Undercover Heat Read Free Page A

already delivered.
    “I don’t know when I’ll be back again. Could be a few weeks.”
    “Well, I’ll certainly take what I can get. Tuesdays are so much better for volunteering anyway, since that’s when we get most of our deliveries.”
    Quinn heard the hint, but he ignored it. He volunteered on Saturdays, because that was the only day of the week he could reasonably commit to, and they both knew it.
    “So who normally unloads all this stuff?” he asked as he returned to the truck and pulled out another box of donated food. The priest shuffled after him.
    “Oh, it depends. Usually I can talk whoever is donating into carrying it inside. In the case of this big truck, I either do it myself, or if it still isn’t done when the driver is ready to leave, he manages to stir up enough humility to do it for me.” He shot a disgruntled look at the guy lounging in the cab, reading a newspaper, and completely ignoring the two men.
    Quinn spared a glance at the frail priest. He had to be eighty if he was a day. His shoulders were stooped, his hands gnarled with arthritis. Maybe Nico would be open to letting him take a few hours each Tuesday to head over here to unload the food donations. His boss was a reasonable man, and he knew where—what—Quinn had come from. Nico understood his need to give back more than most would.
    He opened his mouth to say as much to the priest, but the old man’s face lit with obvious glee, and he trotted off, hustling down the sidewalk with surprising speed to greet the owner of a sleek, gunmetal gray Charger that had just pulled up to the curb. Quinn straightened and took a moment to admire the sporty car.
    The priest opened the driver’s side door and pulled the occupant out and into his arms, hugging what Quinn guessed was a woman as tightly as if she were a long-lost friend. When the old guy pushed her to arm’s length, Quinn blinked.
    Kyra Sanders? What the hell was she doing here? He stepped to the side of the truck, hiding himself from view while watching the interaction between her and the clergyman. Her wide, genuine smile slammed into Quinn as if she’d punched him in the gut, even though it wasn’t even meant for him. He was pretty sure it was the first time he’d ever seen her smile so wide. At work, she was usually frowning, or had an impassive expression on her face.
    The priest’s voice carried to Quinn, loud and clear. “Oh nonsense, Miss Sanders. Look at all those canned goods. I won’t let you carry all of that into the church.”
    “You aren’t getting all sexist on me, are you, Father Benedict?” she teased.
    “I’m old enough to be your great-great grandfather. You’d better believe I’m sexist. Come here. I have a handy-dandy volunteer here today, and I know he’ll be happy to help. Don’t take this the wrong way, but he’s even more of a contributor than you are. ’Course, he’s lived in these parts most of his life, whereas you’ve only been here for half a year or so ...”
    Quinn watched in horror as Father Benedict wrapped his claw-like hand around Kyra’s arm and dragged her toward the delivery truck. Shit. He twisted his head around, judging the likelihood of racing to his truck without either one of them seeing him. The truck driver must have noticed there was a female in the vicinity, because he abruptly tossed his newspaper to the side and leaped out of the cab, tipping his hat as he did so.
    “Hey, pretty lady,” he crooned, and Quinn had the urge to punch him in the face. He wasn’t seriously going to help now that there was a good-looking woman to watch, was he?
    Kyra arched her blond brow and gave him a cool look. When she made no indication she intended to respond to his greeting, the driver cleared his throat and nodded at her car.
    “You need help with something?”
    Father Benedict waved a gnarled hand in the guy’s face. “You can’t even deign to help with the supplies donated by the company you work for,” he scoffed.