oodtimes: Seeks Bad Boy…

The next morning, Lucy woke to something wet against her cheek. She opened her eyes and gazed into a red furry face and big brown eyes looking back at her. Millie licked her cheek, and Lucy rolled onto her back to get away. “Gross,” she said as she wiped dog spit from her face. She glanced at the empty pillow next to her and sat up, holding the blue-and-white-striped sheet over her bare breasts.

After she and Quinn had had sex on the kitchen table, they’d ordered takeout and watchedCold Case Files. She’d discovered that Quinn lovedNYPD Blue reruns, but throughout the show, he’d point to the television and yell, “That would never happen!” or “No one does an interview standing over a corpse.”

After the ten o’clock news, they’d taken a shower. They’d soaped each other up, touched and rubbed and made love against the shower stall. Then they’d climbed into Quinn’s bed and fallen into an exhausted sleep. At least she had. Around 3:00 a.m. he’d awoken her to make love again. He’d been sweet and gentle and her heart had about burst, unable to contain her feelings in such a small place. They’d had sex four times. Four amazing times, made even more amazing because she loved him.

She loved him but didn’t really have much of a clue how he felt about her. Oh, she knew he was attracted to her and that he liked her well enough. She wasn’t sure what that meant—in the long term. Heck, she wasn’t even sure about the short term after it was safe for her to go home again. For him, last night could have been just sex.

In the distance she heard a low and steady thumping and something that sounded a little like a conveyor belt. She glanced around for her clothes and recalled she’d last seen them on the bathroom floor. She slid naked from the bed. “Don’t even think about it,” she warned Millie as she walked to the master bathroom. Her clothes weren’t there, and she wrapped herself in a towel and moved down the hall to the guest room. She traded the towel for her pink terry-cloth robe and followed the thumping sound to a third bedroom set up with a desk, weight equipment, and the object of the noise. Quinn, wearing a pair of loose gray shorts, with an iPod strapped around his arm and headphones plugging his ears, was jogging on a treadmill. His hair clung to the back of his neck, and with each step of his running shoes, the bottom of his shorts flipped up a little.

Lucy moved into the room and sat on a workout bench loaded with black weights resting in the bars at one end. She crossed one leg over the other and studied his smooth skin, the play of muscles, and the slight indent of his spine. Over the rasp of the treadmill, it sounded like he was talking to himself. She listened closer and smiled.

Good Lord. He wassinging. And not well. In fact, it was quite awful. So awful that she couldn’t even begin to recognize the song. Maybe he was singing about falling on something, and when he hit a particularly sour note, Lucy laughed. She couldn’t help it.

The wires to his iPod swung as he looked back over his shoulder. “Christ,” he swore, grasped the hand rails, and put his feet on the sides of the treadmill as it continued without him. He pulled the earphones from his ears. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Long enough.”

He turned off the treadmill and grabbed the white towel hanging on the rail. He wiped his face and said into his towel, “Well, that sucks.”

She tried not to smile. She really did. “It’s a good thing you’re good-looking.”

He ran the towel over his head, then he hung it around his neck as he moved to stand in front of her. “Are you saying I have a shitty singing voice?”

“Yeah.” Her foot swung back and forth as her eyes took in the hard muscle of his chest. “What were you listening to?”

His gaze lowered from her face to the deep V where her robe had fallen open. “Velvet Revolver. They’re going to play here in a few months.” He looked up into her face. “Wanna go?”

Her foot stopped. “With you?”

“No.” He frowned. “With Millie. Of course with me.”

“Like in a real date?”

He shrugged his bare shoulders. “Yeah. Why not?”

The concert was about three months away, which meant he saw them together three months in the future. Last night hadn’t been just about sex for him. “Sure. When was the last time you were on an actual date?”

He wiped his chest with the towel. “Not counting all the Internet dates, I think it was when Kurt set me up on a blind date about four months ago.”

“I hate blind dates.”

He hung the towel over the weight bar. “She wasn’t bad. We just didn’t hit it off.” He unhooked the iPod and moved to the desk filled with his laptop and open files.

“I hate getting all dressed up and going on dates and all you get out of it is a waste of time.”

He set down the iPod and picked up a coffee mug. “Her cat was even more annoying than yours.”

Lucy opened her mouth to defend Mr. Snookums, then closed it. “How long were you in her house?”

He raised the mug to his lips. “A while.”

“I thought you didn’t hit it off.”

He took a long drink, then said, “We didn’t. When I dropped her off, she invited me in for coffee and I went in.”

Lucy stood. “When I invited you into my house for coffee, you turned me down.”

“That’s because I wanted to do you in every documented position and a few I’d made up.” He set down the mug and moved toward her. “But I was wired for sound and couldn’t even let you touch me.”

“What?” Lucy held out her hand like a traffic cop. “You wore a wire? When?”

“When we were together.”

“Every time?” She dropped her hand to one hip.

He stopped a few feet in front of her. “Yeah. You didn’t make any embarrassing confessions if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her mind moved from date to date and landed on that night in the hall. Her hands had been all over him. “Where was the wire the night I was supposed to kill you?”

He folded his arms across his bare chest, and his face set in that expression she’d come to recognize. The one that told her he didn’t want to answer her. She folded her arms and waited him out. Finally he said, “I wasn’t wearing one that night.”

“Where was it?” Lucy asked, although she had a fairly good guess. She didn’t believe for a second that the police had gone to the trouble of setting her up but hadn’t wired the house for sound. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought about it before—it was so obvious. Maybe because she’d had other things on her mind.

“There were digital recorders hidden in the kitchen, living room, and my bedroom.”

She tried to remember what she’d said that night and couldn’t. She turned away and placed a hand to her forehead. Her heart sped up and her face got hot. What had the police heard? “My God, that night…when my shirt was off and your hand…what were we saying…what—”

“No one could hear anything.” Quinn grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him. “That’s why I carried you into the hall. I didn’t want anyone to hear us. I wanted you all to myself without anyone watching.”

Lucy felt her speeding heart stop. “Watching?”

He leaned his head back and covered his face with his hands. “Shit.”

“There were video cameras?”

“Yeah.” He dropped his hands to his sides.

“Oh my God!”She pulled the lapels of the robe close around her throat and tightened the belt. “Where were the cameras?”

“The audio and video surveillance were in the air purifier in the kitchen, in a fake clock on the mantel in the living room, and in a clock radio beside my bed.”

She thought back on that night. They’d never made it to his bedroom. They’d eaten dinner in the kitchen, and in the living room they’d kissed and he’d taken off her sweater. She gasped and shoved at his bare chest. “How could you do that to me?”

“Lucy.” He grasped the tops of her arms. “I’m sorry. We thought…I thought you were Breathless. We thought that if you—”

“How many people were watching?”

“Two. Kurt and Anita were in a van outside.”

Lucy thought back and could recall seeing a van parked on the opposite side of the street. Two people had been in that van watching him undress her and touch her breasts. She was horrified. “Oh God. Oh God, and there’s a tape?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Evidence room, I would imagine.”

“How many people have seen it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.” She tried to pull away, but his grasp tightened. “It isn’t that bad.”

“Have you seen it?”

“No, but the cameras couldn’t see down the hall.”

This time when she pulled away, he let her go. Lucy looked into his handsome face and felt the backs of her eyes sting. She refused to cry. Inside her, anger and humiliation gave way to a deeper feeling of utter betrayal. It didn’t matter that Quinn hadn’t had a choice. He’d set her up, and now there was a videotape of him taking off her sweater and touching her breasts. It was out there. Somewhere. For strange men to see. “I have to get out of here,” she said and walked around him. Even in her misery, she wasn’t going to act recklessly. “I’ll take you up on that offer to move cops into my house.” In a daze, she left the room. Maybe she could get the tapes somehow. Maybe if she called a lawyer, she could make the police give them to her.

She walked into the spare bedroom and tossed her empty suitcase on the bed. She’d call first thing tomorrow morning.

“Lucy.”

She turned and looked at him standing in the doorway. A dark lock of hair fell over his forehead as his dark gaze stared into her. After everything, there was a part of her that wanted to throw herself against his bare chest and forget what he’d done. He could make her forget about everything for the few moments he held her. She loved him, and she wished she’d never met him.

“Promise me you won’t leave until after I get back.”

Once again she felt humiliated and heartbroken and all because she’d made the mistake of loving Quinn.

“Promise me,” he repeated.

She supposed he needed to get the security in place at her house before she returned there. “Fine.”

“Promise,” he insisted.

“Cross my heart.” Once again she’d been a fool where he was concerned.

Lucy turned her back on him and unzipped the suitcase she’d unpacked the night before. She heard him move down the hall, and a few moments later, the water to the shower turned on. She shut the door and sat on the bed. Her vison blurred, and she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. She did not want to cry. She would not let Quinn see her cry.

She thought about the night before and the way he’d touched her. She thought about the way he’d made her feel, and the way she felt right now. In her mind, she could not resolve the two feelings. They didn’t fit. The pleasure and pain of loving Quinn, being thrown from one extreme to the other, was too much.

She listened for the water, and after it shut off, she moved across the room to the small dresser. She opened the top drawer and discovered the missing white blouse and pink panties she’d lost the night before. They’d been washed and folded and placed neatly in the drawer. She picked up the blouse and held it to her nose. It smelled like Quinn’s shirts. Again her vision blurred, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Even with everything else going on in her life, Quinn and her broken heart took front and center. It was crazy, but there was no denying it.

She heard Quinn’s footsteps on the other side of the closed door. They paused for several heartbeats before continuing down the hall. A few moments later, she heard the garage door open and his Jeep pull away. When he returned, she would be ready to go.

Lucy set her black bra and underwear, a khaki skirt, and a black T-shirt on top of the dresser, then dumped the rest of her clothes back into her suitcase. She opened the door, and Millie followed her into the bathroom.

“Out,” she commanded. Millie lay down and looked up at Lucy through sad eyes. “Fine,” Lucy muttered. She jumped into the shower and washed her hair and body. When she was through, she stepped over Millie and brushed her teeth and dried her hair. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, and by the time Quinn returned, she was sitting on his leather couch, dressed and waiting for him.

His face was set in hard lines, and his jaw looked brittle enough to break. He wore jeans and a white Guinness T-shirt. She stood, expecting him to give her the details of the new security arrangement. Instead he took her hand and placed two small cassettes in her palm. “What’s this?”

“The videotapes taken the night the house was wired.”

She looked up. He had his cop face on, the blank, expressionless set to his features that made him look hard. Except for his dark eyes. He couldn’t wipe the emotion from his eyes. It flickered just beneath the surface, hot and alive and something he couldn’t control the way he could control the rigid set of his jaw. “How did you get these?”

“Don’t ask.” He dropped his hand.

“Did you check them out or something?”

He looked at her for an eternity before he said, “No.”

“Quinn?” He simply stared at her, and this time she knew that he wasn’t going to answer. She couldn’t outwait him for an answer, but she didn’t need to. His silence spoke for him. He’d stolen them out of the evidence room. For her. “But what if they’re missed? Won’t you get in some kind of trouble? Fired even?”

He just continued to stare at her.

“Won’t someone know they’re missing?”

“Probably. The less you know about it, the better.”

“What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Whatever you want. But I would recommend that you destroy them and forget that you ever saw them.”

“Isn’t that destroying evidence?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Technically, yes.”

She looked down at the cassettes. “Are you certain these are the right tapes?”

“They were labeled, so I’m pretty sure.”

“But you’re not certain.”

“You want to see them?”

Not really, but she wanted to make sure she had the right tapes in her possession. She handed them back. “Yes.”

He pointed to the couch. “Sit tight.” He walked out of the room, and when he returned, he had a video camera. He hooked it up to the television and popped one of the cassettes inside.

She wanted to know if he’d get fired. The answer was,Hell yes. If caught, he’d be charged with petty theft, but since the tapes were useless to the Breathless investigation, the criminal charges would probably be set aside with the agreement that he not contest his termination.

Quinn started the tape, then he moved across the room and sat on the couch next to Lucy. On the screen, their black-and-white images appeared, and Lucy leaned forward to watch as the two of them made dinner and talked about everything from the weather to local politics.

In the past, he’d bent and stretched the rules, but he’d never completely broken them. He loved his job, and if anyone had ever told him that he’d steal evidence, he would have told them they were nuts. If they’d told him he’d steal it for a woman, he would have told them they werefucking nuts. But then he’d messed up and told Lucy about the tapes, and she’d looked at him as if he’d just killed her cat. One minute she’d been looking at him as if she’d wanted to jump on him and continue his workout, and the next, like he’d stabbed her in the heart. He would have done anything to have her look at him as she had the minute before.

When he’d left, he’d taken the latest Breathless letter with him and dropped it off in the crime lab for the technicians to look over in the morning. He’d planned to take it in that day anyway. What he hadn’t planned until he’d looked in her eyes filling up with tears was a little petty theft, but by the time he’d walked out his front door, he’d known what he would do.

He was a dumb ass. He’d put his job on the line for a woman who would never forget that he’d undressed her in front of a hidden camera. He’d risked getting terminated for a woman who sat next to him as stiff as a poker. A woman who’d made him want something he’d given up on. Something he’d convinced himself he was better off not having in his life.

Quinn watched their images on the television screen as they ate dinner together, talking as if they were just two people getting to know each other. He didn’t recall the meal so much as he did her sweater and leather skirt. Then she brought out the chocolate cake, and he recalled how he’d felt watching her put the fork into her mouth.

“Sometimes, chocolate is better than sex,” she spoke from the television.

“Honey, nothing is better than sex,” he’d said.

She set the fork on her plate and pushed it aside. “I guess that would depend on your basis of comparison.”

He rose and said in a voice so sexually charged that he hardly recognized it, “Come here.” From across the room, Quinn watched the screen, where he wrapped his arms around Lucy. “Let’s give you something good to compare.” Then he kissed her and it was as hot as he remembered. Sexual energy rolled in waves from the television screen, scorching a path across the living room, and Quinn got a little hot watching it. He slid his gaze to Lucy to see if she felt it too. Her brows were lowered, and she appeared more pissed off than excited.

“I need to use your restroom,” she said from the tape, and Quinn returned his attention to the screen. She moved out of frame and Quinn followed. The motion-sensitive tape shut off, and Quinn rose from the couch to place the second cassette into the video camera. He pushed Play and returned to his seat.

The film started to roll with him walking into the living room, reaching for her purse, and dumping the contents on the couch.

“You went through my purse?”

He slid his gaze to hers. “Yeah, and you carry a lot of crap around with you.”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “That’s how you knew about my pepper spray.”

On the screen, Quinn shoved everything back into the purse, then moved to stand in the middle of the living room. He looked up when she entered the room, his dark gaze following her. Even on the black-and-white film, he could see the desire in his eyes. He’d thought she was a killer, and he’d wanted her anyway.

On the film, she looked into the camera and told him she didn’t think they should have sex. From behind her, his gaze was directed at the camera too, although he knew they’d been looking into the mirror above the fireplace.

He watched his hands move down her arms and come to rest on her waist. “You tell me when to stop,” he said and pulled her back against his chest. “Are you uncomfortable when I kiss you here?” He kissed the side of her throat and she shook her head.

“That’s good. I like kissing you right here. Where your skin’s soft and your hair smells like flowers and looks like sunshine.” He shoved his fingers inside the waistband of her skirt and slid them to her sides. She tilted her head to the right, and he sucked the side of her neck. He slid his fingers up beneath the edge of her sweater to her breasts. His eyelids were heavy, and there was no mistaking the need reflected on tape.

At the moment, Quinn didn’t know what he felt most, embarrassed or turned on. He was embarrassed by the things he was saying, but at the same time, watching his hands move upward and his thumbs brush her hard nipples was the most erotic thing he’d ever done. A hundred times more erotic than watching a porno flick. On the screen, her breath caught and her lids drifted shut as his hands cupped her breasts.

“Your nipples are hard,” he whispered into the side of her throat. “Like a woman who wants to make love.”

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. As they kissed, he slid the fingers of one hand beneath the waistband of her skirt and pressed his palm into her back. His other hand moved up her spine, then he gathered her sweater in his hands and pulled it over her head.

“I love a woman in lace,” he whispered and lifted a hand to touch the lace edge of her bra with the tips of his fingers. “You’re so beautiful, you make me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That I should take it slow. That I don’t want to blow it by rushing things,” he answered and pressed his palms into her breasts. “But it’s been so long.” He pushed her breasts together as he bent forward and kissed her deep cleavage. “Why did you have to look like this? This would be easier if you weren’t so beautiful. If I didn’t want you so much that I can’t think of anything but getting you naked.”

He kissed her and ran his hands down her bottom to the backs of her thighs. Then he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. He walked with her from the frame, and the tape kept rolling, fixed on the empty room. The sound portion continued, filling the room with the sounds of soft moans, and Quinn was stunned by the clarity. “Damn. I didn’t think the audio could pick up what was going on in the hall,” he said.

Lucy didn’t comment. Her hands fell to her lap as they listened to Quinn’s voice fill the tape. “Nothing here but Lucy,” he heard himself say. “You want me, and I want to fuck you until you can’t walk for a week. Until you can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but moan. Do you want that, Lucy?”

Okay, that was a little embarrassing. On the tape came a breathy, “Yes.”

More silence, and then his groaned, “I’ll help you, Lucy.” What she said was unintelligible, and then it was Quinn again. “Yes, touch me there, just like that. You won’t be alone. Oh, God that feels good. I’ll get you help. I’ll get you all the help you need.”

Jesus H., that was more than alittle embarrassing, and he could feel his neck start to burn. He didn’t remember saying he’d get her help. He’d been so into her, so wrapped up in the moment, that he’d thought he could fix her. As if overcoming murderous impulses were curable.

On the tape, the ringing of the telephone mixed with the telling sounds coming from the hall—his deep groan and the breathy moan she made deep in her throat.

Sitting there listening, Quinn got so hard that he almost came too. He turned his head to look at Lucy, but her gaze was directed at the televison.

“I’m sorry,” she said on the tape. “I didn’t mean to do that yet.”

“You’ll make up for it.” The telephone stopped, only to start ringing again. “Shit! I’ll be right back.” Quinn’s image moved into the living room. He picked up the cordless phone next to the couch and cradled it between his shoulder and the side of his face. “Yeah?”

“Because I was busy,” he barked into the phone as he buttoned his pants. “What?” His hands stilled a second before he grasped the receiver. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He turned toward the hall. “Tell me you’re kidding me.”

After a few moments, Quinn could be seen hustling Lucy out of the house, then the tape shut off and the television filled with static.

A furrow between her brows, Lucy turned to look at him. “Why did you do that, Quinn?”

He thought he’d made her understand. Apparently not. “There were reasons to believe that you were Breathless. And we were—”

“No,” she interrupted him. “Why did you tell me you’d get me help?”

He looked away.

“There’s no help for a serial killer,” she said.

“Yeah. I know.” He could feel his ears turning hot.

“Did you offer to help the other suspects you were dating?”

“No. Things never got that far with the others.” He looked back into her face. “I didn’t touch them the way I touched you.” What did it matter now? Probably she wanted to humiliate the hell out of him before she kicked him the rest of the way to the curb. Then she’d turn the tapes over to Sergeant Mitchell and get him fired.

Instead, she did something that baffled the hell out of him. She climbed into his lap and sat on his erection. With her legs on the outsides of his thighs, she placed her hands on the sides of his face and said, “I think you liked me even when you thought I was going to kill you.”

He looked up into her blue eyes. “A little.”

She smiled and slid her hands down his chest. “I thought you weren’t going to lie to me anymore.”

He grasped her legs and pressed his fingers into her. He knew what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t lie to her. Not even with her crotch warming his fly. “I do like you, Lucy. I like you a lot. When I’m not with you, I think about being with you. I like having you around. We’re incredible together. The sex is hot, and you make me want things I haven’t thought possible.”

“What things?”

“You.” He looked into her eyes and confessed, “A life outside of my work.”

Her hands slid up to the side of his neck. “Why can’t you have those things? Last night you said I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I shouldn’t have said that. And I can’t believe I’m saying this now, but you’re not living here with me because you have a lot of choices. I’ve seen relationships develop out of stressful situations and tragedies, and sometimes they don’t last past the trial.”

She tugged his shirt from his jeans and pushed it up his chest. “If we’d met under normal circumstances, it still might not last.”

He grabbed her hands before it went too far and he knew he couldn’t stop. “True, but this situation is far from normal.”

“Are you trying to be honorable again?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t.” She pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. “I think I like you best when you’re not quite so virtuous. When you’ve lost control. When you’re willing to risk it all for a woman you think might kill you. I like it when you can’t help being bad.”

He chuckled and pushed her skirt up her thighs. She liked him best when he wasn’t trying to do the right thing?

Hell, being the good guy was hard. Bad came easy.

Chapter 16

Biggestfan: Seeks Object

of Obsession…

The next morning, Quinn stood in front of his bedroom mirror dressing for work just as he had for the past four years. Only this morning, he had an audience. She sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed, drinking coffee and wearing his T-shirt. After they’d made love yesterday, she’d handed him the tapes and they’d returned them to the evidence room.

An hour ago, he’d woken with her firm little behind against his groin and his hand on her full breast. It hadn’t been a bad way to wake up. Especially for a Monday morning. Particularly since he knew his day was going to go to hell once he got to work.

He shoved the tails of his blue dress shirt into his gray trousers and glanced at Lucy through the mirror. Her attention was directed on his hands as he zipped his pants. “I need to talk to you about something,” he said, beginning the conversation he’d been dreading since he’d read the most recent Breathless letter Saturday.

She looked up, and her eyes met his in the mirror. “What?”

“Once Sergeant Mitchell and the other detectives read the latest letter, they’re going to want to use you to draw the suspect out. I know we talked about this last week, and if you were anyone else, I’d agree with them. I’d do my best to talk you into staging something with the media or maybe a book signing. But you’re not just anyone. Not to me, and I want you to know you don’t have to do anything.”

She unfolded her legs, and Quinn’s gaze followed the progress of his T-shirt sliding up her bare thighs and behind as she scooted to the edge of the bed. She set the coffee on his dresser and came to stand in front of him. “I’ve actually given this some thought,” she said as she reached for the front of his shirt and buttoned it. “I want to do whatever it takes to get my life back as soon as possible.” She glanced up at him, then returned her gaze to the buttons. The top of her head was just beneath his chin. “As much as I like it here with you, I want my normal life back. I want you and me to be together like normal people.”

“How normal?” he asked the top of her head.

“You ask me out not because it’s your job but because you want to be with me. When you pick me up, I keep you waiting while I try on shoes like it’s a real date.” She looked up at him. “Stuff people do when they first start to go out together. We’ve kind of skipped all that. I know it sounds old-fashioned, especially considering how fast I ended up in bed with you, but I guess I want you to, you know, woo me.”

He chuckled. “I recall wooing the hell out of you last night.” She scowled as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest. “Okay.” He pressed his lips to the top of her hairline. “When this is all over, I’ll come over and pick you up and you can keep me waiting while you change your shoes a million times. You can even torture me by trying on clothes and asking my opinion, although we both know my opinion really doesn’t matter. And even though I don’t need to lie to get you into bed, I’ll even tell you you’re a good driver.”

She tried not to smile. “And you’ll be nice to Snookie?”

Yesterday when they’d gone to Lucy’s house to feed her cat, Quinn had stepped on the damn cat’s tail. It had been an honest-to-God accident, but he wasn’t quite sure Lucy believed him. “I swear that was an accident,” he reminded her. “I didn’t see him.”

“How could you not see a twenty-pound cat sitting in the middle of the floor?”

Because he’d been watching Lucy’s breasts jiggle a bit as she’d poured cat food into a dish. He pulled her tighter against his chest. “In the future, I’ll watch where I’m walking.”

She laid her head against his shoulder and said, “I want my life back, Quinn. I want to be normal. If that means I have to do a news conference or book signing, let’s do it as soon as possible.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded and took a step back. “Yes. I’m not afraid as much as I’m pissed off.” Her eyes got all Linda Blair squinty and shone with that unholy gleam he hadn’t seen since the day he’d sat in her car and told her Millie was his dog. He was glad to see it again. “She’s going down.”

He was glad that look wasn’t directed at him.

Quinn arrived at work ten minutes early, prepared to inform Sergeant Mitchell of the latest developments, but was informed that the sergeant was in a meeting and wouldn’t be in his office until that afternoon. Quinn felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He had a reprieve for a few hours.

At ten after nine, a fingerprint technician walked into the briefing room, grinning from ear to ear. “We got a thumb print off the latest envelope,” he said. “It matches the thumb print taken from the seat in Robert Patterson’s truck.”

Quinn leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Jesus.” They finally had a strong link between Breathless and the murders. Whoever had written the letters to Lucy had been in the Patterson truck. And whoever had written that last letter had seen Quinn and Lucy together and knew he was a cop. Breathless was starting to make mistakes.

Quinn looked at Kurt, and they both knew this was big. They were finally getting the break they needed, and Quinn wasn’t going to have to use Lucy. At least not yet. She could stay tucked safely in his house. Her and Millie.

“We’ve interviewed her, Kurt,” he said, referring to Breathless.

“You’re probably right,” the other detective said as he looked over a copy of the last letter.

Quinn opened his notebook and flipped to the suspect list. “We’ve cleared half, so—Son of a bitch!” He flipped to a Xerox with the vics’ photos on it, then his attention snapped to the print technician, who was still in the room, as he pointed to the page in his notebook. “I need you to process this. If our luck holds, we can get a matching print off it.”

“We must have shown that to twenty or thirty people,” Kurt reminded him.

“And half of those have been cleared.”

The fingerprint technician pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and removed the Xerox from Quinn’s notebook. He left, and Quinn went into his office to cool his heels and wait. He called the crime lab, but there was nothing new regarding hair and fibers found at the scenes. He checked in with the victims’ families and informed them of the fingerprint evidence. Then he called Lucy on his home phone.

“McIntyre residence,” she said. “Home of Quinn, crack detective and sexy man.”

At the sound of her voice, he felt an overwhelming potentcy squeeze his chest. “What if this call had been from my mother?”

“I looked at your caller ID before I picked up.”

He didn’t feel it in his whole chest, just the left side, near his heart. Like he had a blockage. “Are you bored?”

“No. I’m trying to get some work done.”

“You’re writing?” Last night he’d let her look over his files on the Breathless case. He hadn’t known she wore gold-framed reading glasses until she’d put them on the bridge of her nose. She’d looked hot. Of course, he thought she looked hot in everything or nothing at all.

“Trying to write. It’s not going well, but I’m hoping something will shake loose.” In the background, Millie started barking, like someone was busting into the house.

“What’s wrong with Millie?”

“Just a second.” There was a pause, and then, “She sees a cat on your lawn.”

“Ah, she’s protecting you from the neighborhood felines.”

Lucy laughed. A soft little sound that settled next to his clogged heart. “She doesn’t seem to be much of a guard dog, Quinn. If a burglar breaks in, she’ll show them where you keep your good stuff.”

Quinn chuckled. Lucy was his good stuff. “Maybe, but she’ll bark a lot while she points the way.” He pulled back his cuff and looked at his watch. It had been over an hour. “We got a print off the latest envelope,” he told her, but he didn’t have to mention how important it was. They talked about the case, and they talked about what they were going to do that night and what to have for dinner, like an old married couple. “When I get off work,” he said, “I’ll go feed your bag of fur.”

“His name is Mr. Snookums.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Her long-suffering sigh carried across the phone line. “I want to go with you because I have to look for a very important folder. I misplaced it somewhere in my house.”

“I’ll help you search for it,” he offered as the fingerprint technician entered his office. By the guy’s smile, Quinn knew they had another hit. “I need to go,” he said and hung up the telephone. “Well?”

“We have a matching index finger taken off the bottom of the vic paper.”

For a week Quinn had stared at the prints taken from the truck. He wanted to kick his own ass, but he didn’t have time. He stood and shoved his arms into his blazer, covering the pistol hooked to his belt. The list had just been culled down to a dozen suspects, and he knew the first place to look.

Lucy stared at the blinking cursor willing the words to flow from her fingertips and onto the computer screen. When they didn’t, she took off her glasses and set them on the kitchen table next to her laptop. Millie sat beside Lucy with her head on Lucy’s thigh. Lucy reached down and scratched the dog beneath the ear.

She’d thought that since she was feeling safer today, the muse fairy would tap her on the head and her writing would once again start to flow.

It wasn’t happening.

She blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair. If she had the critique from Maddie, she would at least have something to do. And hopefully, reworking a few chapters would kick-start the rest. She stood and walked into the living room. Millie followed close on her heels, and Lucy picked up the television remote and turned it on. She flipped to the twenty-four-hour news stations to see what had been happening in the world since her life had gotten so out of control. There was nothing on but depressing news, and she turned it to City Confidential and vegged out on the tube. What she’d told Quinn that morning was the truth. She wasn’t as scared as she was angry. She felt an impotent rage at the woman who’d pushed her into the worst writer’s block of her career.

She turned off the television and tossed the remote on the coffee table. She thought about Quinn and what he’d said yesterday about their elationship starting out under stress. She had to admit that it had started out a little less than orthodox. Okay,a lot less than orthodox. They’d both lied to each other and dated under false pretenses. But there had been no pretending when it had come to the sexual pull that they’d both felt from that first night in Starbucks. The way he’d looked at her hadn’t been a lie. Not then and not now. There was something a little overwhelming about it. Overwhelming and intoxicating at the same time.

He hadn’t told her he loved her, she reminded herself. But to be fair, she hadn’t told him either. He’d moved her into his house to keep her safe, and he’d taken the tapes out of the evidence room.Taken was a nice word forstolen. He’d done it for her. No, he hadn’t told her he loved her, but no man had ever risked so much to be with her.

Her cell phone rang, and she jumped a little.

“Hello.”

“Hello. Am I speaking to Lucy Rothschild?”

“Yes.”

“I found a folder that I believe belongs to you.”

Quinn stood in the inventory room at Barnes and Noble with his hands in his pants pockets, looking relaxed. In another room, Kurt was talking to the manager and letting her know that all Barnes and Noble employees were going to be reinterviewed.

“Lucy Rothschild has been receiving letters,” Quinn said after five minutes of small talk. Usually, he could warm up a suspect and get them to relax a little, but this one was so cold that it was as if she had an iceberg up her ass. “We believe the person sending the letters is responsible for the recent homicides we spoke to you about the last time we were here.”

Jan Bright looked at Quinn, then shifted her gaze to the shelf of books over his left shoulder. She didn’t speak.

“Do you know anything about those letters?”

She shook her head, and her long, wavy hair swayed across her shoulders.

“Would you be willing to come down to the station to be interviewed?”

“When?”

“Right now.”

“I suppose.” She glanced at Quinn, then returned her gaze somewhere behind him. “If I can help Lucy Rothschild, I’d be happy to do it. I’m very supportive of our local authors.”

“I’m sure Ms. Rothschild will appreciate it.”

The ride to the station took ten minutes, and once he had Jan in an interrogation room and the camera was rolling, he handed her a cup of water. Quinn smiled and once again endeavored to put her at ease. He asked her questions about the Women of Mystery and if she knew if any of them had a grudge against Lucy.

“Oh, no. They’re very supportive.” She polished off her water, and he offered to get her more. He picked up the cup by the handle and passed it to the fingerprint technician waiting outside the door. He left Jan alone for a few moments, and when he returned he had more water.

“Here you go,” he said and set the glass on the table.

“I had a cup before.” She met his gaze and held it.

“I accidentally dropped the cup.”

She frowned as if she didn’t believe him. Then she looked somewhere above his head. “I suppose you are having it analyzed for fingerprints.”

She was smarter than he’d thought. But then, Breathless was no idiot. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I am in a police interrogation room and you just switched cups on me. I’m in a mystery writer’s critique group, and I also read a lot of detective novels.”

No use in bullshitting her. Her prints were either going to match or they weren’t. “Where were you the night of April twenty-third?”

Her brows scrunched together. “The twenty-third?”

“During the day you were at the Women of Mystery meeting in Barnes and Noble. I saw you there. When you left, where did you go?”

“Some of the ladies and I went to Macaroni Grill. I had a few too many glasses of wine and got a little loose. I called my oldest son, and he came and got me.”

He couldn’t imagine Jan Bright loose. She was so uptight she could crap diamonds. “How old is your son?”

“Sixteen.”

The door opened a crack, and the lab technician stood on the other side shaking his head.Damn. For all her bizarre behavior, Jan Bright was not a murderer.

“Tell me about the people you work with. Any of them date customers they meet in the bookstore?”

“A few, maybe. I think it’s disgusting.”

“How about Cynthia Pool?”

Jan shook her head. “Oh, no. Cynthia would never date men who come into the bookstore.”

Quinn looked down at the notebook on the table in front of him. His gaze skimmed the next few names on his list. “Why’s that?”

“She thinks men are dirty.”

Quinn looked up. “‘Dirty’? Are those your words or hers?”

“Hers.”

“Do you think she hates men enough to kill them?”

“No. Cynthia is a very kind person. She had a really difficult marriage and divorce. Her husband was abusive and cheated on her, but she is not a murderess.” Jan laughed, a kind of strained sound, before she added, “And I’m sure she would never write upsetting letters to Lucy Rothschild. She’s her biggest fan.”

Chapter 17

Hardlvnman: Seeks Sunshine…

“I’m your biggest fan.”

Lucy stood within the shade of Cynthia Pool’s porch and smiled. “Thank you.” Her gaze slid down Cynthia’s Mickey Mouse T-shirt and black stretch pants to her empty hands. “I’m so glad you found the folder. I’ve been looking for it everywhere.”

“Come on in and I’ll get it.”

Cynthia’s house was near the Boise Towne Square Mall and about a mile from the police station and Quinn’s office. On her drive across town, Lucy had called and left a message for him on his voice mail. She’d hoped he wouldn’t be upset that she’d had to borrow his Jeep, and she hadn’t wanted him to worry if he phoned home again and she wasn’t there.

Lucy stepped from the bright afternoon sun and inside Cynthia’s house. The curtains were all drawn, and Lucy reached for her sunglasses as she shut the door behind her. Shoving the glasses into the purse hanging from her shoulder, she glanced about the interior. A corner lamp lit the living room, and Lucy was instantly struck by the Disney knickknacks covering every conceivable space. Every character from Mickey Mouse to Cruella De Vil stared at her through thousands of painted eyes.

“Wow. I didn’t know you were a collector.”

“Oh yes. I’ve been collecting Disney memorabilia for most of my life. Ever since my father bought me my first Mickey gum ball machine. I still have it.”

Lucy wasn’t much of a collector and didn’t know what to say except, “Wow.”

Cynthia smiled and clasped her hands together. “Have a seat and I’ll get that folder for you.”

Lucy moved aside a pillow featuring Donald Duck in short pants and a sailor’s cap and sat on the couch. She couldn’t wait to get that folder and hopefully get back to work. But even more, she couldn’t wait for Quinn to get home and tell her about the latest evidence.

Cynthia returned with the folder in hand, but instead of giving it to Lucy, she moved across the room and sat in a chair. “I’m so glad you’re here. It will give us a chance to talk about writing.”

Lucy groaned inwardly. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually. No.” She held up the folder. “I read your chapters.”

Lucy felt her brows rise up her forehead. The only person she ever let read her rough drafts was Maddie. “Really?”

“Don’t look so alarmed.” Cynthia tilted her head to one side and smiled. “They were wonderful as always.”

It was on the tip of Lucy’s tongue to ask,What the hell? Instead she forced a smile and said, “Thank you.”

“I really liked the part where the killer stalks her victims for a while after she meets them and before she kills them. It’s kind of like a honeymoon period. That’s a nice touch. Very thrilling.”

Okay. So Cynthia had read a few rough chapters. She’d been curious and taken a peek. No big deal. Or rather, Lucy wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. “I’m glad you liked it.”

“I noticed there were comments written in the margins. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of adding my critique.”

Oh my God. The blood drained from Lucy’s head, and all she could manage was a stunned, “Oh.”

“I noticed a few comma errors, and you really need to watch for run-on sentences.”

Be nice, Lucy.“Well, it is a rough draft,” she heard herself say. She stood. She needed to get out of there before she said something rude and condescending.

“That’s why I didn’t comment on your overuse of -ly adverbs. In the future, that might be something you should watch for, too.”

Lucy moved across the room and stopped in front of the chair. “I’ll remember to do that.”

Cynthia remained seated, looking up at Lucy through light green eyes. “And whoever wrote on your manuscript doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Now that took cojones. Cojones Lucy would never have thought Cynthia possessed. “I’ll let Madeline Dupree know you think so.”

“Madeline Dupree? The true crimes writer?” Cynthia’s brow wrinkled as if she were confronting the impossible. Then she shook her head and said, “No. Madeline is wrong.”

Lucy was going to have to tell Maddie and watch her laugh her behind off. In fact, they would probably laugh themselves into comas, but at the moment there was nothing funny about it. She lifted a hand for the folder. “Thank you for your input, but I really need to get home.” She smiled but was afraid it fell a little flat. She wanted to get the hell out of Cynthia’s house, and at this point she didn’t particularly care if it showed. “Gotta book to write.”

“Ocular petechiae are not always present at a death by suffocation.”

Lucy knew that and was sure Maddie did, too.

“And finding willing victims is incredibly easy.” Cynthia finally stood. “Even when the police are on television warning men not to engage in bondage.”

“Umm, yeah.” Lucy glanced down at the folder in Cynthia’s hand and wondered if she should just count to three, grab it, and run.

“They do it anyway. Every Friday and Saturday night, they come in and circle the aisle like sharks. After a few of them swim by, you can see they’re just bottom feeders.”

Lucy looked up as her brain skidded to a halt. “What?”

“You ruined it,” Cynthia said. “You ruined everything.”

Lucy felt her scalp get tight. She must have heard wrong. “What are you talking about?”

“In the beginning, I wrote to you because I wanted you to know how good I am at what I do. Just like you’re good at what you do. Your books have always brought such joy to my life, and I wanted to give you something as a thank you,” she said, looking for all the world as if they were discussing which brand of laundry soap worked best on stains. But they weren’t, and there was no doubt in Lucy’s mind that she was staring at a serial killer. “At first I thought I might send you some cookie recipes, but I didn’t know if you liked to bake.”

“Baking’s good.” Lucy took a few steps back and slid her hand into her purse. There was also no doubt in her mind that Cynthia wasn’t going to allow her to leave. She felt her wallet and cell phone, her sunglasses and lipstick.

“After I sent you the first letters, and you didn’t take them to the police, I thought you understood that dirty men had to be punished. I was so happy because I’d felt so alone for so long. I thought we were friends. Then I saw you with him and I knew it was all a lie. You lied to me.”

“I’m sorry you felt lied to,” Lucy reasoned as she edged toward the door. She felt her business card case and a pack of Breath Savers.

“No, you’re not. I will not be pacified.”

“I’m sorry.” Anger welled up within Lucy, and she had to fight an inner battle to keep a calm head. Cynthia didn’t look like she had a weapon, and Lucy was so mad that she thought she could probably beat her ass if it came to a fight.

“It’s not that easy.” Cynthia moved with her and slid sideways to block the door. “From reading your books, I knew to wear gloves and wigs and to set up false clues. I wore red and turquoise to the motel on Chinden, parading around as a member of the Peacock Society because I knew someone would see me.” She stuck her chin up and set the folder on a shelf, scattering Snow White and her Seven Dwarfs. “I was brilliant.”

Lucy felt a pen, but it wasn’t her stun pen. She stared into Cynthia’s eyes, still calm as could be, and forced herself to say, “That is brilliant.”

“I walked into those houses and that motel room and left nothing of myself behind. As if I’d never been there. I learned it all from you.”

“My books are fiction.” Lucy felt the cool metal of her brass knuckles and slid them on her fingers. “They aren’t how-to manuals.”

“You told me to kill those men. You can’t walk away from me now. I’m not going to let you.”

“You’re going to get caught,” Lucy said and wrapped her hand around her stun pen. She would have preferred the mace. “You left your fingerprints in Robert Patterson’s car.”

Cynthia’s nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. “That’s another lie. I was careful not to touch anything.” She reached behind her and pulled a kitchen knife out of somewhere.

Shit.“The police know I’m here,” Lucy bluffed as she took several steps back, keeping her gaze on the five-inch blade.

Cynthia shook her head and took a step toward Lucy. “You might be a good writer, but you’re a bad liar. I’m too smart for them and I’m too smart for you.”

“You left a fingerprint on the envelope you dropped in my mailbox.”

That stopped Cynthia, and again her brow creased as if she were forced to confront an impossibility. “Stop lying!” She lunged forward, and Lucy pulled her hand out of her purse and swung. Her brass knuckles connected with Cynthia’s forehead, and the other woman went down. Lucy sprang for the door without waiting to see if she’d knocked Cynthia out, but she only managed a few steps before Cynthia grabbed her ankle. Lucy fell on her side.

Cynthia was on top of Lucy before she could move. “I thought I’d feel bad killing you.”

Lucy rolled onto her back, jammed the stun pen into Cynthia’s boney thigh, and pressed the button. Nothing happened. “Shit!”

“I’m not going to feel bad at all.” Cynthia raised the knife, and Lucy’s mind raced. She wasn’t going to die like this. No way. She kept her eyes on the five-inch blade, waiting for Cynthia to bring the knife down. When she did, Lucy knew what she would do. She’d knock Cynthia’s arm with one hand and swing with the other. The only problem was that she’d have to let Cynthia get close enough so that she could punch her brass knuckles in the psychotic bitch’s nose.

“You’re just like the others,” Cynthia said. “They underestimated me, too.”

From outside the house, Lucy heard a shout a split second before the door burst open and sunlight flooded the living room. Within the path of golden rays, Cynthia looked up as a 9mm bullet drilled the pale flesh between her shocked eyes. Her head fell back, and Lucy pushed and scrambled from beneath her. She got to her feet and stumbled into a solid chest and waiting arms. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Quinn who held her so tight she could hardly breathe. “She was trying to kill me,” she gasped.

“I know.”

“I hit her with my brass knuckles.”

“Good girl.”

“My stun pen didn’t work.” She turned her head to look behind her shoulder, but Quinn’s hand brought her face back around.

“You don’t want to see that,” he said.

Kurt Weber brushed past, and Lucy glanced over Quinn’s shoulder to the white car on the lawn and the red light swirling from the visor.

“Is she dead?” Lucy asked.

“Before she hit the floor,” Kurt answered.

Lucy started to shake. “She’s the one, Qu-Quinn.”

“I know.” He kept one arm around her as he re-holstered his gun. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head as her knees began to knock.

Quinn took Lucy outside into the afternoon sunlight and moved with her to the driver side of the cruiser. The door was open, and he reached inside for a handheld microphone clipped to the radio. He stood, stringing the black cord along with him. Lucy grasped the top of the door frame as he called in the code. She lifted her face to the warm sun, felt the rays on her cheeks and forehead, and shook as if she were coming apart. She couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs. Her mouth was dry and her throat hurt. She was afraid she just might hyperventilate.

Quinn tossed the mic onto the seat and got a blanket out of the trunk. He wrapped it around Lucy, then looked into her eyes. “Lucy, you’re going to pass out if you don’t try to take calm breaths.” He ran his hands over the wool blanket on her shoulders. “We don’t have much time before this place is crawling with cops, so I need you awake and coherent for what I’m going to tell you.”

Concentrating on Quinn’s face, she managed a deep breath. “Okay.”

“An ambulance is on the way to check you out. If you’re transported to the hospital, you’ll be interviewed there. If you’re okay and don’t need to be transported, someone is going to take you to the office and interview you. I don’t know who, but you’ll be all right. Tell them everything you know.”

“You won’t b-be there?” she stuttered. If she concentrated, she could control her breathing, but no amount of willpower could stop the shakes.

“I’ll be there, but I can’t be there with you. I’m sorry.”

Sirens cut through the sound in the distance. “I’ll get through it. Do you have some wa-water?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” He rubbed the side of his face with one hand. “I was en route when I got your voice mail. I think my heart stopped and hasn’t started up again.”

“It never even o-occurred to me that Cynthia Pool was Breath—less.” She hugged herself inside the blanket. “She was so…bl-bland. Even when she was telling me who she w-was and all the horrible things she’d d-done. She was just so calm about it. Well, until the moment she came completely un-unhinged.”

The sirens got closer, and Quinn hugged her to his chest. “You’re safe now,” he said next to her ear. “It’s over and you’re going to be okay.”

Three police cruisers and an unmarked car screeched to a halt in the middle of the street, their sirens blaring and lights flashing. A moment later, an ambulance pulled in front of Quinn’s Jeep parked at the curb.

Lucy was quickly hustled to the ambulance, and it wasn’t until she was sitting in back with a blood pressure cuff on her arm and an oxygen mask on her face that she calmed down enough for everything to soak in. She could be the one dead right now. Not Cynthia. Stabbed to death by a deranged psycho.

No. She’d fought back and couldn’t see herself going out like that. She was the type of woman to suck out the poison, after all. When push came to shove, she could punch a shark. Oddly, she felt more alive than she ever had before.

She glanced out the back of the ambulance, at the uniformed cops and plainclothes detectives, at the yards of crime scene tape that kept the public away. She didn’t see Quinn.

She looked for him as she was escorted by a Detective Gonzalez to an unmarked car. She finally caught a glimpse of him while she was being driven away. He was standing by his car, talking to Kurt Weber. He glanced up, and his gaze met hers for a split second before he turned away. In that second she saw a sort of bleak sadness in his eyes, and her heart ached to be with him.

At the police station, the interview took a little over two hours, and by the time it was over, Lucy was exhausted and numb. She just wanted to go home. To her home and snuggle with her cat. Tomorrow she would call her family and friends and tell them what happened. Tonight she just wanted her flannel pj’s, a cup of decaf tea, and a shower. If she was going to wait for Quinn, she preferred to be at home. She had the detective take her to her house instead of Quinn’s.

As Detective Gonzalez pulled to a stop in front of her house, she looked across the car at him and asked the question she wanted to know most. “Where is Detective McIntyre?”

“Right about now, he’s probably chatting with the guys from internal affairs.”

“Thanks for the ride,” she said and got out of the unmarked car. She let herself into her house and locked the door behind her. Mr. Snookums walked from the kitchen and let out a series of loud yowls, welcoming her home. She set her purse on the coffee table and scooped up her cat. Then for some reason she could not explain, she sank to her knees and burst into tears.

“I was so scared, Snook,” she sobbed. She didn’t know how long she knelt there on the floor, holding her cat while he purred. But once her tears subsided into mild hiccups, she filled Snookums’s dish with food and made her way to the shower. She stepped beneath the warm water and closed her eyes. She was stiff and sore and didn’t know if it was because of her fight with Cynthia or the result of all that shaking she’d done.

After her shower, she dressed in her flannel pajamas with the pink dogs on them. She made herself some chicken noodle soup and waited for Quinn. At ten o’clock, she watched the news. The film footage showed the front of Cynthia’s house and the cops working the scene. Lucy spotted Quinn leaning his behind against the back of his car, looking as grim as she remembered when she’d been taken from the scene.

Pending notification of relatives, Cynthia’s name was not released, but the news did report that the police believed her to be the person responsible for the deaths of four Boise men. Lucy was reported as “a local woman,” but Quinn was named as the officer who’d shot and killed the suspect.

After the news, Lucy took her cat and went to her bedroom. Maybe Quinn was planning to wait until morning to come and see her. An adrenalin overload had left her physically exhausted and emotionally spent—except where Quinn was concerned. She wasn’t too tired to think about him.

She turned on the light on her nightstand and crawled into bed. Quinn had said they would continue to see each other after everything was over. The longer she sat in her bed waiting, the more she began to wonder if he’d meant it. He hadn’t said he loved her. Their lives had been in such chaos lately that maybe he would want a break. She certainly didn’t want a break, but if he did, she’d give it to him.

She picked Clare’s latest romance novel off the nightstand, but after reading the same page three times, she gave it up. At 1:30 a.m., the telephone by her bed rang, and she picked up.

“I’m standing outside,” he said. “I would have rung the doorbell, but I didn’t want to frighten you.”

She smiled, and her heart beat heavy in her chest. “I’ll be right there.” She didn’t bother with a robe or looking through the peephole. She opened the door, and there he stood, on her porch, beneath the soft glow of a sixty-watt bulb. The light shone in his hair and poured over the shirt she’d buttoned that morning. Had it really only been that morning?

His soft “Hello” filled the space between them.

“Hello, Quinn.”

He stared at her for several long moments then cleared his throat. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’m doing okay. The interview wasn’t bad.”

“Good.”

He continued to stare at her, looking a little uncertain, and she asked, “Do you want to come in?”

“Not yet.” He shook his head. “I’m on paid suspension for a while. So I have some time on my hands.” He was standing so still she was starting to feel a little uncertain herself.

“How long are you on suspension?”

“I’m not quite sure. We can talk about what happened later, but right now I want to ask you something important.”

“What?”

He swallowed. “Would you go out with me?”

“Where?”

“On a date.”

She smiled, and her stomach got a little spongy. “Right now?”

“I thought we should get started dating tonight.”

“Okay.” She moved aside, and he stepped into the house. Lucy closed the door and leaned her back against it. “Should I change?”

He shook his head. “What you’re wearing is fine. I thought we’d grab your cat and I’d take you two to my house.”

“Snookie’s invited, too?”

“Yeah. Him too. I want to take you home and make sure you’re really okay, and I think you’ll relax more with your bag of fur around.”

“MaybeI want to take care ofyou. ”

“Then let’s go. I think it’s time Mr. Snookums met Millie.”

She bit the side of her lip. “You said ‘Mr. Snookums.’”

A slow grin turned up the corners of his lips. “I must be in love with you,” he said. “The name of your cat doesn’t shrivel my sac anymore.”

Her chest got all achy and she blinked away the sudden stinging in her eyes. “Well, I must be in love with you, because hearing you talk about your shriveling sac doesn’t make me want to stab my ears.”

He chuckled. “I guess that didn’t sound very romantic.”

She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. “No. You probably won’t find it on a Hallmark card.”

He took a step forward as the first tear slipped over her lashes. He brushed beneath her eyes. “I love you. When I entered that house and saw that woman on top of you, I came apart inside.”

She kissed his palm. “I love you, Quinn. I fell in love with you when I thought you were a plumber grieving for your dead wife. I tried not to love you when I found out you were a cop and Millie was your dog and you lied to me. I felt so foolish. I thought since I’d fallen for you so fast, I could get over you fast, too. That was truly foolish, because I’d fallen too hard.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and looked at her through those intense brown eyes she loved. “I wanted you when I thought you’d pull a bag over my head and snuff out my life. I wanted you more than I’ve wanted anything. I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. You burst into my life like sunshine and made me see how lonely I was. I don’t want to live that way anymore.” He pressed a kiss to her hairline. “I will love you with my last breath.”

Lucy swallowed as another tear slid down her face. “This is the best date I’ve ever had.”

“No. This is just the first date.” He slipped his hand down her back to her behind. “The best date is yet to come.”