Rules of Attraction. Susan Crosby

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СКАЧАТЬ Another half hour went by. Then a car pulled up beside him and stayed for close to a minute before backing up twenty feet. His car pulled out. The other parked.

      A changing of the guard. Claire gave up and went to bed but barely slept. When the sun came up, she peeked outside and saw the car was still there. Why? They already knew that Jenn was gone.

      After showering and changing, she went downstairs into her living room where she could get a good view of the driver, a woman, who seemed to be staring right back at her as Claire peeked through the slats of her blinds.

      She couldn’t talk herself out of the guilt that had burned a hole in her yesterday when she’d come home to an empty house, even though Jenn had merely done what Claire had asked. She should be celebrating Jenn’s departure. Instead, she hovered in front of the window like she was to blame for something.

      She was tired. Having Jenn underfoot the past six months, enduring her boyfriend’s trial, putting up with her moods—it had drained Claire, especially since she was still in mourning for her parents. And maybe besides being tired she was also angry. She felt used and manipulated—her own fault, since she’d known what Jenn was like, had given in to her all her life.

      Still, Claire had needed her own space, needed Jenn and her wild lifestyle gone. Now she was.

      And now Claire was a prisoner in her own home. Someone would probably be watching her house, or following her if she went out, presumably to see if she made contact with her sister.

      Half sister. She didn’t usually make much of the distinction until lately, when she wanted to disconnect from Jenn and live her own life.

      But Claire had made enough concessions to and for Jenn. She also knew when Jenn was lying. She’d looked Claire straight in the eye and said she didn’t know anything about the money.

      That was good enough for Claire. It should be good enough for the D.A., and Quinn Gerard, who was just pulling up across the street.

      Rase came up beside her, his leash clenched in his mouth. She glanced from him to the window. She smiled.

      “Ready for a run, boy?” she asked, taking the leather strap to fasten to his collar.

      Rase barked once, his rear swinging from side to side as he wagged his tail in answer.

      “I like the way you think,” she said. “Let’s see if Mr. Gerard is in as good shape as he looks.”

      Three

      Quinn pulled up beside Cassie Miranda’s car, leaned across the passenger seat and handed her a steaming cup of her favorite mocha. She was one of two investigators he’d hired late last year. She’d pulled the night surveillance on Jennifer, and now Claire.

      “Thanks,” she said, breathing the aroma before taking a sip and sighing. “No activity from the house, except that she opened the blinds a little while ago.”

      “I bet she’s showered, dressed and sitting like a soldier in her living room.”

      “Not the kind to fly, hm?”

      “No reason for her to.” He admired Claire for standing up to him last night, even for not letting him inside her house. “I’ll probably see you in the office later.”

      “I’m going to grab a few hours of sleep before I come in.”

      “Hey, it’s Sunday. Take an extra hour.”

      “Gee, thanks, boss.” She started her engine. “How come we’re still working this, anyway? The job is done. There’s no one to tail.”

      How come, indeed? Not just because he always saw things through, but because he thought his presence might make what was about to happen easier for Claire, if she wasn’t too mad at him. He’d been in a similar situation once. He hadn’t forgotten how it felt, and how hard it was to recover from the invasion of privacy.

      “She’s taking the dog for a walk,” Cassie said, pointing. “I’ll get going.”

      Quinn swore. He’d bet she’d specifically waited for this moment, when he and Cassie traded places, to get a head start on him. What did she think he was going to do, follow her? As far as she knew he was waiting for her sister.

      He wasn’t.

      He looked out his car window just then and she smiled—no, smirked—and waved to him then started jogging up the street, her dog beside her. Her dinky dog with the big bark.

      Was that a challenge?

      In no time he was following her, watching her ponytail bounce in rhythm with her steps. He caught up soon enough but lingered behind her, enjoying the view and the way she looked over her shoulder without trying to seem like she was. She did have spectacular legs.

      When she spotted him she picked up speed. The dog broke stride, barked once then settled beside her, keeping pace.

      Quinn had appreciated the leather skirt yesterday. Today she wore running shorts, a tank top and a sweatshirt that she’d pulled off and tied around her waist without missing a step. He whipped his own sweatshirt off, wishing he’d known he would be running. Jeans chafed. Good thing he’d worn sneakers. Most of the time he wore boots. He would’ve looked like he was chasing her. Some Good Samaritan might’ve decked him.

      She jogged in place at a traffic signal at the bottom of a hill. He stayed twenty feet behind her. The light turned green and she took off with only a glance over her shoulder. Damn. He hadn’t felt this good in months, ever since he’d left his one-man operation to come aboard with ARC. The transition had been challenging, reporting to and working with other people.

      Today he was glad for the job, glad for this particular assignment. The bleached blonde with the long legs and the canine companion sent his mood soaring.

      Suddenly she turned around and ran toward him, the dog nipping at her heels. Was she going home already? Should he step aside and let her pass or—

      “You might as well run with us,” she said, stopping in front of him but still jogging.

      The dog danced around, barking.

      “Stop it, Rase.”

      “You call that a command?”

      She pursed her lips. The dog never stopped moving.

      “And I see how well it works,” he added. “Sit,” he said authoritatively.

      The dog put his rear on the sidewalk instantly and grinned, his tongue hanging out, his tail dusting the ground.

      Claire stopped jogging. “How did you— Traitor,” she said to the dog. “You little traitor. He has never done that for me.”

      “That’s because you say ‘Stop it.’” He tried to match the pitch of her voice. “Good boy,” he said to the dog, patting his head. “Rase?” he queried, looking at Claire.

      “Short for Eraser. Because his coat is the color of the old blackboard erasers.” She rubbed his ears. “He probably had another name, but I got him from the pound. He was already a couple of years old.” СКАЧАТЬ