KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET

  Connelly nodded. "Just don't go bothering Timmy Burke again without giving me a heads-up, understand?"

  "Got it."

  "And keep your drawers on."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And see you at practice tonight."

  "I'll be there."

  * * *

  In the evenings after Mrs. Splawinski caught the El for home, Drew thought it got far too quiet in the Sheridan Road

  house.

  Not that he missed his wife—any of them, for that matter. In fact, he recalled quite well that while they were with him, he simply couldn't wait for them to leave.

  Drew knew he was funny that way—he didn't necessarily like being alone, but he didn't know how to deal with people who claimed they cared for him, even loved him.

  Well, Lord, with his childhood it was no wonder. His sister was the same way, God love her.

  Drew made himself another drink, this time with double lime. He needed the vitamin C. He knew a man could not live on Tanqueray and tonic water alone, though he'd certainly been giving it his best college try.

  He took the drink to the window and stared out.

  He hoped to God that Audie had rebounded from the momentary loss of sanity that made her throw herself at that Chicago cop. Drew shuddered, remembering them down there on the dock under the lights, going at each other like hormonal eighth-graders.

  How vile.

  But that was several days ago, and he knew all too well that an Adams love affair could hit the wall and burst into flame in that amount of time.

  His guess was that Audie had already been scared off by the street thug's ardor and had demanded another detective on the case. That would be like her.

  Drew turned away from the windows and returned to the computer desk. He placed the drink near the mouse pad, within easy reach.

  He had no idea why he'd started writing these diatribes. Perhaps it was just the right time. Perhaps he simply couldn't keep all the garbage inside anymore.

  Sometimes he surprised himself with the quality of his writing. He knew he had a wicked sense of humor—he could bring the yacht clubbers to tears with his cutting commentary on modern life and human foibles. In fact, his sense of humor was perhaps his only redeeming personality trait. Thank God he was finally doing something constructive with his talents.

  Drew took a nice long drink and created a new document file on the computer screen.

  The most important thing to keep in mind was that she would eventually read this, and it had to be so good that it would shock her, devastate her, terrify her. God, he hated her.

  Honestly, he wished she were dead.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  As they trolled for a parking spot along the Beverly side streets, Audie suddenly changed her mind. She was no longer annoyed that Quinn had spent the entire drive trying to explain who would be here today and how they were related and/or connected to his family.

  She was glad. Because the street was packed. She could already hear the noise—the music, the loud voices, the sounds of kids screeching.

  If only she'd taken notes. If only Marjorie could have come along to create one of her helpful computer-generated charts. Because without notes or a chart, there was no way Audie was going to remember any of this. Despite Quinn's efforts, she was doomed.

  They finally found a spot on Campbell Avenue

  , and the moment Audie got out of Quinn's light blue Ford Crown Victoria, she noticed it was just one among many unmarked police cars.

  She took a deep breath and joined Quinn in the middle of the street. He reached for her hand and they walked south for a couple of blocks.

  "Welcome to the family manse," he said, nodding toward a simple two-story yellow brick house shaded by a large catalpa tree.

  The Quinn home had dark green shutters, a small concrete stoop, and neatly trimmed hedges and grass—nothing frilly, just tidy and clean.

  Audie wondered if it had looked different when Quinn's mother was alive, whether she put little pots of geraniums on the steps or hung a pretty wreath on the door. She wondered what she'd been like.

  "Da's not much of a gardener," Quinn said. "When Ma was alive, she always put flowers in the window boxes."

  Not for the first time, Audie wondered if the guy could hear her thoughts. Stanny-O had said Quinn was a careful listener, after all.

  They turned down the shaded walkway along the side of the house and moved toward the back gate. Audie squeezed Quinn's hand tightly when she got a glimpse of the small backyard packed with people.

  "They don't bite, Audie," he said gently. "Well, maybe Michael, but he says he's up-to-date on his shots."

  She tried to smile.

  "They're going to love you."

  As he reached for the latch, Audie noticed a large hand-painted plaque wired to the gate. The words had to be Gaelic, because she had no idea what they meant.

  She pointed and cocked her head and Quinn smiled broadly.

  "Cead mile failte." The words fell off his tongue like a lover's whisper, and Audie was stunned by the beauty of his voice. "One hundred thousand welcomes."

  Quinn leaned toward her and placed his hand on the small of her back while planting a friendly kiss on her cheek. "Ready to party, Homey?"

  "Ready, Stacey."

  The first person to see them at the gate was Quinn's brother the priest. Well, it was probably best to get the most awkward one over with first, Audie thought to herself.

  On the drive down, she'd confided to Quinn that she had no earthly idea what to say to a Catholic priest—she'd never met one in her life. Was she allowed to say the word hell? How about damn? What if she accidentally used God's name in vain and Pat heard her? Did he know she wasn't Catholic? Did he know she wasn't really anything?

  Quinn had chuckled at her nervousness. "Don't sweat it, Homey. Pat's a regular guy, all right? He's been a priest for six years, but he's been my brother for thirty-one, and that's who he'll be today."

  As Audie watched Patrick stride toward the gate—all smile and sparkling eyes—she knew, of course, that Quinn was right. That man was definitely his brother. He just happened to be dressed in a short-sleeved black dress shirt and a white priest's collar.

  "Audie?" He opened the gate. "It's great to meet you. I'm Pat."

  She felt herself exhale in relief as he shook her hand. His eyes were strikingly similar to Quinn's but softer, and his hand was warm and firm, and he just kept smiling at her.

  The next person to see them was Michael—a stocky guy in a T-shirt that read: "Will Golf for Food." His smile was huge and his piercing light blue eyes danced with laughter.

  "And you must be Audie!" He took her hand and leaned down to kiss it, grinning at Quinn the whole time.

  Before Audie could respond, the horde descended on them. Within seconds, she and Quinn were pressed into the middle of a mob of faces and a little girl was hanging on Audie's left leg and there were hands to shake and names to repeat and laughing—so much loud laughing it made her head spin.

  Before she could catch her breath, the sea parted and she was scooped up into the arms of a man—definitely not the one she came with. She felt his deep voice and rowdy laugh rumble from inside his chest as her face was squished against his polo shirt, her lungs nearly collapsing from the force of his embrace.

  When he held her out in front of him, she saw Jamie Quinn.

  "It's grand that you could make it, Audie. We've heard so much about you."

  And apparently, that was all it took to fit in at a party at the Quinns'. And as Jamie brought his arm protectively around her shoulder and guided her into the yard, she felt welcomed—one hundred thousand times over.

  She felt right at home.

  "Get your own girl, Da," she heard Quinn say from the other side of his father's bulk. "This one's mine."

  * * *

  There were basically three categories of people at Little Pat's sixth birthday party, and as soon
as Audie broke it down that way, the fog began to clear.

  There were cops and their families, people of direct or roundabout family connections, and people from the neighborhood. Stanny-O showed up not long after she and Quinn arrived, bearing a box of Frango Mints and a case of Old Style.

  Audie was sitting at a tablecloth-covered card table with Quinn's sister-in-law, Sheila, who had provided the detailed play-by-play for her.

  "And that's Belinda Egan from two houses up—her claim to fame is coming back from a vacation in Mexico last winter with some kind of worm lodged in her brain, from the pork, they think." Sheila's deep blue eyes sparkled in her pretty pixie face. "Six hours of surgery—awake the whole time. Can you believe it?"

  "Wow," Audie said.

  "That's Ricky and Cindy Panutto—Ricky is Michael's best friend from Loyola Law School." Sheila craned her neck a bit to the right. "That's Esther O'Fallon, Jamie's older sister—her husband Jim died a few years ago. That's Bill and Tava Reingold—Bill was Jamie's partner for close to thirty years. And that's—oomph!"

  The little girl who'd clung to Audie's leg had just hurled herself into her mother's lap.

  "Mommy! Little Pat and Joey are peeing on the side of the house!"

  "What?" Sheila stood up and shot Audie a smile, then started laughing. "I know I shouldn't laugh, but I can't help it. Excuse me—be right back."

  Audie watched Sheila run off across the yard in her shorts and sneakers, weaving through the crowd, her nearly black curls flying behind her.

  "What are you looking at?" Kiley's fiercely intelligent violet eyes scanned Audie up and down.

  "I was looking at your mother. I think she's very nice and very pretty, and you look just like her, do you know that?"

  Kiley's smile overwhelmed her face as she nodded. "My mommy is nice and pretty. So are you. Do you love Uncle Stacey?"

  "Wha…?" Audie wasn't used to young children. Were they all this blunt, or was it just Kiley's Quinn-ness showing?

  "Well, we're friends. I like him very much and I think he likes me. Do you have friends like that?"

  Kiley scrunched up her face. "Heather Morrelli was my friend, but she called me a double butt face the other day."

  "I see." Audie took a sip of iced tea, realizing that this was one of those times when grown-ups shouldn't laugh. "And what did you say to that?"

  Kiley scrunched up her face and thought about it. "I told her I deserved to be treated with respick."

  "Respick?"

  "Yes. Respick. Do you want to watch me get my treatment, Audie?"

  Audie inclined her head and frowned "Wha…?"

  "Sorry. Pissing contest." Sheila scooped up Kiley from her chair and set her back on the grass. "Why don't you go play with the McConnell girls for a little bit? Go blow the stink off you. Your next one is at four o'clock, OK?"

  "Bye, Audie," the little girl said, and Audie watched her skip away.

  Sheila sighed, settling her petite body into the lawn chair and crossing her legs. "Actually, it was not only a pissing contest, but they were comparing size. I fear for Little Pat's future. I really do. All the Quinns are too macho for their own good."

  "Testosterone poisoning," Audie said.

  Sheila's bright eyes landed right on Audie's and she nodded appreciatively. "You're familiar with the disorder?"

  "I noticed Stacey has a fatal case of it."

  "That he does," Sheila said with a giggle. "Well, I've got to say, Audie, you're doing quite well for your first Quinn hoedown." She poured them both more iced tea. "In fact, I think it was right about now that I started running for the car, not stopping to pick up any of my personal belongings. But of course, Patricia was alive back then." She wagged a dark eyebrow.

  "What was she like? Thanks." Audie took a refreshing sip of tea and scanned the crowd. She spotted Quinn with a group of guys by the fence arguing about something and laughing. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts, a baggy blue-and-white Hawaiian shirt, and a White Sox cap, and he looked adorable. Cute and approachable and fun and huggable—except for the gun she knew was tacked into his waistband.

  Quinn's eyes moved from his friends and landed right on her, flashing under the brim of his cap. Then one corner of his lips twitched, and Audie was instantly transported to the moment they had met in the WBBS studio. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She felt herself blush. She smiled at him quickly and looked away before she embarrassed him—or herself.

  "Trish was a good person," Sheila was saying. "I'm sure Stacey told you all about her Homey Helen fixation."

  "He did," Audie said with a nod. "And he seems to have inherited it."

  Sheila let loose with a big laugh. "Yes, he did, and my God, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish Michael had some of that in him! I love him to death, but the man is a pig."

  Audie giggled until she saw Sheila's expression sour.

  "Trish was one tough cookie, let me tell you. She loved her sons very much, and she put me through the wringer before Michael and I got married." She shook her head at the memory. "We lived together in sin, you know, careening down the fast lane to purgatory."

  Audie nodded, her eyes wide.

  "I think I broke her in for any woman who might be lucky enough to end up with Stacey, but she died before that happened."

  "Was she ill a long time?"

  "About six months." Sheila let her eyes scan the crowd for a moment before she looked at Audie. "It was skin cancer and it had spread to her lungs. When she got sick, she got real sick and stayed that way."

  "I'm sorry."

  Sheila nodded quietly. "Jamie was lost at first. He seems to be doing better lately." She sighed and put on a smile. "So tell me. What do you think of Stacey?"

  Audie shrugged and laughed a little. "I like him."

  "I can see that." Sheila appraised Audie openly. "He's talked to Michael about you. Michael thinks Stacey's in love with you."

  "Oh, please," Audie said, waving her hand in the air. "We've known each other less than a month, and he's spent most of it either avoiding me, pissing me off, or interrogating me."

  Sheila guffawed. "Sounds familiar. That's the method of seduction Michael used, and look where it got me."

  Audie saw Jamie Quinn moving toward them, his broad pink face lit up with what could only be described as delight. He was headed right toward her, and she tried to prepare herself for another rib-crusher.

  But he got waylaid by one of the clusters of cops and Audie heard herself exhale.

  "Now Jamie is even more intense than Trish was." Sheila nodded toward the big man with a heavy cap of salt-and-pepper hair, and Audie followed her gaze.

  Jamie Quinn had to be at least six-foot-three and he was solid and wide and loud. She could picture him in the dark blue Chicago Police Department uniform, a billy club hanging from his belt, scaring the bejesus out of anyone.

  "Tell me about him," Audie said.

  Sheila smiled. "Well, Michael has referred to Jamie's parenting style as 'knock heads first; ask questions later.' Things got pretty wild around here with a house full of boys."

  Audie nodded. "A house full of Quinn boys."

  "Exactly." Sheila reached over and patted Audie's forearm where it rested on the tablecloth. Sheila had a very soft hand. "But he's a great guy. Opinionated as hell. Very proud of his family and the life he and Trish made here. As long as you don't cross his family or Ireland, the Church, or the White Sox, Jamie is a big old softy. If you're stupid enough to go back on your word or hurt one of his boys, God help you."

  "Yikes." Audie took a big gulp of her iced tea. "Quinn said his parents moved here in the sixties. Do you know what part of Ireland they came from?"

  Sheila squeaked with laughter. "Dear God, of course. You don't spend much time with us Irish types, do you?"

  "No." Audie shrugged.

  "Well, we tend to talk a lot about Ireland and being Irish. It's like a hobby. It's what makes us the way we are, I guess. My parents are first
-generation Americans. All four of my grandparents were born in County Mayo."

  "Oh."

  "On the west coast."

  "OK."

  Sheila smiled at her. "Trish was from a little town called Ballyporeen in County Tipperary in the midwest. Jamie's family was from Dublin. They met at a church dance at St. Cajetan down the street here, and apparently it was love at first sight."

  Audie grinned at that, looking over at Jamie, trying to picture him as a nervous suitor at a church social, but not being very successful.

  "My God, you should see pictures of the two of them when they were young. Jamie was one studly specimen, let me tell you—wickedly good-looking. And Trish was stunning—she had a very intense and lovely face."

  "Kind of like Quinn."

  Sheila tried not to giggle at her new friend. "Yes. Like that."

  "I think I may have seen their wedding portrait actually. In Quinn's hallway."

  "Did you now?" Sheila's eyes shot wide.

  "Ladies? May I escort you to the servin' table?" Jamie stood in front of the women, blocking out the late-afternoon sun, his arms crooked out for easy access. "This bein' my house and my rules, I say I get all the pretty girls."

  Sheila hopped up, spun Jamie around, and hooked her arm in his. "No argument here, Da." She went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  Audie stood slowly and wound her arm around Jamie's elbow, a little embarrassed by how nice it felt to be on the arm of this man. "I'm honored," she said, smiling up at him, and it surprised her that she meat exactly that. Jamie's attentions made her feel special.

  During and after the serve-yourself feast of ribs, hamburgers, chicken, corn, a variety of salads, and lots and lots of beer, Audie talked with nearly everyone at the party. She met the enchanting Commader Connelly, who admitted he was a big fan. With several of the neighbors she discussed the pros and cons of using crumpled newspaper to clean windows and the handiest ways to use old toothbrushes around the house. She'd butted heads with Michael several times, on topics ranging from baseball to "real" barbecue sauce. She somehow ended up talking politics and religion with Pat, yet came away thoughtful and smiling. And she'd been squeezed by Jamie more times than she could count.