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Quinn’s green gaze studied Andy. He seemed to weigh his words. “You need to be clear in your mind what you want to have happen with Mr. Bok.”

“What doesthatmean?”

“I don’t think he’s going away. Not voluntarily.”

Andy’s heart dropped. On one level he already knew that nothing he said or did seemed to affect Marcus. But he couldn’t help hoping that the Marcus he had fallen in love with so long ago was still in there somewhere, and thatthatMarcus could be reached, could be reasoned with.

“I’m going to go ahead and file that restraining order.”

“That’s a starting point,” Quinn said, “but a piece of paper can’t protect you from someone who doesn’t respect the law.”

“Marcus was a police officer for six years.”

“So he told me. Unfortunately, law enforcement sometimes attracts a type of personality that thinks the law applies to everyonebutthem. I get the feeling Bok is that type.”

True. This was nothing Andy didn’t know. There was no easy solution for the problem posed by Marcus. He didn’t need Quinn to spell it out for him.

He changed the subject. “Okay. I can guess why Marcus broke into the shop. What I don’t understand is whatyouwere doing here.”

“Oh,that,” Quinn said.

Andy laughed. It felt like it had been a long time. But Quinn had always been able to make him see the funny side. But was there really a funny side here?

Chief Millard probably wouldn’t think so.

“Yes, that,” Andy said. “Because I don’t know how you could have showed up so fast unless you were already inside the shop.”

Chapter Eight

“Would a cup of coffee be too much to ask for?” Quinn smiled ruefully. “Confessions go down easier with caffeine.”

The deliberate charm was new. The Quinn Andy had known had never bothered trying to charm his way into getting what he wanted. Which wasn’t to say he hadn’t been able to wheedle, coax, and tease Andy into going along with whatever he had in mind.

Andy shrugged. “Right this way. I could use a cup myself.” He led the way upstairs, acutely conscious of Quinn’s measured tread behind him.

When they reached the top landing and his uncle’s flat, Andy said, “I don’t think I really thanked you before.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Andy gave him a side look. “Granted, I’m not surethanksis the right response to breaking and entering.”

Quinn murmured, “Always a stickler for details.” He closed the apartment door behind them and followed Andy to the kitchen.

Andy switched on the kitchen light and headed for the coffee maker. He flipped open the lid, poured in water and coffee. Pressed the button. He glanced at the windows over the sink. The snow looked like tiny ice comets splattered against the glass.

“Cutty still holding his own?” Quinn gazed curiously about the kitchen, taking in the old appliances, the twin vintage ship’s wheel wall lamps over the wooden table, the woven rugs.

“I guess you could call it that? I’m hoping for good news when I phone the hospital.”

Quinn made an absent assent. “I remember that clock.” He nodded at a Country Breeze portly and mustachioed chefholding aloft a steaming bowl of soup. He smiled faintly. “The place hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“No. There’s just more of everything.” Everything and anything. A random collection of Superior Quality mixing bowls, a Rollman Manufacturing Co. Cherry Pitter Seeder, and a Fries cream butter whip with a wooden handle all littered the kitchen counter where Uncle C. had stowed them for safekeeping, lest he forget and accidentally sell something.

“Well, if you’re going to be a hoarder, this is the right business.”

“Too true.” Andy glanced at Quinn and surprised an odd expression. The next instant, Quinn’s face was once more unreadable, and Andy tried to decipher what that look had meant. Hopefully not kindly concern because he really,reallycould not take Quinn feeling sorry for him.

He said briskly, “I’m going to get dressed.”