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.”
Conor Page 6
