KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET

  Quinn hung his head and let the water fall like a curtain over his eyes. The uneasy feeling he'd been carrying around for two days was now a screeching, piercing alarm going off in his brain. And it was telling him to look at whoever had picked up the phone and called 911.

  The caller may have been a female—was she the perpetrator? This female would have to have known everyone involved and know exactly how to make all the pieces fit together. She had to know Tim Burke. She had to know enough about Audie's life to use it against her. She had to have access to Audie's stationery.

  Quinn slammed off the shower, bashed his fist against the tile wall, and hung his dripping head. Jaysus God.

  Marjorie Stoddard?

  He didn't know why or how, but he knew he was right.

  The next few moments were a blur. Quinn raced around the house naked and wet, making one call after the next. First Audie's home—he got her answering machine. Where was she? Next he paged Stan, Connelly, and the state's attorney's office. He threw on his clothes, ran out through his backyard, and got into his car.

  "Goddamn it!" he hissed, spinning out of the alley. Didn't Audie say she was going to some ball tonight? Where? The Drake? He called for backup at the Drake and requested officers he sent to Marjorie's home address.

  As he blew through red lights and snaked through weekend traffic, Quinn realized with rising fear exactly what Marjorie Stoddard was capable of. He thought of her competence. Her thoroughness and attention to detail. He remembered how she'd looked him in the eye and asked whether Audie had constant police protection.

  Not tonight she didn't, thanks to Quinn. He'd pulled the uniforms off duty once Tim was charged—just in time for September 22.

  He suddenly saw it so clearly—Marjorie had killed Helen Adams. Why and how, he couldn't say yet, but she'd done it. Marjorie was a killer. A killer with big plans for Audie.

  Quinn slammed the gas pedal to the floor and felt the fury build inside him.

  What had he done? Had he been too busy fighting with Timmy Burke to protect someone he loved? Was history about to repeat itself?

  Had he just let Audie die?

  * * *

  Drew flicked on the lights.

  He could count on one hand the number of times he'd been in this place and he'd hated every moment of every visit—because she'd always been there. Tonight it was the silence that made it eerie. He shivered.

  Drew headed straight into Audie's office. He hadn't seen it since Helen died, and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. My God, it was amazing that Audie had held up as long as she had! Drew had to give her credit. He was proud of his sister for trying so hard.

  He spied the legal-sized folder on top of a precariously balanced pile of … debris, really, and smiled to himself. Things were certainly going to be different around here from now on, now that he was going to be running the show.

  The first mistake to be corrected would be Marjorie. The next thing to go would be the god-awful name Homey Helen. He'd give Griffin a trial run, see how things went. He seemed like a decent enough guy.

  Drew strolled back into the front office and headed for the door, but something caught his eye. A plain white envelope sat propped up against the back of Marjorie's desk chair. In flowing cursive writing he saw the words "Getting My Affairs in Order."

  A tingle spread through Drew's body, and he found himself standing over the chair, staring, reaching toward the envelope in slow motion with a shaking hand.

  The sickening sense of dread was back and his mouth went dry as he opened the envelope and a pair of earrings fell out into his palm—small, elegant gold twists he'd given to his mother for her birthday several years ago. But these were the ones the police said were never recovered…

  As Drew's eyes raced across the first sentence, he knew he didn't have a second to waste. He called the police, ran out of the building, and prayed that Audie wasn't already dead.

  * * *

  Tim Burke's hair and smile were perfect and he was wearing an outrageously expensive tuxedo accessorized with a surgically enhanced blonde, and Audie smiled—it was like looking at Satanic Ken on a date with Hose-Bag Barbie!

  "Tim Burke," she chirped. "Is prison food as bland as they say?"

  "Audie, please." His voice was soft and tortured and it was the last thing she expected. She turned slowly to see that he was absolutely stricken. "Please. One minute."

  Tim whispered to his date and she went down the stairs without him.

  Audie's heart was thumping and she could barely breathe. "The clock's ticking."

  "I didn't threaten you with those letters, Audie. Please believe me."

  "Good-bye."

  "Audie!" He gripped her arm—hard. "I love you! I've loved you since the first minute I saw you!" He lowered his voice to a whisper, aware that people were starting to stare. "I would never hurt you, sweetheart, but I think you really are in danger—it's Marjorie."

  Audie's jaw dropped and she shook her arm away from his. "You're sick. And your girlfriend's waiting."

  He shook his head sadly. "She means nothing to me, and I'm not the one who's sick. Marjorie is. I hate to say this, but I'd stick close to the police for a while if I were you. She put those letters in my computer yesterday, Audie. She forged that love letter to me. She wants to hurt you."

  Audie began to tremble.

  "I'm real worried about you."

  Tim was absolutely sincere, Audie realized. He was telling the truth—at least what he thought was the truth—and the questions whirled around in her mind and her heart until she could hardly breathe. Then Tim said, "I'll never stop trying with you, Audie," and he reached for her hand.

  That did it. Her brain snapped to attention. She almost fell for it! "Are you threatening me?" she whispered.

  "I'm telling you that you deserve so much better than Quinn. I'll wait as long as I have to."

  Suddenly the fear disappeared and she started laughing, somewhat hysterically.

  "Let me see if I've got this straight," she said, still laughing. "You're innocent. Marjorie is a head case. And you're going to wait around until you're a better man than Stacey Quinn? Is that it? 'Cause that means you'll be waiting for all eternity, Timmy—like until the Cubs win the World Series!"

  "Wha—"

  She realized she was yelling at the top of her lungs now, but she couldn't stop.

  "You will never be as fine a person as Stacey Quinn, or anyone in that family. Give it up!"

  Tim stared at her in quiet shock for a moment, then sneered. "I see you fell for Quinn's 'retarded little brother' sob story. Works like a charm. I wish I had a dollar for every blow job he's gotten out of—"

  Audie shifted her weight, cocked back her right arm, and made solid contact with the left side of Tim Burke's face. He went sprawling to the floor in a puddle of tuxedo—in front of the full contingent of Chicago's media elite.

  She heard the whir and saw the flash of cameras all around her.

  "That was from the Quinns, you total sleaze!" She headed for the ballroom exit and shouted over her shoulder, "And if you ever bother me again, you'll regret it!"

  Her hands reached out to push open the doors but encountered a solid male chest instead. She whipped her head around to find Quinn blocking her way, frozen, his mouth open, his eyes wide, and his gun drawn, Drew panting at his side. Right behind them were four uniformed Chicago police officers.

  So much passed through her in that instant of contact—heat and love and so many desperate questions and so much regret—that all she could do was let out an incoherent sob. Her hands fell away from his chest.

  "Nice cut," he said.

  She found her voice. "How long—?"

  His eyes were intense. Determined. "Long enough, Homey."

  Audie began to shake her head, trying to remember where she was, who she was, and whether she was asleep or awake. Then she became aware of the deafening silence of the ballroom, saw the cops run to help Tim Burke off the floor, and saw Qu
inn staring at her with his lion-at-breakfast look—and the world dissolved into a blur around them.

  Audie watched as Quinn, without a word, grabbed her hand and slid his mother's claddagh ring off his pinkie and onto her left ring finger. Then his warm hand grasped hers. He smiled at her. And out of the corner of her eye, Audie saw Marjorie coming toward them.

  It all happened so fast that later, when she'd try to sort through all the events of that night, it would seem like a single flash of time to her—an instant that contained a lifetime of joy and fear and horror.

  Marjorie had a gun.

  Audie got the briefest glimpse of Marjorie's empty, cold face before Quinn threw his body against her and she heard the pop! and her overwhelmed mind explained it away as a tire blowout or fireworks, but then the screams began and a dozen pop-pop-pops exploded from behind her. Audie couldn't breathe … couldn't breathe … because Quinn had fallen on her, dead weight on top of her, and it was then that she felt the heat seeping through the fabric of her dress. He was bleeding all over her.

  * * *

  Audie held his hand in hers and squeezed.

  Drew's face was ashen. He looked broken and ill, but he'd stopped crying. And Audie was suddenly filled with a rush of love for her brother she had never thought possible.

  The last few hours had provided answers to questions Audie didn't even know she had. Drew had told her everything that he'd been through. The police had made a copy of Marjorie's suicide note for them, and they'd read and re-read the horrible truth about their family and their mother's death until it finally seemed real.

  For the first time, Audie could look back on the arc of her life and understand. She didn't like most of what she saw, but at least it made some sense. No wonder her parents' marriage seemed strained! No wonder Drew had been so bitter and unpleasant. No wonder Helen didn't have time for her daughter—she was too busy living the world's most elaborate lie!

  Drew and Audie sat for several moments in stunned silence, only vaguely aware of the busy humming and clanking of the hospital just outside the door. The police had found a quiet office for them, and except for Audie's frequent trips to the nurses' station for news on Quinn, that's where they'd stayed.

  Audie looked down at herself again and groaned with sadness. Her gown was saturated with Quinn's blood, though it was hardly visible. Not for the first time, she wondered if Marjorie had intentionally selected a dress that wouldn't show bloodstains. Marjorie's own preference for the evening had been white. And she'd been shot so many times…

  "I'll go up there with you if you want, Audie."

  She blinked away the gruesome image. "What?"

  "I'll go with you to see the Quinns."

  She smiled at him and shook her head. Drew was right. It was time for her to face the Quinns and whatever huge crowd had formed in the surgery waiting room. The problem was, she had no idea what awaited her up there.

  Did the family think she'd slept with Tim Burke? Did they know Quinn had taken that bullet to save her life?

  She closed her eyes and wiped a tear from her cheek.

  "Audie. He's going to make it."

  She nodded silently.

  "You're perfect for each other."

  Her eyes went wide. "Huh?"

  Drew chuckled a little at the shock on her face. "The guy's funny and smart and he loves you. I knew it the first time I talked with him. Go for it."

  She stared at him.

  "Go on up there. You're wearing his ring, and if you're going to marry him, you'll have to deal with the Hibernians from hell sooner or later. So go."

  "You'll be OK?"

  "Fine. Please call me at the house when there's news."

  She kissed Drew on the forehead and left. On the way to the bank of elevators, she saw a wooden door with a stained-glass window and a brass plaque that read simply: "Chapel." She sucked in her breath and slipped inside. Audie slid into a pew toward the back and listened to the steady mechanical breath of the air-conditioning vents as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw a few solitary forms toward the front.

  OK. She was going to try to have faith now. So she folded her hands and tried to say a prayer.

  Not that she'd ever prayed for anything in her life. She didn't know who or what to send her prayer to or what words to use or feelings to feel. Maybe God would understand that she sucked at prayer.

  She bowed her head and gripped her hands tight in her lap, and the tears plopped from her eyes onto the dark silk of her dress.

  Quinn would live. She had faith. He had to live.

  It was ridiculous, she knew, but when she thought of Quinn she saw just two things—the green fire in his eyes when he pulled her close and said, "Come here to me," and the wooden swing set in his backyard.

  Stupid. Quinn's face in passion and a swing set—but that's all she saw, all she felt, all she was, and she focused on those images as if they would save her, save him.

  "God, please let him live," she whispered out loud, not caring if anyone heard. "Please give me a chance to love him."

  Next, she asked for courage—a lot of it. Then she took the elevator to the waiting room to face the Quinns.

  The place was packed. She saw Jamie, Michael, Sheila, Kiley, and Little Pat, Aunt Esther, plus Stanny-O and Commander Connelly and an assortment of faces she recognized and many she didn't, and she realized she was just standing there, her chest heaving, her heart breaking, a ridiculous woman in a ball gown the color of blood, standing where she suspected she wasn't welcome.

  Suddenly little Kiley stepped out from the row of chairs against the wall and ran to Audie, gripping her skirt.

  She took in a sob of breath to ask the only question that mattered. "Is there any news?"

  Michael narrowed his eyes at her and answered in a wooden voice, "Nothing more."

  She nodded. Staring at her were at least two dozen members of the Garda Band, many of the Beverly neighbors she had met at the party' several Area 3 detectives, and a half-dozen uniformed officers.

  Audie began to absently stroke Kiley's dark curls, hoping the rhythm would remind her to breathe, then lowered her head. "Oh, God. Quinn," she whispered to no one.

  Pat then entered the room and stood off to her side. She looked up at all of them, stopping on Pat's face. He seemed the most receptive.

  "It's my fault."

  The tears poured down her cheeks and trickled down into the bodice of her gown, but she didn't have the energy to brush them away. "If it weren't for me—my stupid case, my stupid life—he wouldn't have been shot. I'm so sorry."

  Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

  Audie looked to Sheila's pale and trembling face and then to Michael, who'd been transformed into a stranger by the pain. She couldn't even think of looking at Jamie.

  She sought out Patrick again and said, "I screwed up. I'm not very good at this—at love—and I made a huge mistake. I was scared. I was scared that there was something wrong with me and that I'd only hurt him one day—hurt all of you—so I ran away from him." She choked back a sob. "And I ended up hurting everyone anyway."

  The room was utterly silent. Everyone stared at her blankly, waiting. Audie was certain they could hear her heart pounding and her blood roaring.

  "But at no time did I betray Quinn with Tim Burke." Audie raised her trembling chin. "That I did not do."

  How ironic was this? She didn't have the courage to admit that she loved a man as they lay in bed, alone, in the dark. So this is what it got her—she had to spill her guts to a hostile crowd that included children and strangers, in a public place, under fluorescent lights!

  "I love Stacey Quinn," she announced in a steady voice, looking from face to face. "He's the first man I've ever loved, and it's the most frightening thing in the world for me to admit, but also the most magical experience of my life. I love him more than anything in the world, and I'd do anything—" the tears kept coming "—anything to get one more chance to earn his love and forgiveness. And yours."


  Her shoulders were shaking. She barely heard her own plea. "Just one more chance to love him."

  They remained silent.

  Then Kiley looked up at her, her eyes brimming with tears, and she said, "I've missed you, Audie. Can you stay this time?"

  Pat was moving toward her with one hand extended, but Jamie threw out an arm to block him, and his voice filled the room. "I'll do it, Patrick."

  Kiley let loose and ran back to Sheila.

  This was it.

  Jamie was a huge man, a man in agony—a man who had said Audie wasn't worth the trouble. What had Sheila once said about him? "If you're stupid enough to go back on your word or hurt one of his boys, God help you."

  Audie stood tall, ready for whatever was about to happen, when Jamie grabbed her hand and pulled her fingers up to his chest. He stared for a moment at the ring on her finger—the one he'd given his wife so long ago—and with an unreadable expression, gently released her. His palm was coming toward her face, and she braced herself.

  "Put your head here, lassie," he said.

  Jamie pressed Audie against his chest as a big, cool palm stroked her cheek and her hair. Then he brought both arms around her and squeezed. Kiley returned to her place on Audie's legs, and Little Pat was holding one of her hands and Sheila and Mike and Pat and Aunt Esther and Stanny-O had gathered around them in a circle, all clutching to one another.

  Audie breathed in Jamie, heard him whisper, "Please forgive me, dear girl," and allowed the dam to break inside her heart, once and for all.

  Audie's body shook with sobs of sorrow and joy and she clung to him, clung to everyone, as the realization washed over her.

  She wasn't alone anymore. She was one of the Quinns.

  "Excuse me."

  The voice cut through the safe cocoon of Audie's brand-new world and she stiffened. Everyone pulled apart to stare at the waiting room doorway, where Tim Burke stood alone, visibly trembling.

  Michael was already stumbling toward him in a rage. "Of all the unholy—"

  Jamie's big paw reached out and grabbed his son.