Quinn’s lean, muscled body quivered with tightly reined emotion

It took all Hope’s willpower to hold back the urge to touch him. It was her last remaining defense to his unexpected invasion. Somehow she felt if she didn’t cross that line, she could survive this encounter with her heart still intact.

Her gaze flew instinctively to Quinn’s little niece and nephew. A drop of moisture dripped off her chin and she realized she was crying at the senseless injustice of a family being destroyed…and Quinn walking around with a price on his head and the guilt of his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths on his soul.

Quinn.

A hundred questions formed in her mind. But only one seemed important. “What can I do to help?”

“Marry me.”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Your summer reading list just wouldn’t be complete without the special brand of romantic suspense you can only get from Harlequin Intrigue.

This month, Joanna Wayne launches her first-ever miniseries! You loved the Randolph family when you met them in her book Family Ties (#444). So now they’re back in RANDOLPH FAMILY TIES, beginning with Branson’s story in The Second Son (#569). Flesh and blood bind these brothers to each other—and to a mystery baby girl. All are her protectors…one is her father.

Familiar, the crime-solving black cat, is back in his thirteenth FEAR FAMILIAR title by Caroline Burnes. This time he explores New Orleans in Familiar Obsession (#570).

It had been Hope Fancy’s dream to marry Quinn McClure, but not under a blaze of bullets! Are Urgent Vows (#571) enough to save two small children…and a lifelong love? Find out with Harlequin Intrigue author Joyce Sullivan.

With her signature style and Native American characters and culture, Aimée Thurlo revisits the Black Raven brothers from Christmas Witness (#544). In Black Raven’s Pride (#572), Nick Black Raven would die to protect Eden Maes, the one-time and always love of his life. And he’d be damned before anyone would touch a hair on the head of their child.

So if you can handle the heat, pull the trigger on all four Harlequin Intrigue titles!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Urgent Vows

Joyce Sullivan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joyce credits her lawyer mother with instilling in her a love of reading and writing—and a fascination for solving mysteries. She has a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice and worked several years as a private investigator before turning her hand to writing romantic suspense. A transplanted American, Joyce makes her home in Aylmer, Quebec, with her handsome French-Canadian husband and two casebook-toting kid detectives.

Books by Joyce Sullivan

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

352—THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

436—THIS LITTLE BABY

516—TO LANEY, WITH LOVE

546—THE BABY SECRET

571—URGENT VOWS

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Quinn McClure— This counterfeit expert is certain his identical twin was killed in his place. Can he find a mother for his brother’s children before the hit man rectifies his error?

Hope Fancy— Always a fiancée and never a bride. Would a jinx and a hit man prevent her from marrying her first love?

Mercy and Bernardo— Who had hired this hit man and his sidekick?

Asian Syndicate — They feared Quinn was coming too close to identifying the principals of their credit card ring.

Hugh Simons— The mastermind of this payday counterfeit check ring blamed Quinn for his arrest.

Ross Linville— Quinn’s investigation into the stock certificates he’d counterfeited to use as collateral for a bank loan had tarnished his family’s sterling name. Now he’d skipped bail. Was he plotting revenge?

Adrian Burkhold— When Quinn exposed him as the head of a rare gold coin counterfeiting operation, Burkhold swore he’d see Quinn dead.

Dr. Juan Chavez— Was this wealthy Dominican Republic doctor trying to prevent Quinn from telling a packed courtroom about his counterfeit medical diplomas?

For Jeannie, who found her Sha’ul. May you live happily ever after. Mazel tov.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A serendipitous meeting with two charming and debonair gentlemen was the inspiration for this book. I would like to extend my gratitude to Jean-Claude Doré, Forensic Counterfeit Examiner and Robert Fawcett, Forensic Document Examiner, of Counterfeit & Forgery Prevention Inc. for sharing the details of their fascinating work.

Thanks also to Inspector Al Misner, RCMP Forensic Ident Services Ottawa; T. Lorraine Vassalo, Criminologist; Detective-Sergeant Bill Bowles, Ontario Ministry of the Solicitor General and Correctional Services; Detective-Sergeant Clyde Dyck, Chief Firearms Officer, Ontario Ministry of the Solicitor General and Correctional Services; Dee Barlow, ADT Security Systems Canada; Lawyers Robert Lewis and Glen Kealy; Jackie Oakley, Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police; Dr. Stephen W. Maclean; Karen Robertson; Kathryn Young-Davies; Pat and Linda Poitevin; and Judy McAnerin

Any mistakes are my own.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

12:00 p.m. Thursday

The electronic beeper on his wristwatch sounding noon roused Mercy from sleep, his heart pounding, the blood pumping through him and rushing to his head.

Had the bodies been discovered yet? Mercy scratched his private parts, then rolled over and grappled for the TV remote on the bedside table. The hand that had been so steady last night, so deadly, now trembled with anticipation.

The morning news had been ungratifying—not one mention of the killings. But surely, now there’d been time…. The set came on with a burst of color and sound in the darkened motel room.

A satisfied smile twisted his mouth as the thin-lipped, tight-assed, primly suited anchorwoman gazed solemnly into the camera, her expression conveying both sympathy and outrage as she segued into the lead story.

“Residents in Gloucester are in shock today over the gruesome discovery of the bodies of a man and a woman shot to death in their home. A neighbor spotted the couple’s three-year-old daughter through a kitchen window and became suspicious when it appeared the girl was unsupervised. Police are not commenting on whether it was a botched burglary or a murder/suicide. A toddler was also found in the home. He was unharmed. Names will not be released until the next-of-kin have been notified.”

Mercy flipped her the bird and switched to another Ottawa station, just catching the tail end of the story. He got some satisfaction from seeing footage of the neighbors huddled outside the house. The fear stamped on their faces made his chest swell. Damn straight they should be afraid. Mercy was no one anyone wanted to mess with—not if they didn’t want to find themselves six feet under or reduced to dust in a fancy bottle.

This station reported no names were being released, too. Mercy threw the remote against the wall. If he was lucky he’d get positive confirmation on the evening news, then he could blow off this town filled with politicians and civil servants squabbling over pay increases and tax cuts to medical and social programs. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He’d followed the bastard home from the office, and the mail piled in a basket on a table in the living room had been addressed to Q. D. McClure. The confirmation was just a technicality. Necessary paperwork.

He was on his way into the bathroom when his digital cellular phone rang. “Yeah?”

He recognized the dry, raspy voice. “Has the job been completed?”

“Last night. Just waiting for positive ID. His old lady woke up so I ended up poppin’ her, too.”

“Don’t expect extra. Just fax me a copy of the newspaper report and I’ll have the money wired directly to your account. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” The line went dead.

Mercy grunted and shook his head, remembering how the woman had stirred, her blond head lifting from the pillow…and how he’d popped her before the scream could rise from her throat.

His body tightened. Yeah, the pleasure was all his.

Chapter One

2:35 p.m. Friday

“It should have been me. Not them,” Quinn Mc-Clure told the solemn-faced lawyer who’d agreed to this cloak-and-dagger meeting in a fast-food restaurant. But then, never in a million years could Quinn have imagined himself, with two young children in tow, on the run from a hit man.

Of medium height and average build, wearing a conservative gray suit topped with a black overcoat, Tom Parrish glanced up from the pages of the last will and testament of Quinn’s brother, Quentin Mc-Clure. Parrish was sharp, with a glint of ingrained caution evident in his hazel eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Quinn nodded. He’d never felt so numb. His thoughts seemed disconnected from his body, neither fully registering the actions of the other. Or maybe it was that the part of him which had always been linked to his identical twin brother, Quentin, was irretrievably severed. And yet, Quinn had to think. Had to resist sinking into the black whirlpool of grief that had opened in the pit of his stomach. He had to do what was best for the children before he hunted down the bastard who’d gunned down Quentin and Carrie in their sleep.

A Mountie always gets his man. Even ex-Mounties.

Parrish set Quentin’s will aside on the table and picked up Carrie’s. Quinn’s fingers trembled as he tried unsuccessfully to blot the horror of identifying his brother and sister-in-law’s bodies from his mind. Tried not to remember the last joking conversation he’d had with Quentin when his brother had dropped by Quinn’s office Wednesday evening to pick up the ticket Quinn had bought him for a Senators’ hockey game.

Parrish’s narrow brow furrowed. “Both wills appoint a Charles Duncan as the children’s alternative guardian.”

“That’s Carrie’s dad,” Quinn explained, struggling to keep his teeming emotions from his tone. “He had a debilitating stroke just after Christmas. He’s in a nursing home in Nova Scotia. I guess Quentin and Carrie never got around to selecting someone else—”

Quinn swallowed hard, unable to continue. Heat seared the backs of his eyelids. He hadn’t called the nursing home yet. He couldn’t bear to think of Charlie being told such news by a stranger. Couldn’t bear to think of Charlie’s grief at learning his only child and her husband were dead. That his grandchildren were orphaned.

Twenty-six hours had passed since Quinn had received the horrible call early yesterday afternoon informing him that Quentin’s and Carrie’s bodies had been found in their home. He told himself that he’d made it through the first horrific day and could make it through another. He’d been an RCMP officer too long not to immediately suspect the grisly truth when he’d arrived on the scene. It looked like a professional hit. Forced entry in a neighborhood that hadn’t seen a break-and-enter in over three years. Victims shot at close range with a .22 semiautomatic. None of the neighbors had heard a sound, and there was no sign of the spent casings, which indicated the hit man had used a silencer. Not a damn thing was taken. A quick in-and-out job. Quentin’s wallet and Carrie’s purse weren’t even touched.

Damn. It was his fault.

Every day of his life he’d live with the torturous knowledge that the hit man had followed Quentin home by mistake. Quentin hadn’t had an enemy in the world. But Quinn had a long list of enemies—all of them criminals, and not one of whom appreciated his efforts to toss their sorry asses in prisons all over the globe for counterfeiting anything from currency, credit cards, checks and travel documents to high-end designer clothes, salon products and stuffed toys.

A forensic examiner specializing in counterfeit detection and prevention, Quinn had left the RCMP at the invitation of Oliver Wells, a forgery specialist who was ready to retire from the RCMP and wanted to open up a private consulting firm. Their clients were many and varied: government agencies, financial institutions, insurance companies, law-enforcement agencies, private-investigation and security agencies, and private companies all over the world sought out their technological expertise to deter fraud and their investigative skills to combat it.

Once Quinn had realized his twin’s death was a professional hit, it hadn’t taken him long to provide the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police with a short list of crime syndicates and individuals who possessed the motivation and the resources to order a hit on him. Not that he thought a list would do much good when the hit had likely been ordered by someone outside the country.

Quinn had a more straightforward means of finding out who’d hired the hit man. He planned to extract the information from the bastard when he came back to rectify his mistake. Oh yes, Quinn knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the cold-blooded killer would return to finish the job he’d been hired to do. And when he did, Quinn planned to be ready and waiting. But first, he had to make sure that Quentin and Carrie’s children would be well taken care of in the event something happened to him.

Quinn cast a watchful eye toward the play area of the restaurant where his friend, Gordon Swenson, who’d arranged this meeting with the lawyer, was supervising nineteen-month-old Kyle and three-year-old Melanie’s antics in the ball room. Then he panned the room, checking for anyone or anything that seemed unusual or out of place. The police hadn’t released the names of the victims to the press yet, but that didn’t mean the hit man hadn’t already been alerted to his error.

Tom Parrish carefully placed Carrie’s will on top of Quentin’s and aligned the corners. “Given what Gord has told me over the phone about your circumstances, Quinn,” he ventured in a low tone, “the best way to ensure that your niece and nephew don’t end up wards of the Crown—in the unfortunate event of your death—would be for you to marry and appoint your wife as their guardian in your will. As their aunt, your wife would be considered a relative of the children and it’s unlikely the court would choose not to uphold your request, particularly since there would be no opposing claim. Have you been seeing anyone lately you might consider marrying?”

Quinn shook his head. He’d only ever considered marriage once in his life—very briefly—and that was a decade ago. “The ladies I occasionally date aren’t the nurturing types. Besides, Kyle and Mel deserve a mother who’ll love them as much as Carrie did and be willing to raise them on her own if she has to. From a security perspective, the children would be safer with a stranger. We don’t know the resources behind whoever ordered the hit. Once they realize I’ve gone into hiding with the children, they’ll start digging into my background looking for people who might be in a position to help me out. That’s why I came to you instead of my own lawyer. It minimizes the risk of discovery because there are no links to trace.”

Quinn rubbed his jaw, feeling the rasping bite of the stubble on his chin. “Gord told me you come from a big extended family. I don’t suppose you know any single women willing to take on two kids?”

Parrish looked thoughtful for a moment. “My wife will probably string me up for suggesting this, but one of her sisters runs a day care out in Kanata. She’s a terrific person. Funny, caring. Loves kids. My daughters are five and two and they adore her. She’s definitely the kind of person you think should have kids of her own, but she lost her fiancé a few years ago in a car accident and she’s pretty much given up on the idea of having a family. You could talk to her, see if she’s willing to help you. To my knowledge she’s not seriously involved with anyone, but she likes to keep her personal life private. It drives my wife nuts.”

“I’d make it worth her while. Money won’t be a problem.”

Parrish didn’t bat an eyelash. “Since I’m your lawyer and she’s my sister-in-law, I’ll make sure she’s adequately provided for. But the only reason she’d do it is because she loves children. I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“I’ll take every precaution necessary to make sure that doesn’t happen. You have my word. I only plan to stay long enough for the kids to bond with her.” Quinn couldn’t believe he was even talking about marrying a perfect stranger. “How soon could we be married if your sister-in-law accepts my proposal?”

“Monday at the earliest. The two of you would need to go down to city hall and apply for a marriage license in person. There’s no waiting period or blood test required in the province of Ontario. Unfortunately, judges no longer perform civil ceremonies in this region, but I can make all the necessary arrangements with a nondenominational minister and draft your will once you talk to Hope.”

Hope? Quinn’s heart thumped queerly in the numb cavern of his chest. “Your sister-in-law’s name is Hope?”

“Yes, Hope Fancy, if you can believe it.”

Quinn couldn’t. He’d never thought he’d hear that quaint, old-fashioned name again.

Parrish removed a cell phone from the pocket of his overcoat. “Maybe I should call her and tell her I’m sending a visitor her way.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Quinn said sharply. Too sharply. He softened the edge to his request, realizing Parrish didn’t have a clue he’d known Hope long ago. “Cell phone calls can be picked up on scanners. I’d prefer a letter of introduction and directions to her place. I’ll take care of the explanations myself.”

Quinn just hoped she wouldn’t hate him even more for what he was about to do.

SO MUCH FOR eloping with David and living happily ever after!

Hope dropped her suitcase containing the silky jewel-toned lingerie she’d bought for her honeymoon on the mat inside the darkened foyer and sagged against the firm panels of the front door as the humiliation she’d been holding back for the last hour and a half burst from her heart in a guttural moan.

Why on earth had she been jinxed with the uncanny ability to pick the wrong men to fall in love with? As if two broken engagements and the death of one fiancé in the last ten years weren’t hard enough for a woman to endure, she could now add being jilted at the altar to her list of challenging life experiences.

Her chin jutted up stubbornly in her own defense. Not that those two broken engagements were anything to be ashamed of. She had loved Quinn Mc-Clure with her whole heart and soul, and the week they’d been engaged had been tantamount to heaven on earth. If his father hadn’t died, her life might have been so different…. She hadn’t dated anyone else for over a year and a half, hoping that Quinn would somehow come to his senses.

But Quinn hadn’t and she’d met Steven. Her engagement to the Realtor had been a mistake. He was everything Quinn wasn’t, which was the problem. Though charming and successful, he simply wasn’t Quinn. Telling Steven the truth had been the right, though painful, thing to do. Hope ran into him now and again in parks and at Ottawa’s many museums and had met his wife and his growing family: two daughters and a third child on the way. No, that had worked out for the best because two years later she’d met Matthew, a veterinarian, whose quiet strength, Nordic good looks and infinite patience had helped her recover from the damage Quinn had done to her heart. They’d dated for over a year before Matthew had asked her to marry him. Hope’s only regret was that she had insisted on a long engagement to give them time to truly get to know each other. He’d died in a car accident three weeks before their Valentine’s Day wedding.

Four years had passed since Matthew’s death and Hope had decided she’d had quite enough of love until David Randall had entered her life six months ago.

Thank God she hadn’t told anyone she and David were eloping tonight—not her family, not even Marie Elizabeth, her closest friend since grade school.

David’s suggestion that they elope, which had seemed so sensitive and romantic at the time of its offering, had saved her from being subjected to yet more sympathetic looks and exclamations of “Not again!” Kanata was a small town and people had long memories.

Though, of course, David’s secretiveness had garnered him precisely what he’d wanted…he would still be a groom, only the louse would be married to his old flame Susan, who’d driven up from Toronto to stop him from marrying her.

Hope had no idea how Susan had learned of their plans, but she’d made quite a dramatic scene, rushing into the quaint stone chapel wearing a sleeveless, silver-blue frothy confection and glittering silver sandals that put Hope’s demure and practical blush-pink suit and white pumps to shame. Susan’s Cinderella-gold mane had flowed gracefully onto her tanned shoulders, her bottle-green eyes liquid with tears as she’d professed her undying love for David and pleaded with him to marry her instead.

Hope had let them have each other and counted herself lucky she hadn’t wasted another thousand dollars on a fancy wedding dress for a ceremony that would never be performed. At least, she’d been able to wear her wedding dress this time.

Figuring she’d indulged in enough self-pity, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and felt along the wall for the light switch. She blinked as the soft hazy pools cast by the table lamps brightened the redbrick Victorian farmhouse’s cheery front parlor. The lace curtains, the wide varnished pine floorboards, the rose-patterned wool area rug, the plump cushions lining the blue chintz sofa and the photographs cluttering the walls, soothed the hollow ache in her heart with their homeyness. The truth was, she had everything she needed: her health, a home, a successful business and children in her life…even if they weren’t her children.

Besides, she was beginning to think husbands were more trouble than they were worth.

Hope kicked off the white pumps, burrowed into a corner of the sofa and covered herself with a rainbow-hued afghan she’d made several frigid winters ago. It had the sweet nostalgic scent of the children who played with it day in and day out, used it for a blanket, a tent or a king’s robe. Hope’s jaw ached as she clamped back on a fresh crop of tears stinging her eyes.

Maybe somebody up there was trying to tell her something…. Her thirtieth birthday was a dim memory. Her younger sisters Grace, Faith, Charity and Patience were all married and had children—some of them teenagers. And her best friend Marie Elizabeth, who’d divorced her first husband, was happily ensconced in her second marriage and busy blending two families together.

The telling silence of the empty house she and Matthew had bought forced Hope to acknowledge painfully that she was a crummy judge of male character. She’d have been much better off if she’d turned down David’s dinner invitation when they’d been introduced to each other by a mutual friend at a coffee shop, and hadn’t let herself be swayed by the boxes of raspberry jelly donuts he’d leave on her porch. But he’d seemed so perfect—a stable and dependable accountant who shared her family values.

However, there was plenty of contentment to be found in the fact she was a wonderful aunt, sister, daughter and friend, and made a valuable contribution in the nurturing of all the children who passed through the doors of Home Away from Home, her day- and night-care center. She could buy her own jelly doughnuts.

An early spring wind sighed heavily in the eaves, the rafters cracking and groaning as if agreeing with her decision. The throaty purr of a motor turning in the drive and the pinging of gravel crunching beneath tires mingled with the sound of the wind. Hope saw a twin beacon of headlights swing across the front window for an instant.

Oh no!

Her pulse pounded through the veins in her wrist as she lifted the lace panel and peered out into the night, hoping David hadn’t followed her. Another dramatic scene she did not need.

She briefly considered turning off the lights and refusing to answer the door, but that would make her a coward. David was an adult. He had the right to choose whom he wished to marry. She just didn’t want to hear any explanations that were supposed to make her feel better—and ease his guilt!

The yard security lights flashed on as the car drew to a halt, illuminating the driveway and the rain-withered, misshapen snowmen rising like ghostly creatures from the snowdrifts still covering her front lawn. Winter hadn’t completely released her grip on the land.

A figure emerged from the driver’s side. A man. But he seemed taller and more imposing than David, his shoulders seeming to take on superhuman proportions. Or perhaps that was her imagination? No, it wasn’t David. This man had a thick, full head of black hair that gleamed with a bluish sheen beneath the light. He wasn’t one of the fathers or stepfathers of her routine charges either. But something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

His every footstep rattled the wet loose gravel until he hit the red-brick path that wound up to the house, then he moved soundlessly, almost stealthily, pausing with obvious uncertainty on the rim of the sagging porch as if he weren’t sure he’d found the right address. But an enormous colorful placard in the shape of a house, with children playfully peeping out of windows, was impossible to miss at the end of the driveway. Was he just someone asking for directions?

She saw him look back over his shoulder toward the white sport utility vehicle. Unease slithered down the bones of her spine. Hope dropped the curtain and clambered off the sofa, not for the first time wishing she had a dog—something big with an intimidating growl. But a lot of toddlers were scared of dogs, and she didn’t want any child under her roof to feel anything but happy and safe. Besides, she’d developed a mother’s fine sense of hearing and wakened immediately at the slightest sound.

Telling herself she was being ridiculous, Hope quickly and silently moved to the kitchen and grabbed her cordless phone off the end of the counter as the man’s knuckles thumped against the screen door. Whoever he was, at least he’d obeyed the instructions on the card posted over the doorbell requesting people not to ring the bell as children could be sleeping.

“Just a minute,” she called softly. None too gently, she wrestled her suitcase into the crowded hall closet, then engaged the security latch at the top of the door which prevented her young charges from sneaking out to climb the old apple tree the moment her back was turned.

She flicked the porch light on. Phone clasped firmly in her damp hand and her finger poised to dial at the first sign of trouble, she eased open the door. The bolt slid along the latch and caught, granting her a six-inch crack through which she could speak without appearing rude.

She had an unfettered view of a chest that rose and expanded like a rough-hewn peak to the jagged thrust of a granite jaw and lean cheeks. Slate-gray eyes, glinting with uncertainty down the blade of a sharp, chiseled nose, impaled her. Disbelief slapped her in the face.

Hope dropped the phone, oblivious to the clattering it made as it hit the floor. She must be dreaming. The man in black jeans and the black anorak zipped up to his chin had to be a figment of her imagination. “Quinn?”

He dug his fingers into his hair, sweeping it back from his broad forehead. His words were low and strained. “I’m sorry to barge in on you like this unannounced. But I need you. It’s an emergency.”

He needed her? Surely this was a joke. No, a nightmare. Any moment now she’d wake up with a start on her couch, but Hope didn’t want to wake up. Quinn was gazing at her with the same hungry intensity he’d looked at her with ten years ago; as if he were devising a plan to sweep her off to a secluded spot where he would promptly persuade her that they both had on far too many clothes.

The thought of Quinn naked, making love to her, brought a sharp stab of pain to her abdomen. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” she murmured, resisting his intrusion into her heart. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He stuck the toe of his boot in the door, preventing her from closing it in his face. “Please, Hope. Your brother-in-law, Tom Parrish, sent me. He thought you could help me out of a jam.”

Hope didn’t even know that her brother-in-law knew Quinn. Tom and her sister Faith hadn’t met until years after Quinn had gone back to the RCMP Fraud Squad in Toronto. “What does Tom have to do with this—?” She broke off as the piercing wail of a child’s cry split the air—a wail of fear that pierced Hope’s heart. A child. He had a child. After what he’d told her….

“Just a sec.” He leapt off the porch in a bound, calling over his shoulder, “That’s Kyle. Once he gets going, he’s sure to wake up Melanie.”

Kyle? Melanie?

Not one child. Two. The man who’d broken her heart when he told he’d never be a family man had children. And, obviously, a wife.

Damn him. It was too much. She supposed now he wanted her to baby-sit. It was almost laughable.

As Quinn swooped down on the car like a hawk upon a mouse, Hope unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch in her nylons, shivering as the cold from the planks bored into the soles of her feet.

Quinn’s imposing back was hunched over the open car door. She opened her mouth to call out to him that despite what Tom had told him, she was closed until after Easter, when he straightened and Hope saw the squirming legs of a restless toddler in pastel-green pajamas, and the pale oval of a tiny face, shaking in protest at being held in his father’s arms. Quinn’s expression matched that of his son’s: complete and total frustration, and Hope’s protest died on her lips. There’d been a shower earlier in the day. She hoped Quinn still had enough presence of mind to put a blanket around his son. And what did it matter if she baby-sat Quinn McClure’s children? He had said it was an emergency, and that Tom had sent him. She could at least hear him out.

“Ou-t!” A second cry from the car’s interior drifted toward Hope on a fresh gust. Hope saw a windmill of churning legs as Quinn firmly tucked Kyle under one arm and rounded the car to the other side, where he opened the door and reached into the car with his free arm to assist the unseen Melanie. Hope decided he could use a second pair of hands.

Running into the parlor, she stepped into her pumps, then swept the afghan off the couch. The screen door slapped behind her as she hurried down the porch steps, the wind tugging her long hair in all directions.

She slowed at the gravel drive, picking her way carefully in her pumps. Judging by the sound of things, Quinn wasn’t any closer to having his children under control.

“Where’s Mommy? I want Mommy! Now! My hair’s caught—and it hurts!” Hope heard the gasping windup of a sob in the making.

Quinn was patient, his voice strained, his body blocking Hope’s view of his daughter. “Mommy’s not here, Mel-Mel. But I am. Now hold still so I can get your hair untangled and get you out of this car seat. Who designs these things anyway— Kyle, ouch! Those are my ribs, pal. If you keep kicking like that, I’m going to drop you and you’ll get hurt.”

Melanie let loose a torrent of agonized howls as if to point out that she, unlike her brother, was in actual pain and must be dealt with immediately.

Afghan in hand, Hope offered to help.

Quinn backed out of the car and straightened, then sagged against the side of the vehicle, Kyle still trying to twist himself free from the restraint of his father’s forearm. Quinn’s relief was obvious. His expression held a tightly reined desperation that shook Hope to the core. “Maybe you could loosen Mel’s hair for me and I’ll take the kick-boxer inside. He sorely needs a diaper change. Then we can talk?”

“Mm-hmm.” Hope grasped one of Kyle’s sturdy little feet and dredged up her brightest smile, her nose wrinkling at the indelicate odor wafting from the toddler’s clothing. “Hi! You must be Kyle. I’ve got a rainbow blanket to warm you up. Have you ever been hugged by a rainbow?”

Blue-gray eyes, ringed with black lashes, widened beneath finely drawn wisps of brows. Hope experienced a pang of envy. Kyle’s hair was as dark as his father’s. Tousled curls framed his rounded brow where a boo-boo was healing. The toddler stilled almost instantly as she tucked the blanket firmly around his warm, compact body and the iron-hard band of Quinn’s arm. “There, nice and cozy now, aren’t you?”

“Thanks,” Quinn murmured. Hope felt her cheeks heat as his measuring gaze slid over her. It was not the sort of look she expected a father of two to brandish about—unless he was divorced?

Another howl from Melanie, this one, degrees more pitiful than the first, had Hope crawling into the toy-littered car, which smelled like new upholstery, male cologne, Kyle’s soiled diaper, and spilt apple juice, toward a three-year-old with chocolate-brown eyes and silky amber hair that fell in angel curls past the shoulders of her heart-dotted purple sweat suit. “My goodness, Melanie,” she intoned softly, giving the little girl a chance to get accustomed to her and her voice. “You poor lamb, looks like you’ve got your fleece all caught up in this funny-looking fence. My name’s Hope. Would it be all right with you if I untangle you?”

Melanie sniffled, and after a moment’s hesitation demanded, “What’s feece?”

“It’s a sheep’s hair.”

Melanie stretched a hand up to Hope’s face and stroked the hair at her temple, her touch soft and tentative. “Are you a fairy? Mommy says fairies wear flowers in their hair.”

Flowers? What was she talking about…? Oh, good heavens! Hope followed Melanie’s fingers, her face reddening when she found a spray of baby’s breath still lingering in her hair from the fiasco of her wedding. She pulled out the flowers and handed them to Melanie.

“No, I’m not a fairy,” she said lightly. “Just always a fiancée. But my friend the robin told me I’d be having a little lamb come for a visit tonight so I was saving it for you.”

Melanie beamed.

“We’ll put it in your hair after we get you free.” Hope expertly manipulated the straps and the release button of the car seat, then made short work of the snarl that had caused all the ruckus and tucked the delicate white flowers behind Melanie’s left ear. “Lovely.”

“I’m always a fiancée, too.”

Hope rolled her eyes and lifted the little girl out of her car seat to help her on with the bubble-gum-pink jacket she found on the front passenger seat beside a smaller navy jacket with red and yellow stripes on the sleeves, and a diaper bag. A quick glance over her shoulder toward the house told her Quinn was letting himself in the front door.

Hope grabbed Kyle’s jacket and slipped the diaper bag over her shoulder, then reached for Melanie’s hand. “Come on. It’s much too cold to let a little lamb like you frolic in the fields. How about you come in the house for a snack while I talk to your daddy?”

“Daddy’s here?”

To Hope’s surprise, Melanie’s eyes filled with tears. She wondered if the preschooler was afraid Quinn had left without telling her so.

“Your daddy’s in the house, lamb. With Kyle. And we’d better hurry because any second he’s going to figure out he forgot the diapers in the car.”

Melanie’s face transformed into a wreath of smiles. She scampered up the front walk at full tilt, calling out, “Daddy! Daddy! I’m here! I knew you weren’t dead!”

What on earth? Hope’s blood ran cold. Had she heard correctly? She hurried after Melanie as fast as her high heels would allow her.

Melanie yanked on the screen door as Quinn opened the front door. Melanie latched on to his legs. “Oh, Daddy! You’re not dead.”

Quinn seemed to stagger under her assault. The flash of pain that whitened his features and turned his eyes into gray pits of agony halted Hope in her tracks on the porch steps. Even as Quinn was pulling Melanie up into his arms and cradling her tightly against his chest, she knew who these children were. Tears blurred her eyes as Quinn said raggedly, “Oh, baby. I’m Uncle Quinn. Not Daddy. Daddy’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

Melanie’s face twisted, and a heart-wrenching sound echoed from her throat.

Hope’s heart felt as if it were being punctured by her ribs. The poor darling lamb! Her hand fluttered to her mouth as Melanie turned brown eyes glaring with accusation at her.

“You lied. You said Daddy was here.”

Hope’s voice trembled. “Oh, sweetie. I didn’t know. I thought he was your daddy. I’m so sorry I upset you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Melanie’s lower lip jutted out belligerently.

Quinn pressed a kiss on his niece’s cheek. “It’s not her fault, Mel-Mel. Kyle woke up before I could tell Hope why we’re here.”

Melanie fingered the baby’s breath in her hair. “Does this mean I’m not always a fancy eater?”

Quinn’s brow crinkled. “Huh?”

Hope leapt to his rescue. “Never mind. It’s a girl thing. Of course, lamb. You’re a fairy fiancée. Now how about that snack I promised? Poor Kyle must really be feeling the need for a clean diaper about now.” She handed Quinn the diaper bag.

“I don’t wear diapers,” Melanie announced in a superior tone. “I’m not a baby.”

“Kyle?” Quinn whirled around and strode into the house, Melanie still clutched in his arms, the diaper bag banging against his thighs. “Oh God. I forgot about him.” He turned toward the small downstairs bedroom Hope used for a change room and her kids’ cubby holes.

“He’s not there,” Hope said, hearing the tinkling of toy piano keys. “He’s in the playroom—the big room right off the kitchen.”

She paused a second to kick off her pumps and rooted through the toy-crowded closet for a pair of the knitted slippers she kept for guests. Her regular slippers were packed in her suitcase and there was no time to unpack them.

She’d just eased her cold, pinched toes into the second slipper when a deep groan reached her ears from the playroom.

“Oh, buddy!”

Hope padded down the hall into the kitchen. When she saw the naked toddler and the suspicious network of puddles that streaked her kitchen floor like the canals of Venice, she sternly told herself that things could be a lot worse. She could be spending her wedding night with a man who didn’t want to be married to her.

KYLE HOWLED bloody murder when Quinn hauled him off to the bathroom to clean him up. Quinn gritted his teeth as he taped a diaper in place and tried to snap Kyle’s outfit around the toddler’s thrashing legs. Hope’s tidy bathroom looked as if a brigade of firemen had bathed in it. Kyle had splashed water all over the floor and smeared soap on the mirror when Quinn had tried to give him a quick bath in the sink. Fresh talons of guilt sunk unrelentingly into Quinn’s stomach. Every passing second he spent with Kyle and Melanie demonstrated how totally incapable he was of taking care of them properly.

What would he do if Hope said no?

Her attempt to close the door in his face pretty much expressed her current opinion of him. Somehow he had to change that.

Leaving a couple of the snaps undone, Quinn carried Kyle back into the kitchen and set him down. Hope had already finished cleaning the floor and was opening a tin of apple juice at the counter while she offered Mel fashion advice on the dress-up clothes his niece was pulling out of a wicker trunk. Kyle made a beeline for a pile of blocks.

As if she sensed his entrance, Hope turned toward him, her mouth set in a thin, tight line, her eyes misty and golden…and full of questions.

And Quinn felt the full jabbing thrust of the intense physical attraction he’d once had for her all over again. She hadn’t changed much in ten years, he thought, taking in the wild disarray of her dark brown hair streaming over her bare shoulders. She’d removed the jacket of her suit and wore a Rugrats apron over a silky, lace-trimmed camisole top. Her short pink skirt showed off her great legs and the nicely rounded curve of her hips. All that smooth white skin and lace reminded Quinn of a delectable iced cake on a tea tray. Pure, irresistible sweetness.

Her pointed chin and the delicate joy lines fanning those golden eyes and dimpling the corners of her mouth, still made him think she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Maybe because his scrutiny was so intense, he noticed the lone white flower clinging to her hair like a snowflake—which reminded him that she’d had flowers in her hair when she’d come to the door. Had she had a date earlier tonight? Quinn frowned. Tom Parrish hadn’t mentioned a current boyfriend, the existence of which might put a serious wrench in his plans.

“I’m preparing apple juice and graham crackers for the children,” she said, putting an end to the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them. “Do they have any food allergies?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Quinn clenched his fists, feeling awkward as she set the snack on a kid-size picnic table and told Kyle and Melanie they could eat only at the table. What if Hope had a boyfriend? How could he ask her to sacrifice her personal happiness when that had been his excuse for abruptly severing their engagement? He felt like a hypocrite. He shouldn’t have come. He never would have thought of seeking her out if Tom hadn’t brought up her name. “I’m really sorry to put you to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. My plans for the evening kind of fell through anyway.” Something about her tone of voice told him she was telling him a half truth, but she folded her arms across her chest and changed the subject—to the heart of the matter—with her usual directness. “So, what brings you to my doorstep at nine-thirty at night? You mentioned my brother-in-law sent you?”

Quinn nodded and gestured toward the hallway. “Maybe we could discuss this out of hearing range of the children? I don’t know how much they understand, but they’ve suffered enough trauma in the last thirty-six hours. I don’t want to upset them further.”

“Of course.” Hope was almost afraid to listen. She couldn’t imagine Quentin McClure being dead. Hope had always referred to him as Quinn’s better half—the younger-by-fourteen minutes, brainy, mild-natured twin. His death had obviously rocked Quinn hard. Quinn’s lean, muscled body quivered with tightly reined emotion as they stepped into the hall. It took all her willpower to hold back the urge to touch him. She’d already agreed to listen to him and had let him into her home. Had even let herself look at him again. Not touching him was her last remaining defense to his unexpected invasion. Somehow she felt that if she didn’t cross that line, she could survive this encounter with her heart still intact. “What happened to Quent?” she asked softly.

A muscle throbbed in his cheek. “He and his wife Carrie were found shot to death in their home yesterday morning. It was a professional hit, only the hit man mistook Quent for me.”

“Oh my God!”

Hope pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to hold back the nausea that churned in her stomach and clawed up her throat. Her gaze flew instinctively to Kyle and Melanie, who were dribbling cracker crumbs all over the picnic table. Those poor babies! To lose both their parents like that…. A drop of moisture dripped off her chin and she realized she was crying at the senseless injustice of a family being destroyed and children being orphaned…and Quinn walking around with a price on his head and the guilt of his brother and sister-in-law’s deaths on his soul.

Quinn.

She flinched as her eyes met the cold bleakness of his gaze. His emotional overload of pain, anger and guilt forcefully struck her like a whiplash to the chest, the whipcord splitting her ribs and curling securely around her heart. Hope swayed and reached out to him, her fingers seeking the iron band of his wrist. A hundred questions formed in her mind. But only one seemed important. “What can I do to help?”

“Marry me.”

Chapter Two

Hope snatched her fingers from Quinn’s arm and stared up at him open-mouthed, not certain she could believe her ears. It was too ludicrous that she could be dumped at the altar by one man and proposed to by another—especially Quinn!—all on the same day, but Quinn’s expression was deadly serious.

“I— I beg your pardon?” she whispered.

“You can marry me. Quent and Carrie named me the children’s legal guardian in their wills. But if a contract is out on my head, I don’t stand much of a chance of being able to fulfill their wishes. I’m a dead man, Hope. I can’t hide out with these kids forever. Every day I stay with them I put them in danger.” He ran a hand over his haggard face. “The very least I can do for Kyle and Melanie is give them a real mother to take care of them if something happens to me.”

She blinked, completely overwhelmed by what he was implying. She didn’t bother to conceal her sarcasm. “That’s why you came here? You want to marry me just like that to give the kids a mother?”

“Yes.” Quinn’s hard, slate gaze held hers and seemed to etch a path into her innermost secret thoughts. As if he knew the hold he’d had over her heart.

Hope wanted to slap him for his audacity, even as she found a kernel of comfort in the knowledge that she was the one he’d come to in his hour of need.

“Surely you don’t have to resort to such a drastic measure,” she said stiffly. “The RCMP must be investigating, they’ll find whoever—”

He cut her off. “I’m not with the RCMP anymore. The Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police are handling the investigation.”

Now Hope was thoroughly confused. Quinn had been completely engrossed in his career with the RCMP when she’d met him at a friend’s wedding. It had been part of his excuse for breaking their engagement. That along with some nonsense about him not wanting her to be constantly worrying about his safety and waiting for him to come home—an issue that had arisen after his father’s sudden death during a reconnaissance mission with the Canadian Forces. “You’re not a police officer?”

His mouth stretched in a wry smile. “My business card says I’m a forensic examiner specializing in counterfeits. I decided to take some of the special skills I learned with the RCMP abroad when a friend of mine, Oliver Wells, turned sixty and retired. Oliver offered me a partnership in a forensic analysis and consultation company. Our company specializes in the prevention and detection of counterfeits and forgeries, which is a long-winded way of saying that we determine the authenticity of currency, checks, credit cards, stock certificates, travel documents. Even university diplomas,” he added. “We travel all over the world. Today’s technology makes it easier for organized crime rings and individuals to commit fraud and most police departments don’t have access to the highly specialized skills and training necessary to conduct these types of investigations. The expertise and skills would only be found at the level of the national police forces in Canada and the United States. European countries turn to Interpol. Our clients are law-enforcement agencies, countries, financial institutions, insurance companies and private businesses.”

Hope bit down hard on her lower lip. She should have known he’d only left the RCMP because he’d found a broader arena in which to court more danger and excitement. What was that compared to a tame life of raising a family? Like father, like son.

“How does my brother-in-law factor into this?”

“He’s my lawyer. He came highly recommended by a friend.” Quinn paused. “I didn’t realize you were any relation until he suggested he had a sister-in-law who might be willing to take on Kyle and Melanie. He didn’t seem to know about our previous relationship so I didn’t bother to enlighten him.”

Hope closed her eyes and felt the hurt rumble from her voice and burrow deep into her chest. “How flattering that you didn’t come up with my name on your own.”

He gripped her shoulders and her eyes fluttered open to meet the uncapped honesty glimmering in the depths of his wintry gaze. Her skin grew sensitized to the heat generated by his touch and the roughened tips of his fingers. Longing unfurled in her like a cluster of spring flowers bursting through a patch of winter ice.

“Frankly, it never occurred to me to seek you out,” he said brusquely. “I thought by now you’d be married with four kids.” She couldn’t move, could barely breathe as he gently extracted a baby’s breath bud from her hair, holding it between his square-tipped fingers. Her heart lifted and contracted as if stretching after a long dormancy, then commenced to beat at an alarming rate. “Tom told me about your fiancé who died. I’m sorry.”

A flush scalded her face. For the life of her she wasn’t going to ask what other information Tom might have confided about her personal life. Had her brother-in-law thought she’d just leap at the invitation to be married? To have an instant family? Her knees threatened to buckle, but pride kept them rigidly locked in place. She pressed her lips closed and counted slowly to ten, trying not to think of Quinn living in her house as her husband. “Aren’t there any other relatives?”

“No. Carrie was an only child. Her mother died last year and her father is in a nursing home. He’s in no shape to take on the responsibility. Unfortunately, there’s no one else. My mother died six years ago.” He released her and shrugged, the muscles bunching and grinding together beneath his gray sweatshirt. “Given the circumstances, Tom told me that the most expedient thing for me to do from a legal standpoint is to marry and appoint my wife the guardian of the children in my will. As the children’s aunt, there’s a much greater chance the court will uphold my wishes because you’re a relative. I know this sounds a little extreme, but I don’t want to take any chances that the kids could end up becoming wards of the Crown.”

This was so absolutely crazy. Hope’s brain scrambled to process all the information he was giving her. Tom had been specializing in family law for a number of years. She had no doubt the advice he’d given Quinn was sound, but a part of her felt she must object on the children’s behalf. “Forgive me for sounding so blunt, but how can you be so sure that your brother and his wife were killed in your place?”

“Quent was a scientist and worked for the Museum of Science and Technology. It’s not exactly an environment that inspires violence. You knew him. You know what kind of person he was. I deal with people every day who’d like to see me take a trip into the hereafter.”

“How do you know it wasn’t a burglary,” she protested. “Or just some deranged person—”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Because the night they were shot, Quent dropped by my office to collect some tickets to a Senators game at the Corel Centre. I believe the hit man was staking out my office and followed him home, thinking he was me. My address isn’t listed in the phone book. Neither was Quent’s.”

Hope nodded and felt her throat constrict with pain for him, for the children, and for Quent and Carrie, who’d had their lives cut short. “I’m so sorry. I sympathize with your situation, but I’m not sure that I can marry you.”

“Are you involved with someone?”

Hope nearly choked. Not as of 7:00 p.m. this evening. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then, what is it?”

She lifted her chin. He was dangling her deepest, darkest desire in front of her with all the scruples of a proverbial devil negotiating the price of a soul. One simple I do and she’d be a mother and Quinn’s wife. “Have you considered that you may not be doing these children any favors by marrying someone when your heart isn’t in it?” She held his gaze. “Maybe you’re wrong about all this, and one day you’ll decide this marriage was a mistake and put these children through the trauma of a divorce.” She couldn’t bring herself to add just as he’d thought their engagement was a mistake, but the words hung in unspoken accusation between them.

His knuckles grazed her jaw. Another touch, another tender, persuasive assault on her senses. His mouth twisted into a lopsided grin that carved a shallow dimple in his left cheek. A very sexy dimple. “Hit men are results-oriented people, Hope, and I’m not willing to take a chance on being wrong. I don’t want you to love me. I don’t deserve it. But Quent married Carrie for life and I wouldn’t dishonor their commitment to each other and what they wanted for their children by offering you less.”

Damn him. She took a silent inventory of his rugged profile and the jagged plates of his muscled chest, her conscience rebelling at the idea of some mercenary killer wanting to destroy him. If he managed to survive, and that sounded like a big if, he’d stay married to her out of guilt. For the children’s sake. But the thought of exchanging vows with him might destroy her. It had taken her years to get over him.

She darted a glance at Kyle and Melanie and her reluctance to agree to this crazy proposal melted in a rush of compassion. Kyle had abandoned his snack and was industriously hammering a block at the play workbench. Melanie was fast asleep at the picnic table, a graham cracker still clutched in her hand. How on earth was she supposed to resist those two darlings? “If I agreed, I’d be putting my life in danger, as well.”

“Yes,” Quinn stated unequivocally. “But Tom and I, my partner Oliver, and my friend, Gord Swenson, plan to exercise every precaution possible to keep our location under wraps. No phone calls that can be traced or tapped, no record on a computer disk. I’m driving a car that belongs to another friend of Gord’s. We don’t even want your family to know.” He paused, his Adam’s apple working in his lean throat. “As soon as the children have bonded with you, I’m going to leave. I have to do whatever I can to help the police determine whoever is responsible for this. I just can’t leave the kids immediately— I’m the only familiar face they have at the moment and I have to think of their needs first.”

And that, Hope realized, was how they were going to get through this. By thinking of the children and putting Kyle’s and Melanie’s needs first. She threaded her fingers through his and squeezed. For an instant he seemed surprised by her touch, then his fingers twined tightly with hers in a bond of shared understanding. Tears gathered in her eyes.

But their joined hands, and the tingling warmth generated by the contact of their palms made her very much aware that marriage had a physical as well as an emotional commitment.

Her cheeks heated. “Just one more question,” she said, determined to make things clear right from the beginning. “Where do you plan on sleeping while you’re here?”

“On the couch, Mrs. McClure. Sex is the last thing on my mind, but we might have to get Tom’s legal opinion on whether or not the marriage needs to be consummated.”

Hope blushed from her toes to her scalp at the idea of asking her brother-in-law such a question.

“Or maybe not.” His fingers tightened a notch around hers, protective and familiar. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

She tilted her head back to look up at him and gave him a tremulous smile. “Yes.”

The glow that warmed his eyes created a stirring of response in her belly. Reminded her of a week long ago when being Quinn McClure’s fiancée had brought her such happiness and eventually pain.

“Thank you. You won’t have to worry about money. I’ve got savings, investments, a condo and a business I own half of. Not to mention life insurance and the trust fund Quent and Carrie set up for the kids. It should be enough.”

“I’m not worried. I can manage on my own if need be.”

She saw the tension loosen in the planes of his face. “Carrie would have approved of you. Quent always did.”

Her voice caught in her throat. “I’ll love the children like they’re my own flesh and blood.”

“I know you will.”

“Quinn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I know. Me, too.” His arms came around her then, the solid feel of his hard body bittersweet. But Hope nestled her cheek against his breastbone where she could hear the reassuring pound of his heartbeat and hung on tightly. For better or worse. Till death they would part.

SHE’D SAID YES. Relief settled through Quinn as they carried Melanie and Kyle upstairs to the bedrooms that Hope used for the children who occasionally required night care or spent a few days with her when their parents were away on business trips.

Kyle held fast in his arms, Quinn had feelings he’d never expected to have tumble through him as he watched Hope expertly tuck Melanie into a picket-fence bed in a yellow bedroom where butterflies fluttered from one tulip bloom to another on the walls. Observing Hope with Melanie was like being given a glimpse of what could have been. Mel didn’t awaken or utter a peep as Hope moved quietly in the room, closing the blinds, switching on a night light on the dresser. Then she rummaged through Melanie’s bag.

“Is this all you brought?” she whispered, gesturing at the bag.

Quinn nodded. He only had a small bag for each child. “The kids were whisked out of the house pretty fast. Someone else packed their things. I didn’t want to risk returning in case it was under surveillance,” he explained quietly as he cradled Kyle’s head against his chest. He hoped the toddler would doze off in his arms.

“It doesn’t matter. We can buy more clothes and I’ve got toys and books galore.” She gave him a reassuring smile and pulled from the bag a floppyeared bunny, its brown fur noticeably worn, that she tucked into bed with Melanie.

When she moved to put Mel’s clothes in a drawer, Quinn stopped her. “It would be better if you didn’t. We may have to leave in a hurry.”

Hope looked stricken as the meaning of his words seemed to seep into her. Abandoning the bag, she hovered over the slumbering child and ever-so-gently cupped one of Mel’s curls. “Good night, little lamb.”

Quinn turned away. At least something good would come of all this. Hope would have the children she deserved, if not the husband. Quinn had no delusions about what kind of father he’d be, given the chance.

Kyle twisted his head to look up at him, his eyes round and hopeful. “Daddy?”

Quinn gritted his teeth and shook his head. Kyle’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Hope closed the door to Mel’s room and brushed past him, smelling sweet and feminine.

“I put Kyle’s things in the cloud bedroom. I thought he’d like the kites.” Quinn followed her into a blue bedroom sponge-painted with fluffy clouds and brightly colored kites.

But putting Kyle to bed wasn’t as simple as dealing with Mel. After they’d changed him and put him in the crib, he rose to his feet and rattled the bars. “Ma-ma!” Tears glided down his cheeks in rivulets.

Quinn battled his own frayed nerves as he tried to soothe him. Kyle was so agitated his body generated heat like a miniature furnace. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy. Lie down. It’s time to go to sleep.”

“No. I want Mama.” Kyle shook his head miserably.

Quinn felt just as miserable. “He was like this last night, too. He cried for almost two hours before he fell asleep.”

“That’s understandable. He’s too young to comprehend that his parents are gone. He’s going to need a lot of reassurance and we’ll try to stick to his normal bedtime routine as much as possible.”

Being forced to confess that he didn’t know Kyle’s bedtime routine only made Quinn feel worse. How often had he visited his brother since Kyle’s birth? A handful of times?

Hope gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Quinn. We can ask Melanie tomorrow. She’ll be able to tell us. Usually it’s a combination of a snack, a bath, a story or songs, a snuggle, that kind of thing. Sometimes they sleep with a special toy or a blanket. Children get very attached to their rituals and need them to settle down. Does Kyle have any special toys or a blanket he sleeps with? I didn’t find anything in his bag.”

Quinn searched his memory as Hope rubbed Kyle’s sturdy back. Strange how such an insignificant thing seemed of such importance when their lives were on the line. “I’m not sure. At one point he had a stuffed monkey he called Bobo or Babbu or something like that, but I don’t know if he still has it.”

Kyle drew a ragged, gulping breath.

“It’s okay, we’ll improvise.”

Quinn watched in gratitude as Hope opened the closet, revealing two rows of stuffed animals. Her face was animated as she told Kyle his crib was a zoo cage and that he could tend three animals in his cage for the night. Kyle’s damp blue eyes widened at the selection.

Hope’s light-hearted, sunny laugh when Kyle rejected a white snow monkey in favor of a pink pig made Quinn feel less as though the world was closing in around him. When Hope told Kyle to settle his animals down for the night and to be very careful not to step on them, the toddler happily lay down and arranged his animals around him. Hope covered them with a blanket.

“Quinn and I will be back in a few minutes, Kyle. Show your animals how to close their eyes.”

At Hope’s signal, Quinn tiptoed out of the room with her and held his breath, waiting for Kyle’s howl of protest at being left alone to begin. It didn’t.

Hope brushed her hands over her hips, a faint rosy hue highlighting her pale complexion. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to change out of these clothes. There’s a fourth bedroom at the end of the hall for you—just make yourself at home. Maybe we can meet downstairs in a few minutes. I imagine there are some things we need to discuss.”

Her apparent nervousness matched his own. “Sure. I’ll stow my gear in the room, but I’ll be sleeping downstairs as a first line of defense in case we have an intruder. I’ll have an alarm system for the house installed tomorrow.”

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but only a long sigh escaped. “Do whatever you think best.” Then she turned and walked away.

While Hope changed, Quinn did a perimeter check of the house to ensure all the doors and windows were locked, and made a mental list of locks he felt needed replacing. No one was going to be able to enter this house without making a lot of noise. He’d get Hope a digital cellular phone, too, in the event someone tried to cut the phone lines, and he’d install a dead bolt lock on her bedroom door. He tried to shake off the fear of leaving the kids and Hope unprotected, telling himself they’d be safer the second he left and made himself a visible target.

Hope came downstairs wearing a pale blue terry bathrobe, the prim bodice and rounded collar of a flower-sprigged flannel nightgown visible underneath. Quinn got the message. Hands off. “I checked on Kyle before I came down. He’s asleep. So, what do we do first?”

Quinn glanced at his watch. It was 10:47 p.m. He was supposed to call Tom at a particular pub at 11:00. “We call Tom to confirm the arrangements. He thought we could be married Monday. He’s booking a ceremony with a nondenominational minister. We just have to show up with a marriage license.”

Hope looked at him as if he was crazy, but her voice remained calm and even. She tried not to remember that once upon a time she’d wanted to be married by her father, who was a minister, in the church she’d been raised in. “Fine. You’ll need to accompany me to city hall to get the marriage license. They’ll need your signature. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to get the license without an appointment. Do you have a birth certificate or a passport with you?”

Quinn nodded, feeling awkward again. The fact that she knew what needed to be done to obtain a marriage license reminded him of her deceased fiancé and her lost dreams.

“We’ll need to pay the fee in cash. It could take an hour or so to get the license. Do you want to bring the children with us? I have a friend, Jolie, who pinch-hits for me here at the day care when necessary. I could ask her to look after the children.”

“I’d rather bring them with us. I don’t like letting them out of my sight.”

Her golden eyes softened. “Okay. I’ll bring lots of distracting toys.”

Quinn didn’t think Hope needed toys at all. She was a distraction herself. Her voice. Her hair. The soft curves of her body. And especially those eyes…. He reined in his thoughts. He’d be lucky if he lived long enough to say “I do.” And his promise to Tom that Hope wouldn’t get hurt included never touching her in the way a husband is meant to touch a wife.

It wouldn’t be fair to her if he did. She’d already mourned one man she’d intended to marry.

“Will you need Jolie to look after the kids you regularly care for?” Quinn frowned, considering the risks his presence posed to others. Maybe Jolie could look after Hope’s day-care kids at her own home until he was gone. It would be safer that way.

Hope dropped her gaze. “Actually, I’m not working next week. It’s a short work week leading up to Easter because of Good Friday, and most of my parents have Easter Monday off, too, so they’re taking vacation days to give themselves a ten-day break. Which gives me a ten-day break.”

Ten days. It should be enough time for the kids to fall in love with Hope. It had only taken an evening for Quinn to fall in love with her.

He tamped down firmly on that last thought. A trip down memory lane wouldn’t do either of them much good. He needed to stay focused. “That’s one problem solved. I’ll make sure I’m gone before you resume operations.” Creasing open his wallet, he extracted the piece of paper on which Tom had written the phone number for the pub. Then he punched in the number and passed the phone to Hope. “Ask to speak to Tom and say you’re his wife calling.”

Hope felt her hand shake as she gripped the phone. The precautions Quinn was taking—his talk of installing an alarm system, keeping the children within his sight and a bag packed for quick flight, and now, the cloak-and-dagger stuff with the phone—only increased her fears.

What if the hit man somehow learned Tom was assisting Quinn? The thought didn’t bear thinking about.

Hope heard the sound of a guitar and a smatter of applause in the background as her brother-in-law’s whiskey-smooth voice came on the line. “Hi, honey. Did your company arrive?”

“Yes, they’re here.”

“How are the kids?”

She assured him they were fine. “I’m phoning to tell you that Quinn and I have agreed to be married on Monday. We’ll get the license first thing in the morning.”

“You’re a good person. I just hope you won’t get hurt. Our friend strikes me as being a man of his word. I’ll do my best to protect your interests. But we’ll have to keep this news private. I don’t think we should tell your sister or your parents.”

“Our friend mentioned that. I understand.”

“Good. I’ll meet you Monday at one at the minister’s house. Our friend has the address.”

Hope gestured at Quinn to show her the slip of paper the phone number had been written on. Sure enough, there was an address on it, as well. And thank heavens it wasn’t the same renovated church where she’d planned to marry David.

“Fine. I’ve got it, Tom. We’ll be there.”

Hope punched the end conversation button and raised her eyes to meet Quinn’s steady gaze. Her heart twisted painfully at the thought of how brief he’d implied their marriage could be. Her voice trembled. “It’s all set. We’re getting married Monday at one.”

For the sake of those two precious babies sleeping upstairs, Hope prayed this time she’d actually get to exchange vows with the groom.

Chapter Three

Since toasting their nuptials with champagne hardly seemed appropriate, Hope made a pot of hot coffee. Even though Quinn was obviously exhausted, she had questions, lots of them, and now seemed the best time to ask them. She poured two mugs of coffee and passed one to Quinn, who was seated at the old pine table in her kitchen. “Sorry, there’s no milk. You’ll have to take it black.”

His lean fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. “That’s the way I like it.”

All he wanted was the caffeine to keep him functioning, Hope thought, noting the exhaustion lining his features. She’d offered him something to eat, but he’d told her he’d eaten a hamburger earlier. She sat down across from him. “Do you really think you might have been followed here?”

“The possibility is slim, but police work taught me you live longer if you prepare for every eventuality. Which reminds me,” he opened his wallet and withdrew five one-thousand-dollar bills and several one-hundred-dollar bills and set them in a pile in front of her. “This is for you. I want you to keep it with you on your person. Not in your purse—unless it’s one of those pouches that you keep strapped around your waist at all times. And keep some ID with you, too. If we need to leave, you won’t be able to use credit cards. We’ll each keep a bag packed in the car for ourselves and for the kids with whatever supplies you think we’ll need. The bags will go with us wherever we go.”

“Okay. I’ll do it tonight before I go to bed. I’ll stock up on groceries tomorrow and buy the kids some more clothes.” Hope started making a mental list of things she should pick up.

“There’s one other thing, Hope.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“If something goes wrong, if he somehow manages to find his way here, I’m counting on you to get the children safely away. I’m the one he wants, but if he views you as an obstacle or thinks you can ID him, he’ll kill you, too. And he wouldn’t hesitate to kill the children either.”

A chill clambered up Hope’s spine and spread into her arms, making her fingers tremble. Coffee spilled over the rim of her mug. Quinn’s lean fingers cupped her hands, bolstering her with their warmth and strength. “Get to a safe place. Drive to a police station or a place where there are a lot of people. If you make it to a police station have them contact Detectives Thacker and Beauchamp in the Ottawa-Carleton Regional Police’s major crime section. I’ll give you their phone numbers to keep with you. You can also call Tom. He’ll help you.” He gave her fingers another squeeze. “I have no intention of letting this bastard take me down, too, but I’ll put up a much better fight if I know you and the children are out of harm’s way. Promise me.”

“I promise.” Relief flickered in his eyes as he removed his hands. Hope sighed, already missing his touch. “But there must be another way to deal with this. I don’t understand why we don’t all stay in hiding together. Couldn’t these police detectives you mentioned put us in some kind of protective custody until they make an arrest?”

“What if they don’t make an arrest? We’re dealing with a professional killer, not some punk who’s likely to make a stupid mistake. I’ve given the police a list of people who could have hired the hit, but it’s only gut feeling, nothing solid. Do you really want to just walk away from your home and your day care, not to mention sever all your ties with your family?”

Not see her family? Hope’s throat ached. Her mother had been so disappointed when Hope had told her she wouldn’t be home for Easter dinner this year. Hope had made an excuse about visiting a girlfriend in Halifax and had planned to surprise her family by showing up with David and announcing their marriage. She couldn’t imagine missing her family’s noisy Christmases or her nieces’ and nephews’ birthday celebrations. “I admit I’d miss my family terribly, but we could find a way to keep in touch with them,” she insisted. “I could live anywhere. Work anywhere.”

“Well, I can’t. I’ve got a partner and clients who count on me. Cases that I’m currently investigating. Court appearances that need to be made or the bad guys go free. I’m not willing to turn my back on those responsibilities.”

“Well, couldn’t you continue to do the same thing, but under a different name?”

“Not without major plastic surgery. A select group of people have my level of training and skills. Achieving some form of anonymity or working under another name would be impossible. Besides, we can’t live in fear for the rest of our lives.”

Hope pushed her mug away, unable to stomach the strong brew any more than she could stomach his line of reasoning. “That’s the whole point, Quinn. Your remaining alive. I think you’d do more for the children by being with them than by abandoning them with me. Isn’t that what you told me you hated most about your father? That he was always gone? That his career in the military was more important to him than his family?”

His lips stretched thin. “I’m not abandoning them. I’m protecting them. Can you honestly tell me they’ll be in any better hands than yours while I’m trying to find the bastard who killed their parents? The hit man will be back. I’m expecting him to track me down like a bloodhound after a wounded fox, and I’ll be ready for him, second-guessing his every move. My partner Oliver is already planting video cameras at our office—and making some adjustments to our security system. He’s also planting cameras in my condo and at our lab. Though we doubt he’ll find the lab. We go to great pains to keep its location hidden. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch the hit man on tape and be able to identify him. If not, we’ll come up with some other way to entrap him—even if I have to stage a funeral to lure him out into the open. He might consider that an irresistible opportunity to take a shot at me.”

Appalled, Hope glared at him. “Why on earth would you want to make yourself a target?”

“Because it may be the only feasible way to catch him. I won’t take unnecessary risks. You’ll have to trust me on that.”

Trust him? To do what? Get himself killed? Hope fought the anger that flared in her. Since his plan involved marrying her, she was certain that with her luck, the worst could, and probably would, happen. But she wasn’t about to confide to Quinn that he’d not only jinxed her heart, but every relationship she’d had since. “Trust is a two-way street,” she reminded him. “If you want me to trust you again, then I expect to be fully involved in any decision making that affects our lives as a family. And that includes telling me who you think may have reason to hire someone to kill you. I want to know what we’re up against.”

Quinn didn’t miss her emphasis on the word again. He sipped his coffee, grateful for the hot liquid burning a path to his gut and reluctantly admitted to himself that she was right. The more she knew, the more care she’d take to follow his security precautions.

“At the top of my list is an Asian syndicate operating out of Hong Kong. A financial institution hired me in January to investigate some counterfeit credit cards that had circulated over the holidays. Typically, the phony blank credit cards are manufactured in one location, then sold or passed on to another location where they are personalized with stolen names and information. In this case, the cards were being encoded with customer information passed to them from an employee in the bank. It took me a couple of months to pinpoint the employee. The syndicate had coerced him into cooperating by threatening to harm his family. He died violently before we were able to get any names out of him and I could identify the principals and whether they were manufacturing the cards or had purchased them.”

“Violently?”

“Believe me, you don’t want to know what they did to him. The syndicate may have figured out I was heading up the investigation and ordered a hit on me.”

Hope’s golden eyes were wide with alarm. “Go on.”

Quinn rolled his shoulders to ease the tension gathering there. Discussing his cases in Hope’s cozy kitchen, with its windows and refrigerator covered with the artwork of children, somehow seemed sacrilegious. “Hugh Simons ranks pretty high on the list, too,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Simons is the mastermind behind an organized corporate check-counterfeiting ring that I nailed eight weeks ago. A British Columbia pulp mill hired me to find out who was counterfeiting their corporate checks after a local bank refused to honor any more of their checks—legitimate or otherwise. The pulp mill didn’t want to make the situation public out of concern that other banks and businesses would stop honoring their checks, as well. I was able to ascertain that the original check used to make the counterfeit checks had been issued to one secretary—a new employee who claimed she’d been approached in a bar and offered twenty-five hundred dollars for her nine-hundred dollar paycheck and her employee ID. In order to counterfeit something, you need an original to duplicate. And if you know what to look for when you’re examining a counterfeit document, you can always determine the original document that was used in its manufacturing.”

“Why would they buy her employee ID?” Hope asked.

“If you’re going to pass off counterfeit checks as genuine you need ID to prove you’re the person the check is made out to. So they print out X number of checks and corresponding IDs. But Simons was more clever than that. He and his accomplices used the phony ID to open up bank accounts at several different banks. Then they printed up a lot of fake paychecks. On the company’s payday, they used ATMs to deposit the fake checks in the accounts they’d set up and then made the maximum cash withdrawal allowed. They netted a hundred thousand dollars in one night. I nicknamed them the Payday Ring.

“Anyway, getting back to the secretary, I had a feeling she might be more involved than she claimed, but I couldn’t make any connection until I discovered that several other large companies in different areas of the province had fallen victim to the same scam. When I started digging deeper, I found out that one of the other companies had gone to the police, who’d investigated and gotten as far as determining that the counterfeit checks were copied from a female employee’s paycheck—a fairly recent employee who’d quit before the police could question her. The police sent me a picture of the woman. She was the same woman who was employed as a secretary in the pulp mill. She was Simons’s girlfriend, Connie Franklin. It turned out there were three other members of the ring, as well. They were all arrested and charged, but the matter hasn’t gone to trial yet. The preliminary hearing is in a few weeks.” Quinn shook his head. “Simons had more fake IDs than a bar full of underage kids. Boxes full of them.”

“So you think Simons ordered the hit so you won’t testify against him?”

“Possibly. He had a lucrative thing going and I blew him out of the water. If Simons wanted me dead, he’d want it done now before I testify at the hearing. Once I’ve given testimony in a pretrial hearing, my testimony would still stand at the trial if I suddenly departed this earth.”

“Which makes Simons an obvious suspect timing-wise,” Hope said.

“Timing-wise,” Quinn agreed. “But the prison sentences for counterfeiting vary from as little as one year to fourteen years in Canada. It’s a paper crime— and nobody really gets too upset when a corporation loses money—except the owners of the corporation. Now, defraud some elderly people or prove the bad guy used documents to lie to the income tax department and he’d be facing stiffer prison sentences and hefty fines. It’s just as likely that whoever ordered the hit was motivated by revenge rather than by a need to evade criminal prosecution. Some people don’t take kindly to having their reputations damaged and their livelihoods destroyed by the revelation that they’re crooks.”

Hope’s face was white and disapproving. “Boy, you keep good company. Asian syndicates, crime rings, hit men. I can hardly wait to hear about these other suspects. What are they—drug dealers?”

Quinn refrained from reminding her that she was the one who’d insisted on knowing details. And now probably wasn’t the time to confide that more than one drug courier had contacted his company and fabricated a story designed to have him or Oliver check their traveling documents to see if the alterations done to a stolen passport or a counterfeit passport they’d purchased would pass inspection by customs officials. “Actually, one is a wealthy doctor in the Dominican Republic, one is the son of one of Canada’s wealthiest families, and the other was the secretary of a New England coin-collecting society.”

“What was the doctor doing…counterfeiting prescription forms?”

Quinn didn’t miss the caustic bite of her question. This was not the type of conversation Hope would want served up daily around a family meal. But at least she was entering this marriage with her eyes wide open. She wouldn’t expect more than he could give. “Actually, Dr. Chavez had counterfeited the medical diplomas that lined his office walls. Somehow he got his hands on some original diplomas and he fabricated his medical schooling and training. He’d never even been to medical school. There are a lot of phony certificates floating around—especially in undeveloped countries where much of the population is illiterate. The Dominican Republic police asked us to assist them with their investigation after they received a number of complaints from families who’d lost someone under Juan Chavez’s care.”

“That’s terrible.”

“If that’s not bad enough, Chavez has so much money and influence that he’s been able to delay the proceedings a number of times. I’m supposed to testify for the prosecution in mid-May. It could be he’s angry he’ll actually go to trial, and he doesn’t like the idea of me explaining to a packed courtroom how he counterfeited those diplomas.” Quinn’s fingers tightened around the coffee mug. “People will go to extreme measures to save face, which is why I told the police that Ross Linville might bear a grudge against me worth killing over.”

“You were involved in that? It was all over the news and in the papers—the fall of the house of Linville. Toronto old money and all those department stores his family owns across the country. I remember it was some big bank-loan scandal. Aren’t the police looking for him? He skipped bail or something?”

“That’s right. His case was supposed to go to trial on Monday—that’s one of the reasons I happened to be in town this week, but he skipped bail and disappeared. The police suspect he’s somewhere in the Caribbean, but that could just be a rumor.”

“But what does a counterfeit specialist have to do with bank loans?” Hope asked, a frown inching across her forehead.

“Well, his family might have money, but Linville had made some bad investments, and his personal coffers were running dry, so he counterfeited some stock certificates and used them as collateral to obtain a bank loan fraudulently to keep his life-style afloat. The bank got suspicious and hired me to examine the stock certificates to make sure they were genuine. They weren’t. The bank decided to contact the police and go public with the information.”

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