Sean

by Kate Hoffmann

  Brian stood and Sean followed his lead. He did feel a little bit better. To hell with Colleen Kiley. Brian could have her, and good riddance. Besides, she really wasn't even that pretty. She had squinty eyes and she wore too much makeup, and when she laughed, she sounded like a hyena.

  "One more thing," Brian said as they walked out of the bedroom.

  "If you're going to ask if I'm taking Colleen Kiley to the dance you might as well say goodbye to your pretty teeth right now," Sean said, "’cause I'm gonna knock them through the back of your head."

  Brian laughed. Then he held out his hand. "I thought you might be able to use these." He dropped three acorns into Sean's palm.

  "What are these for?" Sean asked.

  "I figured you could use them to turn Colleen Kiley into a toad. Or maybe a big old sewer rat." Brian pulled three more out of his pocket. "And if that's not enough, I've got three of my own to use." He slipped his arm around Sean's shoulders. "We Quinns gotta stick together, right?"

  Sean smiled and nodded. No matter how much he fought with his brothers, he always knew he could depend on them. "Yeah, I guess we do," he murmured, shoving the acorns into his pocket.

  Chapter 1

  Sean Quinn sat slumped in the front seat of his battered Ford sedan. He'd found a parking space right down the street from the three-flat located in one of Cambridge's trendy neighborhoods, and he'd been watching the front door for almost two hours.

  The case had come to him in a roundabout way, through a colleague he'd met while sitting in a bar one night. Bert Hinshaw was a hard-drinking, woman-chasing, sixty-year-old private investigator, a guy who had seen his share of crazy cases over the years. They had talked for hours, Sean learning from Bert's experience and Bert grateful to have someone to listen to his tales. A friendship developed and they now met regularly to chat-Bert doing most of the talking and Sean taking mental notes.

  But health problems had slowed Bert down, and every now and then he threw a case Sean's way. Sean had been on this referral for nearly two weeks, hired by a wealthy woman who had been romanced, married, then bilked out of a fortune by Eddie "The Cruiser" Perkins aka Edward Naughton Smyth aka Eddie the Weasel and about six or seven other aliases.

  This case had been by far the most lucrative he'd ever taken, even better than the Intertel Bank case he'd had a few months ago. He was making some real money, a guaranteed rate of nearly four hundred dollars a day.

  Eddie, a notorious con man and bigamist, had left a trail of broken hearts and empty bank accounts across the country. The FBI had been after him for years. A bail bondsman from Maryland had been on his tail since Eddie had jumped bail in Baltimore. But Sean had been the one to track him down when Eddie's seventh wife had heard that he was in the Boston area. She had hired Sean to find him and to turn him over to the FBI, so she might exact her own retribution at a trial.

  Sean glanced at his watch. On Saturdays, Eddie usually didn't get out of bed before three in the afternoon. And last night had been a late one. He'd spent the evening with one of his five current lady friends, a wealthy divorcee with a Bentley and a pricey house in Back Bay. Sean had decided that the time was right to move in and had called the FBI. The agent in charge had assured Sean that he'd have two men to the flat within the hour.

  "Come on, come on," he murmured, staring out at the side-view mirror for a nondescript sedan.

  It amazed him that a guy like Eddie could convince nine intelligent women from across the country to marry him and then entrust their money to him. He had to admire a guy that smooth. Not that Sean had any problems attracting women. He was a Quinn and there was something in the genes that made the Quinn brothers irresistible to the opposite sex. But, unlike his brothers, he'd never had an easy time talking to women. He just couldn't think of anything witty or charming to say, nothing to keep them amused-beyond his talents in the bedroom.

  Things hadn't changed a whole lot since he was a kid. Brian was still the outgoing twin and Sean stood in the background-observing, evaluating. His brothers teased him that his aloofness was exactly what made him irresistible to women. The less interest he showed, the more fascinated they became.

  But he knew what all those girls really wanted-great sex and a future he wasn't prepared to give them. He recognized their need to own him, to trap him into marriage, and he always made his escape before he got caught. Quinns weren't supposed to fall in love. And though that no longer applied to his five brothers, Sean had no intention of making the same mistakes they had.

  A gray four-door sedan slowly cruised past his car and he sat up. "It's about time," he muttered.

  He stepped out of the car and a few seconds later two agents, dressed in dark suits and sporting government-issue sunglasses, approached. "You Quinn?" one of them asked. "I'm Randolph. This is Atkins. FBI."

  "What took you so long? Did you have to stop for doughnuts?" Sean muttered.

  "We were out catching some real bad guys," Atkins said, his disdain apparent.

  Sean held up his hands in mock surrender. "If you're not interested, I can call the bail bondsman. He'll come up from Baltimore, they'll haul Eddie back there. Your Baltimore guys can have the collar."

  Sean knew the uneasy relationship between the Feds and bounty hunters. If they could make the arrest without too much bother, they preferred to take it rather than risk the embarrassment of being outwitted by amateurs. Either way, Sean was in for a nice finder's fee from the bail bondsman. He wasn't about to give that up.

  "So what apartment is he in?" Atkins asked.

  Sean gestured to the building. "He's a creature of habit. On Saturdays, he leaves at precisely 3:00 p.m. Gets a cappuccino at the coffee shop down the street, buys the Racing News at the newsstand, calls his bookie on a pay phone. A little shopping, dinner around seven, then he heads out for the night."

  "How long have you been watching this guy?"

  "Two weeks," Sean said, his gaze returning to the front door of the building. He watched the door open and couldn't help but smile when Eddie stepped out-right on schedule-dressed in a tailored sport coat and perfectly pressed trousers. Though he was in his mid-forties, Eddie made a point to stay in shape. He could easily pass for a man ten years younger. He carried a leather overnight bag, an ominous sign for a guy like Eddie. Was he preparing to run? "That's him," Sean murmured.

  Atkins looked at his watch. "Two fifty-five. I guess you don't know your guy as well as you thought you did." He stepped into the street and Randolph followed. "We'll take him. You stay here."

  "The hell I will," Sean muttered. "If he bolts, I want to be close enough to catch him."

  They were halfway across the street when Eddie saw them. Sean knew before the agents did that he was going to run. Sean could see it in that split second when their eyes met. It was that knowledge that gave him a jump on the agents. Before they could even shout, Sean took off after Eddie. He caught up to him halfway down the block, grabbing him around the waist and wrestling him to the ground.

  By the time Randolph and Atkins reached them both, Sean had Eddie pinned, his hands twisted behind his back. Atkins cuffed Eddie, then yanked him to his feet. "There are a whole bunch of ladies anxious to see you again, Eddie," the agent said.

  "Wait, wait," Eddie said. "You can't take me now!"

  Randolph laughed. "You want us to come back later? Yeah, right, we'll do that. In fact, why don't you just call us when you're ready to turn yourself in?" He shoved Eddie toward the car, but Eddie stopped and turned back to Sean.

  "Hey! Hey, buddy!" he shouted. "Come here."

  Sean glanced at the two agents and they both shrugged. "What do you want?" he asked.

  "You gotta help me out. It's really important." He tried to reach into his pants' pocket, but the agents grabbed him. Atkins pulled out a wad of bills secured in a fancy money clip. "Give the guy fifty," Eddie said. "No, make it one hundred."

  The agent handed Sean two fifties. "What's this for?" Sean asked.

  "I want you to go o
ver to 634 Milholme Street and tell Laurel Rand what happened."

  "You'll get a phone call," Sean said. "You call her." He pushed the money back at him.

  "No, I can't. By then it will be too late. You gotta do this for me. Tell her I'm real sorry. Tell her I really loved her."

  Sean stared down at the money. He should refuse, but every dollar in his pocket was one more dollar toward a real office and maybe even a real secretary. One hundred dollars would pay the electric bill for a few months. Why not take a few minutes and run a simple errand? "All right. You want me to tell her you were arrested?"

  Eddie nodded.

  "You want me to tell her why?"

  "You might as well. Once she learns the truth, she isn't going to want to talk to me again. But tell her I really did love her. She was the one."

  "Yeah, Eddie," Agent Randolph muttered. "I'm sure that's what you tell all the ladies. Do you say that before or after you pick their bank accounts clean?"

  "I loved them all," Eddie said. "I just have this compulsion. I keep asking them and they keep saying yes. That's their fault, not mine!"

  "Let's go." Agent Randolph dragged Eddie away by the arm.

  "Remember, you promised," Eddie shouted at Sean. "I'm counting on you."

  The agents pushed Eddie into the back of the sedan, then roared off down the street. Sean glanced at his watch again. It wouldn't take him more than a half hour to deliver the message. After that, he'd head back to his apartment, type out a final invoice and get it in the mail. By next week, he could have his money, and the week after that, he could start looking for a small office. There was still advertising and office equipment to think about, of course. And he'd need a phone and an answering service and a beeper. If he was going to build a successful business, he'd have to start dressing for success, too-like suits and maybe a tie or two.

  He strolled over to his car. "Milholme Street," he murmured. "This should be fun."

  Milholme was only a few miles from Eddie's place. Sean squinted against the midday sun, pulling his sunglasses down to read the numbers on the homes along the wide boulevard. But when he reached the address Eddie had given him, he discovered it wasn't an apartment or a business, but a church.

  He pulled the car into a spot on the street. Parked near the front of the church was a long limo with a Just Married sign pasted to the back. "What the hell is this?" Suddenly he regretted saying yes to Eddie. The last thing he wanted to was to tell some woman that she was going to be dateless for the wedding festivities.

  Sean noticed several single women standing in front of the church, dressed in their Saturday-afternoon finery. One of them had to be Laurel Rand. He jogged across the street and approached the first woman he met. "I'm looking for Laurel Rand," he said.

  "She's inside," the pretty guest replied.

  Sean nodded, then took the steps two at a time. The sooner he took care of this responsibility, the sooner he could get over to Quinn's Pub and celebrate the successful closing of a case. He found a bridesmaid just inside the doors, clutching a bouquet of flowers in her hands. "Laurel Rand?" he asked.

  "She's down that hallway," the bridesmaid said, pointing to the left. "Last door on the right. Are you the photographer?"

  Sean frowned at the girl before he headed down the hall. He wasn't sure what to expect when he knocked on the door. But when a woman dressed in a bridal gown opened it, he knew taking the money from Eddie had been a colossal mistake. He'd just been thrown to the lions and he was wearing sirloin shorts. "Laurel Rand?"

  "Yes?"

  Sean swallowed hard as her gaze met his. He recognized her as one of the women he'd seen with Eddie over the past few weeks. But he'd never realized how beautiful she was. She looked like a angel, all pale and perfect, dressed in white. He had to clench his fingers just to keep from reaching out and touching her. Her wavy blond hair was pulled back from her face and tucked beneath a veil, but a tiny strand had slipped loose, the only distraction from absolute perfection.

  Her dress rustled, startling him back to reality. "You're Laurel Rand?" Sean repeated, all the time praying that Laurel Rand was somewhere else inside the room, maybe arranging the flowers or polishing the bride's shoes.

  "Yes," she said. "Are you the photographer? You were supposed to be here an hour before the wedding." She reached out and grabbed his hand, then pulled him into the room. Her touch was warm and caused an unbidden reaction. "We only have thirty minutes before the ceremony is supposed to begin. How are we going to get all the shots I wanted? Where is your equipment?"

  "I-I'm not the photographer."

  She let go of his hand. "Who are you? And why are you interrupting me? Can't you see I'm the bride? You're not supposed to make me nervous," she babbled. "I'm supposed to be calm. Don't I look calm?"

  He fought the temptation to grab her hand again, to hold on tight while he gave her the news. "You… you look-" Sean took a deep breath, searching for a word to adequately describe her. "Beautiful. Stunning. Actually… I'd say… breathtaking." For a guy who had trouble talking to women, he certainly wasn't having any trouble now.

  A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. "Thank you."

  Sean wanted to turn and run, content to keep the memory of Laurel Rand in his head just as she was when she smiled. To hell with Eddie. He was a bigamist, nine times over. But still, some inborn instinct to protect her from humiliation kicked in. "Can we talk?" he asked, reaching out to take her by the elbow, anxious for any excuse to touch her again.

  "Talk?"

  He shut the door, then gently steered her toward a chair, just in case she decided to faint. "Who are you marrying today?"

  She stared at him for along moment with a confused expression. I-I'm marrying Edward Garland Wilson. But you should know that, if you received an invitation to the wedding." Her brow furrowed slightly. "Are you crashing my wedding? Who are you?"

  "Just one more question," Sean said. "Is your groom about six-one, dark hair, graying at the temples?"

  "Yes," Laurel said. "Are you a friend of Edward?"

  "Not exactly. But he did send me here to give you a message," Sean said.

  Her expression brightened. "He did? Oh, that's very sweet. But he could have come himself. I don't care about those silly superstitions about seeing the bride before the ceremony. What's the message?"

  Sean cursed silently. Jeez, why had he agreed to do this? He should just turn around and get the hell out of Dodge. He didn't need to break this woman's heart. And he certainly didn't want to see her cry. But he suspected there was no way he'd get out of the room without doing both.

  He took a deep breath and gathered his resolve. "Edward won't be coming to the wedding."

  * * *

  Laurel stared at the handsome stranger, unable to comprehend what he was saying. "Is this some stupid joke?" she asked. Sure, it might be fun to tease the bride on her wedding day, but this was downright cruel. Didn't she have enough to worry about?

  "I'm afraid it isn't," the man replied. "Eddie gave me a hundred dollars to come over and tell you personally."

  "No," Laurel said, shaking her head, panic quickly setting in. "This can't be happening. I have to get married today. There are guests and bridesmaids. I spent two months picking out the music. He cannot get cold feet thirty minutes before we walk down the aisle!" Laurel pushed past the stranger. "Where is he? I want to talk to him." She cursed beneath her breath as she headed to the door. They had an agreement! And he wasn't allowed to back out, especially at the last minute.

  He grabbed her hand as she brushed past him, his touch firm and sure. "He's not here. And you can't talk to him."

  "Why not?" she demanded as she yanked out of his grasp.

  "Because he's on his way to jail," he said.

  Laurel spun around and faced him. "Who are you? And why are you here?"

  "I told you. Eddie sent me. My name is Sean Quinn. I'm a private investigator. And I'm…" He paused. "I'm the one who sent your groom to jail."

>   She gasped. "Jail? You sent Edward to jail?" She wasn't sure what possessed her at the moment. Maybe it was all the stress of the last few months-planning the wedding, making sure everything was perfect, finally finding a suitable man who wanted to marry her. Laurel didn't expect a fairy-tale wedding, but she didn't expect this nightmare, either! She balled her fingers into a fist, cursed beneath her breath, and punched Sean Quinn squarely in the stomach.

  The punch caught him by surprise and the air left his lungs in a loud whoosh. For a moment he didn't breathe. He just looked at her with shock. Then he took a ragged breath. "Nice punch," he said. "I-I guess I deserved that." He slowly straightened. "But I expected a few tears, not a right jab." He cleared his throat. "I think after I explain, you might feel a little better."

  She leveled a withering gaze at him. "The only thing that will make me feel better, Mr. Quinn, is if you disappear into thin air and Edward appears in your place."

  "That's not going to happen. Your fiancé isn't who he pretends to be. His real name is Eddie 'The Cruiser' Perkins. He's a con man and he's wanted in eight states."

  "You must be mistaken. Edward is from a very good family in West Palm Beach. They're in international banking and investments. I met his parents."

  "They were probably actors he hired," Sean said. "That's his modus operandi, according to his sheet. He's very good at what he does. You shouldn't feel bad for being duped."

  "Duped?" Laurel said.

  Sean Quinn gave her a weak smile. "I-I didn't mean duped. I-I'm not saying that you're stupid."

  "Stupid?" She felt an edge of hysteria creep into her voice and she fought the urge to punch him again. "You think I'm stupid?"

  "No," Sean countered. "Not at all. I think you're-"

  "Naive? Trusting? Gullible?"

  He shook his head and swallowed hard. "Like I said before. Beautiful."

  His gaze met hers and for a moment she couldn't breathe. He had the most amazing eyes, an odd mixture of gold and green, strangely intriguing, yet direct, honest. Since he'd walked into the room, she hadn't really bothered to take a good look at him. After all, this was her wedding day. She was supposed to have her mind on her groom.