Knock Me Off My Feet (5 page)
About as different from her family as you could get, she thought.
"This is my baby brother Michael, an assistant state's attorney, and his wife, Sheila, and their two kids, Kiley—she's two here—and Little Pat. He was about four at the time."
Audie nodded, noticing the pinkie ring again. It was one of those Irish rings in the shape of a pair of hands holding a heart—it had some strange name she couldn't remember.
"The kids are six and four now." A huge smile lingered on Quinn's face before he resumed the tour. "And this is my brother Patrick. He's a parish priest at St. Aloisius on the Southwest Side, but he's a vicious liar, so don't ever believe a thing he says. And that's me. You know me."
It was the longest string of words she'd heard Stacey Quinn put together, and she noticed his voice had a charming cadence to it, somewhat scratchy but musical nonetheless. She looked up and caught his eye, their heads still quite close together.
"So your family's Irish?"
Audie didn't think it was the world's stupidest question, but the look Quinn gave her clearly indicated it had been.
"I see you picked up on that right away."
Should she just get up and walk out, or should she laugh at herself? She was still deciding when his green-and-gold eyes crinkled in amusement, and she heard her laugh escape without her permission. "Maybe I should be a detective, too."
He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, if Stanny-O can do it, I see no reason why you couldn't."
She giggled. "It was your ring, Quinn."
Quinn looked puzzled for a second before he glanced down at his left hand. "My mom's wedding band. It's a
claddagh—
you
know those?"
"I've seen them before." She smiled at him, noting the sweet, shy expression in his eyes. Then she abruptly stopped smiling, because the sweetness left and it was replaced by something hungry.
Then she recalled the ridiculous words he'd written on his card, sat up straight, and pulled away.
Quinn put the frame back in its place and returned to her list. "This is a regular who's-who of
Chicago
's most eligible bachelors, Audie. Can I ask for their autographs when I talk with them?"
"Talk wit…
?"
Audie's mouth fell open. "You have to talk with them? In person?"
"Either myself or Detective Oleskiewicz."
"Why?" she cried.
He cocked his head a bit. "To try to find the bad
guy."
"But I told you none of these guys would do something like that! I told you they were happy to get rid of me!"
Quinn narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe that for a second. "We still have to check," he said with a shrug. "We wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't."
Quinn began to read out loud. "'Russell Ketchum, attorney,' your steady up until six months ago. Nobody since then?" He looked up, his face a mask of professional politeness.
"No one."
A tiny satisfied smile crooked up the corner of his mouth. He went back to the list. "WBBS anchor Kyle Singer—I just assumed he preferred men."
Audie had no comment.
"Then we've got
Chicago
professor Will Dalton, the guy who wrote that famous book on TV sitcoms and childhood depression, right? Wasn't he on
Oprah?"
She nodded.
"And then there's Chicago Bears placekicker Darren Billings—is he coming back this season? How'd the knee surgery go?"
Audie rolled her eyes—she knew Darren could use a brain transplant, but she didn't know squat about his knee. "I have no idea."
Quinn suddenly stilled. She watched his whole body go rigid. He looked at her, his face stiff and completely unreadable.
"
Chicago
's illustrious vice mayor, Mr. Timothy Burke," he said, his voice flat. "And how's Timmy these days?"
"I
really don't know. Look, is there a point to this?"
Quinn placed her list inside a manila file and closed it. He sat back in his chair, tucked his hands behind his head, and studied her.
She studied him, too. He'd taken off his jacket, and Audie could see how the long muscles of his upper arms tugged at the sleeves. She noticed how his gun holster cut snugly across his big shoulders.
"How the hell did you end up with Timmy Burke?" he blurted out.
Audie watched Quinn's chest rise and fall in rapid breaths. He was positively vibrating with some kind of unfriendly energy, and it alarmed her.
"We met at a ribbon cutting a couple months before my mom died. Why?"
Quinn shrugged, and Audie saw him close his eyes for a moment to switch gears. Then he smiled pleasantly. "So, how did you come to do the column? What kind of work did you do before?"
She shook her head, trying to figure out how he'd gotten from Tim Burke to her job résumé.
"Before?" Audie gave her wavy hair a nervous fluff. "I was a teacher at
"I'm familiar with it. It's a good place."
"Really?" Audie was pleasantly surprised. "I was one of the founding teachers. I taught physical education, sociology, and anger management; plus I coached girls' soccer, basketball, and softball."
"Anger management?" Quinn's lopsided grin spread. "As in how to manage a wicked right cross to the jaw?"
She pursed her lips. "I said I taught it. I didn't say I actually
did
it."
Quinn laughed loudly at that. "OK, Miss Adams. So how long were you there?"
"Since right after college—seven years. That's where I met
Griffin
."
Quinn's eyes lit up. "OK. So tell me the story with him."
"Why?" Audie scowled, shifting in the chair and crossing her legs defensively. "Do you have to know everything about me? Aren't there some things I get to keep private?"
He shrugged a little, reaching for his tiny notebook. "Sure. Lots of things. Just not this."
Audie looked down at her hands and took a breath. "He's my best friend, Quinn, the best friend I've ever had. There is no way in hell he's sending me those letters."
"That's good to hear. Then I'll be able to cross him off right away."
She grunted. "I don't like this."
"How serious was it?"
She closed her eyes. "We were together for over two years. We broke up when he turned pro-soccer—and was traveling all the time. But we're still close. We'll always be close."
"Two years is longer than seven weeks, Audie."
She smiled a bit. "I think we stayed together a lot longer than we should have because it felt safe, comfortable. It was the first serious relationship for both of us. Besides, I think that was before I had the green slimy problem we discussed."
Quinn nodded, letting his eyes trace the line of her cheek and jaw. "Do the letters scare you, Audie?"
She looked around the room again, a blur of activity. Quinn seemed so calm compared to the rest of the cops in here, she thought. He seemed to move slower—not a lazy kind of slow but an intentional hesitation.
"There's definitely something about the letters that bothers me," she said, biting her bottom lip and gazing at her sandals—anything to keep from looking in his eyes. "It's not so much what he's saying. It's the way he's saying it. There's so much hate there, but it's like he's laughing at me, too. Like he knows me, like the joke's on me." She looked off into the room again. "Do you know what I mean?"
Quinn dropped forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. He scrutinized the softness of her face in profile. "I do, Audie. And I think you're right—whoever it is knows you. That's why we're starting where we are."
She turned to face him, feeling a bit shaky. The fear must have been broadcast in her eyes, because Quinn suddenly reached out for her hand. She slipped her fingers inside the safety of his warm, steady grip.
"Your apartment is safe, Audie. That place is a fortress."
She nodded. She knew Lakeside Pointe was a forty-six-story citadel. Her neighbors were the kind of people who demanded their privacy and security and were happy to pay dearly for it. Her mother had been one of those people, and along with the column, Audie had inherited the $6 million condominium that overlooked
Lake Michigan
and the Gold Coast.
"It's the rest of your life that concerns me," Quinn said suddenly. He squeezed her hand a bit. "You're by yourself a lot."
"I like it that way. I refuse to let these letters take away my privacy. And I don't want a bodyguard or some cop following me around, if that's what you're getting at."
Quinn dropped her hand and gave it a friendly pat as he returned to the file. "Actually, you don't have much choice. My commander has already made it clear to Stan and me that you're our priority right now."
She shook her head slowly and emphatically. "No way in hell."
"Just until September twenty-second. To be on the safe side."
"No! That's…
"
She waved her hand, thinking. "That's a month away! There's no way you are going to follow me around for a month, Quinn! Absolutely not!"
He shrugged. "Detective Oleskiewicz then."
"Well—"
"But you should know that Stanny-O's got a wee bit o' the gas now and then."
How extremely vulgar he was. So why was she laughing? It had to be the brogue he'd slipped in for effect, and she couldn't stop giggling to save her soul. Several moments went by before she reclaimed her composure. "You're disgusting, Quinn."
"Thank you, lass."
She stood up from the chair and glared down at him, seeing that he now grinned ear-to-ear.
"There will be no kissing, are we clear on this?" She put her hands on her hips. "I regret that kiss. You're delusional if you think I'm interested in you, Detective, so don't grin at me like that. I think it's best to be honest about this from the beginning so nobody gets hurt. Understand?"
"Honesty is good."
She made an impatient clucking sound, abruptly turned to go, and caught the buckle of her sandal on the chair leg. She toppled over and went belly-down on the shiny linoleum, giving Quinn another look at what he believed was one of her best assets.
He came behind her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to her feet. She slapped his hands away and walked out in a huff, not looking back.
Quinn watched every swaying, ripe, and round step she took.
"Jee-ay-sus," he whispered to himself.
* * *
Audie decided to walk from the station to her office, taking a detour along
Chicago
summer air. She needed to get a grip on herself.
There was something about Quinn that completely unnerved her. He was a very basic man—not as smooth as
Griffin
or as charismatic as Tim Burke or as devastatingly handsome as Kyle Singer. What he was, she decided, was incredibly male. He oozed it. He knew it. He swaggered. Probably an illness found in all
Chicago
cops. And the way she'd caught him looking at her—like a lion looks at breakfast. She really should file a citizen's complaint against him for that kiss. She should be revolted by the whole situation.
The problem was, she wasn't revolted and she wasn't complaining. In fact, the man sent chills through her. Quinn could be categorized as one of those dangerous quiet types, she decided, and she'd just have to keep him at arm's length.
Audie sighed—this was going to be a long month.
She stopped at the corner of
She glanced quickly at the sweaty faces so near her, yet so far away, absorbed in their own inner worlds of troubles and desires. They all just stood there, as if in a trance, waiting for the light to change.
She'd be damned if she'd stand around waiting for something awful to happen on September 22. Of course nothing would happen. She refused to even think that way.
Audie crossed the street and picked up the pace. She probably should call Drew to tell him about all this nonsense. She should probably call her brother anyway—it had been at least a couple months since they'd spoken. His latest divorce should be final now, if she remembered correctly.