Free Rules of Attraction by Susan Crosby Page B

a bottle of beer from his refrigerator and booted his computer, then printed the photo of the man in the van for Claire. Afterward he reread the reports he’d written about Jenn’s surveillance, as well as the D.A.’s reports.
    He navigated newspaper archives to read articles about the trial, which had ended a month ago with Beecham’s conviction. It was a fairly open-and-shut case. He’d been an investment broker who had managed to skim from the funds of his investors somewhere around five million dollars over a period of six years. Most ofhis clients were elderly, many had died, and he’d manufactured paperwork for the heirs showing substantially less money than was actually there. He’d skimmed from people still alive, as well, but in lesser amounts.
    It was believed that he’d diverted the money to an offshore account, probably in Switzerland, but he hadn’t denied himself luxuries in the meantime. The house he owned, the one he’d shared for a year with Jenn, was worth over two million. It had been sold, but the equity went to the lawyers who’d defended him, not the people he’d swindled.
    Beecham was methodical and greedy. Jenn Winston seemed like a good mate for him. Claire would argue his opinion of her sister and be defensive about her, too—as sisters should be under most circumstances.
    Quinn dragged a hand down his face then walked away from his computer and his thoughts. Night had fallen. He took some Chinese take-out containers from the refrigerator. Almost instantly he returned them. He needed to get out of the house.
    He grabbed a well-worn leather jacket and slipped into it. His cell phone rang as he was turning out the lights. He’d programmed Claire’s number into his phone, so her name showed up as the caller.
    â€œI talked to Marie,” she said after exchanging greetings. “She said Jenn was supposed to send her a check.”
    Quinn straightened. “She’s mailing it?”
    â€œMarie assumes so.”
    â€œIs there some way you can manage to see the envelope—and the postmark?”
    â€œNot without telling Marie what’s going on. I don’t drop in on her.”
    â€œThen why tell me?”
    â€œBecause Marie feels a connection with you. If youwent to see her as a client, you—” She stopped, blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
    â€œYou think I should do some snooping?”
    â€œWell, she works out of her home. She puts her mail on her kitchen counter next to the refrigerator. Look, I want to prove my sister is innocent. I’ll do whatever is necessary to prove that to you.”
    â€œEven suggesting I violate Marie’s privacy?”
    â€œWhatever it takes—within reason. This is within reason to me.”
    He grabbed a pad and pen from a kitchen drawer. “Give me her address and phone number.”
    She did, then she said, “Just because you go to see her doesn’t mean she’ll believe that you believe she’s psychic. You’ll have to convince her. She can spot a skeptic.”
    He’d played so many roles in the past ten years, he should be given an Oscar. “Thanks for the advice, and for the information.”
    â€œOkay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
    After he hung up he contemplated Marie’s address and phone number. Psychic. Right. She said his past was going to catch up with him. Hell. Everyone had a past. It was a blanket statement applicable to anyone at all, any sucker needing to believe.
    He didn’t need anything.
    No. A week ago he could’ve said that and had it be true. But he wasn’t so sure anymore.

Seven
    C laire had just served Quinn a cup of coffee the next morning when Jamey Paladin arrived. About as tall as Quinn, Jamey looked slightly older, broader and more overtly muscular, with hair longer than Quinn’s, and friendly green eyes. His less intimidating presence