By Carly Bishop
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Additional info for McQuaid's Justice
He cut her short to stifle the praise. ” Just not enough. The job aside, he supposed it was a testament to time passing that he could even talk about Seth without choking up. “You are, you bum. Listen, Cy, I’ve really got to run. I want to get back over Vail Pass before dark. ” “I will, Marcee. Thanks. ” “Don’t even think of it. ” But he watched her go, nevertheless, watched until her car disappeared up over the dirt road. He hadn’t thought about Seth in weeks. Now, twice in a week’s time he’d been slapped with the memory.
Her throat clutched. He saw it. She hated him for the havoc he had caused but she could so nearly feel the caress his hand intended from five feet away that her heart sped as if she had never been touched there before. For one wild and improbably long moment, before God and Granny Fee and Agent Povich, she wanted the caress of his hand more than she wanted him to leave and take the havoc with him. And Cy saw it. He had only meant to fight her fire with his. To play her game and beat her at it. To let the weighty pause suggest, with sarcasm as deep as her own, that he would in fact prefer the camisole off her altogether.
There was nothing she could do to prevent the nurse from administering the sedative. Amy winced. She had no intention of abandoning her grandmother to these self-important, uncaring men, but she couldn’t bear to watch the drug-induced, unguarded euphoria descend on Fiona’s dear old face. She veered away, acutely aware of the taller of the two men. Of the power of his body as he brushed by her. Of his intention to silence the melee of music boxes. She stepped in his path. If the only thing she could prevent was his touching Granny Fee’s most cherished possessions, it would have to be enough.
McQuaid's Justice by Carly Bishop