Her hips began to buck under him, and this time the big wedding portrait of the Quinn great-grandparents bit the dust, the old glass cracking on impact with the wood floor. He shuffled a bit to avoid the splinters.
"Oh! My! God!" Audie cried. Her mouth searched for him. He welcomed her tongue as it slid over his, tangled with his, begged for more. Then he forced her mouth wider and invaded her.
Everywhere.
His thumb flicked at her stiff little nub, then rubbed it without mercy. His penis hammered into her, big and rough. His mouth devoured her.
It gave him a great deal of satisfaction to feel her jerk so harshly, scream from deep in her chest the way she was, going on and on like she'd never stop. And when he grabbed on with both hands and exploded into her harder than he'd ever come in his entire goddamn life, the big Chicago cityscape fell off the wall and crashed to the floor in a shattering blast of glass.
A moment later, Quinn could barely remain upright, his knees were shaking so badly and his heart was so full. He didn't risk moving yet, because he'd have to be surefooted in all this glass. Quinn sighed—like most things pertaining to Autumn Adams, this last bit was going to take some very careful maneuvering.
Audie's head lolled on his shoulder and she was breathing fast, mumbling as if in a trance. He loved her so much. And he knew this was going to hurt him more than it would hurt her. But it had to be done.
He cautiously stepped back, separated their bodies with agonizing abruptness, and found a spot to set her feet on the floor. He yanked the T-shirt down over her trembling body' providing a bit of dignity. She was going to need it.
"Don't move," he said, turning back toward the bedroom.
He appeared an instant later, her clothes, purse, and car keys piled in his hands. "Here you go, Homey," he said, guiding her by the elbow to the stairs, watching to make sure she made it down safely.
"Lock the kitchen door on your way out, would you?"
* * *
Drew was on a roll. It was late, but he was almost done with the final chapter, and he couldn't remember the last time he had felt so electrified, so alive!
This had certainly been liberating—so much better than therapy ever was. Soon he would deliver the manuscript to his agent and she would send it to the publisher and his advance would be in the mail.
Thank God. Audie had been right—he had some serious cash-flow problems.
But the real joy would be walking into the Chestnut Street
office tomorrow and hand-delivering a copy to that miserable little fiend. Then afterward maybe he and Audie could go out and get a cup of coffee. They needed to talk. He needed to prepare her for the fallout.
It probably wouldn't hurt to apologize for being the world's worst brother, either. Better late than never.
It was long past time he told Audie the truth—at least the part he knew of it. He was fourteen years old the day he had walked in on his mother and Marjorie and his life was ruined.
Marjorie had looked up from what she was doing—and what she was doing scared the living hell out of him—and glared until he silently closed the home office door. And from the age of fourteen on, that woman owned him. She set him up for a marijuana arrest that she hid from Helen in exchange for his silence. Then she seduced him—a fifteen-year-old kid who had no idea what was going on with his body or his brain—and told him he was sick and twisted. She screwed him up but good.
Well, fuck you, Marjorie Stoddard, you lying, manipulating, poodle-loving lesbian control freak! Andrew Adams has finally grown a spine, and it's going up the middle of four hundred pages of shocking, lewd, in-your-face truth about Homey Helen!
Hope you like it.
* * *
Man, did this ever suck.
Griffin was out on a date. Marjorie wasn't answering her phone. Stanny-O hadn't returned his page. Some uniformed cop Audie had never seen before was asleep on a straight-backed chair outside her door, the poor man.
Audie was so desperate for someone to talk to that she'd even briefly considered calling her brother—then she remembered there was a chance he was a psychopath.
It hardly mattered. Because contrary to all common sense, the one person she needed the most right then was the very same person who'd made her miserable in the first place! Stacey Quinn just threw her out of his house! Out of his life!
Audie paced up and down the hallway, absently batting the soccer ball between her feet.
What a jerk.
How could he have been so wildly, unbelievably, fabulously carnal with her and then just send her packing like that—like she didn't mean anything to him? Like he didn't love her? Like he'd never given her his grandmother's handkerchiefs?
How could he do that to her?
Audie stopped. She felt her heart plummet to the soles of her feet.
Well, duh! That's exactly what she'd wanted all along.
Wasn't it?
No promises she couldn't possibly keep. No pain. No words she didn't mean. No chance of failing.
She gulped down a mouthful of air, and despite the fact that she was nearly dehydrated from two hours of crying, she feared she could start up again at any moment.
This was ridiculous. He was testing her, of course, the cocky bastard. He wanted her to come running after him, like she had on the lakefront that day. He wanted her to beg for it, like she had the first night they'd made love.
He was giving her a taste of her own medicine. He wanted her to break down and say she loved him. Loved him!
He wanted it all!
Who did he think he was?
Audie smacked herself in the forehead.
Oh, God! Stacey Quinn was her man, that's who he was!
He knew her! He knew how her mind worked and what made her laugh. He knew exactly what scared her the most. He knew how to make her feel so damn good she screamed!
He loved her! He was patient with her. He told her his most painful secrets. He cooked for her and rubbed her feet and sang to her. He held her when she cried.
And the most amazing thing of all was that he'd asked her to marry him! He'd offered his family to her! Sure he asked for everything, but that's exactly what he offered her in return, wasn't it? A family, belonging—love?
Love.
Oh, crap.
Audie kicked the hell out of the soccer ball and it went whizzing across the apartment until it hit the built-in refrigerator and pinged around the kitchen, finally rolling to a stop in the middle of the Italian marble floor.
She stood in the hallway, blinking back the latest rush of tears, and wrestled with the monster-sized ball of stubbornness and terror that stuck in her throat. She wondered how she'd get through the rest of the night without hearing Quinn's laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his caress.
Let alone the rest of her life.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Like most Chicagoans, Marjorie had seen the photo of Tim Burke's furious, wiener-bun-encrusted face on the Banner's front page. So it was perfectly understandable that now, sitting with the vice mayor in his grandiose office, she had to struggle to keep from laughing.
In addition, she was nearly giddy with how well her plan was progressing, and it made her wonder if the boy was as blindly in love with Audie as he claimed or merely rendered stupid by his own vanity. Perhaps it was both. It hardly mattered, just so long as he followed her lead. And so far, Tim Burke was blithely traipsing down the path Marjorie had prepared for him.
Tim gazed at her now, his long fingers steepled as if in prayer, tapping against a haughty smile. With an abrupt nod, he uncrossed his legs, got up from the leather club chair, and began pacing the room.
"I just don't want her to be hurt in this."
"And that's exactly what will happen if we don't step in, Tim. My God, I just can't bear to watch… Oh, I'm sorry … I've really gotten myself worked up over this, haven't I?"
Marjorie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and waited for T
im to return to her side. He did and patted her knee.
"Tim, I don't mean to be all doom and gloom, but without her mother there is no one in the world to look out for Audie except me. God knows Helen would agree with me on this—that detective is not what Autumn needs!" Marjorie blew her nose daintily and then laughed. "I mean, really! Can you picture Stacey Quinn as her escort to something like the Banner Ball tomorrow? It's laughable!"
Tim shook his head in disgust.
"She needs a man who's her equal in the public realm, who understands fame. She needs you, Tim. You are perfect for each other! Those times when I saw the two of you together my heart would just leap! And I'm sure if we can only get rid of that pit bull, she'll open her eyes—and you'll he the first thing she sees."
Tim leaned back into the chair and he appeared to be thinking. Not too much, Marjorie hoped.
"You know, I've really appreciated how you've kept in touch with me. If it weren't for your encouragement and the note here and there from Audie, I think I would have given up, I really do. She's been so unpredictable—a sweet card one week or an invitation to one of her book signings, and then she slams the door in my face! But you really think…?"
"Absolutely, Tim. I hate to say this, but I think Stacey Quinn may even be violent. You hear all the time about policemen being mentally unstable—you know, abuse of power." She stopped suddenly. "But I suppose this is not news to you."
Tim snorted, looking around the room, and for a moment it seemed he was wrestling with a critical concern. Then he broke into a dazzling smile. "Let's do it." Then Tim's smile abruptly lost its warmth. "I'd love to put him in his place, Marjorie. There's bad blood between us."
"I know. Audie told me all about the two of you."
Tim's brow arched. "Really? She must tell you everything."
Marjorie tilted her head and smiled at him. "And that's why I'm so sure this will work, Tim—she's told me how she feels about you."
His eyes widened hungrily. "What exactly did she say?"
"That she struggles every day with whether she's ready to love you. It's a huge step for her."
"I know," he said with reverence. "So we won't be forcing anything, then?"
"Just speeding up the inevitable," she said, smiling sweetly.
"But what happens when she denies it?" Tim looked worried.
"Then we have to make the evidence so inflammatory that Stacey Quinn won't even give her the time of day, won't listen to her denials."
"He has to be blind with hurt."
"Exactly."
Tim nodded, but Marjorie still saw a remnant of doubt in his eyes. "There's one thing," he said.
"Yes?"
"The letters. That's the part that bothers me. Quinn thinks I've been sending them, as ridiculous as that is, but I'm worried about Audie. Have there been any more lately?"
Marjorie sighed. "A couple. But I think they're close to making an arrest."
His head snapped to attention. "Really? Any idea who?"
Marjorie hesitated, scanning Tim's face with what she hoped looked like deep concern. "If I tell you, can you keep it in confidence? Nothing can interfere with him being taken into custody—Autumn isn't safe until he's behind bars."
Tim exhaled with seriousness. "Of course, Marjorie. You have my word."
"Well, I'm afraid it's her brother, Andrew."
"Holy shit. Well, I can't say I'm surprised."
The tissues came out again, and Marjorie let her head fall into her hands. Tim stroked her shoulder as she continued.
"I think Helen's death, then this latest divorce just sent him over the edge. It's heartbreaking. I've known him since the day he was born."
"I'm sorry." Tim encouraged her to raise her head and looked at her with compassion. "I thank you for putting me in your confidence, Marjorie. Your loyalty to Audie is refreshing—I wish there were more people like you in the world. Hey!" He grinned at her playfully. "If you ever decide to leave the column, I could find you a place here in City Hall—you'd be perfect in the public relations office."
She laughed him off. "I'll think about it."
They agreed it wouldn't take much to send Quinn into orbit but debated how to go about it. Marjorie didn't dare come right out and suggest that she forge Autumn's handwriting—lest Tim make the connection with the mysterious thank-you notes—but God bless him, the boy was putty in her hands.
"Do you have access to her personal stationery?" Tim's question came out as a guilty whisper. Marjorie could tell she was expanding the vice mayor's horizons.
"Oh, well, yes. When I'm in the office the next time I'll … wait! Oh, Tim, you won't believe this!" She sprang open the clasp to her black leather attaché and began a feigned search for… "Yes! I have some right here!"
Tim grinned at her. "I know exactly what will do it for poor Stacey, but I don't want to embarrass you, Marjorie. This might be pretty tasteless."
She frowned at him and reached for another tissue. "The whole situation is tasteless. I'm just so glad we're not too late to do something about it."
They put their heads together and came up with a note that satisfied them both. Marjorie signed Audie's name with a practiced flourish and folded the note in thirds just as Tim's secretary knocked on his door and peered in.
"I said I wasn't to be disturbed!"
"It's the mayor," she whispered. "He said 'now.'"
"Oh, shit." Tim rose instantly, straightening his tie and running a nervous hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry about this, Marjorie. Do you think…?"
"Oh, heavens! You go right ahead! I'll just look over this again and leave it on your desk and we'll talk Monday. No rush."
"Fabulous!" Tim stooped to kiss her cheek. "You're a wonder, Marjorie. Take your time. I'll talk to you Monday."
No, you won't, you buffoon.
Marjorie smiled at the secretary as she closed the door, then laughed at her own good fortune. She spent the next five minutes downloading all nineteen threats from a floppy disk onto the hard drive of the vice mayor's computer, then unfolded the love letter and left it on top of his desk.
One anonymous call to 911 from a pay phone downstairs, and the fun would begin.
Getting her affairs in order indeed.
* * *
Two hours later, the evidence technicians were removing Tim Burke's computer equipment from his office. The vice mayor had retreated to the sofa, where he glared silently at Quinn and Stanny-O.
Quinn didn't know which was more entertaining—Timmy's brief spurt of out-of-control ranting or this prolonged silence. Obviously, his attorneys told him on the phone to shut his mouth until they got there. Which would be any second.
Outside the vice mayor's door, Quinn could hear a crowd gathering, and he wondered how many minutes he had until the City Hall press corps got wind of the search warrant and descended on them like sharks in a feeding frenzy. How many minutes did they have before the mayor himself was rousted from his committee meeting?
When the evidence techs got the last of the equipment, Quinn closed the office door behind them, leaving just himself and Stanny-O alone with Tim. Stan was looking through the desk drawers. Quinn took a seat across from Tim.
"Can I tell you something off the record?" Tim asked, smiling. "Just a little something between old friends?"
Quinn shrugged. "Have at it. Timmy."
Tim leaned forward and whispered, "You're a bigger idiot than I thought."
Quinn grinned at him. "I'm crushed to learn you feel that way about me."
Tim's shoulders began bobbing with laughter and he shook his head. "I just hope you've got other job skills to fall back on—bricklaying or driving the big rigs or something—because you're going to be unemployed real soon, boy-o."
Quinn's eyebrows shot up with amusement. "You don't say?"
"Oh, boy."
Quinn turned around to see Stanny-O leaning on both palms, staring at the surface of Tim's cluttered desk. Stan raised his head and glanced toward Tim, then
locked a pair of startled eyes with Quinn's.
"I think you'd better have a look at this, buddy."
The instant Quinn saw the single sheet of elegant off-white stationery, individual words popped from the page like they were in 3-D, and his hand began to shake. His gaze flew to the familiar messy display of a signature at the bottom of the page, and for a moment he couldn't remember how to breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't feel.
Quinn looked to Stanny-O, but his partner only frowned and shook his head, stunned. Then ever so slowly, Quinn turned his gaze toward Timmy.
The vice mayor sat comfortably against the leather cushions, legs crossed casually, a shit-eating grin spreading over his face. "Life's a bitch, ain't it, Stace?"
Then the mayor burst through the door, which was the only reason Tim lived long enough to be taken into custody.
* * *
Marjorie's gray head popped cheerfully through the office door. "There's a Sheila Quinn here to see you, Autumn," she whispered. "Do you want me to tell her you've got a lunch date and don't have time for visitors?"
Audie looked up in disbelief. "Sheila?"
"Yes. That's what she said. Isn't she the detective's sister-in-law you told me about?"
"She is." Audie stood up from behind her desk, so dizzy she thought she would faint.
It had been fourteen hours and a thousand years since Quinn had thrown her out. He hadn't returned her calls. He wouldn't answer his door or see her at the station house. And it was downright pathetic how often she'd checked to make certain her new answering machine was working.
But why was Sheila here?
Audie wondered how much Quinn had told his family about what had happened between them. Maybe Sheila drew the short straw and was sent out as the Quinn family emissary, here to put Audie under an ancient Irish curse or something.
This could be bad.
"Autumn?" Marjorie stood poised at the door. "Mrs. Quinn is waiting."
"Tell her I'll be right out."
Marjorie nodded and was about to leave when she turned around, tapping the door shut. "Are you feeling any better, honey? I worry about you."