Conor

3

OLIVIA WOKE UP with a jolt. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes slowly came into focus and she found Conor lying across her body, his hand over her mouth, his breath warm on her face. She wriggled beneath him, but he refused to budge.

“Don’t make a sound,” he warned in a voice just barely above a whisper. “There’s someone outside.”

She swallowed back the choking fear that threatened to erupt in a scream then pried his fingers off her mouth. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

He scrambled off the sofa, then handed her her shoes and jacket. “Put these on-quickly. I want you to go to the bedroom, open the window and wait. I’ll take care of whoever’s outside then I’ll come and get you.”

“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Olivia asked.

He placed a finger over her lips. “I tried to raise the officer outside on my radio, but he didn’t answer. If Keenan found you here, then we’ve got a leak in the department. And we need to get out of here as fast as we can. Now, crawl over to the bedroom and wait beneath the window. If you hear gunfire, I want you to get out as quickly as you can and keep running until you’re safe. Understand?”

Olivia nodded and he smiled. Then he brushed a quick kiss across her mouth. His boldness didn’t surprise her, merely made her feel more confident-and a little warm and tingly inside. “We’ll be all right,” he said. “I promise.”

He moved to get up, but she grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t get shot. I’m not sure I can do this on my own.” She winced. “And I faint at the sight of blood.”

He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “You’ll be all right. If anyone grabs you, just give him a good knee in the crotch. That should give you a decent head start.” A moment later, he was gone, disappearing silently into the shadows of the darkened room. Olivia waited a few seconds, gathering her courage, then slowly began to make her way to the bedroom. Her heart slammed in her chest, so hard that she was certain it could be heard over the howling wind.

She waited for what seemed like eternity, silently praying that the next sound would be Conor’s voice and not gunfire. When she heard her name called softly from outside, Olivia nearly cried out with joy. She scrambled out the window and he caught her, carefully lowering her to the ground, his hands firm around her waist.

“What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure. The cop that relieved Danny isn’t there anymore. The car is gone and so is he.”

Conor wrapped his arm around her shoulders, then led her out toward the beach. Only then did she notice the gun in his other hand. She stumbled in the wet sand and Conor took her arm and pulled her along. For a while, he led her one way on the beach, then they suddenly ran closer to the water and started in the opposite direction.

She could barely see her hand in front of her face as blackness engulfed them. Icy water soaked into her shoes and she tried to draw a decent breath, but Conor’s pace was unrelenting as they continued down the beach. Every now and then, they stopped and he listened, staring back into the darkness. Then they continued on.

When she didn’t think she could go any farther, Conor led her along a concrete seawall, then up and over a dune to a darkened beach house. The sound of breaking glass cut through the roar of the waves and she squinted to see him reaching through a broken pane to open a door. He silently led her inside, then closed the door behind him.

Olivia felt her knees folding beneath her and he reached out and grabbed her waist, his arm supporting her weight. He drew her body against his and rubbed her back to warm her. How could she feel so safe, yet so scared, at the same time?

“It’s all right,” he murmured, cradling the back of her head in his hand. “We should be fine here, at least for a little while.”

“But we were supposed to be safe there,” Olivia cried. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “The phone was out and there was someone prowling around the front door. It could have been the wind and the storm, but I don’t think so.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Olivia said, tears pressing at the corners of her eyes. “I just want to go far away, where no one knows me.”

But if she didn’t testify and put Keenan in jail, how would she ever feel safe again? She’d spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting for him or one of his henchmen to silence her for good. “I-I just want to forget I ever heard anything. You can’t keep me here. I won’t testify.”

He placed his palm on her cheek, his grim expression softening. “Don’t talk like that, Olivia. I’ll keep you safe, I promise. From now on, it’s just you and me. And people I know I can trust.”

He pulled her along to the kitchen, then withdrew a cell phone from his pocket. Conor punched in a number, then waited. “Dylan? This is Con. I know it’s late, but this is important. I need you to get a boat.” He paused. “When did he get in?” Conor turned to her and smiled. “I want the two of you to bring The Mighty Quinn across the bay into Provincetown Harbor. If you leave now, you can be here before dawn. Tie up at the gas dock and make up some excuse for staying there-mechanical problems. Just wait and I’ll find you. I’ll explain everything then.” He didn’t say anything more, just hung up the phone as if his request had been understood without question.

He crossed the room to Olivia and rubbed her arms distractedly. “I need to go find us transportation into town. You’re going to have to stay here by yourself. Just for a little while.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m coming with you.”

He considered her request for only a moment, then nodded. “This place has a garage. Let’s hope the owners leave a car here during the off-season.”

They moved through the dark house, eyes fully adjusted to the lack of light. The door to the garage was just off the kitchen and Conor opened it. He flipped on the overhead light and held his hand over her eyes to shield them. “Bingo,” he muttered. When her eyes had adjusted, she saw a jeep parked in the center of the garage. “It doesn’t have a roof or windows, but it has four wheels. The ride might be a little cold and wet, but we won’t have to walk into town.” He turned to Olivia. “Let’s get some rest. We don’t need to leave for a while.”

“Shouldn’t we find the keys?”

“If they aren’t in the ignition, I’ll just hot-wire it. Come on, my brothers will be here just before dawn. Hopefully, whoever’s looking for us will wait until after the sun rises to continue the search.”

“I-I don’t think I can sleep.”

Conor took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “We’ll get you warm and you’ll feel much better.”

They went back inside and he led her to the sofa. Then he sat down beside her and gathered her into his arms. How had they become so close so quickly? Olivia wondered. Was it the danger they faced, the two of them against the rest of the world? Or was this simply some police tactic to make her compliant with all his requests? Olivia closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder.

She hadn’t been touched by a man in such a long time. She’d had men in her life, but lately Olivia had found searching for antiques much more satisfying than looking for love. Still she’d never felt so close to another man as she did to Conor Quinn right now. How long had she been searching for this elusive feeling, the security of knowing that someone-even a virtual stranger-cared?

Olivia drew a ragged breath and tried to calm her chaotic thoughts. It would be so easy to fall for this man, she mused. But in eleven days, he’d disappear from her life and she’d be expected to put the pieces back together and go on as if nothing had happened.

She didn’t want to think about the future. Right now, she could only think about the present, the next minute, the next hour. If she thought too far ahead, the fear would engulf her and she’d be too terrified to open her eyes, too afraid even to breathe. “Talk to me,” she murmured. “I can sleep if I just hear your voice.”

“Not a scintillating conversationalist, huh?”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I like the sound of your voice. It has magic in it.”

“Then I’ll tell you a magical story,” he said, putting on a thick Irish accent. She listened as Conor wove a fascinating tale about a beautiful fairy named Etain. He patiently explained in a soothing tone that fairies, or the Sidh, were not tiny creatures with wings, but human size. They lived in a parallel world, a world that met the real world at times when one thing became another-dusk into night, dawn into day, summer into fall.

Etain had bewitched a king with her beauty, but when the king’s brother met her, he fell in love with her as well. Conor filled the story with vivid detail, and by the time he had finished, she was captivated by the images he wove in her mind. Such a complex man, she mused. So tough and calculating on the outside, and so sensitive on the inside.

Olivia looked up at him. “How do you know that story?”

“My da used to tell us. He wasn’t home much, so we’d try to memorize all the details so we could retell them after he was gone. It was like a competition between me and my brothers as to who could tell it the best.”

Without thinking, she reached up and placed her palm on his cheek. He gazed down into her eyes and, for a moment, she was certain he’d kiss her. Olivia thought about making the first move, curious as to how he’d taste, how his lips would feel on hers. Would they be hard and demanding? Or gentle and tentative?

“We shouldn’t do this,” Conor murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “You’re a witness. I’m supposed to protect you.”

Hesitantly, Olivia drew her hand away. She shouldn’t have assumed he’d be as attracted to her as she was to him. Such a fantasy, lusting after her protector. And how silly that she couldn’t see it for what it was-a way to escape the troubles of her real life. He was just a convenient man, someone to make her feel safe and cherished. “I’m sorry,” she said, drawing away.

“Don’t be,” Conor replied uneasily. “It-it’s pretty common. You’re afraid-I’m…reassuring. It happens all the time.”

“Then it’s happened to you before?” she asked.

“No,” he murmured. “Never.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better.” She pushed up from the sofa. “I’m going to go find a bed. Wake me when it’s time to leave.”

She wandered down a long hallway, anxious to put as much distance between Conor Quinn and herself as she could. When she finally closed the bedroom door behind her, she leaned back and sighed. Everything seemed so unreal, as if she were watching herself in a movie. What had happened to her life? Just a few months ago, she’d been consumed with work, finding no time to even think about her pitiful social life.

And now she was tossed into the company of the most intriguing and handsome man she’d ever met. She should be thrilled. But the more she got to know Detective Quinn, the more she began to believe that Red Keenan wasn’t the dangerous one. Conor Quinn was.

CONOR STARED out over Provincetown Harbor, scanning the waterfront for any sign of Brendan and Dylan. The sun was just brightening the eastern horizon and the weather had begun to clear. Stars were visible through the cracks in the clouds and the wind had picked up again, blowing from onshore. The tiny village was beginning to stir and Conor was afraid that they’d be sitting ducks once the sun came up.

He’d parked the jeep in the shadows of a fishing shanty near the docks, giving them a good view of the water and anyone approaching from town. “Damn it, Bren, where are you?”

“What if he doesn’t come?” Olivia asked, her voice thin and tired.

Conor glanced over at her. He was tempted to draw her into his arms, to reassure her with physical contact. But he wouldn’t be touching Olivia Farrell again. Not that he couldn’t exert self-control; she was the one to worry about. He didn’t need her mooning around after him, messing up his concentration and putting them both at risk. “He’ll come,” Conor said. “I called him and he’ll come.”

He felt her gaze searching his face, looking for some sign of the closeness they’d shared just hours ago. When she didn’t find it, she sank down and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm in the chill morning air.

“If he isn’t here in ten minutes,” Olivia said, “I think we should leave.”

Conor felt his temper rise. No way in hell was he going to let her start calling the shots! “I’ll decide if and when we leave,” he said in an even voice.

“I’m just saying that-”

“I don’t need your opinion!” he shot back. Maybe his frustration came from lack of sleep. Or maybe he didn’t like her questioning his competence. Or maybe he didn’t like the fact that she was probably right. But once the words had left his lips, he knew chastising her had been a mistake.

“You seem to forget it’s my life. They want to kill me, not you. I should at least have some say in the-”

Conor turned in his seat and faced her. “And if you refuse to listen to me, I might get caught in the cross fire. So, you see, it’s not just your life. It’s mine, too. We’re in this together.” At least until he got Olivia to safety. Then he had every intention of calling his lieutenant and getting someone else to do the baby-sitting. He’d make sure the cop was trustworthy, of course, but that would be the end of it. He’d rather face a year of desk duty than risk succumbing to the temptation of Olivia Farrell’s body, her sweet lips and alluring smile at every turn.

“There’s a boat coming in,” Olivia said, interrupting his thoughts. “See it over there?”

The low rumble of diesel engines echoed through the crisp air and Conor squinted. As if by magic, The Mighty Quinn appeared out of the darkness. Conor had never cared for that boat. In his mind, The Mighty Quinn had come between his mother and his father, it had taken his father away from home for long stretches of time, and it had forced Conor to grow up way too fast. But he felt pretty damn happy to see her now.

Unlike Conor, Brendan loved the water and always had, using the captain’s quarters on the boat as his home when he was in town during the summer months. During the colder winter months, he usually slept on the sofa at Conor or Dylan’s apartment-or in the bed of his current girlfriend, lost in the throes of a weeklong affair that always ended when he headed out on a research trip or another magazine assignment.

The boat maneuvered through the narrow waters, then headed for empty dock space near the gas pumps. Conor took one final look around, then nodded to Olivia. “Come on. We can go now.”

He stepped out of the jeep, then circled around to take her hand. They didn’t run, just walked calmly toward the water, Conor protecting her back and keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Conor counted on the fact that Keenan would post his men at the airport and along the highway. Extra personnel would be slow in arriving on the Cape. He’d never expect them to leave on a private boat. When they reached the dock, Conor pressed his palm into the small of her back, urging her forward.

Brendan didn’t ask questions. He simply reached down and took Olivia by the hands, then drew her gently onto the deck of the boat. When she was settled, Conor stepped up and they pushed away from the dock without even bothering to tie up. It took no more than a minute before they were once again swallowed up by the dark, and for the moment, safe from Red Keenan.

The running lights from The Mighty Quinn were barely visible through the early morning mist that hung over the bay. The prevailing wind had knocked down the waves from the storm and the water wasn’t as rough as Conor had expected. He glanced at Olivia, but she stared out at the western horizon, the salty breeze whipping at her hair, her face ruddy with the cold.

He wouldn’t feel safe until the two of them were back on dry land, somewhere warm and secure. He wasn’t sure where they’d go. His apartment was too obvious, and probably way too messy for guests. He might be able to commandeer Dylan’s place, although his brother’s housekeeping abilities weren’t much better than Conor’s.

He glanced up at the pilothouse, watching as his brothers carried on a quiet conversation. Whenever Conor saw Dylan and Brendan outside the confines of the pub, he was always amazed at how they’d grown into such fine men. He still thought of them as kids, the skinny, untamed lads he’d watched over. The temptation to parent them was still strong, to tell Bren he needed a haircut and a shave, to chastise Dylan for not wearing a jacket in the cold.

Though he’d never told them, he saw his ma in their faces every time he looked at them-in the striking bone structure and the thick, nearly black hair. He saw the same face in the mirror every morning as he shaved, but watching his brothers, so strong and well grown, he couldn’t help but wonder what Fiona Quinn might think of them now. Whether she ever thought of them at all. Conor didn’t believe for a second that his mother had died in an auto wreck.

When Dylan glanced over at Conor, he gave him a lascivious grin and low whistle, nodding his head at the spot along the rail where Olivia stood. Conor shook his head, then climbed up to the pilothouse. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, stepping inside.

“Think about what?” Dylan whispered.

“What you’re always thinking about when you see a beautiful woman.”

“Ah, brother, a woman like that is obviously wasted on you,” Dylan said.

“She is a pretty little thing, isn’t she,” Brendan added.

Conor growled softly. He wondered whether his younger brothers would ever grow up. Would they ever realize there was more to life than an endless string of women traipsing in and out of their bedrooms? “Just get us back to Hull,” he said. “That’s all I need from you two right now.”

He climbed back down to the main deck and joined Olivia at the rail. She looked a bit seasick and completely exhausted. He gently took her icy hands and drew her toward the main cabin, holding her arm as she gingerly walked through the companionway. Bren had warmed up the main cabin and lights glowed softly around the spacious interior. Conor walked over to the galley and poured a mug of coffee from the huge thermos he found there, then held it out to Olivia. “Are you all right?”

She slowly sat down, bracing herself with her hands against the rocking of the boat.

“You’ll get used to the motion,” he said. “And once we’re across the bay, it’ll calm down. Have some coffee.”

She took the hot brew and sipped at it as she glanced around. “It-it’s warm in here. I haven’t been warm in two days.” She hesitated, then looked up at him with wide eyes. “How can you be so mean to me one minute and so nice the next?”

Chastened by her question, Conor turned away and fetched himself a mug. “It’s my job,” he said, stirring in a generous amount of sugar.

“Is that all it is?”

“What else would it be?” He faced her, leaning up against the counter and crossing his legs at the ankle.

She forced a smile. “Then I suppose I should apologize-for earlier. I didn’t mean to get…carried away. It’s just that my nerves have been a little frayed lately and I thought you-”

“It’s all right,” Conor said. He wasn’t going to tell her that he’d wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted to kiss him. He wasn’t going to say how much self-control it had taken for him to draw away, to resist savoring just one taste. Damn, he’d love nothing better than to forget all his responsibilities and do something reckless. To throw caution to the wind and drag her into his bed. But he’d already nearly screwed the pooch at the precinct. He wasn’t going to give his boss anything more to use against him. An affair with a witness was more than enough to cost him his badge.

“Where are we going to go now?” she asked.

“Back to Boston-or Hull, to be more precise. After that, I don’t know,” Conor said.

She bit her bottom lip, her gaze dropping to her coffee mug. “If he found me at the beach house, then he’s going to find me no matter where we go.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She drew a ragged breath. “As soon as we get back to Boston, I have to stop at my apartment. I don’t have any clothes. We left everything at the beach house. And there’s something else I need to get.”

Conor shook his head. “No, we can’t. It would be too dangerous. We’ll buy you new clothes.”

“Please,” Olivia pleaded. “I’ve got nothing. My shop is closed, my apartment is deserted, I haven’t slept in my own bed in days. I just want some things around me that are mine.”

He didn’t want to listen to her pleas. In truth, he was scared he’d give in. It was hard to refuse Olivia anything, especially when he saw the vulnerability in her eyes. All he wanted to do was protect her, but sometimes his instincts as a man were in direct conflict with his instincts as a cop. “I said no.” With that, Conor turned and walked to the companionway. “If you need me, I’ll be up on the bridge.”

Conor cursed softly as he climbed the ladder back to the pilothouse. Dylan and Brendan both turned as he stepped inside, watching him with perceptive eyes. There were no secrets between the Quinn brothers. “So, what’s going on with you two?” Dylan asked.

Conor shrugged. “Nothing. She’s just a witness.”

Brendan chuckled. “Give me a break, Con. We see the way you look at her, the way you hover. When was the last time you ever treated a woman like that?”

“Never,” Dylan answered. “He treats her as if she’s made of gold. Did you see that, Bren? Like gold.”

“It’s part of the job,” Conor said. “If I don’t keep her happy, she doesn’t testify. Or worse yet, she runs off and gets herself killed and I get my ass booted out of the department for dereliction of duty.”

“He’s fallen for her,” Dylan commented. “But he’s deluding himself. Lying in lavender like Paddy’s pig, he is!”

Conor forced a chuckle. Dylan might be quick to jump to conclusions, but he was dead wrong. The last thing he’d allow himself to do was fall for Olivia Farrell. Sure, he might be attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? She was a beautiful woman. But that was where it ended. “You forget. I was raised on the same stories that you were. I know what happens if a Quinn falls in love. Hell, I might as well just throw myself off a cliff and save everyone the trouble.”

His brothers stared out at the horizon, remembering the tales of their childhood as clearly as Conor did. “I’m amazed we’re not all psychologically scarred,” Dylan muttered.

Brendan sighed. “Maybe we are. I don’t see any of us in real relationships. Something permanent. Something that lasts longer than a month. Six decent-looking guys, good jobs, straight teeth. What are the odds?”

In truth, Conor had wondered the very same thing. He couldn’t deny that their father’s attitude had something to do with his own approach to women. He remembered all the stories. He also remembered his mother and the pain he’d felt when she’d left.

Olivia Farrell could make him feel that pain again. She had that power. But he’d never let it happen. He wasn’t going to fall for her, because as soon as they got to shore, he was going to call the station and get himself reassigned. Olivia Farrell wouldn’t have the chance to bring this Quinn down.

OLIVIA WASN’T SURE where she was when she opened her eyes. She only knew that she was warm and that she’d slept soundly for the first time in days. Tugging the rough wool blanket up around her nose, she sighed softly. She didn’t know where she was, but she somehow sensed that she was safe.

“Mornin’.”

Startled by the sound of an unfamiliar voice, Olivia bolted upright. But the unfamiliar voice came with a familiar face. A strikingly handsome man, with the same dark hair and hazel eyes as Conor, sat at the small table in the galley, a newspaper spread in front of him. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall his name.

“Brendan,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

“Brendan,” she repeated. Raking her hands through her tangled hair, she glanced around the cabin. “Where are we?”

“Hull,” he said. “We put in about four or five hours ago.”

She glanced at the brass clock above Brendan’s head. It was nearly two in the afternoon. “Where’s Conor?”

“He went out to find you a safe place to stay.”

“And the other one, your brother?”

“Dylan? He went to pick up some groceries.”

Olivia sighed. “And you were the one who drew the short straw and got to baby-sit me?” she asked, a hint of sarcasm creeping into her voice.

“As my da used to say, a wise head keeps a shut mouth.” Brendan chuckled softly. “Or something to that effect.”

Though the pressures of the past few days had dulled her instincts, Olivia could have sworn Brendan Quinn had just paid her a compliment. “At least someone wants to spend time with me. Your brother acts like he’s been forced to take his pimply-faced cousin to the prom.”

Brendan slid out from behind the table and rummaged through the galley until he found a coffee mug. “My brother takes his responsibilities seriously. Sometimes too seriously.”

The offhand comment piqued Olivia’s curiosity. She knew so little about the man who’d taken control of her life. Perhaps she could learn something from Brendan that might even the odds a bit. When Brendan handed her a mug of steaming coffee, she sat up, tucked her feet beneath her, and rearranged the blanket on her lap. “Tell me about him,” she said. “Why is he always so grumpy?”

“Would you like some breakfast?” Brendan countered, avoiding her question altogether. “I can whip up some eggs and I think I have some bacon that hasn’t gone bad. Dylan’s bringing orange juice and when Conor gets here we can send him out for-”

“Conor is here.”

Brendan and Olivia glanced up at the companionway to find Conor looming above them. He swung down the steps and stood in the middle of the cabin. Compared to Brendan’s cheerful disposition, Conor seemed to suck every ounce of sunshine out of the room. Olivia raised her guard, ready to defend herself against Conor’s bristling mood. “Brendan was just going to make us some breakfast,” she said.

“I’m sure he was,” Conor muttered, sending his brother a pointed look. “When it comes to the ladies, it’s what he does best.”

“Hey,” Brendan protested, “I was just being-”

Conor held up his hand to interrupt Brendan, then turned to Olivia. “Come on. We have to go. I found a place for us to hole up for a while. Get your things and let’s go.”

“Things? I don’t have any things.”

Conor crossed the cabin in a few short steps then grabbed her arm and tugged her to her feet. “Good. Then we won’t have to wait around while you put on your lipstick and curl your hair.”

Brendan cursed beneath his breath. “You are a charmer, now, aren’t you, Con. It’s no wonder you have women fightin’ over you.”

This time the look Conor shot his brother was pure murder. Olivia decided it was probably best to go along with the plan, before the brothers came to blows over her need for breakfast. She smoothed her hair, then stepped up to Brendan, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, and for helping to rescue me.”

Conor’s brother returned her smile with a devilish one of his own. Then he gently took her hand and drew it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the tips of her fingers. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Conor growled impatiently, then snatched Olivia’s fingers from Brendan’s hand. “Brendan is also known for his kiss-offs. He disguises his motives so cleverly that the women actually feel good about being dumped.” With that, Conor pulled Olivia along to the companionway then hurried her up the steps.

When they reached the deck she turned on him, yanking her arm from his grasp. “You can stop bullying me now,” she said. “There’s no need to show off to your brother.”

Conor fixed his gaze on hers, his eyes penetrating, his demeanor ice-cold. “Believe me, if I hadn’t come back when I did, breakfast wasn’t the only thing you two would have been sharing.”

Olivia gasped at the outrageous suggestion in his tone. “Well, then I guess I’m lucky to have you to protect me.” She started off down the dock, determined to put some distance between them before she hauled off and slapped that smug expression off Conor Quinn’s face. But, a few seconds later, he fell into step beside her, alert, his gaze taking in their surroundings as if he were calculating the angle of the next attack, ready to put himself between her and a bullet.

As they walked along the wharf, past restaurants, taverns and bait shops, Olivia tried to maintain her indignation. But, in truth, all her whining seemed petty and childish. This man had devoted himself to keeping her alive and all she could do was complain.

Dylan was waiting for them, leaning up against the side of a red Mustang. He handed the keys to Conor, then opened the passenger door for Olivia. “If I find one dent, one scratch,” he warned Conor, “I’ll hunt you down.”

When she and Conor were both inside, she turned to him, anxious to set things straight between them, but his jaw was set and his expression so distant that the words died in her throat. And by the time they reached the motel on the highway to Cohasset, she was afraid to say anything to him at all.

Conor helped her out of the car, then reached in his pocket and withdrew a room key. When he opened the door and stepped aside, Olivia got a chance to see how low her life had sunk. The room was straight out of a bad movie, with a lumpy iron bed shoved up against the wall and faded wallpaper in putrid shades of orange and avocado green. The linoleum floor was scarred with cigarette burns and the room smelled of stale smoke and mildew. She slowly walked to the bathroom, afraid of what she might find there. But the bathroom was surprisingly clean, the old fixtures had been scrubbed white and smelled of strong disinfectant.

“It’s not a palace,” Conor murmured. “But we’ll be safe here for now. And if we need to make a run for it, Brendan’s boat is just a few miles away.”

Olivia turned to him and forced a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

He stared down at his shoes, then shrugged. “And I don’t mean to be so dictatorial. It’s just hard when you fight me on this. I know Red Keenan and he’ll stop at nothing to keep you from testifying.”

“I feel like my life has been taken away from me. All I have are the clothes I’m wearing. I’m worried-about my business, about my apartment, about Tommy.”

She’d worried how her cat was surviving with her landlady. Usually Mrs. Callahan cared for the cat in Olivia’s apartment, but Olivia had been afraid if anyone broke in, Tommy would make his escape and be left to fend for himself on the street. A notorious cat hater, Mrs. Callahan had reluctantly agreed to take the cat in trade for an addition to her huge collection of Hummel figurines. And though Olivia didn’t usually deal in Hummel pieces, she quickly agreed.

“Tommy?”

“I left him with my landlady,” Olivia explained. “She lives just down the street. I just didn’t want him to get mixed up in this. And she’s taken care of him before. I just wish he were here with me. I’d sleep better if I knew he was safe.”

Conor stared at her for a long moment, his mouth agape. “You have a kid? And you didn’t tell the police about this?” He turned away from her and began to pace the room.

Olivia opened her mouth to correct his assumption, then reconsidered the impulse. “Tommy is everything to me,” she said, careful with her words so she wouldn’t tell an outright lie. “I’m just so worried that Red Keenan might find out about him and…” She let her voice trail off. If she couldn’t have her own clothes and she couldn’t sleep in her own bed, she could at least have her cat!

“I have to go get him,” Conor said. “He won’t be safe if he isn’t with us. How old is he?”

“Nine,” Olivia replied.

“What about his father?” Conor asked. “Isn’t he around?”

His direct gaze told her that his question was more than just a matter of police business. He wanted to know whether she shared a passionate relationship with another man. “He’s out of the picture. He was kind of a…tomcat.” A flood of guilt washed over her. She really should tell him the truth! But she’d been bullied and badgered enough over the past few days. It felt good to exert a small measure of control.

Conor reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his car keys. “I’m going to go get him.” He strode over to the phone and picked it up, then held it out to her. “I want you to call your landlady and tell her I’m on the way. One phone call and keep it short. Don’t answer any questions, understand? What’s her address?”

Olivia told him and he wrote it down in a little notebook he kept in his jacket pocket. “She’ll be happy to see you,” Olivia explained. “She’ll be glad to have Tommy out of her hair.”

He shook his head again, as if he couldn’t quite get his mind around the notion that she was a mother. “Geez, Olivia, why didn’t you say something?”

Olivia managed a contrite shrug and took the phone from his hands. To her surprise, he reached up and touched her cheek with his palm. Another wave of guilt consumed her. “Conor, you don’t have to-”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “I can sneak in and sneak out without anyone noticing. If Keenan’s men are watching your flat, they’ll never see me or Tommy. You’ll stay on the boat with Brendan while I’m gone.”

“But I thought I was safe here. And-well, I was looking forward to a hot shower. I promise I won’t budge from this room.”

He considered her request for a long moment, then agreed by giving her a brief but potent kiss. Olivia stared up at him and saw that the impulse had taken him by surprise. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “I’m still going to ask Brendan to keep an eye on things outside.”

Olivia winced. This had gone entirely too far! She had to tell him that Tommy was her cat, not her son. But she’d been on the receiving end of his anger enough for one day. She’d just have to take her chances when he returned. “Are you positive you’ll be all right?”

He nodded, then turned for the door. When it closed behind him, Olivia’s hand came to her mouth and she touched her lips. They were still warm and damp from his kiss. “If he gets shot, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself.”

But then Conor wouldn’t get shot. He wouldn’t allow it. He was brave and strong and clever. And when he returned he’d be seething with anger. But he wouldn’t desert her, no matter what she did to deserve such a fate. For though she’d known him barely a day, she already knew that there was no one else she’d rather trust with her life than Conor Quinn.