He was tall, fit, tanned. His hair was mink-brown and perfectly styled to showcase his square-jawed, handsome face. He wore buff-colored chinos, a navy cotton shirt, and well-broken-in Top-Siders. His watch was a Rolex, his belt hand-tooled Italian leather.
He looked exactly like what he was: a privileged, wealthy man with a love of the outdoors.
"You've only been in business a few months."
"Officially," Phillip said with a flashing smile. His hair was a rich, deep bronze, styled to make the most of a face that the angels had gifted with an extra kiss of pure male beauty. He wore fashionably faded Levi's, a green cotton shirt, and olive-drab Supergas. His eyes were shrewd, his smile charming.
He looked exactly like what he'd made himself into: a sophisticated urbanite with an affection for fashion and the sea.
"We've built or worked on teams that built a number of boats over the years." Smoothly, he guided Jonathan toward the framed sketches hanging on the wall. Seth's artwork was displayed rustically, as Phillip felt suited the ambience of a traditional boatyard.
"My brother Ethan's skipjack. One of the handful that still goes under sail every winter to dredge for oysters in the Chesapeake. She's had over ten years in service."
"She's a beauty." Jonathan's face turned dreamy, as
Phillip had suspected it would. However a man chose to pick wallets, he had to gauge his marks. "I'd like to see her."
"I'm sure we can arrange that."
He let Jonathan linger before nudging him gently along. "Now, you may recognize this one." He indicated the drawing of a sleek racing skiff. "The Circe. My brother Cameron was involved with both her design and her construction."
"And she beat my Lorilee to the finish line two years running." Jonathan grimaced good-naturedly. "Of course, Cam was leading the team."
"He knows his boats." Phillip heard the buzz of a drill from where Cameron worked belowdecks. He intended to bring Cam into this shortly.
"The sloop currently under construction is primarily Ethan's design, though Cam added some points. We're dedicated to serving the client's needs and wishes." He led Jonathan over to where Seth continued his hull sanding. Ethan stood on deck, attaching the rubrails. "He wanted speed, stability, and some luxuries."
Phillip knew the hull was a brilliant show of smooth lap construction—he'd put in plenty of sweaty hours on it himself. "She's built for show as well as function. Teak from stem to stern, at the client's direction," he added, knocking his knuckles cheerfully against the hull.
Phillip wiggled his brows at Ethan. Recognizing the signal, Ethan bit back a sigh. He knew he was going to hate this part, but Phillip had pointed out that it was good business to bring the potential client into the fold.
"The joints are wedged and married, without glue." Ethan rolled his shoulders, feeling as though he were giving an oral school report. He'd always hated them. "We figured if the old-time boat builders could make a joint last a century or so without glue, so could we. And I've seen too many glued joints fail."
"Hmmm," Jonathan said again, and Ethan took a breath.
"The hull's caulked in the traditional way—stranded cotton. Planking's tight, wood to wood on the inside. We rolled two strands of cotton in most of the seams. Hardly needed the mallet. Then we payed them with standard seam components."
Jonathan hummed again. He had only a vague idea what Ethan was talking about. He sailed boats—boats that he'd bought fresh and clean and finished. But he liked the sound of it.
"She appears to be a fine, tight boat. A pretty pleasure craft. I'll be looking for speed and efficiency as well as aesthetics."
"We'll see that you get it." Phillip smiled broadly, waving a finger at Ethan behind Jonathan's head. It was time to pull out the next round.
Ethan headed belowdecks, where Cam was fitting out the framing for an under-the-bunk cabinet. "Your turn up there," he muttered.
"Phil got him on the string?"
"Couldn't tell by me. I gave my little speech, and the guy just nodded and made noises. You ask me, he didn't know what the hell I was talking about."
"Of course he doesn't. Jonathan hires people to worry about maintaining his boats. He's never scraped a hull or replanked a deck in his life." Cam rose from his crouch, worked the stiffness out of his knees. "He's the kind of guy who drives a Maserati without knowing dick about engines. But he'd have been impressed with your salty waterman's drawl and rugged good looks."
As Ethan gave a snorting laugh, Cam elbowed past him. "I'll go give him my push."
He climbed topside and managed to look credibly surprised to see Jonathan onboard, studying the gunwales. "Hey, Kraft, how's it going?"
"Fast and far." With genuine pleasure, Jonathan shook
Cam's hand. "I was surprised when you didn't show at the San Diego regatta this summer."
"Got myself married."
"So I hear. Congratulations. And now you're building boats instead of racing them."
"I wouldn't count me out of racing entirely. I'm toying with building myself a cat over the winter if business slacks off any."
"Word gets out," Cam said easily. "A boat by Quinn means quality. Smart people want the best—when they can afford it." He grinned, fast and slick. "Can you afford it?"
"I'm thinking of a cat myself. Your brother must have mentioned it."
"Yeah, he ran it by me. You want light, fast, and tight. Ethan and I have been modifying a design for what 1 had in mind for me."
"That's bullshit," Seth murmured, only loud enough for Phillip to hear.
"Sure." Phillip winked at him. "But it's Class A bullshit." He leaned a little closer to Seth as Cam and Jonathan launched into the lure of racing a catboat. "Cam knows that while the guy likes him fine, he's competitive. Never beat Cam in a head-to-head race. So…"
"So he'd pay buckets of money to have Cam build him a boat that not even Cam could beat."
"There you go." Proud, Phillip gave Seth a light punch on the shoulder. "You got a quick brain there. Keep using it, and you won't be spending all your time sanding hulls. Now, kid, watch the master."
He straightened, beamed up. "I'd be happy to show you the drawings, Jonathan. Why don't we go into my office? I'll dig them out for you."
"Wouldn't mind taking a look." Jonathan climbed down. "The problem is, I need this boat seaworthy by
March first. I'll need time to test her, work out the kinks, break her in before the summer races."
"March first." Phillip pursed his lips, then he shook his head. "That might be a problem. Quality comes first here. It takes time to build a champion. I'll look over our schedule," he added, dropping an arm over Jonathan's shoulder as they walked. "We'll see what we can work out—but the contract's already in place, and the work sheets tell me May is the soonest we can deliver the top-quality product you expect and deserve."
"That's not going to give me much time to get the feel of her," Jonathan complained.
"Believe me, Jonathan, a boat by Quinn is going to feel fine. Just fine," he added, glancing back at his brothers with a quick and wolfish grin before he nudged Jonathan inside the office.
"He'll buy us till May," Cam decided, and Ethan nodded.
"Or he'll make it April and skin the poor bastard for a bonus."
"Either way." Cam clamped a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "We're going to have ourselves another contract by end of day."
Below, Seth snorted. "Shit, he'll wrap it up by lunch-time. The guy's toast."
Cam tucked his tongue in his cheek. "Two o'clock, soonest."
"Noon," Seth said, peering up at him.
"Sure. I can use the money."
"you know," cam said as he dug out his wallet, "before you came along to ruin my life, I'd just won a bundle in Monte Carlo." Seth sneered cheerfully. "This ain't Monte Carlo."
"You're telling me." He passed the bills over, then winced when he saw his wife come into the building. "Cool it. Socia
l worker heading in. She's not going to approve of minors gambling."
"Hey, I won," Seth pointed out, but he stuffed the bills in his pocket. "You bring any food?" he asked Anna.
"Oh, no, I didn't. Sorry." Distracted, she dragged a hand through her hair. There was a sick ball in the pit of her stomach that she did her best to ignore. She smiled, a curve of lips that didn't quite manage to reach her eyes. "Didn't you all pack lunch?"
"Yeah, but you usually bring something better."
"This time I've been pretty tied up putting food together for the picnic tomorrow." She ran a hand over his head, then left it lying on his shoulder. She needed the contact. "I just… thought I'd take a break and see how things were going around here."
"Phil just nailed this rich guy for a ton of money."
"Good, that's good," she said absently. "Then we should celebrate. Why don't I spring for ice cream? You think you can handle picking up some hot fudge sundaes at Crawford's?"
"Yeah." His face split into a grin. "I can handle it."
She dragged money out of her purse, hoping he didn't notice that her hands weren't quite steady. "No nuts on mine, remember?"
"Sure. I got it. I'm gone." He raced out, and she watched him, heartsick.
"What is it, Anna?" Cam put his hands on her shoulders, turned her to face him. "What happened?"
"Give me a minute. I broke records getting here, and I need some time to settle." She blew out a breath, drew one in, and felt marginally steadier. "Go get your brothers, Cam."
"Okay." But he lingered, rubbing his hands over her shoulders. It was rare for her to look so shaken. "Whatever it is, we'll fix it."
He walked to the cargo doors, where Ethan and Phil stood outside arguing over baseball. "Something's up." he said briefly. "Anna's here. She sent Seth off. She's upset."
She was standing by a workbench, with one of Seth's drawing books open, when they came in. It made her eyes sting to see her own face, carefully, skillfully sketched by the young boy's hand.
He'd been more than a case file, almost from the start. And now he was hers, as much as Ethan and Phillip were hers. Family. She couldn't stand to think that anything or anyone would hurt her family.
But she was steadier when she turned, scanned the quiet and concerned faces of the men who'd become essential to her life. "This came in today's mail." Her hand no longer trembled as she reached into her purse and pulled out the letter.
"It's addressed to 'The Quinns.' Just 'The Quinns,' " she repeated. "From Gloria DeLauter. I opened it. I thought it best, and well, my name's Quinn now, too."
She offered it to Cam. Saying nothing, he took out the single sheet of lined paper and passed the envelope to Phillip.
"She mailed it from Virginia Beach," Phillip murmured. "We lost her in North Carolina. She's sticking with the beaches, but coming north."
"What does she want?" Ethan stuffed hands that had curled into fists into his pockets. A low, simmering rage was already pumping through his blood.