KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET

  to the parking garage. He should have stayed there and talked to Audie.

  But he had freaked. Confrontation was not his forte. And now he had the creepiest feeling—a premonition almost—a sickening kind of dread that made his mouth dry. Between that and his leg cramps, he was a wreck.

  Drew limped over to the bar, made himself a drink, then sat down in his favorite chair and closed his eyes.

  When his gaze had locked with Marjorie's, an electric shock sliced through him and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. She sat behind the big, polished desk like she was a Supreme Court Justice, and the look in her eyes was creepier than he'd ever seen.

  She accepted the manuscript calmly. She didn't even seem surprised. The only thing she said was, "Good title."

  As he looked down at her cold expression, he had a brief wild thought that Marjorie was the one sending those threats to Audie. It was in her eyes.

  But then he'd shaken off the idea. He was the one Marjorie hated, not his sister. The disgust in Marjorie's eyes was for him, not Audie. Audie had never done anything to Marjorie. Marjorie protected Audie. Marjorie loved Audie.

  Didn't she?

  Drew propped his drink on the armrest and blinked into the growing darkness.

  What did he know about his sister's relationship with Marjorie? What did he know about his sister, period? When was the last time he'd really talked with her, really listened to her?

  He couldn't remember.

  Drew sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He'd been a real ass the day she'd come to ask about the boat. He remembered how she stood there in the library, looking scared and confused, asking him if he wrote the threats to get at the Homey Helen assets.

  He let loose with a nervous laugh, feeling the dark room begin to close in around him. Jesus Christ, even his sister didn't like or trust him! Right then, Drew realized that he'd never felt more wretchedly alone in his whole life.

  And that was saying something.

  Drew drained his drink and picked up the phone. When Audie greeted him with surprise and a touch of fear, it broke what little remained of his heart.

  "Audie, we need to talk."

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  « ^ »

  On the evening of September 22, Audie found herself in the grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel, surrounded by gold filigreed columns, lemon-yellow walls, tuxedos, and sparkling crystal chandeliers.

  So much for being chopped into itty-bitty pieces and shoved inside freezer bags, she thought. Her body was one big miserable chunk of living flesh tonight, on display in a strapless port wine gown Marjorie had selected for the occasion.

  At least it wasn't pink.

  But so what if her body was in one piece? Her heart was bashed to smithereens. She was so sad that her skin felt sore to the touch. Her head ached. Her feet hurt inside a pair of beaded red evening shoes. She felt like she was going to cry again.

  Audie wandered toward the open bar across the room, glad that she'd let Drew escort her tonight and wishing he'd hurry back. That morning, she'd gone for a sail—alone with her brother, out on the water, for hour after hour.

  She couldn't remember the last time they'd talked like that. Probably because they never had. It was like going on a blind date—they had to start from scratch. There were so many surprises, yet she sensed that Drew was slowly working himself up to something big—something that was horribly painful for him. She promised him that when he was ready, she'd listen.

  The biggest shock of all came when he told her he'd always wanted to do the Homey Helen column. She thought she'd heard wrong, and then when he repeated it, the two of them nearly died from the laughter. At some point it disintegrated into plain old crying—crying for their mother, their father, for everything they could never get back.

  At one point Drew made this observation: "We probably should have talked a long time ago."

  "Yeah," Audie said. "That might have been good."

  Now what was taking him so long? She'd asked him to run to the office to get her letter of resignation, which she'd forgotten to bring along. Their plan was to talk with Malcolm together, but if Drew didn't hurry, she might have to face Malcolm without him.

  Besides, the truth was that without Drew at her side, she felt quite alone and out of place in this sea of people. All she wanted was to tie up loose ends and escape without too much drama. Then she could go home and get out of this dress and get on with her life.

  A life without Homey Helen.

  A life without Quinn.

  "What kind of beer you got?"

  "Beer?" The young bartender looked shocked.

  "Yes. B-e-e-r." Audie rolled her eyes and nearly said out loud, "What? Can't a woman in a strapless red gown have a beer?"

  "On tap, we've got Killian's, Beck's, and Old Style. In bottles we've got Heineken and Sam Adams."

  "Killian's, please."

  She took her beer and wandered out into the press of beautiful people. The Banner's annual fall fling was always a predictably elegant and stuffy affair, and Malcolm spared no expense in entertaining his staff writers and syndicated columnists. With a small smile, she realized it was an exclusive club she was honored to un-join.

  She looked around at the opulence and only half-listened to the din of laughter and chatter. After tonight, there'd be no more of this, she knew—Homey Helen was going to be history, and Autumn Adams was just going to be herself.

  She lifted her glass and whispered a private toast. "Here's to the first day of Autumn."

  How else could she celebrate her freedom? Drew already had said she was welcome to sail every day she wanted until the end of the season. She'd join her winter indoor women's soccer league, as usual. Maybe she'd look into taking a few continuing ed classes at the Learning Annex—cooking, gardening … bagpipes?

  She shook her head so hard that her French twist came de-Frenched, and she tried to fix it with one hand. Then she groaned out loud. How many hours had it been since Quinn had made her laugh? Since she'd seen his eyes? Since she'd been thoroughly ravaged? She groaned again.

  The strangest part of this whole miserable mess was that every time she thought of Quinn, she smiled. She felt it happening again—the tiniest smile was turning up her lips. Maybe it was just the residue of bliss—his gift to her. She headed back to the bar.

  "Another Killian's, please."

  "Did you drop it?" The bartender looked young enough to be a college kid, but he was quite cute in his tuxedo, and his smile was big and devilish.

  "I chugged it, babe." She took the glass, tilted back her head, drained it, and set it down on the bar with a thud. Then she belched demurely.

  "Excuse me."

  The young man's face went slack. "Dude! Aren't you Homey Helen?"

  "Actually, that was my mother." Audie grabbed a cocktail napkin and dabbed at her mouth. "I'm just a soccer coach with a broken heart."

  The young man frowned. "Who in the world broke your heart?"

  She belched again. "Broke it all by myself."

  "How did that happen?"

  "Oh, you know." Audie waved her hand in the air. "I couldn't say the L-word to the most wonderful man I've ever known and now he's convinced I did something really awful that I didn't do and he won't talk to me. Won't answer my calls. Won't answer his door. Your basic nuclear winter."

  "Ouch." He leaned across the bar. "I bet I could heat things up for you."

  Audie laughed. "Just get me another beer, dude."

  When she turned back to face the room, she saw her loose ends walking right toward her. It was show time, with or without Drew.

  "Hello, gentlemen."

  Malcolm Milton took her hand warmly and patted her shoulder. "You look lovely as usual, Autumn. Now tell me why in the world you haven't taken care of our little housekeeping matter. I refuse to believe the rubbish Russell has just been telling me."

  Audie winced. "I should probably confess that I've never been very
interested in housekeeping, Malcolm. I think we need to have a chat. Do you have the time now?"

  His face fell, and the CEO turned to Russell, and Audie watched Malcolm's mouth became smaller, paler, and tighter. With each passing second, Russell looked closer to tossing his cookies.

  It might have been the Killian's. It could've been the rush of being herself after so long. But on her way to the white-linen—covered table with the huge fall centerpiece, Audie felt like jumping up and down and hooting.

  The second they all were seated, she made her position clear. There would be no reconsidering. She was finished.

  "Thank you for your generosity and support, Malcolm, and for helping my mother with her career from the very beginning. She liked and trusted you very much." Audie took a deep breath and continued. "But here's the good part—Drew wants to do it."

  Russell made a sound in between a laugh and a scream of horror. Malcolm sat quietly, his face completely blank; then he got up and walked away.

  "I take it he's not thrilled with the idea?" Audie said half to herself and half to Russell.

  "Oh … my … God." Russell was obviously in shock, and Audie watched his pulse beat bang at the tight white collar of his tuxedo shirt. "When did you find out about this?" He turned fierce gray eyes in her direction.

  "Today. He's going to give you a call Monday. He's very excited—wants to make a bunch of changes. Good luck, Russ."

  Audie reached out her hand and waited until Russell, in shocked silence, offered his. She pumped it hard and smiled at him. "Later."

  She turned toward the curved carpeted stairs that led from the ballroom floor to the sitting rooms and lounges. Just a few more steps and she'd be free of this room. Of this life. She'd wait for Drew out front. She'd mail her resignation to Malcolm on Monday.

  Audie felt someone reach for her wrist, and she pivoted quickly to see the bartender.

  He flashed her a toothy grin. "Just wanted to let you know I'm going on break. Would you like to come with me?" He opened his tuxedo jacket to reveal two Heinekens stuffed in an inside pocket.

  Audie laughed, surprised and flattered by his determination. She studied him a moment, admiring just how cute he really was—greenish eyes, sandy straight hair, a wide, sensual mouth… "Oh, hell!" she groaned.

  "Hey, I'm twenty-one, if that's what you're thinking. Whaddya say, soccer coach?"

  Audie sighed. "Look, thanks for the beers and the offer, but no. I need to go home."

  "With or without company?"

  Jeez, the guy was stubborn, and for a second she was tempted. But it would only be a pale imitation of what she really wanted, and no amount of wishful thinking would turn this kid into Quinn.

  She popped up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "Go find a girl to love. She's out there. Have faith."

  She went running up the stairs, holding up her long skirts as she went. Maybe Drew was on his way in the front door. That would mean three minutes and they'd be at her car. Fifteen minutes and she could get out of this stupid dress and stupid shoes that made her look like Dorothy in the Land of Oz. She couldn't wait to get the hell out of Oz.

  "Audie?"

  What now? She spun around only to find herself staring at … Tim Burke?

  Somebody just shoot me.

  * * *

  The run did nothing for him. Nearly ten hard and fast miles along the sticky, dark lakefront, and he didn't even feel tired. There was no sense of peace in him. Just fury, loneliness, and a stomach-churning dose of doubt.

  Quinn peeled off his sweat-soaked clothing and stepped into the shower. He never thought he'd say this, but he missed Rocky Datillio. He'd been a roommate in name only, but now that he was married and gone for real, the house felt empty.

  Maybe it was just that somewhere in the back of Quinn's mind he'd pictured Rocky moving out and Audie moving in.

  He'd pictured a lot of things.

  Quinn let the water rush over him and he shuddered. The last two days had been wild. The last two days had nearly done him in.

  Timmy Burke was looking at nineteen counts of felony assault and two counts of stalking. The mayor went apoplectic. The reporters were salivating all over themselves. Commander Connelly told him that he and Stanny-O had done fine work, but they'd taken ten years off his life expectancy.

  Then Quinn came clean to Connelly about his relationship with Audie, and the commander got so red in the face that Quinn was afraid he'd have a stroke on the spot. He had no idea what Connelly was going to do to him on Monday, but it wouldn't be pretty.

  At the initial hearing that morning, Tim had been released on a $100,000 bond and told to stay away from Audie. It was what they expected.

  After the hearing, Quinn went back to work—it may have been Saturday, but he didn't know what else to do with himself. The congratulations he kept hearing only annoyed him. He and Stanny-O had done their jobs—they'd made an arrest in an important celebrity harassment case. The added bonus was that Timmy Burke had finally gotten what he deserved.

  Yet none of it mattered to Quinn.

  Because all he thought about was Audie. And all he felt was awful.

  Quinn let the cool stream hit his face straight on, hard enough to smack some sense into him, he hoped. Da and Michael and Pat came to see him at the station house today, and Michael had been downright nice to him—a sure sign that he'd become an object of pity.

  What a god-awful scene that had been, admitting to them that he hurt like hell.

  "We're right here with you, boy-o," his father had said.

  Quinn felt like punching something.

  He raked his fingers mercilessly through his hair, scruffing up the shampoo, groaning as the water cascaded down the top of his head and along his shoulders.

  He couldn't stop picturing the words he'd seen above Audie's signature, and the more he tried not to think about the words, the clearer the mental images became. He knew no amount of running would ever shake the pictures loose from his brain.

  Audie had called several times yesterday and today, crying to Stanny-O and begging to talk to Quinn. Rick Tinley drove her out to his house early that morning. But he couldn't face her yet—not until he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

  Because the truth was that just two days ago he'd asked Autumn Adams to marry him. But today he almost wished he'd never met her.

  Quinn turned and let the water beat down on his back. The nightmares last night had been wicked.

  The first was Audie in danger, running from something just beyond his vision, screaming out his name. And though he could see her and hear her, he couldn't reach her, and all he could do was watch helplessly as she cried out.

  He woke up nauseous, drenched in cold sweat. And he was angry—so damn angry at himself for failing her.

  When he went back to sleep, the torture only intensified. His hands were filled with her warmth and her curves and his fingers were trailing along the hollow of her throat, running down the silken slope beneath her ribs, dipping into the slippery center of her, so ready for him. He was lost in her scent and her heat and was disappearing into everything she was when he woke up—his body in agony.

  Despite everything, Quinn ached for her touch and her laugh. He wanted to hear the way she said his name—"Stacey"—half a private joke and half an endearment.

  Goddamn it, he missed her. Despite everything, he loved her. And she loved him—he couldn't be wrong about this. He could not be wrong about Audie.

  Then what was he wrong about? Because he was sure as hell wrong about something.

  Quinn turned and closed his eyes under the stream of water, feeling the dread grip his heart and squeeze it dry. Something didn't fit and he damn well knew it—he'd known it the instant he and Stan set foot in Timmy's office with the search warrant. But he'd ignored his gut because of the hard, cold evidence that stared him in the face. Besides, Connelly told him his gut couldn't be trusted when it came to Timmy Burke, right? He also had to admit that the prospect of sending T
immy Burke to jail was damn near intoxicating.

  So what had he missed? Where was the piece he'd not seen?

  Quinn walked through the series of events in his mind for the hundredth time.

  Fact: An anonymous call from a City Hall pay phone claimed that the vice mayor's computer contained threats to Homey Helen. The voice was muffled but was possibly that of a female. The message got relayed to Quinn and Stan.

  Question: How did the caller get access to Tim's personal files? What motivated the caller to read through them and decide to contact the police?

  Fact: The threats were right where the caller said.

  Question: Was Timmy so stupid that he'd compose those notes on his office computer? Was he so arrogant he thought he'd never get caught?

  Fact: Tim Burke was stalking Audie. Quinn saw him at the library book-signing with his own eyes, and Tinley saw him at the coffee shop. Plus, there was the other hard evidence—the flower delivery receipts, the security video of Audie's apartment building, the phone records.

  Question: If Timmy was sleeping with Audie, what motive would he have for stalking her? It ran contrary to everything he knew about the psychology of stalkers—people obsessed with "proving their love" to someone who had rejected their advances. That love letter described a lot of activities, but rejection wasn't one of them.

  Fact: Timmy hated Quinn. Audie's letter had been lying right on top of the desk for the world to see, and Timmy surely wanted Quinn to read it and go insane with jealousy—which was exactly what had happened.

  Quinn rubbed his eyes and his groan of frustration echoed off the bathroom walls.

  Why the hell had Timmy taken everything so calmly? Why didn't his lawyers raise a stink about anything? It was almost as if Tim wanted to be arrested, wanted to go to jail.

  Quinn raked his hands through his wet hair. Maybe he needed to look at this another way, keep the two pieces of evidence separate. First the love letter. Was it possible—just possible—that the love letter was a fake put there for his benefit? Was it meant to distract him? Keep him away from Audie?

  Quinn's heart was hammering in his chest. Was it possible that Timmy was willingly taking the fall for someone else? But who? Andrew Adams? And why? It made no goddamn sense!