Knock Me Off My Feet (6 page)
Audie stopped at the Tiffany's window just to look and to catch her breath. She'd been power walking, it seemed, and her reflection in the dark glass showed sweat pouring down her neck and sticking to the silk blouse.
She crossed the street and walked down Chestnut, smelling the Indian food from the Bombay House and suddenly realizing she was ravenous. She would just run up to her office and get her wallet and—a man was waiting for her on the stoop.
"Hello, Autumn."
"God, Russ! You scared me to death!"
"What a coincidence, then, because you are scaring the living hell out of me lately—do you realize we've got just over a month to renew your contract? Do you realize how many millions of dollars are involved? Do you have a good reason for not returning any of my calls? And why is a police detective harassing me?"
"Wow. Already?" Audie looked up into his gunmetal gray eyes filled with impatience. She pushed past him and bounded up the marble steps to the massive oak-and-leaded-glass doors.
"Just now on my portable," he said, staring at the phone in his palm. "He said he wants to question me about some letters or something. What's this all about, Audie?"
She shrugged, holding the door open for him. He stepped up into the dark, cool foyer and looked down at her. "God, what have you been doing, playing soccer in your skirt? You're dripping wet."
"It's hot, Russ. I sweat when it's hot. I'm a warm-blooded creature, unlike you."
He started up the steps in front of her, ignoring her insult. When they entered the reception area, a blast of icy air conditioning pummeled them and Audie sighed with relief.
"I see he's found you." Marjorie smiled at the two of them and handed Audie a few phone messages. "I made some fresh-brewed raspberry iced tea; would anyone care for some? Next month's columns are all done, Audie, and I need to know if they're good to go. I also need you to OK the travel schedule—it's on your desk. And I just ordered sandwiches for all of us. Will that be all right?"
"Yes," Audie muttered, staring back at Marjorie. "To everything you just said."
* * *
"So the syndication numbers are way up over last year—sixty-seven new
U.S.
newspapers and twelve international. I think it's the modern, sexy twist you bring to the whole concept. I really do. Book sales are steady. Oh, and the feedback is very positive on the new publicity shot—they're going to start sending it out on the wire next month. I think you look fabulous with your hair down."
"Great." Audie fumbled around under the haphazard stacks of paper on her desktop, looking for any stray Tylenol packets. She found one beneath an empty Fritos bag, which she crumpled up and tossed in the wastepaper basket across the room.
"Nothing but net, baby," she said with a smile.
Russell stared at her. He had that pinched look of disapproval on his aristocratic face, the look that had made her cringe when they'd been a couple—the one that made her cringe still.
"Mind if I smoke?" Audie opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pack of Merit Lights. "I'm down to about three cigarettes a week. Isn't that great? For some reason I'm desperate for one at the moment."
Audie eyed him through the smoke, noting with satisfaction the subtle change in his face. She'd succeeded in making him just plain angry now.
Russell Ketchum, partner in Ketchum & Clinton Entertainment Law, Inc., was an attractive man by anyone's standards, with those cool eyes and dark hair and fine bones. Audie once had found him terribly attractive—right up until she found him in bed with a paralegal named Megan Peterson. Then it had disintegrated into weeks of begging for forgiveness and another chance. He even said he loved her! What a mess! What a joke!
She knew she owed him a debt, however. Thanks to the Russell Ketchum debacle, she'd sworn off men entirely, and it had been the most peaceful six months in memory.
After just a few puffs, she ground down the cigarette in the ashtray and picked little flakes of tobacco off her tongue. "Yuck. I really don't even like these things anymore."
"How marvelous for you." Russell pulled a legal-sized folder from his briefcase, a pained expression on his face. "It's just a standard extension, another three years with the same thirty percent signing bonus your mother received and a ten percent increase in syndication fees. I've already got it drawn up, and all you need to do is sign."
Audie flashed her eyes at him. "You mean you haven't learned to forge my signature yet?" She laughed loudly. "Why not? You do everything else!"
A polite tap was heard at the door, and Marjorie carried in a tray of chicken club sandwiches, coleslaw, and more iced tea. She delivered the goods and left after a few friendly words for Russell and an understanding smile for Audie.
Audie's hunger took precedence over her anger and she reached for a sandwich. "Look. I'll have to think about it, Russell. Just leave it here."
"There's nothing to think about and you can't sit on it, Audie. You don't have time."
"I won't sit on it." She took a huge bite and closed her eyes in pleasure. "I was starving. You want a sandwich?"
"No. I don't want a sandwich. I want you to sign the damn contract." Russell rose and took the file to the credenza below the bay window. He pushed aside a stack of newspapers to find a place for it. "Don't forget, Audie."
"I won't," she said, her mouth full. "Thanks for stopping by."
Russell had his hand on the doorknob but turned to her. "The detective said somebody's been sending you threatening notes for a year. How come you never told me, Audie?"
She reached for the coleslaw. "I didn't think it was a big deal.
Griffin
finally convinced me to call the police."
Russell chuckled. "Ah, yes, Griffin Nash—your adviser and moral compass."
"At least I have one," she snapped.
He smiled sadly. "Bye, Audie. I'll call you next week to remind you about the contract."
"Later," she said, not looking up.
Chapter 3
August 27
Dear Homey Helen:
Have you ever noticed how some stains just never come out, no matter how hard you scrub? I think you owe your readers the truth. I think you should tell them that not everything can be made nice and tidy, that some things never come out right—in the wash or in life.
Perhaps I'm just bitter.
Fondly,
Your most loyal fan.
PS: I so enjoyed your tip on how to remove furniture indentations from deep pile carpet.
"At home? This came to your home address?" Quinn's frown lines deepened as he went from Audie's face to Stanny-O's.
"It was in my mailbox last night."
"Why didn't you call me?"
"I … uh, you were off duty."
"You've got my card. You call me anytime, all right?" Quinn made sure she saw that he meant it.
She nodded.
"I don't get it." Stanny-O rose from his desk and held an open box of candy under Audie's nose. "The guy threatens to drop you in the Bass-O-Matic with the last letter, then gets all philosophical about it in this one. Care for a mint?"
"Wow! Yes!" She grabbed a Frango Mint and tossed it in her mouth, feeling the chocolate melt on the back of her tongue.
"Another?"
"Sure! Thanks, Stanny-O." She smiled at him until she saw the surprise in his small blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Detective. I heard Quinn call you that."
"Ah, no problem, Audie." He grinned at her. "One more?"
She nodded happily and snapped another mint from the box. Stanny-O seemed quite pleased with himself.
"Hey, Willy Wonka, any report from the state police lab yet?" Quinn asked.
"Yeah. All of them are off a midline ink-jet printer, nothing fancy, nothing high-powered. Like from a home office kind of setup, one of the major brands. Nothing unusual that would make it traceable."
Quinn nodded. "And where are we on fingerprints?"
Stanny-O looked down at a page of handwritten notes. "Griffin Nash, Marjorie Stoddard, Audie here, we got Tim Burke's on file, along with Will Dalton, Kyle Singer, and Darren Billings, who apparently ran with a bad crowd as a juvenile. And we had Mr. Russell Ketchum come in. He didn't like getting his hands dirty, by the way."
"Little late for that," Audie mumbled to herself.
Quinn heard her and raised his eyebrows in amusement. "We had a nice long visit with Mr. Ketchum last evening," he said.
"You going to arrest him?" Audie looked hopeful.
"Nah," Stanny-O said. "Being an asshole lawyer isn't a chargeable offense last time I looked. Besides, we can't seem to come up with a reason he'd do this. I mean, what would Russell Ketchum have to gain if you got scared and quit the family business?"
Audie looked at both the detectives. "Nothing. He'd actually lose quite a bit, personally and for the law firm. Homey Helen has always been one of their biggest cash cows."
"Exactly," Stanny-O said. "So, we'll put him on the back burner."
"Thanks for bringing this in," Quinn said, placing the latest note inside a manila envelope. He rose off his desktop and cupped her elbow. "I'll walk you to your car, OK?"
"Sure—" Quinn was already hustling her across the room, his palm now flat against the small of her back. "Bye, Stanny-O."
"See ya," he replied.
Quinn spotted her Carrera 911 in the parking lot without much trouble, and they walked together toward the car. He put his hand on her upper arm as she opened the driver's side door.
"What are your plans today?" Quinn asked.
Audie shrugged a little. "Stuff at the office. I thought I'd go for a run this afternoon after lunch. Then I've got a book signing and talk at the Newberry Library tonight."
"Where do you run?"
She pursed her lips. "
Lincoln Park
. Why?"
"Today you've got a partner."
"Quinn, I don't think—"
He very softly brushed his knuckles across her cheek, and the jolt of his touch made her eyes fly wide.
"He knows where you live, Audie, and my commander doesn't want another Homey Helen getting hurt on our watch—bad for the city's image and all. End of discussion."
He dropped his hand, but the whole side of Audie's face tingled. She looked into green eyes filled with determination—and concern—and she sighed.
"Am I right in assuming that if I tell you to go to hell you'll just follow me anyway?"
Quinn smiled and nodded.
"Meet me at
"I can handle it." He let his fingers barely graze the top of her hand and whispered, "See you then."
* * *
He was precisely on time, appearing from behind a massive black marble pillar, already grinning.
"Do you need to stretch?" she asked him.
Quinn tried not to look at her below the neck, and God, it wasn't easy.
"Already did. You?"
"I'm ready. Let me know if you can't keep up." She shot him a smile.
They took off side by side down the paved pathway, through the green ribbon of public parkland along
Lake Michigan
. This afternoon, the water shimmered in the sunlight and absorbed the blue of a cloudless sky. It was hot but less oppressive than the last few days had been.
Once they'd hit a comfortable pace together, Quinn decided he'd risk looking at her. She wore a pair of high-cut running shorts and a torso-length black sports bra. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had nice wide shoulders. And her legs were muscular and trim—the legs of an athlete.
"I like running
with
you better than running
after
you," he said.
"Yeah, but I bet it's harder to look at my butt this way." She kept her eyes in front.
"Maybe you should be a detective," Quinn mumbled.
The lakefront was crowded that day, and a steady parade of cyclists, joggers, skaters, and walkers streamed by.
"Do you play any sports, Quinn?"
"Hoops now and then. Pickup hockey. A little soccer with the guys in the neighborhood."
"Where do you live?
"Well." Quinn fell behind her for a moment to let a group run by, then returned to her side. "I live on the North Side now, but I meant the neighborhood where I grew up."
"And where's that?" She glanced over at him. He wasn't even breaking a sweat.
"
Beverly
. You've probably never even heard of it."
"Sure I have. The stronghold of the Irish South Side. Nineteenth Ward. Alderman Paul Ryan."
Quinn looked at her in shock before it dawned on him. "Oh, yeah, Timmy Burke. How could I have forgotten?"
She grinned at him. "He talked about it sometimes. So how long have you two known each other?"
"Too long. We grew up about a block apart and went to school together, from kindergarten all the way through Brother Rice."
Quinn dropped back again to avoid a bicyclist.
"Having trouble keeping up, Detective?" She increased her pace a bit.
"I'll let you know, Homey."
Audie's head whipped around and she laughed outright. "Homey? That's funny, Stacey."
"Point taken," he said. Suddenly Quinn darted around a dog walker and took off a bit faster. Audie pulled up alongside.
"Are we racing, Quinn?"
"Nope. Just out for a nice jog."
Quinn tugged at the neck of his Police Athletic League T-shirt and jerked it forward over his head with one hand. The gesture struck Audie as an overtly macho thing to do, and as he tucked the shirt inside the back of his running shorts she tried not to look at him below the neck. God, it was hard.
"Don't you worry about skin cancer?" Audie asked. "You're very fair."
"All the time. I wear SPF thirty."
She cast him a sideways glance. He was a soft peach color and covered with pale freckles and light brown body hair. He was lean and hard and she could see the ripple of muscle through his back and shoulders. His upper arms looked powerful. "So how Irish are you, Quinn? Your grandparents or something?"
He laughed and caught her eye. "Them, too. But Da and my mother were both born there. They came over in the sixties. I'm first-generation."
"Oh, I see."
"Do you now?"
Audie chuckled. "No, not really. I don't know much about
Ireland
. I suppose you're Catholic?"
"I suppose I am. You got something against Papists?"
She blew out air. "No. Are you trying me make me hit you again or something?"
He laughed. "Just making conversation. How about you? My guess would be Presbyterian."
Her mouth fell open and she glared at him. "Why do you say that?" Was it her imagination, or had he just kicked up the pace?
"Well, there's growing up rich in
Winnetka
. The name
Adams
. The general upscale North Shore WASP thing you have going on."
"Upscale North Shore WASP thing?" She huffed. "That's pretty insulting, Stacey. If you must know, I'm nothing, really, but my parents were married in the Presbyterian Church. Don't tell me you're prejudiced against Presbyterians?"
This time it wasn't her imagination—he'd just sped up again.
"I've got nothing against Presbyterians in particular, just Protestants in general."
She narrowed her eyes at him and shook her head. "You're mocking me."
It was a marvel to her how slowly his grin spread and how much smug sexuality was conveyed in the gradual curl of his lips. "I'm just playing with you, Homey. It seems you've got a fine sense of humor for a Protestant girl."
She rolled her eyes and made a break for it, turning on the heat now. She began to weave and pivot through the crowd of people, skateboards, scooters, bikes, and dogs, leaving Quinn in the dust. It served the cocky bastard right.
Then he ran right by her.
As she chased him, Audie knew she was being childish. She knew he was teasing her, testing her. She realized she should just turn around and have a nice, peaceful, quiet run home. She didn't need this aggravation.
But instead, she focused on the white T-shirt bobbing along his compact, muscular butt and the really nice set of his shoulders and poured it on.
Just as she reached him, he slowed considerably, and Audie had to twist sideways to avoid slamming into him.
"You're very graceful, Homey. And fast. You play a mean forward, too."
Again he surprised her. A compliment—several of them in a row, in fact.
"Thanks. You're pretty fast yourself." Audie was sweating up a storm now and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
"Here." Quinn tossed the shirt to her and she mopped her face with it. The clean, bracing scent of him nearly made her topple over. She slowed almost to a walk and raised the shirt to her face once more before she tossed it back to him.
"I'd like to talk to your brother sometime soon," Quinn said.
Audie stopped dead. "Drew? Why? You think he's writing the notes?" She placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward, catching her breath. "That's ridiculous."
Quinn grabbed her arm suddenly, pulling her off the pathway before she was flattened by a kid on Rollerblades.
They stood in the grass staring at each other, breathing fast. They'd been sprinting for quite a distance.
