Knock Me Off My Feet

Chapter 2

Thank God for Marjorie Stoddard.

By the time Audie stumbled up the stairs and through the reception area to her private office, she felt as if her head would fall off. But on her desk was a steaming cup of coffee and a little packet of Tylenol. That woman was amazing-a little too controlling sometimes, but positively clairvoyant.

After taking her medicine like a good girl, Audie reappeared in the reception room to greet her staff-all two of them.

"Rough game last night?" Griffin Nash was leaning against the doorjamb to his tiny office, and Audie nearly spit out her coffee.

"Good Lord, Griffin! What are you wearing?"

"Isn't it happenin'?" Griffin tugged at the snug vest and did a little spin, sending the long strips of suede fringe twirling out around his waist. "Found it at that funky little boutique in Wicker Park."

Audie gawked at him. "Just don't tell me what you paid for it, because I'll just yell at you again."

"Fifty."

"We're talking cents, right?"

"Stop it, you two." Marjorie whipped around in her desk chair and tried to produce a frown of reprimand beneath her laughing eyes. "I swear, I think you two actually get satisfaction out of making each other miserable."

Griffin smirked at Audie.

"And really, Audie. The paints are far more hideous than the vest." Marjorie slowly raised her head to catch Audie's eye, and the two women began to howl with laughter.

Marjorie was right, as usual. Griffin 's purple velvet bell-bottoms were uglier by far than the black suede vest. Audie simply hadn't had a chance to comment on them yet.

Griffin crossed his arms over his mostly bare chest and ignored them both. "You got sixty-seven E-mails to your site yesterday, Audie. You had more than four thousand hits, which was a record. I think it's 'Pet Corner'; I really do."

Audie took another soothing sip of coffee and nodded at him. "Great."

"Pet Corner" was a weekly compilation of pet-related hints and something Audie never wanted in the first place. It had been Marjorie's idea, and like most of her ideas, it had proven an instant hit with the readers.

"You gonna tell her, Marjorie?" Griffin stood up straight and walked toward the large walnut reception desk. His hand reached for the stack of fan mail.

Audie felt her shoulders sag. "Not another one?"

Griffin and Marjorie nodded.

"Oh, crap. Hell."

"Did that detective show up at the television studio yesterday?"

For some reason, Griffin 's simple question startled Audie, and she just stared blankly at her friend. "Who?"

"The police detective."

"Oh! Yes. He did." Audie reached for the letter and cradled it, nearly weightless, in her palm. It was the same white business-sized envelope, the name "Homey Helen" neatly typed front and center, a single generic stamp placed in the corner, covered by a Chicago postmark. It was just like all the others. Her hand trembled slightly.

"Did you guys read it?"

Marjorie avoided Audie's eyes and turned to Griffin.

"What's going on?" Audie demanded.

"We read it. It's bad, Audie," Griffin said. "This one's twisted. I think the guy's a head case."

Audie blinked at him. "Well, of course he is! No normal person gets his ya-yas out of threatening a household hints columnist!"

"Honey," Marjorie said softly. "This one is very weird, and frankly, I'm starting to get worried about your safety."

Audie sighed and walked around behind Marjorie's chair. She brought her lips down to the chic and short gray hair, fragrant with expensive hair spray, and kissed her on top of her head. "But that's your job, Marjie," she said sweetly. "Without you, I wouldn't have anybody to worry about me, right?"

Marjorie brought a hand up to stroke Audie's forearm and offered her a brave smile. "I've always done more than just worry about you, and you know it, Autumn."

Audie hugged her tight. "I know, Aunt Marj." She sighed again, gathered up the rest of the mail, and headed for her office. "What else did I miss yesterday? Anything?"

"Well… " Marjorie adjusted her bifocals. "Russell called. He wanted to remind you that the Banner contract is up for renewal and you can't keep putting him off."

"Great." Audie's lawyer and former boyfriend was the last person in the world she wanted to see, and her contract with Banner News Syndicate was the last thing she wanted to think about.

"Anybody else?"

"Well, honey, I'm sorry, but Tim Burke called again and he sent more flowers yesterday-with a note. The boy is besotted." Marjorie handed Audie the card.

"Ugh." She didn't think it was possible, but her headache had just gotten worse. This man would not leave her alone! How blunt did she have to be with him? She tossed the card in the trash can without bothering to read it. "You told him I was dead, right?"

"Autumn!" Marjorie shook her head with exasperation.

"Where'd you take the flowers?"

"The nursing home, as usual."

"Excellent. That it?"

"No. You also had a message on the main voice mail this morning from a Stacey Quinn-a woman's name but a man's voice. Do you know him?"

Did Audie know Stacey Quinn? She stopped in the doorway to her office and closed her eyes.

She knew that his lips were soft but demanding. She knew how good it felt to wrap her legs around his waist and have him pull her hair. She knew approximately how long and thick he became when sexually aroused, because it was difficult to miss something that big jammed up against the inside of your thigh!

But she didn't know him at all.

"He's the detective working on my case," Audie said hoarsely, taking another sip of coffee so she'd have something to do for three seconds. She felt dizzy again.

"I see." Marjorie offered her the slip of paper. "He said for you to call first thing. He inquired about your headache."

Audie chuckled to herself and caught the flash of humor in Marjorie's eye. So much for clairvoyance. She grabbed the message. "I'll call him right now."

"And you'll tell him about the latest note?" Griffin 's voice was edgy as he called after her. He seemed more shaken up by this than she did-how bad was it this time? she wondered.

Audie turned to him and smiled. "I will, Griff." She let her eyes take in the full effect of his wardrobe, and she giggled-the bald truth of it was, Griffin Nash looked gorgeous.

With his thick shoulder-length dreadlocks and that innocently sexy face, he drew women to him without effort. The man could wear a lawn and garden bag through the streets of Chicago and women of all shapes, sizes, colors, and professions would still be sucked into the gravitational pull of his charms.

"It's actually very Jimi Hendrix," Audie admitted.

"I realize that, mon," he said with a grin.

"Care for a mint?"

Detective Stanley Oleskiewicz shoved the box of Frango Mints under his partner's nose, but Quinn batted it away with the back of his hand and snarled low and deep until he backed off.

Not once in their four years together had Stanny-O altered his routine. He came in the doors to the District 18 police station, got buzzed through, and immediately reached into his top right desk drawer and pulled out a bright green box of Marshall Field's Frango Mints.

And every morning he shoved the box under Quinn's nose and offered him one, apparently oblivious to the fact that Quinn had never once taken him up on his offer.

Stanny-O shrugged and put the box away, but not after grabbing a few to savor with his coffee. "What's happenin', buddy?" He leaned back in his chair comfortably.

"Not much."

"How'd it go with the Homey Helen babe?"

Quinn shook his head and started to laugh.

"That good or that bad?"

Quinn looked up at his perpetually cheerful partner and wondered how much he dared tell him. Stan was not exactly famous for his tact. Plus, they had a long history of giving each other massive amounts of grief just for the sport of it.

"She's a real piece of work," Quinn said. "I thought at first she was writing the notes to herself. You know, to get out of having to do the column."

"Why would she want to do that?" Stanny-O narrowed his already beady eyes. "She's got quite the scam goin', don't she?"

"Yeah, but she's… " Quinn shrugged. "She's not what you'd think."

Stanny-O popped the last of the chocolate-covered mints into his mouth and swirled it around, thinking. "I've seen her on TV. She's a total biscuit. She never really struck me as the happy homemaker type, either. Is that what you're getting at?"

Quinn looked at him blankly for a moment. "Her heart's not in it. She hates it, really."

Stanny-O watched his partner carefully and straightened up in his chair. Something wasn't quite right about this exchange. "She told you all this, or this is just your take on the situation?"

"A little of both."

Stanny-O leaned his elbows on the desktop and rubbed a hand over his neatly trimmed goatee. A smile oozed across his face.

"So how hot is she in person, Stacey? On the standard one-to-ten scale."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know. Five."

"You, my man, are lying." Stanny-O got up from his chair and came over to sit on the edge of his partner's desktop, his polyester dress slacks straining at the seams.

"Get your kielbasa off my work space." Quinn shoved him in the hip, but he didn't budge.

"Did you make it with her or something, Stacey? What's going on?" His face was wide with wonder now.

"God. Of course not." Quinn got up from his chair to get coffee just as his phone began to ring. Stanny-O waved him on magnanimously and picked it up, still smiling.

"District Eighteen, Detective Stacey Quinn's desk, may I help you?"

"My head still hurts."

Stanny-O pursed his lips and tried not to snicker. "I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am. Is there something the Chicago Police Department can do for you? We're here to serve and protect."

"I… uh… " The woman seemed confused. "This isn't Stacey Quinn, is it?"

"No. It's his partner, Stanley Oleskiewicz, but here he comes right now." He handed Quinn the phone. "I think it's her."

"Her who?"

"Horny Helen." Stanny-O doubled over in a laughing attack as Quinn ripped the phone from his hand. Quinn succeeded in shoving his partner off the desk and quickly turned his back to him.

"This is Quinn."

"Hi. It's Audie. Was that really your partner?"

"Unfortunately. How's the goose egg this morning?"

"Sore. Uh, I got another letter."

So this was a business call. Quinn had assumed it was going to be social.

The whole thing had ended rather awkwardly last night-she had refused to get checked out at the emergency room and left him standing in the middle of her building's underground parking garage. Not that he expected her to invite him up, but still…

"Did you read it?"

"I just finished reading it. It's awful."

"We'll be right over."

"No!" Audie nearly shouted. "Look, I'm sorry, Quinn, but can I just fax it to you? I feel very strange about what happened yesterday and I think you're a very… uh… unusual man, but I'm really not sure we should take this any further because I'm really not interested in-"

"Fingerprints, Miss Adams."

"Huh?"

"I need the original letter so we can look for fingerprints. That's why I wanted to come over."

The line was silent for a moment.

"Oh."

"But we can hash out that other part later." Quinn looked over his shoulder to see Stanny-O finally recovering from his laughing jag. "Are you at your office, Audie?"

"Yeah."

"Are your coworkers there?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Great. Keep everybody around. We'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

Audie's outfit fell somewhere between the proper pink suit jacket and the soccer uniform, Quinn decided. She was wearing a short black skirt and a gray silk blouse. Simple, and simply stunning on her.

Audie's hair was loose and wavy around her face, and she wore just a hint of a rich shade of lipstick. At the end of her long and shapely legs were pretty clear-polished toes in a pair of black leather sandals.

She nervously greeted Quinn and his partner at the door.

"Five my pimply Polish ass," Stanny-O whispered to Quinn as they entered the reception area.

Quinn and Audie orchestrated the introductions and Marjorie politely offered the detectives coffee.

Quinn caught Audie's eye and she looked away. He casually examined the place. Like all the other brownstones on Chestnut Street near Michigan Avenue, this onetime Victorian mansion had been converted into posh offices. It was decorated in subtle mauves and greens, and the furniture was a cheery floral print. A crystal bowl of fresh pink roses sat on a low table. The sunshine poured through a cozy set of bay windows.

Obviously, it had been the original Homey Helen's office-all over the walls of the reception area were photographs of Audie's mother posing with celebrities. There was Helen Adams with Mother Teresa. Helen Adams with Margaret Thatcher, Nancy Reagan, and Princess Diana.

In each of the photos, Helen Adams wore pink and looked poised, polished, and perfect.

Quinn checked out the rest of the place and spied through a set of wide paneled doors what seemed to be Audie's personal office. It was a freakin' mess.

"Thank you, ma'am," Stanny-O said to Marjorie as she handed him a delicate bone china cup and saucer. "This is a beautiful setup."

Quinn snickered at the sight of fine china in the grip of Stanley Oleskiewicz's sausagelike fingers.

"Oh, thank you, Detective," Marjorie said graciously, motioning to the sitting area. "Shall we all get comfortable?"

The group chatted casually for several minutes and then Marjorie explained how the Homey Helen office worked. Regular mail was delivered about ten every morning and went directly to her desk, where she sorted it. As managing director of Homey Helen Enterprises, Marjorie ran the office, handled all the fan mail forwarded from the Banner, and conducted research, scheduled public appearances, and generally kept the column going.

"She's been the backbone of the business since the beginning," Audie said, smiling at Marjorie. "She and my mom were college roommates. They came up with the idea for the column when I was about six."

Marjorie nodded demurely. "I was the business major and Helen was the English major-I was the brawn and she was the beauty."

Quinn grinned at Marjorie appreciatively. "I don't know about that," he said, noticing how the fine-boned older woman with pale blue eyes blushed under his compliment.

"At any rate," Marjorie continued, "we've managed to stumble along quite well this last year, everything considered." She smiled sadly at Audie, and Quinn watched as Audie grabbed the older woman's hand. Marjorie took a breath before she went on.

"I was quite pleased that Audie decided to keep it going, and I'm sure the sentiment is shared by her millions of readers."

Audie grinned politely but avoided Quinn's eyes.

"So you've been the first person to see all the letters, Miss Stoddard?" Stanny-O asked.

"Yes, although Griffin helps me go through the mail if it's particularly busy. I think he might have found one or two of them, didn't you?"

Griffin crossed a purple velvet leg over the opposite knee and jiggled his foot nervously.

"I did," he said, frowning. "How long is it going to take you to find out who's sending these threats? Could it be the same guy that sent the dead flowers last year?"

"Not long and it could be," Quinn answered. He gave Griffin Nash a careful once-over. The guy's outfit clashed so badly with the decor that Quinn's eyes were watering. The accent was from some Caribbean nation, he thought. The guy seemed agitated.

"And how long have you been with Audie, Mr. Nash?"

Griffin suddenly smiled. "I've known her for almost ten years. I've worked for her here since she took over the column, about fourteen months or so."

"And you are…?"

"Her friend," Griffin said with irritation. "And Web site manager. I update the page every day and put up the weekly features. I run her interactive chat site and her live on-line appearances. I answer all her E-mail inquiries and send out reminders and greetings to everyone who visits her site. I handle any technical problems."

"Does that keep you busy?" Quinn was jotting down some notes in a palm-sized notebook.

"Yes. The Homey Helen site gets thousands of visitors every day, from Milwaukee to Moscow."

"Really?" Quinn kept scribbling.

Unless she was imagining it, Audie detected some kind of subtle tension between Quinn and Griffin, and she sought out Griffin 's eyes. He gave her a nervous smile.

Audie stood up. "I'll go get the letter."

"Here, allow me, if you don't mind." Stanny-O stood and walked with Audie to her private office, catching her elbow when she nearly tripped on the thick carpeting. He used a pair of long tweezers to pick up the envelope and carried it to Quinn on the sofa.

Touching only the edges, Quinn unfolded the note. It was computer-generated, like all the others. He saw immediately that it was printed in a standard font on the kind of generic white paper stocked at any office supply store.

Quinn scowled. The letter may have looked benign, but the words sure weren't. He read it as Stanny-O leaned over his shoulder:

August 20

Dear Homey Helen:

I've found that human remains keep longer in the deep freeze if each section is first wrapped in waxed paper, then sealed inside a zip-closure freezer bag.

Before seating, be sure to press out any air pockets. With indelible marker, indicate the exact body part and date the columnist was hacked to pieces-that way, you can always be sure of the freshness!

Quinn looked up from the note at this point to share a wince with his partner. Then he continued.

Let's plan on getting together on September 22. No need to RSVP.

Fondly,

Your most loyal reader

PS: I simply loved your column on how to remove stubborn underarm perspiration stains!

"Man, that's nasty," Stanny-O said, looking at Audie. "Human remains?"

"And they're giving you a date," Quinn mumbled.

Stanny-O rubbed his goatee. "He don't sound too happy with you, Miss Adams. Any idea why?"

"No."

Quinn looked at Griffin and Marjorie, noting the worry in their faces. Marjorie was now gripping Audie's hand. Quinn moved his attention to Audie.

She sat primly at the edge of the chair, her knees tight together and her eyes cast down. Quinn watched her thick dark lashes flutter against her cheek.

Her face was a fascinating combination of curves and angles, he thought. The cheeks and chin were round, almost plump, and that fullness was echoed in her very kissable mouth.

But the shape of her jawline was more precisely cut, and the very tip of her nose ended in the most adorable little tilt.

Audie's lashes suddenly flickered and she looked right at him. Quinn inhaled audibly at the sight of the liquid, catlike eyes.

Stanny-O cleared his throat.

"Miss Adams, we'll need that list from you as soon as possible, the one Detective Quinn mentioned yesterday."

She nodded.

"And then either Detective Quinn or myself will sit down and have a long chat with you."

She nodded again.

"Then we're going to need to get everyone's fingerprints, so we can isolate any unknowns," Stanny-O continued, "and we'll need to take a hard look at your past columns for any connection between the threats and what you were writing at the time."

Griffin chuckled lightly. "Yeah, mon. All that talk of how to clean bathtub grout can really send a guy over the edge."

Stanny-O chortled in appreciation, but Marjorie shot Griffin a look of reprimand.

The detectives stood and thanked them for their time. It was then that Audie realized she'd intentionally avoided looking at any part of Quinn except his face, and she looked there only briefly and only out of necessity.

But she'd blown it now.

She'd just noticed how his button-down shirt opened at the throat, exposing ruddy, smooth flesh. She'd seen how his jacket hung straight from his broad shoulders and how his crisply pressed chinos clung to the long muscles of his thighs. She'd noticed he wore a delicate gold ring on his left pinkie finger, which struck her as odd-he didn't seem like the pinkie ring type.

Autumn released a soft whimper of appreciation and tried to hide it with a yawn.

"Audie?" Quinn stood close to her now. Everyone else had moved toward the door. "Are you free for lunch?"

"No." Her eyes flew around the room and she shifted her weight nervously. She could smell his aftershave! She remembered how hot his lips had felt on hers!

"I need that list from you and we need to go over it. We can do it at lunch."

She nodded and tried not to look at him.

"Here's my card. Call me later this morning and tell me where we can meet."

She took it from him brusquely and saw him to the door. Without another word to her, Quinn walked out.

Audie eventually looked down at the business card she held in her hand. Under his name, he'd drawn a big arrow and written: "See back."

She flipped it over and read the words written in a tidy, modest hand: "Are you falling for me, Miss Adams?"

Audie's mouth gaped open as she stared at the closed door in disbelief. Wow-and she had thought Tim Burke was the biggest egomaniac she'd ever known.

"Dream on, you cocky bastard," she whispered.

"This is an impressive list." Quinn leaned back comfortably in his chair. "And the time line is handy, too."

"Wonderful."

This was pure humiliation. Audie was glad she'd at least had the presence of mind to suggest they meet at the police station instead of a restaurant. With all the noise and motion and phones and talking in this big open room, there was little chance for personal remarks, let alone personal contact. She felt safer this way, if not less embarrassed.

As Quinn busied himself with her list of ex-lovers, she let her eyes wander over his orderly desk. A computer and keyboard sat on a small side table directly behind him. A five-tiered metal in-box held stacks of files, neatly labeled by category. A black plastic desk organizer held pens in one tube, precisely sharpened pencils-points up-in another, and little compartments of paper clips, pushpins, and rubber bands. A pair of scissors labeled at the handle with the words "Quinn-Paws Off" was tucked in with the pencils.

An ornate silver picture frame sat to the back center of his desk, but Audie couldn't make out the image in the glare of the office lights. She turned a little in her seat and leaned forward, as if to stretch. She almost had it…

"My family," Quinn said, grabbing the frame and handing it to her. He scooted his chair closer and reached over the top, pointing, so near her now.

"This is my da, Jamie Quinn, retired from the force in 1996, a beat officer for thirty-two years in District Twenty-two, on the South Side. This is my mother, Trish-she died not long after this picture was taken."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Quinn pointed to the faces, all handsome and flushed, pressed together in a casual tangle of arms and shoulders and hugs. It was an outdoor setting-maybe a summer barbecue. They had the openmouthed smiles of laughter, and she could almost hear it. It must have been a raucous, rolling sound. They all looked like accomplished laughers, these Quinns.

About as different from her family as you could get, she thought.

"This is my baby brother Michael, an assistant state's attorney, and his wife, Sheila, and their two kids, Kiley-she's two here-and Little Pat. He was about four at the time."

Audie nodded, noticing the pinkie ring again. It was one of those Irish rings in the shape of a pair of hands holding a heart-it had some strange name she couldn't remember.

"The kids are six and four now." A huge smile lingered on Quinn's face before he resumed the tour. "And this is my brother Patrick. He's a parish priest at St. Aloisius on the Southwest Side, but he's a vicious liar, so don't ever believe a thing he says. And that's me. You know me."

It was the longest string of words she'd heard Stacey Quinn put together, and she noticed his voice had a charming cadence to it, somewhat scratchy but musical nonetheless. She looked up and caught his eye, their heads still quite close together.

"So your family's Irish?"

Audie didn't think it was the world's stupidest question, but the look Quinn gave her clearly indicated it had been.

"I see you picked up on that right away."

Should she just get up and walk out, or should she laugh at herself? She was still deciding when his green-and-gold eyes crinkled in amusement, and she heard her laugh escape without her permission. "Maybe I should be a detective, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, if Stanny-O can do it, I see no reason why you couldn't."

She giggled. "It was your ring, Quinn."

Quinn looked puzzled for a second before he glanced down at his left hand. "My mom's wedding band. It's a claddagh-youknow those?"

"I've seen them before." She smiled at him, noting the sweet, shy expression in his eyes. Then she abruptly stopped smiling, because the sweetness left and it was replaced by something hungry.

Then she recalled the ridiculous words he'd written on his card, sat up straight, and pulled away.

Quinn put the frame back in its place and returned to her list. "This is a regular who's-who of Chicago 's most eligible bachelors, Audie. Can I ask for their autographs when I talk with them?"

"Talk wit…?"Audie's mouth fell open. "You have to talk with them? In person?"

"Either myself or Detective Oleskiewicz."

"Why?" she cried.

He cocked his head a bit. "To try to find the bad guy."

"But I told you none of these guys would do something like that! I told you they were happy to get rid of me!"

Quinn narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe that for a second. "We still have to check," he said with a shrug. "We wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't."

Quinn began to read out loud. "'Russell Ketchum, attorney,' your steady up until six months ago. Nobody since then?" He looked up, his face a mask of professional politeness.

"No one."

A tiny satisfied smile crooked up the corner of his mouth. He went back to the list. "WBBS anchor Kyle Singer-I just assumed he preferred men."

Audie had no comment.

"Then we've got University of Illinois – Chicago professor Will Dalton, the guy who wrote that famous book on TV sitcoms and childhood depression, right? Wasn't he on Oprah?"

She nodded.

"And then there's Chicago Bears placekicker Darren Billings-is he coming back this season? How'd the knee surgery go?"

Audie rolled her eyes-she knew Darren could use a brain transplant, but she didn't know squat about his knee. "I have no idea."

Quinn suddenly stilled. She watched his whole body go rigid. He looked at her, his face stiff and completely unreadable.

" Chicago 's illustrious vice mayor, Mr. Timothy Burke," he said, his voice flat. "And how's Timmy these days?"

"Ireally don't know. Look, is there a point to this?"

Quinn placed her list inside a manila file and closed it. He sat back in his chair, tucked his hands behind his head, and studied her.

She studied him, too. He'd taken off his jacket, and Audie could see how the long muscles of his upper arms tugged at the sleeves. She noticed how his gun holster cut snugly across his big shoulders.

"How the hell did you end up with Timmy Burke?" he blurted out.

Audie watched Quinn's chest rise and fall in rapid breaths. He was positively vibrating with some kind of unfriendly energy, and it alarmed her.

"We met at a ribbon cutting a couple months before my mom died. Why?"

Quinn shrugged, and Audie saw him close his eyes for a moment to switch gears. Then he smiled pleasantly. "So, how did you come to do the column? What kind of work did you do before?"

She shook her head, trying to figure out how he'd gotten from Tim Burke to her job résumé.

"Before?" Audie gave her wavy hair a nervous fluff. "I was a teacher at Uptown Alternative School, a place for high school kids who aren't making it in the traditional setting. They sign a contract to graduate and stay out of trouble."

"I'm familiar with it. It's a good place."

"Really?" Audie was pleasantly surprised. "I was one of the founding teachers. I taught physical education, sociology, and anger management; plus I coached girls' soccer, basketball, and softball."

"Anger management?" Quinn's lopsided grin spread. "As in how to manage a wicked right cross to the jaw?"

She pursed her lips. "I said I taught it. I didn't say I actually did it."

Quinn laughed loudly at that. "OK, Miss Adams. So how long were you there?"

"Since right after college-seven years. That's where I met Griffin."

Quinn's eyes lit up. "OK. So tell me the story with him."

"Why?" Audie scowled, shifting in the chair and crossing her legs defensively. "Do you have to know everything about me? Aren't there some things I get to keep private?"

He shrugged a little, reaching for his tiny notebook. "Sure. Lots of things. Just not this."

Audie looked down at her hands and took a breath. "He's my best friend, Quinn, the best friend I've ever had. There is no way in hell he's sending me those letters."

"That's good to hear. Then I'll be able to cross him off right away."

She grunted. "I don't like this."

"How serious was it?"

She closed her eyes. "We were together for over two years. We broke up when he turned pro-soccer-and was traveling all the time. But we're still close. We'll always be close."

"Two years is longer than seven weeks, Audie."

She smiled a bit. "I think we stayed together a lot longer than we should have because it felt safe, comfortable. It was the first serious relationship for both of us. Besides, I think that was before I had the green slimy problem we discussed."

Quinn nodded, letting his eyes trace the line of her cheek and jaw. "Do the letters scare you, Audie?"

She looked around the room again, a blur of activity. Quinn seemed so calm compared to the rest of the cops in here, she thought. He seemed to move slower-not a lazy kind of slow but an intentional hesitation.

"There's definitely something about the letters that bothers me," she said, biting her bottom lip and gazing at her sandals-anything to keep from looking in his eyes. "It's not so much what he's saying. It's the way he's saying it. There's so much hate there, but it's like he's laughing at me, too. Like he knows me, like the joke's on me." She looked off into the room again. "Do you know what I mean?"

Quinn dropped forward in his chair and leaned his elbows on his knees. He scrutinized the softness of her face in profile. "I do, Audie. And I think you're right-whoever it is knows you. That's why we're starting where we are."

She turned to face him, feeling a bit shaky. The fear must have been broadcast in her eyes, because Quinn suddenly reached out for her hand. She slipped her fingers inside the safety of his warm, steady grip.

"Your apartment is safe, Audie. That place is a fortress."

She nodded. She knew Lakeside Pointe was a forty-six-story citadel. Her neighbors were the kind of people who demanded their privacy and security and were happy to pay dearly for it. Her mother had been one of those people, and along with the column, Audie had inherited the $6 million condominium that overlooked Lake Michigan and the Gold Coast.

"It's the rest of your life that concerns me," Quinn said suddenly. He squeezed her hand a bit. "You're by yourself a lot."

"I like it that way. I refuse to let these letters take away my privacy. And I don't want a bodyguard or some cop following me around, if that's what you're getting at."

Quinn dropped her hand and gave it a friendly pat as he returned to the file. "Actually, you don't have much choice. My commander has already made it clear to Stan and me that you're our priority right now."

She shook her head slowly and emphatically. "No way in hell."

"Just until September twenty-second. To be on the safe side."

"No! That's… " She waved her hand, thinking. "That's a month away! There's no way you are going to follow me around for a month, Quinn! Absolutely not!"

He shrugged. "Detective Oleskiewicz then."

"Well-"

"But you should know that Stanny-O's got a wee bit o' the gas now and then."

How extremely vulgar he was. So why was she laughing? It had to be the brogue he'd slipped in for effect, and she couldn't stop giggling to save her soul. Several moments went by before she reclaimed her composure. "You're disgusting, Quinn."

"Thank you, lass."

She stood up from the chair and glared down at him, seeing that he now grinned ear-to-ear.

"There will be no kissing, are we clear on this?" She put her hands on her hips. "I regret that kiss. You're delusional if you think I'm interested in you, Detective, so don't grin at me like that. I think it's best to be honest about this from the beginning so nobody gets hurt. Understand?"

"Honesty is good."

She made an impatient clucking sound, abruptly turned to go, and caught the buckle of her sandal on the chair leg. She toppled over and went belly-down on the shiny linoleum, giving Quinn another look at what he believed was one of her best assets.

He came behind her and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to her feet. She slapped his hands away and walked out in a huff, not looking back.

Quinn watched every swaying, ripe, and round step she took.

"Jee-ay-sus," he whispered to himself.

Audie decided to walk from the station to her office, taking a detour along Michigan Avenue. She needed the exercise. She needed to take in big gulps of heavy, humid Chicago summer air. She needed to get a grip on herself.

There was something about Quinn that completely unnerved her. He was a very basic man-not as smooth as Griffin or as charismatic as Tim Burke or as devastatingly handsome as Kyle Singer. What he was, she decided, was incredibly male. He oozed it. He knew it. He swaggered. Probably an illness found in all Chicago cops. And the way she'd caught him looking at her-like a lion looks at breakfast. She really should file a citizen's complaint against him for that kiss. She should be revolted by the whole situation.

The problem was, she wasn't revolted and she wasn't complaining. In fact, the man sent chills through her. Quinn could be categorized as one of those dangerous quiet types, she decided, and she'd just have to keep him at arm's length.

Audie sighed-this was going to be a long month.

She stopped at the corner of Michigan and Chicago Avenues to wait for the light. There were nearly 3 million people in this city, and one of them wished her harm. Quinn was right-it was someone who knew her. She could feel it. But who?

She glanced quickly at the sweaty faces so near her, yet so far away, absorbed in their own inner worlds of troubles and desires. They all just stood there, as if in a trance, waiting for the light to change.

She'd be damned if she'd stand around waiting for something awful to happen on September 22. Of course nothing would happen. She refused to even think that way.

Audie crossed the street and picked up the pace. She probably should call Drew to tell him about all this nonsense. She should probably call her brother anyway-it had been at least a couple months since they'd spoken. His latest divorce should be final now, if she remembered correctly.

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 amp; 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.