Dressed in White Read online

  “Did you learn that in the police academy?” He’s keeping it light, but wants to know.

  “I got lucky. It was in the shed he dragged me in.”

  His expression goes dark. “Tell me what happened.”

  I explain the events leading from when I was with Eric at the neighbor’s summer BBQ. I finish by telling the long version of my fight in the tool shed. I can tell he’s intrigued. That’s another bonus for him. Eric had been horrified. He was always upset about that--It was self-defense, but that didn’t matter to him.

  “I’m impressed. From everything I’ve seen, you don’t fall apart under pressure. You react well.”

  He’s impressed… Yippee! At last, a man who isn’t afraid, upset, or running away from me. And who I like, respect, and am attracted to. I think he makes a decent living too. Though, if I dig under the surface, I may find unusual methods. Being in the Special Forces sounds impressive to a former police officer, but I’ve heard enough to know when they’re sent to other countries, they do things I wouldn’t do. It’s all with the approval of the USA. I’m not going to mention that. It’s above my pay-grade, and I’d be in territory I know little about.

  “How about the mission?” I guess. “Although I could go grocery shopping. As you know, I’m out of food.”

  “Much as I like being with you, I’ll pass on shopping.”

  “Come on, let’s see where the road takes us.”

  As we’re passing through the town, I recognize the condo he stayed in when I was following the GPS I planted under his car.

  “Do you live there?” On the left side of the road.

  “Huh? How—oh yeah. Now I remember, the GPS. No, it’s a place to sleep when I’m working in town.”

  We’re driving toward Solvang in companionable silence. It looks like the market is my only idea. He drives past the sign for the mission. I guess we’re not going there.

  My phone vibrates: A text from Monica. “Can I ask a favor? Will you swing by the ostrich farm and get two eggs? I have a customer who wants deviled eggs for her husband’s 70th birthday.”

  “Important?” he sees me thinking.

  “Not really, but how about if we visit the ostrich farm? Monica needs eggs. It’s on the way and it might be fun.”

  “Sure, maybe I can save your life again?” he reaches across and squeezes my hand.

  “Mmm, I’d like that.”

  Darn right I would, I’d love to see him in action.

  Here it is: The green OstrichLand USA sign. It’s a large, barren lot, with only scrub brush. This is how the valley would look without the vineyards and oaks it prides itself in.

  “You ready to see an ostrich?” his eyes have a gleam.

  “Why do you look so happy?” Am I missing something?

  “Why not?” He parks in front of the shop.

  He gets out and comes to my side to meet me. Has he swallowed a happy-pill, or what?

  I’ll go along with it. Maybe he’s a light-hearted man under all the masculinity.

  16

  Ostrich Land

  I’m not used to a happy man. Intense, angry, upset—all of those go with the men I’m usually with. I wonder why. It could have to do with the masculine type.

  But what’s up with Quinn?

  He wraps his arm around my waist and together we enter the shop.

  “Wow, look at the painted eggs. They’re like Fabergé.” One is a white horse intricately painted on a bright blue background. “It’s gorgeous. Some people are so talented.”

  “It looks like my arm,” he pulls up his sleeve showing his white Pegasus.

  “Yes, and it has the same feeling of movement, but without wings.” I look back at the egg. “You know, your tattoo is amazing; the artist caught the essence of him.”

  “Yeah. I think so too,” he looks a bit melancholy.

  I’m not going to say a word, or ask. Nope. I’m keeping my mouth shut. Being too inquisitive may get me booted out of his life.

  Instead, I give him a light kiss on the cheek, then look at another egg in the case. I slowly move over to the feather dusters. No, I don’t need one of those. It’s a lost cause around the ranch. Actually, Nikki and I haven’t discussed house cleaning duties. I guess one of us will have to sweep the floor, eventually.

  “Look at this, ostrich jerky.” Quinn holds up a pack, looking interested.

  “Do you remember, years ago, ostrich meat was going to take over the beef industry. It never did. I think the cowboys got together and spread rumors. I barely remember it.”

  “Do you want to feed them?” he asks.

  “Um, not really. I used to have chickens, so I figure they’re just giant hens.”

  I see them milling around the feeding area. Some people are holding out dustpans of pellets for them to eat. It would probably be fun for kids. They’re like dinosaurs from an era long past.

  I work my way around to the counter to get my real eggs. It comes to $50 an egg. That’s 24 chicken’s worth. I hope Monica can figure out how to cook it.

  “How long do you boil this for deviled eggs?”

  “Based on this size, I’d go for 2 hours each.” The lady says as she’s packing them in a box. “Don’t worry about accidentally breaking them on the way home, that won’t be a problem,” she smiles as she drops a flier in the bag. “This explains how to cook them and how to break the shell.”

  Quinn gets a bag of jerky, then we head out. Standing under the patio cover, he opens his bag and pulls the dark piece apart and offers me a bite.

  “I guess. Thanks.” It’s just a giant chicken. The meat is dark from the leg muscles. I taste a bit. The seasoning is good, but it’s still meat, and not to my liking. I used to love jerky as a kid, but I got away from eating meat in middle school.

  “This is great. I like it.” He sees my expression and laughs.

  He seats me and is opening his own door, when he leans in and starts the engine, so I have cool air. “I’m going to buy a box for when I miss meals while working. Are you alright here?”

  “Yes thanks, I’ll look at my giant eggs.”

  A few minutes later, he’s back out, with a box he puts in the trunk.

  “It beats donuts and trying to find something nutritious at odd hours. Do you know there’s almost no fat, and it’s high in protein.”

  “I guess it beats making a protein shake while on a stakeout.”

  I grab my wig and tug it onto my head. We’re getting close to Solvang, where Heather and Alana may be lurking. I slouch down to make myself invisible.

  “The GPS shows Heather is stationary in Santa Barbara. The other one isn’t working. I don’t know if it’s malfunctioning or if it was found and destroyed.” He glances at me, looking concerned. “I’ll have to check it out. I can’t let them come after you again.”

  “What happened when you ran after Heather, after she crashed the carriage?”

  “She was long gone. The GPS indicated she was in Ventura at the time.”

  “My house is in Ventura.” I hurry to add, “I rent it out for income.”

  “I’ll pull it up and we can see if she was at your place.” He sounds guarded. It’s setting off warnings in his brain.

  “She couldn’t have made it to Ventura that fast. She only had a ten minute lead on you.”

  “I’ll check it out,” a determined look sweeps across his face.

  “I’m most comfortable with my .38, but I have that new Glock too.”

  “You’re one hell of a woman!”

  “Thanks.”

  I still can’t believe he’s ok with my guns! Even Deputy Ken was leery about problems following me. He played so straight, he’s perfect for law enforcement. But Quinn has a few tricks he knows how to use. I don’t get the feeling he walks the Thin Blue Line. Nope, he makes his own path.

  “What are you thinking?” I prompt, to get his valuable opinion.

  “I’ll take a drive to Santa Barbara and see what’s going on. I’ll drop you off first
.”

  “Why don’t I go with you? Monica’s house is in Solvang, I’ll bring her the eggs on the way.”

  “Jess, this is more serious than you think. Remember, they’re into drugs and money laundering. Heather did a botched-up job of setting fire to the bakery, but they’re dangerous women.”

  “But Heather was trying to ruin Monica’s wedding. She wasn’t out there with a gun trying to kill us.”

  “That’s true, but I don’t want you seen with me. It would cause too many questions. I’m supposed to be their contact.”

  “I’ll stay low.” I slide down further.

  “How about I drop you at the ranch, then I’ll go look around?”

  “Alright. I understand being with me would blow your cover.”

  “Not entirely, but it would be bad if they did some investigating and learned more about you.”

  I sigh.

  “Don’t worry. This will settle down,” he smiles consolingly.

  He pulls up the driveway and stops at the house. “I’ll see you in, then take off.”

  “Thanks for the nice day. I had a great time.” I lean over for a kiss.

  He doesn’t need more encouragement than that. It’s a good thing the eggs are thick-shelled. They slip to the floor—and I don’t care.

  When we come up for air, his look tells me what I’ve wanted to see from every man I’ve been with—but I haven’t. Wow. It warms my heart.

  17

  Deviled Eggs

  Quinn left to investigate Heather’s car, so I’m heading for the bakery. I have to deliver the eggs, and I’m too stirred up to stay around the ranch.

  “Thanks for getting these. Did you get off work early?”

  “No, I took the day off to hang out with that sexy man who saved you in the police raid.”

  “Oh, so he’s sexy, is he?” She nods, knowingly. “I thought I saw a spark when you were having dinner a few weeks ago.”

  “How does everyone know before I tell them?

  “Because usually you’re irritated by men.”

  I’m quiet a moment, then agree. “Yeah, they are too aggressive and know-it-all. Although, I know a lot of know-it-all women I don’t like.”

  “I think you’re attracted to easy-going men, but they’d better be handsome.” She takes the eggs and rinses them, then carefully puts them each in a deep pot of cool water.

  “Well, yes, I like handsome, but I also want a guy who’s skilled, has a job, has proven himself…”

  “Harlequin Romance.”

  “Fine. Yes.” I agree, what else can I say—yes I like a great man.

  I have a seat and watch her preparing fruit tarts. She’s layering the sliced peaches on the rolled-out dough. “When are your dessert classes starting again?”

  “I don’t know. Now that Aquamarine has been shut down, and my business is back, I may relax.”

  “Plus you have Charlie to go home to…”

  She looks up with a grin. “Yeah, I don’t want to work day and night. As you know, we’ve been talking about online sales. I’ll be back to full time next week, if you’re ready to hit the computer. The biscotti club needs to roll out with a bang.”

  “Fine. Going door-to-door worked well. The posters are up. Do you want Facebook ads, or something else?”

  “I’d like to keep the ad-spend low for a while. How about if you post daily on Instagram and Facebook? Come up with a fun quote and a nice picture.”

  “Ok, I’ll do that.” I have lots of ideas. “How about: Even my horses love biscotti.”

  We chat while I mess around on the sites, adding photos from my phone. I’m working while the eggs cook for two hours. The timer dings, signaling they’re done. Now they both need cooling in an ice bath to make them easy to handle.

  I take a break from the computer and stand next to her, watching her tap the back of a knife lengthways, around the middle. She snaps pieces off the thick shell.

  She says it looks like a dinosaur egg, but it reminds me of a skull I once saw. Its owner ran across the 405 Freeway, but didn’t make it. I don’t bother saying that, it would ruin the atmosphere. But still, I remember these things.

  It comes apart, in mostly, two jagged pieces. She puts them aside—yeah, a skull—and proudly holds the hard-boiled egg in her hands.

  “I’ll slice it to see if it’s completely cooked.” She rinses it off, then slices it in half, like a regular hen’s egg.

  “Wow, look at that—it’s perfect!” I should think so, with Monica doing the cooking.

  “What are you going to put in it?”

  “She wants it traditional. She said her husband loves deviled eggs. She’s made them for the past 60 years of birthdays while they’ve been married.”

  “That’s amazing, 60 years!” That’s almost double my age—and a long time to be with someone.

  “She only needs one egg. So we can make the other into anything we want. Any ideas?”

  “I love mustard, and maybe relish, but I’m not sure. I’ll look up some recipes,” I get back to the computer to search for ‘delicious deviled eggs’.

  “Martha Stewart and Paula Deen both use mustard, mayo and salt. You can either add relish, like Paula, or vinegar like Martha. Maybe a little hot sauce?”

  “Right, I’ve worked out the recipe for the classic. How about something wild?”

  “Hmm, more recipes… Sugar, Tabasco, butter. Paprika sprinkled on top.” I’m scrolling. “Oh, this sounds good… bacon, blue cheese and sour cream. Look at the picture, it has asparagus spears too.” I swivel the laptop to show her.

  “Thanks, my creativity just got a jump-start.” She hurries to the fridge and starts grabbing things.

  Ding, a text from Quinn: Bad news about Heather’s car. She sold it a few hours after the wedding. Can you talk?”

  “Yes.”

  He rings as I step out the back door. “Hi.” I want to say hi, gorgeous. But I play it cool. I don’t want him to feel chased.

  “Hi beauty. I’m sorry. I take full responsibility. She sold the car an hour after the wedding. I feel like I dropped the ball.”

  “It’s not your fault! How would you know?”

  “I take responsibility.” He’s beating himself up.

  “I don’t agree, but I won’t argue. So she has another ride. We’ll have to be careful.”

  “I took back my tracking device.”

  “That’s good.” I pause then change the subject. “Monica boiled the eggs. They turned out perfect. One is traditional, and we’re trying to find interesting ingredients for the other,” I try to sound light.

  “That’s really nice.” He hasn’t finished kicking himself.

  “Would you like to meet later?” I say it softly, kind of offhand.

  “Yeah, I’d like that. I don’t have a job starting until Monday. What time are you free?”

  “Probably a couple of hours. If you come over after dark you can sneak around easier.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have specialized training?” I hear his smile.

  “Yes, absolutely. But it just makes sense to be careful. Maybe you can change your license plate too. Once, I stopped a car with such a good cardboard plate, I couldn’t tell it was fake until I got close.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  I hear the admiration in his voice. He is one of the few men who like how I think!

  “I’ll stop by the store and get… something.” What am I going to make for dinner?

  “That sounds nice. How about 8:00?”

  “Perfect, see you then.”

  I hurry back inside. “Help, I have to create something tasty for dinner. I have three hours.”

  “Is this for Freddie and Harold?”

  “Yes, and his real name is Quinn.”

  She looks up with a start. “Oh, I see. The others were fake?”

  “Well, more like covers.”

  “Are you sure Quinn is his real name? It sounds a bit too perfect.” She leaves the question in
the air and gets back to the mixing bowl.

  I feel sick. My stomach goes queasy. Is it possible he’s only telling me what I want to hear?

  18

  Dinner at My Place

  I’ll see what happens. He seems legit—I think. He took me to see his mother. That’s huge, isn’t it? Everything else is in the air. Since he pretended to be Freddie and Harold, I’m sure he has a million fake IDs. He did know about the multi-jurisdiction task force. He also knew inside info about the drug deal in Lompoc those months ago.

  I’m marching the cart around the aisles, forcing down my emotion. I’m focusing on getting the ingredients Monica told me. My head wasn’t functioning, so she gave me a quick recipe for lettuce wraps. It sounds easy and looks fresh like I put in a lot of effort. A win in all categories.

  I also get cat food and cat litter; those are just as important. I know Cami will stay, but I don’t know about Quinn.

  I make it home, drive by the horses eating dinner, and pull up to the house. I’ll be leading rides tomorrow and Sunday, so I’ll have plenty of time with them.

  Nikki is at the counter, having a bowl of soup. I have the grocery bags across both arms, and aim directly for the fridge.

  “Hi. Where were you today?”

  “I went with Quinn to lunch, then got ostrich eggs for Monica. I stayed at the bakery helping do her ads.”

  “Quinn, huh?”

  “Yeah. But—Monica brought up a good point. He changes his name so easily, he may still be giving me a false one.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “It doesn’t feel like it. But he even said he’s a chameleon. I wonder if that was a warning.”

  “Be careful.”

  “I know. He’s coming for dinner at 8:00—I’m making lettuce wraps. I’ll try to get more out of him, without it seeming like I’m prying. I almost feel like going to bed and crying.”

  “Wow, you’re hung up on him, aren’t you?” she puts down her spoon, and stares.