No Place Too Far Page 4

  Liam had done the turtle himself, showing his artistic side. He’d ended up doing much more than he’d signed on for as a contractor. After the turtle, he’d helped redesign the guest rooms so that each had its own beautifully situated private lanai and outdoor shower. It was his idea to outfit the rooms with rattan and teak furniture, bringing the feel of the island inside. Quinn immediately agreed, and they chose the furniture together.

  Working with Liam wasn’t a chore either. They’d finally acknowledged the attraction they held for each other, and though they were intimate—and he was the most generous and sensual lover she’d ever known—she wasn’t yet ready to talk about making things permanent.

  Quinn was wary of getting in too deep with anyone or letting someone else influence who she was trying to be. She’d been down that road with her ex-fiancé and had nearly lost herself becoming the woman he wanted to marry. She never wanted that to happen again.

  Liam had a past too—one that he hadn’t yet shared with Quinn—making her wonder if he was as all in as he claimed to be. Only time would tell, but in this case, they weren’t rushing it. Quinn was enjoying being independent for the first time in her life. Never had she known how capable she was until she’d stopped letting others do everything for her.

  She had to admit: Liam did a little something to her heart every time he smiled at her. But she remembered long ago, when she and her ex-fiancé had met, he had made her feel he was smitten with her too. Then he’d systematically, over time, modeled her into someone she wasn’t. Though she went along, after everything was said and done, she still wasn’t good enough because he cheated on her.

  Then said it meant nothing.

  Well, maybe not to him. But it did to her.

  Quinn was logical enough to grasp that Liam was nothing like Ethan, and she shouldn’t hold someone else’s past transgressions against him.

  She needed to work on sorting it all out in her head.

  However, there were other things requiring her attention at the moment.

  This week Quinn would hopefully receive the rest of the linens she’d chosen—a blend of earth tones and turquoise for a few of the rooms and a smooth coral color for others. She and Maggie planned to go shopping for the accents soon.

  The major construction was finished. They’d been able to add two new outbuildings to serve as studio apartments, and her brother, Jonah, had taken up one of them, leaving the other open for renters who wanted that extra bit of privacy. Her sister Kira had the idea to make it a honeymoon suite, and she’d had a strong hand in the design. It had really turned out special.

  On the other hand, Jonah wanted his quarters sparse, and they definitely were. She’d peeked in one day, and it still appeared as if nobody was staying there. He was a minimalist, to say the least, even denying himself the joy of art on the walls. No flowery bedding either. Just a plain army blanket and one pillow. At his kitchenette, she’d spotted one cup and one plate in the dish drainer and a jar of instant coffee. She’d offered him a coffee maker, but he’d declined.

  If that’s what made him happy, so be it. She still couldn’t help but feel like he was punishing himself for something. Hopefully in time he’d accept that he deserved more than a blanket and a cup of instant coffee lacking even a granule of sweetener.

  Quinn had to admit, in the beginning, her brother had been a little difficult. They were meeting one another as adults, so there were no childhood rivalries or affections instilled to help them get through the rough patches.

  Jonah was complicated. After years of living on the beach, away from the rules of society, it wasn’t easy for him to move in and take on a full-time job with responsibilities. Hurdle one was her insistence that he cut his hair, shave regularly, and wear somewhat professional clothes. She needed all the staff to look the part.

  Jonah was probably as shocked as she was at the good-looking fellow who’d emerged from the barbershop one morning. He’d even let her help him pick out some clothes that could double for work. All he really needed was pants, since the employees were going to get hotel shirts, but they’d clashed just a little when she’d asked him to wear khakis instead of his usual board shorts.

  Just a few snafus, but so far they’d worked through them. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do in life, and Quinn was determined to help him figure it out.

  The fact that they were working together to make the inn successful meant more to her than he could know. To say she was proud of all they’d accomplished in just ten months was an understatement. And he was really good with Charlie, coming alive as he explained different things to the curious boy. She wished he was that comfortable talking to her.

  Speaking of curious, Charlie was squatting near a small stump. In his hand was a tiny stick, and he was using it to create a trail around a line of carpenter ants.

  “Why don’t we go in and get a snack?” Quinn said.

  Charlie stood instantly, a smile spreading across his face. He was always up for food, and the fact that their chef, Jean Paul, let him help in the kitchen made it even more special.

  They followed the path up through the garden to the main house and onto the patio of the café garden. They were still working on getting just the right ambiance but already it was looking cozy and romantic—and would be even more so when the sun went down and the strings of lights twinkled overhead where she and Liam had hung them.

  She opened the door that led to the dining room and held it for Charlie.

  “Hello?” Charlie called out, hopping through first.

  “Oh, I forgot. Chef’s not here right now. I think he’s gone shopping,” Quinn said.

  “Awww . . . ,” Charlie groaned.

  After Liam, Chef rivaled Jonah for Charlie’s favorite buddy on-site. His obvious yearning for male attention made Quinn sad about the separation from his father.

  “I’m sorry, but we can still fix up a good PB&J, right?”

  She’d learned quickly since she met Charlie that peanut butter and jelly could fix just about anything, and the magic words had him following her to the kitchen. It was ironic that sandwiches were the go-to in the small kitchen that was meant to create upscale food, but she liked them too.

  “Do I hear Little Man in the house?” a voice bellowed from behind them.

  Charlie squealed in delight as Liam came around the corner.

  “High five, bud.” Liam held a hand over Charlie’s head, making him jump in the air to slap it.

  Today Liam wore his usual board shorts—just in case the ocean called to him as he was passing by it—and his T-shirt stretched over his biceps in a very tempting way.

  “Hi,” Quinn said with a smile, realizing that the day had suddenly turned brighter. She loved that he popped in to check on tasks or just to see how things were going.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Liam said, winking at her. “Need some help?”

  Every time he looked at her these days, she felt like she would melt, thinking of being in his arms again behind closed doors. Who knew that feeling butterflies was a real thing?

  But now wasn’t the time. She needed to focus.

  “Can you? I promised him a sandwich, but I need to check my email to see if the mock-ups for the new menus have been sent over yet.”

  “Go. I got this.” Liam reached down and grabbed Charlie, throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. A sack that giggled incessantly.

  Quinn headed for her office, hoping to accomplish a few things while Charlie was being entertained. She sat down at her desk and signed on to her computer. The graphic designer they’d hired was from somewhere in Asia, so the time difference meant his replies were usually there when Quinn awoke.

  She really hoped the menus were done.

  Quinn’s two sisters had helped her decide on the menu. They’d spent their lives on Maui and knew what was popular—and what was overdone. Their idea was to keep it simple but classy. Together, the three of them decided that gourmet brunch dishes, as well as or
ganic juices, smoothies, and specialty coffees, would be the café’s forte.

  Quinn’s email popped up, and the first thing she noticed was an email from Maggie.

  Urgent, read the subject line. It was dated from the day before, just before midnight.

  That was odd. She’d just seen Maggie less than an hour ago and she hadn’t mentioned anything urgent.

  Quinn opened it, becoming irritated as she read.

  Maggie had obviously been hacked. The email claimed she was stranded in Italy after her bag with all her money and bank cards was stolen. She’d had to put a freeze on her accounts and needed to borrow money to get home.

  Quinn rolled her eyes. Who would fall for that anymore?

  The email also said Maggie would pay the money back immediately upon her return.

  Delete. Quinn quickly sent it to the trash and moved on to the next email. Just as she saw one from the graphic designer, she heard Maggie’s voice echoing through the lobby.

  “I’m in here,” Quinn called out.

  Maggie joined her, her expression triumphant as she and Woodrow came through the door.

  “What? Did you get it?” Quinn said.

  “Damn straight I did,” Maggie said, plopping down into the chair in front of Quinn’s desk and pointing at the floor for Woodrow to sit. “I start on Monday. Just need to reply to their offer letter they’re sending.”

  “Congratulations!” Quinn was ecstatic for Maggie. Her friend needed this. Not only for the money, but for her emotional well-being. Quinn had offered to help her out financially several times over the last few months, but Maggie was just as stubborn as ever, determined to stand on her own two feet. “Charlie’s in the kitchen with Liam, making sandwiches. You want to sign on here and send the reply? By the way, while you’re in there, change your password. You’ve been hacked.”

  “What do you mean?” Maggie said, her expression immediately going from happy to worried.

  Quinn suddenly felt bad. She should’ve waited to tell her.

  “It’s not a big deal. I got an email from you with that same I’ve been stranded, send me money email that went around last year. I’ve gotten them before. But you probably do need to change your password, just in case.” She signed out of her own email and set the screen back to the home page. The new menu design would have to wait.

  Maggie came around and Quinn got up, letting her have the chair.

  “That’s weird,” Maggie said, her voice falling away as she concentrated on signing in.

  “What’s weird?”

  “It won’t let me sign in,” Maggie said. “It says wrong password.”

  “Try it again.” Quinn could see that Maggie was getting really agitated.

  A phone rang, startling them both. It was Maggie’s, and she reached into her back pocket for it.

  “Hello? No, Mom . . . I didn’t send you that email. I got hacked.” She paused. “Oh my God. What?”

  Woodrow came around and leaned against Maggie’s leg, nudging her with his nose.

  Quinn got an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

  “What? Why would he send money?” Maggie stood up and started pacing. “I can’t! It won’t even let me into my email right now. It’s locked me out!”

  She talked a few more minutes, then hung up.

  “Well, I’m screwed,” she said, falling back into Quinn’s chair.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It appears that email was sent to everyone in my contact list because people who don’t have my number are calling my mom and asking if I really need money. They’re worried about me and Charlie. My uncle already sent a thousand dollars through Western Union.”

  “Oh no,” Quinn said. “Don’t they know these things go around all the time?”

  Maggie sighed. “He’s old. He only knew I’d been traveling, so it made sense. And the message said ‘Urgent,’ so he sent it right away. Now I wonder who else sent money to some weirdo pretending to be me. And I can’t even get in and send a retraction.”

  “I’m so sorry, Maggie. I’ll call my tech guy right away and ask what you should do.”

  “Can you sign on and let me read what the email says exactly?”

  Quinn came around behind Maggie and pulled up her account, then clicked on the trash folder and grabbed the email, opening it full screen.

  Maggie scanned it, then gasped.

  “What?” Quinn said.

  “Look beside my signature.” Maggie pointed at the screen.

  Quinn felt a chill when she looked closer and saw a tiny black rose posted at the end of Maggie’s name. Dread washed over her.

  “Oh, Maggie,” she said.

  “He’s looking for me again,” Maggie said, her face losing all color.

  Liam chose that moment to walk in, Charlie on his shoulders grinning ear to ear. He held a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, and his other arm wrapped around Liam’s head to hold on.

  “What’s up, ladies?” Liam said.

  “Hi, Mama,” Charlie said.

  “Hey, baby. We’re having a grown-up talk. Can you go back to the kitchen and finish your sandwich? I’ll be right there,” Maggie said. “Take Woodrow with you.”

  Liam set Charlie down. “Your milk is in there anyway. Go finish, buddy.”

  Charlie waited for Maggie to give Woodrow the signal to go; then they took off together for the kitchen.

  “Why so serious?” Liam said, taking a chair.

  “Maggie’s been hacked, and she can’t get into her email account. We thought it was just some random weirdo phishing for money, but now we think it might be more,” Quinn said.

  “More how?” Liam asked.

  “He put a black rose beside my signature,” Maggie said.

  Liam still looked perplexed.

  “Her stalker’s calling card was a black rose,” Quinn said. “No one else would know that.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” Maggie said. “What if he knows I’m here? How did he get my email address? My password? He’s not even supposed to have access to a computer. It’s part of his sentencing.”

  Liam held his hands up. “Slow down, Maggie. You don’t know it’s him for sure. And if it is, hacking into your email account and finding you in person are two different things. He’s in prison. And even if he wasn’t right now, he can’t cross state lines on parole or he’ll go back to jail.”

  Maggie was doubled over as though someone had sucker punched her. Quinn went to her, putting her arms around her shoulders.

  “Stop, Maggie. Don’t let your imagination run wild. We’ll get someone to get you back into your account. You can change your password and send an email alert out to your contacts. Then we’ll see if we can figure out how he got access to a computer from jail.”

  Maggie nodded, but Quinn saw she was trembling.

  “Don’t read any more into it than it is, Maggie,” Liam said. “If he upsets your world again, he wins.”

  Quinn was so glad he was there. As usual, his calm demeanor and logical thinking were comforting. Or at least they were to her. And she hoped to Maggie too.

  Maggie sat up and squared her shoulders, holding her head high. “I’m okay. I’ll call Dr. Starr and tell him to forward the offer letter to your email. And I’ll wait to jump to conclusions until we can find out more about how he got into my account. But Quinn . . .”

  “What? What do you want me to do?”

  “Just keep your phone close tonight in case I need you,” Maggie said.

  “Can’t you just stay here, with me? We’ll put Charlie on the couch and you can sleep with me.”

  “Thank you, but no. This man has made me run and hide for too long. I’m not going to start that again. Charlie needs consistency.”

  Quinn wanted to say more but she also knew how stubborn Maggie could be when she was angry. “Okay, but I’m here for you if you change your mind. You know that.”

  Chapter Three

  Maggie pushed the box until it was in the corner of
her small kitchen, then went to the kitchen drawer and took out a knife so large she could’ve used it as a machete. She’d found it at a secondhand store, in case she wanted to cut watermelon. Now it felt ridiculous in her hands.

  A few quick jabs, sawing back and forth, and the box had a window. Then she squatted down and cut out a small door. She stood, folded the top flaps together to make a roof, then stepped back, feeling accomplished.

  “Is it done?” Charlie asked. He stood patiently waiting, his pillow and blanket under one arm, his stuffed bear and a flashlight under the other.

  Woodrow watched from under the table, his muzzle resting on the floor as he looked bored with all Maggie’s hard work.

  “It is done, son,” she said as she made a dramatic flourish with the knife. She was thankful someone had left the dishwasher box intact at the property trash bins. After spending an hour trying to figure out how to make a miniature felt fox out of a kit bought from Amazon, Maggie had to admit defeat. Her unfinished fox looked like a lopsided carrot with the measles. She’d thought needle-felting would be therapeutic, but now all she felt was the sting coming from a dozen tiny holes in her fingers that leaked red fluid. Though she had to admit that at one point she’d taken the jabbing of the needle a little too far when her mind had wandered to her troubles.

  Charlie had held her felt fox/carrot thing in his hands and looked at it as though it were a lump of the most hideous muck in the world.

  “This is not a fox, Mom,” he’d said, raising his eyebrows at her.

  Sometimes he talked like a little professor, especially when he shortened her name to Mom, but how the heck did he know what a fox looked like anyway? That was her first thought, but then she remembered the box they’d passed.

  Everyone knew that a box fort could make any kid happy.

  And it did.

  Charlie grinned, then climbed through the small door and disappeared.