Knock Me Off My Feet (36 page)

"He's stable," were the only words the surgeon could get out before the room erupted in cheers. It took a full minute before it quieted enough for her to continue.

"Detective Quinn is a very lucky man," the surgeon said, untying a mask from behind her head. "The bullet went into his flank and caused a great deal of damage. He's going to be one kidney short of a matched set, but he'll make it."

With those words, the room exploded in cheers again and Jamie Quinn fell to the floor on his knees, talking Audie with him, where he proceeded to cry like a baby in her arms.

* * *

In the morning, Quinn asked to see his family. They went in together and there was a lot of messy tears and swearing and laughing—entirely too much noise for a hospital room, Audie thought.

She remained near the door to give everyone a chance to see him, but Quinn began asking for her and they stepped aside so she could get closer.

She touched his hand and stood by his side, not moving or breathing, just drowning in relief at the feel of his warm fingers on hers.

"Thank you for not dying," she said, which greatly amused everyone. Quinn gave her fingers a squeeze and tried to smile.

"Let's give them a few minutes, all right?" Jamie bent down and kissed his son on the cheek. "We'll be outside, boy-o."

As Pat brushed by Audie, he whispered in her ear, "I
see
that your prayer worked." She watched in amazement as he winked at her, then softly shut the door behind him.

She turned her eyes to Quinn. He was pale and still and hooked to tubes and wires. His lips were dry and cracked. But his eyes were alive—he was alive—and she stroked his brow to let him know it was all right to rest.

"I'm glad to be here, Audie," he said, barely a whisper.

"Oh,
God, you have so many people who love you!" she blurted out, embarrassed at the desperation in her voice. "I mean
…
I just
…
I don't think they could have
…
if you didn't make it, they…
Oh, God!"

Audie's lips were shaking and her chin was trembling and she grabbed his hand in both of hers. When he opened his eyes, she saw how tired he was, but there was laughter there, too, and it reassured her. If he was laughing, he was going to be fine.

"Tell me who loves me," he croaked, clamping down on her fingers with surprising strength.

She inclined her head a little and smiled at him. "You want me to give you a list of everyone who loves you?"

He nodded, eyes half-closed.

"Do they have to be in alphabetical order?"

He smiled weakly. "I need to hear the names," he whispered.

"All right. There's Kiley and Little Pat, of course. Father Pat. Mike and Sheila. Jamie. Aunt Esther. Commander Connelly. And Stanny-O, who said the only reason you survived was the amount of Guinness in your blood."

He smiled bigger and grimaced.

"Then there's everybody at District Eighteen and at Area Three. Everybody at Keenan's Pub. Everyone in the Garda Band. And all the people from the neighborhood—I can't remember anyone's name except for Belinda Egan, the lady with the worm in her brain—and those are just the people out there in the waiting room."

He nodded, so tired now. "Is there one more?"

Audie leaned close to his ear, kissed him softly, and whispered, "Have faith, Stacey Quinn. I'll love you until we both dry up and blow away."

Audie watched him lose the fight against exhaustion, a lopsided grin spreading over his face even as his eyelids closed. She felt his fingers search hers until he found it—the
claddagh
ring—just where he'd put it the night before.

Quinn sighed deeply. He was nodding off. "One question?"

"Anything," she said.

It came out gravelly and weak, but she heard it just the same.

"Marry me."

Then he fell asleep, the smile frozen on his face, apparently confident that she'd say yes.

Audie smiled down on him and smoothed his hair. "Dream on, you cocky bastard," she whispered.

Epilogue

«
^

A
udie stopped to stare at all the pictures on the wall—so many faces! She reached up to touch the photograph that seemed to hang right in the center of everything.

The brilliant color image was of a man and a woman on their wedding day, caught unaware by the camera, their faces alive with laughter and joy. They were surrounded by a mob of people—so many people who loved them.

She could still feel the pipes rumbling through the church eaves as Drew walked her down the aisle. She could still feel the fragile antique ivory lace against her skin, its cool whisper a gift from Trish and her mother before her.

She could still picture the scene at the altar: Pat struggling to remain priestly and official behind his huge smile; Michael and Stanny-O's giggling; Sheila fidgeting and weeping in her place as matron of honor; and, unfortunately, the sight of
Griffin
in his vintage powder-blue bellbottomed tuxedo.

She remembered her first glimpse of Quinn. He waited for her at the center of the altar in his dress kilt, the delight and seriousness at war in his expression. He offered her a warm and steady hand as she took her place beside him.

More than a year had passed since their wedding day, but for Audie, the memory was still so sharp and so beautiful that it could make her cry.

And oh, dear God! The reception! The police would've been called if they weren't already there.

Now she was laughing and crying at the same time, which was not a good sign, and she took a deep breath. She needed to pull herself together. Drew and his new girlfriend were due for Sunday dinner, and Quinn had been cooking most of the day.

She wondered if Drew was bringing Mark and groaned. The last time Drew brought the damn poodle, it ate three issues of
Bon Appetit
off the coffee table and then proceeded to vomit them up in the middle of the kitchen floor. Quinn was not happy and spent the next half hour mopping.

Well, this was Drew's special day and he could bring his dog if he wanted, she supposed. After all, how many times does a person win the Pulitzer Prize for commentary and have a book on
the
New York Times
best-seller list at the same time?

It had been such fun watching Drew's fame grow this last year. One critic described the "Don't Ask Andrew" syndicated column as "jarring, ill-mannered and horribly funny," and
60 Minutes
dubbed him "the voice of a pissed-off generation." And
Clean Laundry, Dirty Secrets: The True Story of Homey Helen
had made him a literary star.

Drew had long ago become a star in Audie's eyes: he gave her the
Take a Hint
as a wedding present and told her he loved her.

With a great sigh, Audie let her hands settle on her big, round tummy. Each day she wondered who this person inside her would be—his or her own person, of course, but she couldn't help hoping the child would get the best from the Adamses and the Quinns.

With any luck, the kid would grow up to be a pipe-playing sailor with a quick wit, a love of baseball, and a wicked corner kick. For its own sake, Audie prayed the child would grow up to be only reasonably neat and tidy.

She closed her eyes and made the baby this silent promise:
You'll know what it's like to be loved. You'll know what it feels like to have people throw their arms around you just because they can.

Audie headed toward the stairs and smiled to herself. Her students had given her a maternity leave send-off Friday afternoon, and she'd been overwhelmed with the realization that her life was filled with kids and soccer and happiness.

And any day now, this child.

The tears were coming again, and as she wiped her eyes she caught a glimpse of Quinn downstairs, his face pulled tight with concern and love. Suddenly he was taking the steps two at a time to get to her.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." Audie patted his arm. "You know what a hormonal spaz I've been lately."

"Would you like me to rub your feet?" He led her down slowly, one hand at her back and another cupping her elbow.

"No way," she laughed. "That's how we got into this mess in the first place."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Quinn put an arm around her, pulled her snugly, and kissed her hair. "I love you, sweet Audie."

"And I love you." She leaned back to look at him and knew that one lifetime would not be enough to tell this man just how much she loved him.

He reached in his pants pockets and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing her eyes with gentleness. Audie frowned, ripping the soft linen from his hands, and the tears gushed.

"Oh, crap! Hell! I did it again! I mixed the whites and the darks! All these were white before you married me! I've ruined all your beautiful, perfect handkerchiefs!"

Quinn rubbed her back. "I didn't marry you for your laundry skills, Homey. Come here to me."

She fell against him, immediately comforted by his heat on this cold and snowy March day, immediately finding her place
in
his arms. She breathed in the scent of whatever he was cooking, and it smelled heavenly. So did he. She sighed and snuggled closer.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He rubbed his cheek against her satin-soft hair and chuckled. "Anything."

Audie tried not to ask too often, but she needed to hear it today—the hormones, no doubt. Her voice was very faint.

"Why, Stacey? Why are we here like this, you and me?"

Quinn stroked both sides of her huge belly and smiled.

"Because you're good for my soul and I'm good for yours. And our love is good for the world."

She stared into his handsome, kind face and smiled through her tears. "We're really going to be a family, aren't we, Quinn?"

"I've got a little hint for you, Homey." He kissed her softly and breathed his words into her ear.

"We already are."

* * * * *