Smokescreen, page 2
A knock came at the door, startling her out of her thoughts and causing a new wave of unease to rush over her. She took a steadying breath and cautiously looked through the peep hole.
Seeing the manager and a policeman on the other side, she disengaged the safety locks and pulled the door open. The policeman’s face was unreadable, but the manager still looked shaken, even as he tried to present a professional air.
Norris’s voice was apologetic.“May we come in?”
Taylor nodded and motioned them inside. Before she could ask for information, the police officer tapped his pen against the clipboard he held. “Can you tell me who knows that you are staying at this hotel?”
“No one knows where I’m staying.”
The officer’s eyebrows lifted. “No one?”
“No one,” Taylor repeated. “My family and friends all have my cell phone number if they want to reach me, but all they know is that I came to Paris for a few weeks to paint.”
“You came from the United States?”
Taylor shook her head. “I’m from the United States, but I’ve been living in Venice for more than a year.”
Now the police officer’s eyes narrowed. “And no one knew that you were staying here?”
“No.” Taylor shook her head again.
Disbelief and a hint of sarcasm tainted the officer’s voice. “You’re telling me that you don’t have any idea who could have broken into your room?”
Taylor stood rigid, her tone turning defensive. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. What did you find in my room?”
“All we are certain of is that the blood we found is human, but we have not found a body or any sign of anyone leaving the hotel who appeared to have been seriously injured.”
“Maybe whoever was bleeding wasn’t hurt that bad?” she asked hopefully.
The police officer’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “With the amount of blood we found, I don’t think that’s possible.”
Taylor tried to absorb his words, struggling to visualize the reality that the police officer had painted for her. “If whoever was hurt hasn’t left, then I’m sure they’ll turn up soon. Maybe whoever it was can tell us what really happened.”
“Like I said, there was a lot of blood. If we find a body, I expect we’ll be calling the coroner, not a doctor.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “You think someone was killed in my room?”
He nodded.
“I don’t understand how this happened,” Taylor said more to herself than to the men standing across from her. Then she looked at the manager. “And why in my room?”
Norris only shrugged helplessly as a new layer of sweat beaded on his upper lip.
“We will continue to investigate. As soon as we know more, we’ll let you know.” The police officer asked her several more questions, including her contact information.
When the policeman finally pocketed his pen, Taylor asked, “Can you tell me when I can have my things back? I really want to make sure that all of my paintings are okay.”
“We will be done with our photos and crime sketches shortly,” the officer said.
The manager gave her a sympathetic look. “As soon as the police are finished, I will have someone bring your things to you.”
A new sense of anxiety rushed through her. “Most of the paintings aren’t completely dry yet.”
“We’ll make sure they’re handled with care,” the manager promised, his sincerity and concern evident in his expression. “I am very sorry for your inconvenience. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make the rest of your stay comfortable.”
Taylor nodded, but she already knew that she wanted little more than to leave Paris and return to her apartment in Italy where she felt safe.
* * *
“I am so glad to have that mission behind us,” Tristan Crowther said as their plane touched down at the naval base in Italy.
Quinn nodded in agreement but didn’t say anything. The mission had been successful. All of the hostages had survived, and all of the pirates had been neutralized. Quinn grimaced to himself as the word neutralized played in his mind again. He hated that in his profession “neutralized” normally equaled death. He had to remind himself that if he and his squad hadn’t done their job, innocent civilians would have died instead of the men who had chosen piracy and death as their career.
He still couldn’t believe that there hadn’t been any civilian casualties. One of the crew members on the yacht had suffered a flesh wound when the shooting had started, but around the world the mission was being hailed as a complete success.
“You know, we’re probably going to be in Italy for at least a couple of days for debriefings,” Tristan continued.
“Probably,” Quinn said casually. He stood up and grabbed his gear in the hopes of getting off the airplane before the conversation could continue. In front of him, Seth reached for his duffel bag, his enormous frame effectively blocking Quinn’s path.
Behind him, Tristan continued. “You should give Taylor a call. I’m sure she’d love to see you.” Tristan gave him a friendly pat on the back. “Better yet, you should take a day or two of leave while we’re in Europe.”
Quinn shot him an impatient look, his voice edged with annoyance. “Stop pushing. I already told you it’s over with me and Taylor. We’re looking for different things in our future.”
Seth took a quick glance behind him and apparently sensed Quinn’s tension. He sent Quinn a sympathetic look before turning to Jay. “Come on, Jay. Let me show you around the base.”
The moment the rest of their squad exited the plane, Tristan dropped his duffel bag on the seat beside him and turned to face Quinn more fully. “What happened between you two at my wedding?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t give me that. You’ve been crazy about that girl for more than a year, and then all of a sudden even the mention of her name gets a rise out of you.”
“I just realized that our lives aren’t heading in the same direction.” Quinn shouldered his duffel and motioned to the front of the plane. “Are you going to move?”
Tristan didn’t answer him for a moment, instead just standing there intently studying Quinn. “Let me guess. She’s looking for a future with you, and you’re too scared to give it to her.”
Quinn’s jaw clenched. Only years of friendship prevented Quinn’s fists from following suit.
“What are you so afraid of?” Tristan asked, apparently aware that he’d found the source of the problem. “What is it that’s holding you back?”
Quinn took a steadying breath. He felt his emotions threaten as he fought back the memories of his past. Slowly he shook his head and spoke, his voice low. “Don’t ask me that when I know perfectly well that you know the answer.”
Tristan hesitated briefly. Then he touched Quinn’s arm and said simply, “It’s time to let go of the past.”
* * *
Taylor looked over her shoulder and hesitated slightly before rounding the corner toward her apartment. Since the moment she had left the hotel in Paris, a feeling of being followed had settled over her. It had started when she had ventured out the day before to pick up some packing supplies and had noticed a car that appeared to be following her taxi. Then she had noticed a middle-aged man staring at her right after she dropped her paintings off to be shipped to New York.
Her time at the Paris train station that morning had been unnerving, and even on the train, Taylor felt on edge, like someone was staring at her. The uneasy feeling was the reason that she had asked the cab driver to drop her off three blocks from her apartment instead of driving her the entire distance from the station.
She shifted her suitcase, suddenly grateful that she had asked for her latest order of art supplies to be shipped to her apartment instead of following through with her original plan to pick them up in France while she was there.
The hair raised on the back of her neck, and she glanced behind her again. It was just her imagination, she assured herself as she crossed the last few feet to her building. She was just being paranoid after the incident in her hotel room.
Ignoring the ache developing in her shoulders from carrying her luggage, she hurried up the stairs and dug her key out of her backpack. The moment she had the door unlocked, she stepped inside, dropped her luggage, and quickly closed and locked the door behind her. Leaning back against it, she let out a shaky sigh.
The ringing of her cell phone startled her, and she lifted a hand to her chest where she could feel her heart pounding. She reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone, checked the caller ID and saw that it was her sister, and took a steadying breath before hitting the talk button.
“Hi, Riley.”
“Hey, sis. I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I wanted to let you know that Mom and Dad are leaving for Brazil next week to pick up Landon.”
Taylor smiled, finally relaxing enough to move farther into the room. “I can’t believe it’s already been two years. Our little brother is growing up.”
Riley laughed. “He’s been grown up for a while now.”
She dropped her backpack on the couch and kicked off her shoes. She hoped her voice sounded casual when she asked, “How is everyone in Virginia?”
“Everyone’s good. I think Mom and Dad are already packed, even though they aren’t leaving until a week from Friday,” Riley told her with humor in her voice. “I got an e-mail from Tristan tonight telling me that he and the guys will be heading back home in the next day or two.”
“How long were they gone this time?” Taylor asked, her thoughts automatically shifting to Quinn.
“Not long. Only about a week.” Riley hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Have you heard from Quinn at all?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t get it,” Riley said, a touch of annoyance now lacing her voice. “At my wedding, everyone was so sure that you two would be the next ones getting married. I mean, you even caught my bouquet.”
Taylor’s memory was instantly crowded with scenes from that day: the good-natured teasing of Quinn’s buddies asking when they were getting married, the way Quinn always seemed to be within arm’s reach no matter where she was in the crowd, and even the stunned look on his face when Riley’s bouquet had landed neatly in her arms. Obviously, she had read more into their relationship than he had.
She shook those memories away, hoping to downplay how mortified she was when she realized that Quinn hadn’t really been as interested in her as she was in him. She hoped her voice was steady enough to respond. “Riley, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Riley said, instantly apologetic. “I’ve just been kicking myself for telling you I saw Quinn with someone else. I mean, he could have just been having dinner with an old friend or something.”
“Riley, it’s not like we ever said we weren’t going to date other people. You’re reading more into this than you should,” Taylor told her. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve spent the past few months trying to contact him, either.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what to think about you two. You would make the perfect couple.”
“Riley, just let it go.” Taylor let out a sigh, her eyes wandering to the building across the street. She noticed a man standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out why he looked familiar.
Riley was silent for a moment. Then she responded, “I guess I’ll talk to you later. Just make sure you call Mom and Dad this week. Otherwise you won’t be talking to them for the next month.”
“They’re going to Brazil for a whole month?”
“That’s what they said,” Riley told her. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Thanks for calling.” Taylor hung up the phone and glanced out the window again. The man across the street was still there, his body angled as if he was watching for someone to come out of her building. Could he be looking for her? Did he look familiar because she had seen him on the train from Paris?
It’s just my imagination, Taylor thought to herself. She edged away from the window and turned to look around her apartment. Then she sighed. Whether she was imagining things or not, she knew what she had to do.
3
Quinn Lambert strode across the grass, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He made his way through the lower section of the King Street Cemetery in Alexandria, reading each grave marker he passed even though he could have recited the names from memory. Oblivious to the light breeze ruffling his short dark hair, he stopped and knelt down beneath the clear blue sky.
It was a perfect September day, just like that day six years ago when Emily had lost her battle with cancer. Quinn stared down at the simple block letters on the bronze marker, his heart squeezing a bit as he remembered vividly the first time he stood here at the tender age of twenty-two. A temporary awning had been placed over the open grave to block the sun that filtered through the trees.
The number of people at the graveside service would have surprised Quinn if he had taken the time to notice. He vaguely remembered standing beside Emily’s parents when the bishop had said a few words. His own parents and his sisters had also been close by, as had Tristan Crowther, the man he thought of as a brother.
Tristan had offered to come with him today just like he did every year on the anniversary of Emily’s death. And like always, Quinn had chosen to come alone.
“I miss you, Em,” Quinn said quietly, his voice nearly lost in the wind as he lowered the flowers to her grave. He felt that rush of warmth he always felt here, the same feeling that always made him want to give in to the urge to cry.
He blinked hard, fighting the sensation as he stood and took a step back. He let himself feel the crisp fall air, but his eyes stayed on the ground as his heart ached. Rarely did he let himself indulge in the thoughts of what might have been had Emily survived, but today those thoughts dominated his very being. At twenty-eight years old, he was simply too young to be standing over the grave of the woman he loved, just as she had been far too young to die.
His throat tightened, and he took a steadying breath. “I’ll always love you,” Quinn whispered. Then with one last look, he turned and walked back the way he had come.
* * *
Taylor rolled down the window of her new SUV, delighting in the wind whipping through her hair. She looked out at the water and, for the first time since leaving Paris, found herself looking forward to getting back to work.
Her agent had taken the news of the break-in much better than Taylor had expected, actually expressing some concern about Taylor’s emotional state as well as her artwork. Of course, the fact that none of Taylor’s paintings had been stolen or seriously damaged had certainly made the conversation less stressful than Taylor had originally imagined. One painting had been stained with blood, but Felicia had promised to have it cleaned and restored if needed. Felicia had also given Taylor that last little push of encouragement she needed to move out of her apartment in Venice and go somewhere new to work.
Taylor looked out at the water once more and hoped that her heart was ready for the changes she had decided to make.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tristan asked for the fifth time since he had picked Quinn up from the airfield in Norfolk.
Quinn clenched his teeth together for a brief moment, long enough to make sure his emotions were indeed under control. “For the eighteenth time, I’m fine.”
“Sorry, man, but I’m worried about you,” Tristan said in his western drawl.
Quinn rolled his eyes, hoping to lighten the mood. “You say that every year.”
“And every year it’s true,” Tristan told him. “I guess I don’t understand why you’re so adamant about keeping Emily a secret from the rest of the squad.”
“I just don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Quinn shook his head. “Besides, look at how many times you’ve asked me today if I’m okay. Do you really think I want to have the rest of the guys checking up on me too?”
“Eventually someone is going to notice that you take the same day off every year, especially since you hardly ever take leave.”
Quinn didn’t respond, letting them lapse into silence for several minutes.
When Tristan finally spoke, his voice held a quiet understanding. “One of these days you’re going to have to move on. Emily wouldn’t want you to sit around and mourn for her for the rest of your life.”
“Just stop worrying about me, okay?” Quinn said with a hint of frustration.
“Whatever you say.” Tristan shrugged. “Do you at least want to come over for dinner tonight? Riley was talking about making lasagna.”
Quinn looked at him suspiciously. “Did you tell Riley where I was today?”
“No, but she’s been asking about you a lot lately. I think she worries when you go for more than three days without showing up at our place looking for free food.”
“Are you saying your wife wants me to impose on you all the time?”
Tristan flashed him a grin. “No, I’m saying that I think she wants our help with something.”
Quinn smiled automatically. He and Tristan had met Riley more than a year earlier when their squad had worked with her on developing a course for law enforcement officers. Since then, Riley had ventured out on her own and opened her own company. “Is she planning a new course, or does she just want our feedback?”
“She hasn’t told me yet.” Tristan’s eyes sparked with mischief. “But if she’s making lasagna, we should probably be worried.”
Quinn nodded in agreement. “What time is dinner?”
“Come by whenever you’re ready for some company,” Tristan told him as he pulled up in front of Quinn’s apartment complex. “We’ll probably eat around six.”
“Sounds good.” Quinn opened the door and climbed out of Tristan’s truck. “Thanks for the ride.”
Tristan simply nodded.
Quinn slammed the door shut and watched Tristan drive away before heading into his apartment. The furniture was sparse. The couch and single chair were well worn, and the dining area was empty. Rather than a table to eat at, there was a single stool next to the kitchen counter. He glanced over at the lone bookcase next to the television set, his eyes landing on the photo albums on the bottom shelf. Normally he would have indulged himself and taken the time to stare at those images of the past, of the life that still had Emily in it.
