if there was a family crime enterprise, you’re in the family, now aren’t you?”

Quinn turned his focus to her.

She swallowed. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Quinn. We moved drugs.”

…

Quinn paced his office, confusion and anger mingling inside him until he wanted to hit something. Juliet was a criminal along with her weak and slimy brother? How was that possible? “I want in on the interviews.”

Reese sat in a guest chair, his legs extended, and his new cowboy boots crossed at the ankles on Quinn’s desk. “I figured.” He read from his phone. “The DEA has suspected Freddy Spazzoli of running drugs since the death of his father three years ago, but so far, we haven’t nailed him.”

“Why not?” Quinn dropped into his chair, a thousand pounds weighing him down.

“Anyone able to testify against the guy ends up dead,” Reese said,

“The guy seems like a moron to me.” No way had the scared dork killed people.

“He is a moron. We’re fairly certain he’s being directed by somebody, but we haven’t nailed down who it might be.” Reese cracked his knuckles.

“No wonder Juliet ran.” Of course, her statement that she’d run drugs made it entirely possible she’d created a new life to escape the law.

“Speaking of your love, how long are you going to let her stew in the cell?” Amusement lit Reese’s serious eyes.

“At least she’s safe in the cell.” Quinn had arrested both Juliet and Freddy the second Juliet had dropped her bombshell, hustling them out the back door and to the station. “Until I arrest her for running drugs. Or until you do.” This still wasn’t possible—there had to be a logical explanation.

Reese’s phone beeped, and he read a message. “There’s no record whatsoever on Juliet Spazzoli. Her mother married Dominique Spazzoli when Juliet was ten and changed Juliet’s last name at that time.”

Quinn frowned. “Spazzoli didn’t adopt her?”

“No. Just the name change. Dom Spazzoli owned several illegal betting operations but didn’t run drugs. For a criminal, he was one of the decent guys. I mean, sure, he killed once in a while, but he didn’t sell drugs to kids.”

“Unlike Freddy.” And maybe Juliet.

Reese’s brow furrowed. “We don’t have any proof against Freddy. Even if Juliet provides proof, according to her own statement, she’s a co-conspirator. We can’t arrest Freddy just on her word.”

Quinn shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not using Juliet’s statement against her until I talk to her officially.” The woman had clammed up the second he’d arrested her, regally lifting her chin. She was the most graceful prisoner he’d ever cuffed and escorted into a jail cell.

Reese shrugged. “We’re talking federal law here. Her statement doesn’t hurt her any more than it hurts Freddy…unless we get corroborating evidence against one of them. Considering she just confessed, I’d bet my shiny new boots she has some evidence we could use against both of them.” He leaned forward. “How well do you really know this woman?”

“Apparently not well at all.” Quinn was 100 percent in love with a woman he didn’t know. How crazy was that? Love or not, if she’d been involved with the drug trade, she wasn’t who he thought. “I wish we could tie Freddy to the murders. Then he’d give up his partner or boss or whoever the guy is.”

“The operation is believed to span several states. We’re talking federal trafficking here,” Reese said.

Dread slammed into Quinn’s gut. Juliet would go to jail for life if she’d been involved in the drug trade. “There has to be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Reese said slowly. “I definitely want Freddy and his partner on the trafficking and murders. Maybe we could talk to the federal prosecutor about some sort of deal with Juliet—if she has proof that hurts Freddy, or if she knows who Freddy is working with and is willing to testify.”

Hope commingled with fury inside Quinn, but he kept his face impassive. “I’m sure that will be an option—once we find out the entire truth. So far, I’m not believing Juliet willingly trafficked drugs.” He couldn’t be that horrible a judge of character, could he?

“Are you thinking with your head or your dick?”

That the question was valid pissed off Quinn more than he would’ve believed possible. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Reese lifted a shoulder. “The DEA has waited long enough, and now I’m going to interview my suspect. You in or out?”

Quinn clenched his hands. “I’ll get her.” He stomped from the room, taking deep breaths to maintain control. It’d been years since he felt on edge like this, and he needed to hold it together. The long hallway stretched forever until he reached the first cell. Still wearing her sexy black dress with the sparkly silver shoes, Juliet looked like a captured princess in the dismal cell.

A feminine and fragile princess.

Keys jangled against the old lock as he released the bars. “Come on, Juliet.”

Her pale face whitened further, but she rose gracefully from the single cot. “Where?”

“Interrogation.” Every instinct he owned wanted to reach out and gather her close for a hug. “The DEA wants to interview you about your statement to me.”

She nodded, regally lifting her head and gliding past him into the hallway. “Your friend, Reese?”

“Yes.” Quinn relocked the door. He’d put Freddy in a cell at the far end of the cell block and had every intention of leaving him there until Reese wanted to talk to him.