Knock Me Off My Feet (15 page)
Audie closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, the heat of Quinn against her back, the pressure of his hand on her belly. The truth was she wanted to know exactly how unbelievable this man was. She
wanted
to be in his bed. She
wanted
to find out if there was a man who could love her for who she was, not who he wanted her to be—and she wanted to know if Quinn was that man.
But she wasn't sure she could handle one more disappointment. She didn't know if she had it in her.
Audie inhaled deeply and felt Quinn's hand rise and fall with the movement of her breath. She felt him press closer to her. She wondered what he really wanted with her.
Tim Burke wanted arm candy for his political career. Will
Dalton
wanted to write a book about her and her mother. Kyle Singer wanted to convince the Greater Chicagoland viewing area that he was straight. Russell Ketchum wanted control over the business.
And Audie wasn't quite sure of everything Darren Billings had wanted, but she was sure it didn't require clothing or a college degree.
Something was different about the man she felt so solid against her back. He made her laugh. He could be sweet. He could be blunt. He was tidy. He was sentimental. And the force of his physical presence was overwhelming—a new experience for her entirely—because Quinn filled her senses, made her blood pound and her skin tingle.
He just felt good to her. He felt
right.
Audie opened her eyes to the evening light on the water and felt Quinn's lips brush her hair. She snuggled back against him a little tighter.
There was no way to predict all the things he'd ask of her. But right at that moment, it seemed all he wanted was to be with her—just plain Audie—and that was a good place to start.
The sun had disappeared by the time the sails were neatly folded away and the
Take a Hint
could be tied down for the night. Quinn took a long time meticulously wiping down every bronze fitting on the boat with a shammy skin. Drew would be shocked.
They carried their gear and walked side by side up the wooden dock. The imposing house loomed in front of them, lit up from the inside and rising high and wide on the crest of the lawn.
The sensation was so soft at first that she thought a moth had brushed against her skin—but it was Quinn's hand, reaching for her in the twilight.
"Audie
…"
He smiled sweetly at her. "I wanted to say thanks for today. And I wondered if I might kiss you."
Quinn laid down the things he was carrying and took the lunch basket and towels from Audie's frozen hands. She stood breathless, waiting.
His hand swept up along her cheek and came to rest in the soft hair at her temple. She didn't push him away. She didn't turn her face from him. She returned his gaze, and in her soft, dark eyes Quinn saw the permission he sought.
"You make me fairly crazy, Homey," he whispered, bringing his lips to hers in softness—such softness—as his fingers played along her cheek.
The gentleness of it stunned her. They weren't smashing heads on sidewalks or crashing into porch furniture this time. Quinn's kiss was tender and full of sweet questions, and it shattered her.
She closed her eyes and let him touch her, let him explore her mouth with his lips, her body with his hands. She felt his palm flat at the small of her back, but it didn't piss her off this time. And at that moment, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she decided that she'd go wherever he was taking her. Maybe not today—but someday.
Audie tilted her head to yield to the tentative requests from his tongue, and the emotion welled up in her belly and spread hot through her, and a helpless little squeak came out of her mouth.
Quinn pulled away, watching her shut her eyes and smile, holding on to the shadow of his kiss. Then her dark lashes fluttered and she looked right at him.
"Nice kiss, Quinn."
"There's more where that came from."
The way he grinned down at her made him look like a little boy, Audie thought, cute and afraid and shy. But this was no little boy, she knew. Quinn was a man, with a man's desires.
Was she willing to get closer to all of him—the little boy's sweetness and the man's needs? Was she willing to try with Quinn?
"I need to be careful," she whispered.
"I know you do."
"I'm a total failure at this. You saw the list."
"Think positive."
"No. Quinn, listen. I suck at relationships. I'm trying to be honest here."
He laughed softly. "Honesty is good."
She grinned at him and sighed. "OK. You've been warned. Now what about you, Stacey Quinn? You're the cautious type, aren't you?"
He reached for her hands and held them in his. Quinn wanted to look at her, so soft and beautiful, so close. He wondered why this extraordinary woman stood here with him, scared but willing. He wondered if she had any idea how his heart was cracking wide open in his chest.
"Usually I'm cautious. But with you
…
"
He pulled on her hands. "Oh, hell, Audie. Not with you. Come here to me."
He gathered her up in his arms and she felt him cradle her, protect her, give her a place in the world to stand for a moment, a place where she seemed to fit just fine.
Audie tucked her head into his shoulder and heard the lake stop rippling and the breeze stop blowing and her own heart stop beating. There was only Quinn, and he was a heady mixture of scents—water and wind, beer and sunscreen, and Quinn himself—and his body was warm and steady and sure against hers. She let the feel of Stacey Quinn sink into her bones.
"Thank you," she whispered. "It's been a long time since someone just
…
hugged me."
He chuckled softly and heard himself say, "I could hug you like this till we both dry up and blow away."
She pulled back and examined his face. There was no self-satisfied look in his eye—just surprise. Apparently this was something out of the ordinary for him as well.
The destruction was complete.
"What are you doing to me, Quinn?" she breathed.
The smile started small and spread slowly but eventually engulfed his whole handsome, sunburned face. "I'm not sure, but I hope to God it's something like what you're doing to me."
He kissed her again, and this time she threw her arms around his neck with enthusiasm. Quinn hugged her so tight that her feet lifted off the deck.
* * *
From his second-story bedroom window, Drew stared down the sloping lawn to the dock, where he watched his clueless sister throw herself at Mister Chicago's Finest. He took another sip of his Tanqueray and tonic.
"Jesus Christ, Audie," he muttered, spinning the ice cubes around with the rotation of his wrist. "We sure know how to pick 'em, don't we?"
He raised his glass to his sister and her latest beau, gleaming and giggling under the boathouse lights. "Two weeks, tops," he said, throwing back the rest of his drink.
* * *
"Do you have dinner plans for next Sunday?" Quinn could barely see Audie as they continued their walk up the dock in the darkness.
"No. Why?"
"I'd like to take you someplace real special."
She shook her head slowly. "You don't need to spend your money taking me to some fancy restaurant, Quinn. I thought you were getting to know me a little. I don't even like—"
"Audie."
"What?"
"I want to
take you to
Beverly
for Little Pat's birthday party."
"You do?"
"I do. And you might want to wear something washable."
Chapter 7
September
10
Dear Homey Helen:
I've been thinking. September
22
is a dreadfully long way
off.
Could
we
possibly reschedule? I've tried to be patient—you have no idea how I've tried—but my patience
is
wearing thin.
I just don't think I can wait another moment for you to be dead. It's not like you'll leave behind a grieving family, now, is
it?
Why don't we just get to it?
—Your most loyal fan
PS: I thought your column on top fifty uses for transparent tape was to die for!
Her hands started
to
shake, and she felt a cold flash of panic race through her bloodstream. She handed the note back to Griffin very slowly, careful not to touch any part but the edges of the paper—careful not to meet his eye as she turned toward her office door.
"Audie?"
Griffin
placed the letter back on the reception desk, watching her walk away. "Shit."
Marjorie was shaking her head.
"Do you think I should talk with her?"
Marjorie wiped tears off her cheek with a trembling hand and sighed. "I honestly don't know what to do at this point. Why don't you go in with her for a minute while I call those detectives, and then I'll
try
to talk with her, OK?"
Griffin
nodded. "Are
you
all right, Marjorie?"
She pulled her mouth tight. "It makes me very emotional. I see these notes and Audie's sadness and everything that happened with Helen comes back to me like it was yesterday. I get so damn angry,
Griffin
! I feel so—God, I don't know—helpless, I suppose."
"I hear you,"
Griffin
said softly. He patted the top of her hand and headed into Audie's office. He heard Marjorie sigh and pick up the phone.
Audie was sitting on top of the credenza near the window, surrounded by tall stacks of newspapers and file folders, hugging her legs tight and resting her chin on her knees.
Griffin
closed the door and leaned on the wall.
"Hey, girl. Is there anything I can do?"
She shook her head. "Just call Quinn and Stanny-O."
"Marjorie is doing that now. Anything else?"
"No."
"Do you want to be alone?"
"No."
"Would you like a hug?"
"No. But thanks."
Griffin
sighed. This was an all-too-familiar state for him—not knowing exactly what Autumn Adams wanted or needed. It had always been this way with them, as a couple and as friends. When she pulled away like this he felt useless, the same as Marjorie. It was as if Audie wanted him but didn't want him; as if she needed something, but she wouldn't take anything.
She told him once that she believed she was missing some basic part of her heart—she just didn't know how to deal with people who wanted to comfort her, love her. She'd never had much experience with that sort of thing, she explained.
Griffin
waited with her for many quiet minutes, watching her stare out the windows. "I'm sorry, Audie," he exhaled, letting his shoulders slump. "I wish there was something I could do to help you."
She nodded, and
Griffin
saw her jaw tremble and her shoulders shake.
"Oh, please don't cry."
The tears made his worthlessness complete.
Griffin
scanned the room for a box of tissues but didn't see one, though it could certainly be lurking beneath the layers of junk in there.
Just then, Marjorie tapped on the door and she stepped in, carrying a tray of hot tea, a
box
of Kleenex, and a slice of her German chocolate cake.
Griffin
would just go out and wait for the detectives. Audie was obviously in competent hands.
* * *
"We should place a patrol officer here in the office and have one at her apartment when we're not around," Stanny-O said.
Quinn nodded silently, still balancing the latest letter between his fingertips, still reading, still thinking.
He glanced over at
Griffin
, draped across Marjorie's desk chair looking quite surly. His expression didn't go with the festive tie-dyed T-shirt and billowy cargo pants he was wearing.
The guy may have questionable taste in clothing, but Quinn and Stanny-O agreed—there was no question that
Griffin
cared for Audie, that he would do anything for her. Griffin Nash wasn't sending these notes.
"So,
Griffin
, what's your take on this?"
Griffin
's head popped up, his eyes darting from Quinn to Stanny-O and back. "My take is I wish to hell you two would find out who's doing this. This one really ripped her up."
Quinn's stomach clenched, and a little painful surge moved through him at the thought that she was hurting. Then the inside of his skull began to throb at the thought that Timmy Burke may have done this to her.
He glanced at the closed door to Audie's office. He hadn't heard any crying from in there for a good long while, so maybe Marjorie had been able to calm her down.
"So? Any leads, mon?"
Griffin
stood up and moved in front of the desk.
Stanny-O and Quinn looked at each other briefly before Quinn answered him.
"Nothing new."
"Do you think it's Drew?"
Quinn and Stanny-O stared at him.
"You think it's her brother?" Stanny-O asked. "What's your insight into Andrew Adams?"
Griffin
laughed, crossing his ankles casually as he leaned against the reception desk.
"We're not close. He didn't exactly welcome me to the family, if you know what I mean. So what I tell you, you got to realize doesn't come from an objective source, right?"
"Right." Stanny-O smiled.
"Andrew Adams is a spoiled, elitist, lazy, pussy-assed rich boy who hates anyone who doesn't belong to the Chicago Yacht Club. He drinks more than any man should be allowed. He doesn't give a shit about Audie or anyone but himself, for that matter. That about sums it up."
"Hey, don't hold back on our account." Stanny-O chuckled.
Griffin
scowled at him.
"OK, so he's another asshole. We seem to have hit the motherlode in this case, don't you think, Quinn?"
"Absolutely."
"But that don't mean he's sending the letters. You really think he's our man,
Griffin
?"
"Probably."
Stanny-O frowned. "And his motive?"
"Money."
"As things stand right now, we've got no physical evidence on him," Quinn said. "He's lost a boatload of money in the last year, but he's managing to stay afloat. His printer doesn't match up and his prints aren't on any of the letters."
"And whose prints are?"
Quinn smiled a bit. "Well,
Griffin
, the letters that came before we arrived were covered in fingerprints—yours, Marjorie's, and Audie's. After we asked you to be careful handling the paper, there have been none at all."
Griffin
frowned, and just then the door to Audie's office opened and Marjorie walked out, smiling, an empty plate and teacup in her hand. She gave Quinn a reassuring nod and gestured toward
Griffin
's office.
"Would you mind if I had a word with you, Detective? Can we use your office,
Griffin
?"
"Sure."
Quinn followed Marjorie, entered the office, and leaned up against the wall. He was surrounded by soccer action photographs—
Griffin
apparently played with the Baltimore Blast and the Chicago Fire. Above
Griffin
's desk was a photo of him and Audie, sitting on the stoop of an apartment building, their heads together, grinning.
Finally—Quinn had seen a picture where Audie was smiling.
"How do you think she's holding up, Detective?" Marjorie eased herself into the computer chair, smoothing down her stylish straight skirt. "It's obvious that you two have hit it
off,
and I thought maybe she was opening up to you a little bit. She's a difficult person to read sometimes."
Quinn nodded and studied Marjorie with appreciation. She was a slim, attractive woman with nice pale eyes and fashionably short silver hair. She moved with surprising grace for someone her age.
Though she seemed devoted to Audie, he and Stan had checked out her background just to be sure, and found nothing that would indicate a motive for sending the notes. Marjorie's business partnership with Helen Adams had made her a very wealthy woman. She'd welcomed them graciously into her elegant
"I thought she was doing OK up until this morning," Quinn answered her.
"Are you with her all the time, Detective? Is somebody with her all the time?"
Quinn looked down into Marjorie's worried face and wished he had something more reassuring to tell her. He watched as Marjorie suddenly winced and brought her hand to her head.
"It'll be all right, Marjorie."
She shook her head and swallowed. "It's not
…
I'm sorry. I've got a horrible headache, and this has been a completely awful morning. You were saying?"
"We're going to post a uniformed officer here and one at her place when Detective Oleskiewicz or myself can't be with her. We'll keep her safe."
She nodded but continued to frown, apparently not satisfied with his answer. Then she sighed.
"I think she likes you quite a bit, Detective." She looked up at him quizzically. "Is the sentiment returned?"
"Are you always this nosy, Marjorie?"
She laughed. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose I am! Television is repulsive and I can only read so many hours before my eyes start to go haywire, so I have to find my jollies somewhere, don't I?"
They shared a brief laugh before her expression went serious again.
"I don't mean to pry, Detective, but has she told you about that Tim Burke, the vice mayor?"
Quinn's whole body stiffened and he felt the little hairs on the back of his neck prick up. "What about him?"
"That he's always bothering her. That he sends her flowers about once a week. That it's been more than a year since they broke up, but the man won't leave her alone."
Quinn stared at her, thinking through all the details—he'd get a search warrant. He'd confiscate Burke's home and work computer equipment. He'd—
"And Audie just told me he showed up the other night at her apartment. Uninvited, of course."
He'd kill him. The lying sack of shit—of course Audie wasn't "coming around." How could he have wondered for a moment that it was possible?
"Thank you, Marjorie. I'll talk to Audie about this."
"I was wondering what we should do about her road trip next week. Should we cancel, do you think? Russell will probably go postal on me if I suggest it, but I just don't know if going out of town is a good idea right now."
"Where's she supposed to be?"
"
Los Angeles
Tuesday through Thursday.
Dallas
Friday.
Atlanta
Saturday and Sunday."