“Meow.”
He unlocked the gate, and they passed through. She let him take her elbow as they continued in silence toward the water’s edge. Tidal ripples lapped at water-blackened rocks, and a ship’s bell clanged somewhere near the marina. The odors of rotting seaweed trapped against the pilings and beef chargrilled at the nearby steak house hung in the shreds of bayside mist.
“It’s getting late.” Quinn bent to pick up a jagged scrap of lumber and tossed it toward his trailer. “We’d better go.”
She pulled her outer sweater more snugly across her middle. “Why did you come out here?”
“I figured you’d head this way.”
“What is this-some kind of game with you?” She turned toward him, but he faced the bay, his features obscured by evening shadows. “No matter when I drive by, you’re always here. I never get a chance to-”
“To sit and imagine how it will be?”
“That’s right.”
He slid his hands into his pockets and nudged a loose stone. “To take a few moments at the beginning of what you know will be a long, hard day. Or to sneak a few moments before you have to leave at the end of it, setting aside all the frustrations. To have a few moments for yourself. Just you and the project.”
He shifted in her direction, and she knew, without being able to see it, the precise expression he wore on his face. “To live in this place in a way no one else ever will,” he said. “To see it in a way no one else can.”
The damp night air tossed her bangs across her forehead, and in spite of her warm sweater, she shivered. She’d never heard him string so many words together before, and his eloquence-and his perception of what was inside her-caught her off guard. She didn’t know how she could possibly share these thoughts and feelings with such a rough-edged, closed-off man. She’d never felt more uncomfortable with him than at this very second, when she realized how much they might have in common.
And she’d never before craved his approval with such an overwhelming longing. She supposed a large part of her resentment was tied up in that-in her need for his appreciation of her talents, in her desire for his acknowledgment of her importance to this project. He wouldn’t be building Tidewaters without her vision.
“What do you see, when you look?” she asked.
“The angles of the walls. The glass in the panes. People moving along the walk, going into the shops. A nice tree somewhere along that curved drive you insist on having.”
She smiled at his mention of the tree. And at the thought of the people who’d use the space-odd that she’d never pictured them in her daydreams. Now that she did, the image warmed her. “Some colorful planter boxes in front of the windows would be nice.”
“Yeah. If they’re like yours.”
“Why, Quinn, how sweet.” She raised her hand to brush her hair from her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
He circled her wrist with his strong, rough fingers and slowly guided her hand from her face. He’d never touched her before; she’d never imagined his first touch would be one like this, oddly gentle and tentative. She thought, for an instant-no, she hoped he’d continue the soft pressure, continue to pull her toward him until their bodies touched. She imagined the feel of him against her, solid and steady and male, and oh, my, a part of her wanted that, so very much.
But the desire, the insistent, warm beat inside her, reminded her of her lingering resentments-wanting him, and knowing he wanted her, and dealing with the fact that he could control or ignore these same urges, this shared awareness.
“I notice plenty,” he said as he held her awkwardly in place, his voice a low rumble that seemed to set off vibrations as it moved through her. And then he dropped her hand and took her by the arm again.
“Time to go back,” he said as he led her away. “It’s safer here in the daylight.”
THE DAWN FOG floated across dark bay ripples Monday morning to shroud the construction site in a ghostly haze. Quinn lugged a bundle of rebar toward the masonry wall rising above the second-floor level as Ned climbed the scaffolding to begin placing another stack of blocks. In the two weeks since the foundation had been poured, they’d forged ahead of schedule. Good thing, too, because a storm was forecast for the end of the week. In spite of the delay the rainy May weather would bring, he figured they’d still manage to have the south wall finished by this time next week, and the west wall framed and ready for-
An ominous crack echoed like gunfire across the bay, followed an instant later by a man’s high-pitched yowl of panic and pain.
“Watch out!” Tom scrambled past the mortar mixer and dived beneath the planking as concrete blocks and a bright yellow hard hat tumbled to the muddy ground behind him.
Quinn dropped his load and raced toward the scaffolding.
Rusty and Phil beat him to the ladder, clambering up to the spot where Ned lay, sprawled across two thick planks spanning the iron supports, cursing and panting and gripping a rail. Ned’s legs dangled through the space where a third plank should have been. Rusty locked an arm over the scaffolding, bracing himself before he grabbed hold of Ned’s belt to keep him from slipping over the edge.
“Hold still,” Quinn ordered. He’d already flipped open his cell phone and punched a direct-dial number for emergency dispatch. Come on, answer, damn it.
“Don’t worry.” Ned cut off a groan with a grimace, his chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“What happened?” Tom swung up on the opposite edge.
“Board snapped.” Ned muttered a curse, his face white with strain. “I grabbed for the rail and hit the edge on the way down. Think my leg’s broke.” He gasped. “Maybe a couple of ribs.”
Quinn gave the emergency dispatcher their location and told her to send an ambulance. “Did you see what happened?” he asked as he flipped the phone shut.
Phil shook his head. “I was strapping on my tool belt. Next thing I knew, Tom was yelling, and I took off running.”
“I heard the snap and saw the boards come down.” Rusty glanced at the rest of them. “I thought for sure Ned was going to come down with ’em.”
Quinn knelt beside Ned. Near the far side of the marina, a siren’s keening horn cut through the smothering mist, momentarily blotting out Ned’s short, heavy pants. “Think you can roll over a bit? We can try sliding in another plank to support you until help arrives.”
“Sounds like a plan.” With Rusty’s help, Ned eased onto his back with a low grunt.
A fire truck lumbered through the gate and jerked to a stop beside the scaffolding. Emergency supplies in hand, a paramedic swung down and jogged toward the ladder.
“Let’s give this guy some room,” Quinn said. “Tom, wash out the mixer. Phil, go ahead and start in on the rebar on the west side. Rusty, call Gus at Keene’s and see if you can get him to postpone the plaster sand delivery.”
Quinn had a tougher call to make-one to Ned’s wife, Sylvie-as soon as he got the chance.
His crew moved off as an ambulance pulled into the site. Behind the white cab, a dark green compact darted into view.
“Damn,” Quinn muttered when the compact stopped at the curb beyond the fencing. Justin Gregorio, reporter for Channel Six news. No fan of development in general or Tidewaters in particular.
Or Quinn, for that matter. None of the men who’d dated Quinn’s ex-wife before she’d left town had a very high opinion of him.
Which evened things out, since the lack of esteem was mutual.
Gregorio pulled a video camera from his car and panned the site, pausing when the lens swung in Quinn’s direction. He slowly lowered the camera, a coldly false smile pasted on his face, and then he turned to wave at Rusty, who was stepping out of the office trailer.
With Quinn’s help, the firemen lowered Ned’s stretcher to the waiting gurney. The paramedic asked a few routine questions before loading Ned into the back of the ambulance, and then the van rolled across the site.
Quinn pulled out his phone, figuring he couldn’t put off that call to Sylvie any longer. When she didn’t answer, he left a message and tucked his phone in his pocket as Rusty approached. “What did Gus say?”
“Told him what happened. He said to give him a call around eleven, and he’d see what he could do. Probably won’t be able to send a truck until after lunch.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
A police cruiser passed through the gate and headed toward the firemen chatting with Gregorio.
“Shit,” Rusty said as he folded a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. “It’s like Grand Central Station around here.”
Quinn stared across the yard. “I saw you talking to the guy from Channel Six.
“Yeah.” Rusty tugged on his work gloves. “He sure was looking to dig up some trouble. I don’t think he found enough to suit him.”
“Thanks. Again.”
Quinn sent him to join Phil and then strolled toward the cruiser. “Morning, Reed.”
“Morning.” Reed Oberman tilted his chin toward the walkie-talkie on his shoulder and mumbled a cop’s code of numbers and acronyms into it. “Heard you had some trouble down here.”
“All taken care of.”
“So it seems.”
“Hey, Reed.” Gregorio edged his way into the conversation and extended a hand. “Good to see you.”
“Is that off the record?”
Gregorio flashed a bland smile at the officer and then faced Quinn. “Morning, Quinn. Shame to hear you’re having trouble on your job sites again. Looks like another innocent member of your crew’s hurt, and no one knows why.”
“No comment,” Quinn said.
“No comment on a friendly expression of sympathy?” Gregorio’s smile widened. “That seems a bit extreme. Damn near defensive, considering the circumstances.”
“No comment.”
“How about you, Reed? Are you here in an official capacity?”
“You know city policy on emergency dispatch.” Behind them, Reed’s car radio crackled and squawked. “And my business here is private. Unless Quinn doesn’t mind?”
Quinn flicked a glance in Gregorio’s direction. “No comment.”
“In that case,” Reed said with a tight smile of his own for Gregorio, “I’m going to have to ask you to stand back.”
“No problem,” Gregorio said. “Catch you later, Quinn.”
“No comment,” Quinn said.
Gregorio hefted his camera to his shoulder and moved off toward the scaffold.
“You want me to remove him from the site?” Reed asked.
“No. Thanks.” Quinn gestured toward his trailer. “Coffee? I don’t have anything but black, but it’s hot.”
“No, thanks. I’m cutting back.” Reed pulled a notepad from his pocket. “What happened here this morning, Quinn?”
In terse, precise phrases, Quinn went over everything he’d seen and everything he’d learned. “I don’t know why that board snapped the way it did,” he finished. “But I’m going to find out.”
“Sounds like an accident to me.”
