KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET

by Susan Donovan

  "We need your help," he said softly. "We need to know what's in your gut about these letters, Audie."

  She blinked at him and squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

  "Whose voice is that right there?" Quinn pointed to the big envelope Stanny-O now held in his hands. "When you close your eyes and hear those words … who do you picture saying them? Who talks like that, Audie?"

  She sat perfectly still, but her eyes were wild and going back and forth from Stanny-O to Quinn. She shook her head.

  "You can tell me, lassie."

  She slammed her eyes shut and let her shoulders sag. After last night, she would tell this man anything.

  "I go back and forth with this every day and I still can't figure it out," she whispered, returning her gaze to Quinn. "Sometimes I think I hear Drew. I wish to God I didn't. But some letters—like this one—sound just like him when he gets started on something. But then I tell myself Tim Burke is probably doing this, not Drew, but the letters just don't sound like Tim! None of them do!"

  Audie frowned and shook her head. "I honestly don't know what to tell you."

  Quinn reached for both of her hands and she grabbed on. The simple touch made his pulse race. "Unfortunately, we don't always know people as well as we think we do. Stanny and I see it all the time in this job." He stroked his fingers over the smooth top of her hand.

  "Fine," she said. "Then let's just say it is Tim Burke, because I hate myself for even thinking it might be Drew, you know?" She shook her head, miserable. "Drew is my brother."

  "And you told me yourself that you're strangers to each other," Quinn said, holding her gaze. "We're going to have to talk with him again. And I need to ask you about something else."

  "OK."

  "Can you think of any reason why Drew would want to hurt your mother?"

  "What?!" Audie ripped her hands from Quinn's and stood up. "Are you trying to tell me—" She lowered her voice to a whisper and caught Stanny-O's eye. "Are you guys telling me you think Drew killed our mother?"

  "Look. Sit down a minute, all right?" Quinn pulled her chair closer to him and she sat, her bare knees touching his chinos. "There are basically two ways we can look at this, OK? One way is that these letters and your mother's death are somehow connected. Thinking of it that way, it could be either Drew or Timmy."

  "But—"

  "The other way is to see these incidents separately. Your mother was just a random mugging victim. Your letters are just the sick game of someone who's angry with you. In that scenario, it's more likely Timmy."

  "All right."

  "But either way, it seems we're right back with the same two suspects, so Stan and I were just talking about getting surveillance on both of them, just to be sure. We'll have eyeballs on them and eyeballs on you—and we'll catch 'em."

  Audie looked confused and tired.

  "I didn't mean to dump all this on you right now." Quinn's voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. "But what you said about this latest letter may help us. Thanks for bringing it in. Are you all right, sweet Audie?"

  She nodded gently.

  "Let me walk you to your car." Quinn helped her up, placed his palm flat against the small of her back, and led her out the front door as Stanny-O stared in silence, fascinated.

  When they reached the Porsche, Quinn opened the door for her, but she didn't get inside. Instead, she turned toward him, so close that the tips of her breasts brushed against the front of his shirt.

  "Hi, Detective." One corner of her plump mouth crooked up in a smile, causing Quinn's heart to shudder, because he now knew exactly what she felt like naked beneath him.

  "Hi, Miss Adams." He took a quick look around the parking lot, then leaned into her for a kiss. With his lips against hers, he asked, "Have you recovered from yesterday?"

  She chuckled and pulled back from him. "I'll never recover. Besides, some of it was today anyway. This morning, if you'll recall."

  "Mmmm. I do recall." His mouth was back on hers and she felt his arms go around her waist.

  "Quinn?"

  "Yes?" His warm, soft lips had moved to the side of her neck, the base of her throat, and his fingers were at the top button of her blouse.

  "Not here. Are you busy right now? Can you get away?"

  His head jerked back and she watched him blink. "Are you asking me what I think you are?"

  "Yes. I'm completely depraved."

  "Jaysus, that's good to hear." Quinn shot her a crooked grin and let his eyes scan down below her face. "Look what I've done to you, Audie." He buttoned her blouse and ran his hands nervously through his hair. "Don't get me wrong—I'm glad you're depraved. But yes, I am busy right now. I'm also nearly brain-dead with lust for you, but I've got to get back to work."

  She nodded.

  "Wait. Where the hell is Rick Tinley and why isn't he with you?"

  "He is here," Audie said, moving her eyes over her right shoulder. "He's in the police car right over there, waiting for me."

  "Oh, great."

  She watched Quinn acknowledge Tinley with a brusque wave before he sighed deeply. "Well, woman, we've just gone from rumor and innuendo right into the testimony of a credible eyewitness." He gave her a sheepish grin. "You going to be OK with people knowing you're hanging around with a South Side Irish cop?"

  She fought back the urge to throw her arms around his neck and scream like a ninny. "I'll survive the shame somehow," she said with a wry smile. "But what about you? Is it all right if people know you're chasing some North Shore Protestant Cubs fan?"

  He chuckled deep and low and ran his finger down the side of her face. "You're right. Let's deny everything."

  Quinn's green eyes glowed in the morning light, and Audie heard herself sigh with contentment. Talk of murder, stalking, and betrayal notwithstanding, she didn't think she'd ever been as happy as she was right at that instant, with her heart in chaos and her vision filled with nothing but Stacey Quinn.

  "What's your schedule today?"

  Audie shrugged. "The usual. I've got a National Public Radio spot at noon. I'm going running with Tinley at two. Then I've got the TV segment at five."

  "I'll change over with Tinley at the TV studio and we'll get some dinner."

  She grinned at him. "Sounds good, Quinn."

  "At my house."

  "Sounds real good."

  He leaned closer to her, and she had to close her eyes because he had so much power over her. He whispered roughly in her ear, "Do you think you'll have time in your schedule to be thoroughly ravaged this evening?"

  She produced a tiny squeaking sound and turned her face away.

  "I'll take that as a yes."

  With Audie safely on her way, Quinn returned to the squad room, where Stanny-O sat, waiting.

  "'Lassie'?" he inquired, slowly stroking his goatee and grinning. "'Sweet Audie'?" Stanny-O strolled over to the edge of his partner's desk and held up Audie's untouched coffee cup. "You know, she really should have had some of this, Stacey. The woman looked exhausted."

  * * *

  He stood in the shadows of the WBBS studio and watched her. Her head was tilted demurely and she glowed in the perfect pink jacket, discussing the secret to keeping a kitchen garbage disposal smelling clean and fresh.

  It was something Quinn knew she didn't give a rat's ass about and never would, and it cracked him up.

  He chuckled quietly, shoved his hands in his pants pockets, and wondered if he was already totally, irrevocably, in love with Autumn Adams.

  There she was under the studio lights—everything he needed and nothing he'd ever imagined, all rolled up into one gorgeous package.

  He could see the peek of her sweat socks and running shoes behind the long anchor desk and watched as she nervously tapped one foot against the floor. Quinn's gut twisted. She was his. This disorganized, accident-prone lapsed Presbyterian was all his, and he could hardly believe his good fortune.

  "And as always, thank you, viewers, for another wonderful week of h
andy comments and suggestions," she said.

  Kyle Singer shot a dazzling smile into the camera. "And thank you, Homey Helen—we'll see you again next Monday. In the meantime, don't go away, Chicago—we'll be back with more news right after these messages."

  Quinn watched onetime suspect Kyle Singer kiss Audie on the cheek as she unclipped her microphone. An hour with Kyle was all it had taken to convince Quinn and Stanny-O that he was harmless—and as gay as you could get. He had no interest in Audie beyond friendship.

  Quinn watched her carefully step off the platform and chat with a producer, all Homey Helen from the waist up and all Autumn Adams from the waist down. Her legs looked long and strong and she stood casually with one hand on her hip—like a jock, Quinn thought.

  In his reverie, he was nearly lulled into thinking Audie would make it across the studio without tripping. Then she turned abruptly, smashed into a production assistant, and grunted in surprise as they both went sprawling.

  Quinn helped the women to their feet and walked Audie out through the lobby.

  "If you keep this up, you're going to end up in a body cast."

  "That ought to make things challenging for you."

  "That's one challenge I don't think I want," he said.

  "I warned you I was a spaz." She turned toward him as he opened the front door and smiled down at her. He was one fine-looking man, this Stacey Quinn, all neatly pressed and self-assured and grinning—and he was her man. He'd said so.

  She'd felt it.

  "Whaddya say we go home and freshen up my garbage disposal, sweet thing?"

  Audie laughed hard and swung her arm lazily around his waist, feeling her stride match his down the sidewalk. He squeezed her shoulders.

  "Wanna drive my Porsche?" She tossed him the keys and sidled over to the passenger door.

  "You planning on taking your clothes off in the car again?"

  "Nope. I can wait until we get to your place."

  When they got to his place, Quinn handed her a cold beer and told her to relax out on the deck while he cooked. She did as she was told, realizing with a sigh that she could get used to this. She took down her hair, removed her jacket, kicked off her shoes and socks, and let her head sink back against the chair cushion.

  The next thing she knew, Quinn was crouched in front of her, patting her knee.

  "What?" She bolted to attention.

  "Dinner's ready. You fell asleep. I think maybe I wore you outlast night."

  "Oh." She blinked, trying to focus on Quinn, her eyes opening wide at the sight of the table. "What's this?"

  "Dinner." When Quinn stood up, she saw he'd donned a bright green barbecue apron that read: "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, You Know Something's Cookin'."

  "Nice apron."

  "Thanks."

  He went around to the back of her chair and pushed her closer to the table, then pointed to the serving dishes.

  "Grilled salmon with a warm dill sauce. Saffron basmati rice. Mixed green salad with blue cheese, pears, and caramelized almond vinaigrette. I hope you like it."

  Audie was quiet for a long moment, trying to keep her mouth from hanging open. Then she looked at him casually spread out in his chair right next to her, in his apron, a satisfied grin on his face.

  "You're incredible, Quinn. Thank you for this. You're the only man who's ever cooked for me."

  He chuckled and began to help himself to large amounts of food. "I seem to be a lot of firsts for you, Audie." He didn't look at her. "I hope you're OK with that."

  She just stared at him, still trying to wake up, still trying to put all this in perspective. He had no idea how true that statement was.

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks, Stacey."

  One corner of his mouth curled up in delight. "It's my pleasure."

  Audie served herself some of everything and thought about that statement. "It really is, isn't it? You get pleasure out of cooking and doing things around the house, don't you?"

  "Yes." Quinn was chewing and obviously enjoying the fruits of his labors. "My mother taught me to cook. She taught me to take pride in making things organized and clean so that people could be at ease and happy in our home—you know, hospitality. I think that's why I need to have things in order before I feel free to enjoy myself."

  Audie closed her eyes in pure bliss. "My God, Quinn. This is delicious."

  "Thank you."

  "So." She took a sip of white wine. "Hypothetical situation here. Let's say we're done having this delicious meal and we go into your messy kitchen, but I start taking off my clothes right in front of the dishwasher."

  Quinn raised his eyebrows. "This is purely hypothetical, of course."

  "Of course. So, would you just walk around me to load the dirty dishes or could you let everything sit while you make wild passionate love to me?"

  Quinn chewed and narrowed his eyes at her. "How much time would that take, exactly?"

  "So it would bug you."

  "Yes, it would bug me." He took another mouthful. "I take it that kind of thing wouldn't bother you much."

  Audie giggled. "Well, first off, I don't cook. You realize I don't cook, don't you?"

  Quinn raised one eyebrow. "I saw the penicillin ranch in your refrigerator, woman."

  She snickered. "Oh, yeah, there's that. But even if I did cook, I could easily leave the kitchen till the morning if you were standing naked in front of my dishwasher."

  "This is good to know," he said, taking another bite of salad. "It may ease your mind to know we'll never face that dilemma, because I always clean as I cook."

  Audie's head popped up. "Huh?"

  "Clean as I go along. I wash what I can while the food cooks and soak the rest after I serve. I put the utensils and measuring cups in the dishwasher. I clean off the counter. That way, when the meal's over, it only takes a few minutes and I can go enjoy myself with a clear conscience."

  Audie stared at him. "Wow—I think I read about that in a Homey Helen column once."

  Quinn laughed and enjoyed watching her eat for a moment. "I'm just curious, Audie, and I don't want to piss you off, but didn't any of this stuff ever rub off on you? I mean, didn't you ever see your mother do any of this around the house?"

  Audie went very still, and Quinn wanted to kick himself for asking that. He didn't want her to be sad tonight. He wanted her to relax and have a good time.

  She put her fork down and turned to him. "The truth is Helen didn't have much time for me, even before she and Marjorie started the column. Everything had to be just so—the meals, decorating, cleaning, entertaining my dad's business partners—I always felt like I was in the way.

  "Then when she started the column, she hired Mrs. Splawiniski to cook and a whole parade of cleaning ladies to do everything else, and I don't think my mother ever set foot in our kitchen again unless it was to oversee the latest remodeling project or give instructions to the caterers."

  Quinn stopped chewing and stared at her.

  "So the answer is no. My mother never taught me to cook and never showed me how to make people feel welcome because she didn't have the time—she was too busy telling the rest of the world how it was supposed to be done."

  She picked up her fork again and took another bite of fish. "This has got to be the most delicious thing I've ever tasted in my life."

  "Was there anything at all you liked about your mother?"

  Audie stilled again, then shrugged. "I admired her for being a successful businesswoman. I admired her going for what she wanted in life."

  Quinn leaned back in his chair and studied her. Though he thought he knew her fairly well by now, the initial question he had about Autumn Adams was still the one he couldn't answer—why didn't she just bag the Homey Helen routine and do what made her happy? Why didn't she go for what she wanted in her life?

  "I've decided I'm not going to sign the syndication renewal, Quinn." She looked up at him, her toffee-brown eyes wide and hopeful. "I've decided to quit t
he column and try to go back to the Uptown Alternative School. What do you think?"

  Quinn reached over for her hands and held them between his. "I think that's great."

  "Really?"

  "Really. I've been sitting here trying to figure out why the hell you haven't done it sooner."

  Audie laughed softly. "Because I've been a wimp and a fool, Stacey."

  "That's not—"

  "It's true. I think I've been spending the last year trying to earn the love of a dead woman. Pretty pathetic, huh?"

  "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, it is pretty sorry."

  "I meant I'm sorry you had to go through that." Quinn stroked her hands gently. "So why now? Is it the letters that made you finally decide?"

  "No." She looked right at him. "It was you."

  Quinn blinked his eyes as if he'd heard wrong, and his hands quieted. "Me? How do you figure?"

  She wasn't sure if this was the time to say this. She wasn't sure if there would ever be a right time, because this was going to be another one of those firsts Quinn had mentioned.

  "Because being with you these last few weeks has reminded me what it feels like to be happy. Now I want more, and I can tell you that being Homey Helen isn't the way to get it."

  Quinn was watching her carefully, his eyes focused on her face, and Audie knew he was waiting for her to continue.

  "And I realize that nothing I do is ever going to make her love me, because she's gone. If I want to be loved, I think I should stick with living people. The odds are better."

  He pulled on her wrists. "Come here to me."

  "The kitchen's not clean."

  She landed with a thud against his chest, and his deep laughter rumbled through her. He leaned her back into the crook of his arm and kissed her, pressed her close, and he tasted like caramelized vinaigrette and sweet lust, and Audie was powerless against the slam of desire she felt for him.

  "How much happiness and love do you think you can stand, woman?" His lips were on her throat and his hands were pulling her silk shell from the waistband of her running shorts.

  "I couldn't begin to tell you, Quinn," she said through the giggles. "We'll just have to experiment." She began unbuttoning his shirt.