Knock Me Off My Feet (3 page)
"So that you could stop writing the column. It obviously doesn't come naturally to you."
The pounding had mellowed into a quaking rage, and Audie stood up over him. "Go to hell, Detective." She turned, knocking over her beer
in
the process, and barged down the row of seats to get to the aisle.
Quinn was right behind her, climbing up the ballpark steps toward street level. "Audie, wait!"
He had no choice but to look at her lovely round butt, right in front of him. This was not working out the way he'd hoped. Not at all.
"C'mon, Audie! Wait up!"
She was running now, and Quinn had to push himself to keep up with her. She was fast, ducking and weaving through the crowd, searching for an open exit gate. Quinn knew she was probably scared, but a decent lawyer could get the charges dropped. Filing a false report wasn't exactly homicide, after all.
They were out on
There she went. She didn't even wait for the light, and now she was directly across the street from him. "Audie! Please!" he yelled over the traffic.
She flipped him off and ran faster.
Quinn made a break across the traffic and nearly got a hold of her arm as she made a hard left and headed into the tree-lined streets of Wrigleyville.
He was right behind her, shouting, "I can run all night, Audie! But I'd rather talk!"
She slammed to a halt and turned toward him, and he bashed into her. A
wumph
escaped her lips as she fell flat on the sidewalk beneath him. Quinn heard the unmistakable sound of a skull hitting concrete.
Her very female body went limp under him, and for an instant Quinn feared she'd been knocked out. But then she screamed something shrill and unintelligible in his ear, pushed him away, and brought a right fist to the side of his jaw.
Quinn went sprawling, half of him in someone's tiny front lawn and half on the sidewalk.
"You jerk! You idiot!" She was on top of him now, pummeling him in the chest and arms.
Quinn put his hands over his head and absorbed the blows until he could sort out the situation. He couldn't remember the last time he had let a female beat him up.
Without warning, the punching stopped and she went still, sitting on top of his legs. She began to cry.
Quinn was paralyzed by the feel of her body on top of his, softly rocking back and forth with her sobs. He opened one eye to peek at her.
"I didn't write the letters, you dumb ass! I want a different detective on the case—someone with half a brain!" She took a gulp of air and rubbed the back of her head. "You hurt me!"
Quinn felt her begin to rise and suddenly knew exactly how to handle this situation. He sat up, grabbed Audie by the hips, and pulled her down into his lap.
"What are you—?"
His mouth was on hers so fast and hard that she didn't have time to catch her breath. It was beyond a kiss—it was a verdict, a claim, an assault—and he tasted like beer and hot dogs and something else, something powerfully male.
Audie was dizzy. Her head hurt. She was crying. And she felt her body catch fire. She took a quick gulp of air and then gave as good as she got, even as it began to go black around her.
She couldn't help it—if it was the last thing she ever did in her life, she had to open her mouth to this man and take everything he could give her. She pressed hard against him now, clutched at his back, felt his moan fill her mouth and his hands tug on her disheveled hair.
Not a word was exchanged between them, and all Audie wanted was the pushing and seeking and taking. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed the back of his neck. She was suffocating. She had to have more of him. She was blacking out…
"Yo, Romeo and Juliet. This is a family neighborhood." A uniformed officer stood on the sidewalk next to them, trying to hide his amusement with a serious frown.
When Quinn pulled his lips from hers in surprise, Audie lost consciousness. She fell backward in his arms, her head hanging limp.
The patrol officer tensed.
"Area Three Violent Crimes Detective Stacey Quinn," he said, out of breath. "My badge is in my jacket pocket. I can't reach it."
The officer still frowned. "Then you might want to ascertain if you just killed your girlfriend, sir."
Quinn nodded. He rolled with Audie until she lay back in the grass. He pulled out his badge and flipped it open, then put it back in his pocket, all the while running his fingers along her scalp.
"She hit her head on the sidewalk," Quinn said, leaning over her.
The officer squatted on the other side of Audie's lifeless form. "Do you want me to call an—"
Audie suddenly sat up, smacking her forehead against that of Detective Quinn.
"Aaaah!" she screamed, bringing a hand to her head. "God! Get the hell away from me!"
The patrol officer stood up and adjusted his leather holster. "Take this inside somewhere, OK, folks?" He turned and strolled down the sidewalk.
Quinn and Audie sat on the grass cradling their foreheads, stunned, breathing unevenly.
Audie started crying again. "How could you do that?" The words were muffled but full of fury.
"I didn't mean to knock you over, Audie."
"Not that!" she yelled. "God!"
Quinn glanced over at her. His jaw was throbbing. "I'm sorry I accused you of writing the letters."
She groaned in frustration. "Not that, either!"
"Then I'm not sure—"
"Why did you kiss me?" she yelled. "Why did you have to kiss me
like that?"
Quinn wondered if he looked as wild-eyed and confused as she did—he certainly felt that way. He raised his knees and let his wrists dangle over them.
"God, I'm sorry. That was inexcusable. You can file a complaint, but I … damn, I just had to do it." He rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked up at her with a frown. "Why did you kiss me
back
like that?"
Audie sat cross-legged in the grass, her head hanging. "Same reason, I guess." She sniffled. "I just had to." She caught his eye. "I didn't write those letters, you know."
"OK." Quinn stared absently at the tidy houses along the north side of
"It never even occurred to me to do that," Audie continued. "But it's a good idea."
"What, kissing me?" Quinn was confused.
"No! Writing the letters!"
Quinn nodded, giving her the nicest smile he could manage, given that his face felt like it was broken. "You hate being Homey Helen, don't you?"
A single tear streaked down her face as she nodded slightly. "You could say that."
"Then why do you do it, Audie?" Quinn scooted closer to her on the grass, and she leaned against him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.
"I can't talk about this right now," she said, turning her face into his shoulder. She breathed in the clean smell of him—a mixture of soap and fading aftershave and male summer skin.
"Is it too complicated?"
She laughed a little and looked up at him. "Not hardly, Detective. But my head hurts so bad I can't think straight, thanks to you. I think I should go home."
"Come on. I'll drive you." He was about to get up but paused, kissed her very gently on the forehead, then stood and reached down for her hand.
This time, she took it.
Chapter 2
T
hank 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
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—"
