Conor

by Kate Hoffmann

  He shook his head again, as if he couldn’t quite get his mind around the notion that she was a mother. “Geez, Olivia, why didn’t you say something?”

  Olivia managed a contrite shrug and took the phone from his hands. To her surprise, he reached up and touched her cheek with his palm. Another wave of guilt consumed her. “Conor, you don’t have to-”

  He pressed a finger to her lips. “I’ll be all right,” he said. “I can sneak in and sneak out without anyone noticing. If Keenan’s men are watching your flat, they’ll never see me or Tommy. You’ll stay on the boat with Brendan while I’m gone.”

  “But I thought I was safe here. And-well, I was looking forward to a hot shower. I promise I won’t budge from this room.”

  He considered her request for a long moment, then agreed by giving her a brief but potent kiss. Olivia stared up at him and saw that the impulse had taken him by surprise. He cleared his throat and forced a smile. “I’m still going to ask Brendan to keep an eye on things outside.”

  Olivia winced. This had gone entirely too far! She had to tell him that Tommy was her cat, not her son. But she’d been on the receiving end of his anger enough for one day. She’d just have to take her chances when he returned. “Are you positive you’ll be all right?”

  He nodded, then turned for the door. When it closed behind him, Olivia’s hand came to her mouth and she touched her lips. They were still warm and damp from his kiss. “If he gets shot, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself.”

  But then Conor wouldn’t get shot. He wouldn’t allow it. He was brave and strong and clever. And when he returned he’d be seething with anger. But he wouldn’t desert her, no matter what she did to deserve such a fate. For though she’d known him barely a day, she already knew that there was no one else she’d rather trust with her life than Conor Quinn.

  4

  CONOR CIRCLED the block once just to make sure the house wasn’t being watched. He didn’t expect any surveillance at the landlady’s place, though it never hurt to be certain. But he wanted the chance to check out Olivia’s flat as well. He noticed a nondescript sedan with tinted windows nearby and made a note to call Danny and have him check it out.

  He parked Dylan’s Mustang a block away, then kept to the shadows of the houses. He took one last look over his shoulder before he climbed the front steps and rang the bell. Like so many other homes on St. Botolph Street, the spacious redbrick townhouse, once inhabited by a single family, was now divided into several apartments.

  The lace curtain over the window fluttered and then the door flew open. He found himself face-to-face with an elderly woman, her gray hair askew and her faded housedress wrinkled. “It’s about time,” she muttered.

  “Are you Mrs. Callahan?”

  The woman nodded, her thin lips pursed.

  “I’m here to pick up Tommy,” Conor said.

  She motioned him inside, then slammed the front door behind him. They were both crammed into a tiny little foyer and he pressed himself back against the wall as she moved around him, her ample body brushing up against his. “I’m damn glad to be rid of him,” she said. “He’s nothin’ but trouble. Stays up all night long, sleeps all day, never stops eating. And the noise is about driving me to drink.”

  Olivia must have been in a desperate state to leave her son with such a harridan, Conor mused. He was glad that he’d be responsible for reuniting mother and son. And though protecting the two of them would be more work, at least there’d be a buffer between them, a reason to keep from touching her at every whim. “Where is he?” he asked, holding his arms up above his head to avoid touching the woman.

  “He’s on the bed in my bedroom.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d gather his things. I don’t have much time.”

  Mrs. Callahan muttered a curse. “I should make you get him. He’s got a wicked temper, that one. He’ll scratch your eyes out.” She sniffed disdainfully, gave Conor the once-over, then opened the inside door. “Wait here,” she ordered.

  As Conor waited, he peered out the lace curtains onto the street, puzzling over her words. He’d rather not give the neighbors anything to talk about, he mused. If he could get the kid to his car without being seen, then all the better.

  A few moments later, he heard shouting from inside the house, then an ungodly howl that sounded more like an animal than a human being. He reached for the doorknob, but the door swung open in front of him. Mrs. Callahan shoved a cardboard box into his arms. “Good riddance,” she said and moved to shut the door in his face.

  Conor jammed his foot against the bottom of the door. “Wait a second. Where’s Tommy?”

  “He’s in the box,” the landlady said.

  “In the box?” Conor carefully set the box on the hardwood floor, then peered beneath one of the flaps. A low growl emanated from the interior, and before he could pull his hand away, a paw snaked out and scratched him. Conor gasped, shaking his hand with the pain. “Tommy is a cat?”

  “Yeah,” Mrs. Callahan said. “What’d you think he was, one of them fancy French poodles?”

  Conor didn’t care to illuminate the old lady on his expectations. Right now he was having enough trouble keeping his temper in check. Of all the scheming, low-down, ridiculous- He ground his teeth, reserving his anger for the confrontation he planned to have with Olivia Farrell. “Does he have things? I mean, cat toys, food, stuff like that?”

  “It’s all in the box.” She nodded, then smiled disdainfully. “Just don’t touch his tail or you’ll be scraping pieces of your hand off the ceiling.” With that, she shut the door, leaving Conor cramped inside the little foyer with just a thin layer of cardboard separating his manhood from a spitting and hissing hellcat. He turned and opened the door, then hefted the box up into his arms. “You’re going to pay for this, Olivia Farrell,” he muttered.

  As he walked down the sidewalk with Tommy the cat, the animal made a valiant attempt at escape. Though Conor was tempted to open the top of the box himself, after all the trouble he’d gone through to get the cat, he sure as hell wasn’t going to let him go. After all, the cat was evidence. He was proof that Olivia Farrell had deliberately lied to him, had sent him on a fool’s errand, and had put his life in danger in the process.

  One of Keenan’s men could have recognized him and taken a shot. Or he could be followed back to the motel where Keenan would take care of Olivia as well. Conor checked the street again as he put the box on the passenger seat of the Mustang. Then he jogged around to the other side of the car and hopped in.

  He continued to watch his rearview mirror for signs of a tail and made a series of illogical turns through the South End neighborhood until he was certain he wasn’t being followed. Then he headed for the interstate, his mind carefully reviewing the conversation he was about to have with Olivia.

  Though he wanted to rail at her, to scold her until he extracted both a confession and an apology, Conor was secretly relieved. She didn’t have a child. And without a child, there’d be nothing standing between them. He hadn’t been sure what to think when she first mentioned Tommy, only that he felt an unbidden flicker of envy that her heart might belong to someone else.

  Why feel envy, though? He’d tried to convince himself that his feelings for her were purely professional. After all, protecting people was what he did best. From the time he was a kid, he’d taken more than his share of responsibility. Still, he couldn’t ignore the attraction between them, the sudden impulses to touch her and kiss her.

  Hell, he’d heard about cops falling for the women they were assigned to protect and he’d always thought a guy had to be crazy to risk his career for a woman. But now he knew how it happened. She was just so frightened and needy, and his immediate instinct was to protect and to soothe. And sometimes nothing showed concern better than a kiss or a gentle caress.

  Conor drew a sharp breath. He knew the rules, and the penalties for getting involved with a witness. If anyone found out, it could be the end of his career
. He’d be back to walking a beat or, worse, be off the force altogether. And all for the pleasures of a woman! His father’s warnings rang in his mind. The only thing that could bring down a Mighty Quinn was a woman. “So just keep your damn distance,” he muttered.

  As he drove south toward Quincy, he couldn’t help but wonder if Olivia Farrell was worth the risk. The surge of desire he felt when he touched her, or the warm sensation of her lips on his, always seemed to thwart his common sense. Maybe it was because she was different from the girls he usually dated, girls he met in his father’s pub, girls determined to tame a Quinn. Olivia was sophisticated and refined, elegant, the kind of woman who seemed…unattainable.

  There’d been only one other woman in his life that had eluded his grasp. He’d been devastated when his mother had walked out, yet he still held her up as a paragon of womanhood. She was a lot like Olivia-beautiful, delicate, poised. Even though they’d been poor, she’d always set a proper table and taken special pains with her appearance and made sure her sons combed their hair before leaving the house.

  As he had watched his parents’ marriage fall apart before his eyes, Conor wondered why Fiona McClain had married Seamus Quinn in the first place. They were like caviar and sardines, from the same place yet worlds apart. His mind drifted back to memories of happier times. But laced within those images were thoughts of Olivia. This time, he didn’t brush them aside. Instead, like the rain pelting against the windshield, he let them wash over him. From now on that would be all he’d allow himself when it came to Olivia-an occasional impure thought.

  By the time he pulled off the highway near Quincy, all the anger and resentment had faded. He stopped at a red light just a few miles from the motel, his mind focusing on Olivia. But the soft swish of the wipers was interrupted by a sudden flurry of noise. Conor glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see a shadow pass behind him. His first instinct was to duck, waiting for the sound of gunfire. But then he realized the ruckus wasn’t coming from outside the car, but from inside!

  He glanced over at the box on the front seat. The top was open and it was empty. “Damn,” he muttered. It was like a cyclone had been let loose. Fur swirled in the air as Tommy raced around in circles, leaping over the front seat, bouncing off the back window, tearing across the dashboard, and whizzing past Conor’s head. Conor tried to grab him, but the cat was too fast and his claws too sharp. He nicked Conor’s chin and cheek on one lap around the interior and got him in the hand on another.

  “All right!” Conor shouted. “I’ve had enough of this!” He yanked the steering wheel to the right and pulled over to the curb, ready to face the devil. Either he caught the cat and resumed control of the situation-or he turned the car keys over to Tommy. “I’m not handing the pink slip to this car over to a damn cat.”

  On Tommy’s next pass, Conor gritted his teeth and grabbed at the blurry ball of fur. He caught hold of a leg and wrestled the cat back into the box, but not before suffering another round of injuries. “I should have just opened the window,” he muttered as he threw the car back into gear, keeping an eye on the box.

  By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the Happy Patriot Motor Lodge, he was bleeding from most of his wounds. But his pride had suffered the most. Hell, he’d brought down career criminals, ruthless men who wouldn’t think twice before putting a bullet through his heart, and had come away without a scratch. It was embarrassing to be bested by a cat.

  Conor grabbed the box from the front seat, then stalked toward the door. “She’d better be grateful,” he muttered. “She’d better be damn grateful.” He’d be satisfied with nothing less than a kiss-a long kiss, deep and wet. Brendan appeared out of the shadows and gave him a wave.

  “Where’s the kid?” he asked. He squinted in the low light. “And what happened to you?”

  “There was no kid.” Conor reached up to his cheek and came away with blood.

  Brendan’s eyes went wide. “You mean they got to him?”

  Conor smiled and shook his head. “Tommy is a cat.” He held out the box. “Take a peek. He’s a fine little beast.”

  Brendan stuck a finger under the cardboard flap and was rewarded with a nasty howl and a vicious scratch. “Geez, what’d you do to the poor thing?”

  “What did I do to him? Look what he did to me!”

  With a slow chuckle, Brendan patted Conor on the back. “First a beautiful woman and then a cat. I knew when you finally fell, Con, you’d fall hard. Good luck to you. I expect you’ll need it.”

  Conor stood in the rain for a long moment as he watched Brendan stride off into the darkness. Then he drew a deep breath and fished the room key out of his pocket. “Hold your temper, boyo,” he muttered. “And watch your tongue. You have another ten days with this woman and you’d best make it easy on yourself.”

  When he entered the room, he found it empty. Fear stabbed at his gut, sapping the breath from his lungs. He tossed the box on the bed, ignoring the protests from inside. Had Keenan somehow gotten past Brendan? Or had Olivia slipped out without being noticed? He checked the window, but then heard the sound of the shower running.

  With a soft oath, Conor crossed to the bathroom door and pressed his ear against the scarred paint. At first, he was tempted to open the door and make sure she was all right. But then he heard Olivia singing and he decided to bide his time until she emerged on her own.

  He sat down on the bed next to the box to wait. Inside the cardboard cage he heard a low growl and then silence. Conor patted the top of the box. “Let’s you and me get something straight,” he murmured. “I’m the one in charge here. Either you listen to me or you’ll be eating fish guts out of a Dumpster down by the waterfront.” He paused. “Are we clear?” He turned and looked through a small seam in the cardboard. An orange nose appeared and he was tempted to give it a poke. But he’d learned to be wary of both Tommy the cat and his mistress.

  A few minutes later, Olivia emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped over her head, covering her eyes. Another towel was wrapped around her slender body and tucked between her breasts. Conor held his breath, not sure what to do. Propriety would dictate that he announce his presence, before she accidentally tossed aside both towels. Or maybe he should just make a quick exit and come in all over again. Or he could just turn and face the wall and-

  The time to make a decision passed as soon as she wrapped the second towel around her damp hair and threw her head back. When she saw him sitting on the end of the bed, her eyes went wide. He waited, wondering just how offended she’d be. After all, she was naked under the towel and their relationship didn’t really stretch that far-at least not yet. He slowly stood, his gaze never wavering from hers.

  But instead of the expected indignation, relief suffused her flushed face. She let out a tiny scream, then launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging him fiercely. At first, Conor wasn’t sure what to do. And then he did the only thing he could think of doing. He wrapped his arms around Olivia Farrell’s waist and he kissed her.

  SHE’D BEEN SO overcome by her relief, Olivia didn’t bother to consider the consequences of kissing Conor Quinn. Throwing herself into his arms seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He was alive, he’d come back safe, and any guilt she had over sending him after her cat could now be forgotten.

  Olivia wasn’t sure who ended the kiss, although neither one of them seemed very anxious to pull away. But when she finally looked up into his eyes, she found them clouded with desire. Her gaze flitted over his handsome face and she noticed a trickle of blood on his cheek.

  “You’re wounded,” she said, reaching up to touch him.

  Conor grabbed her hand and gently drew it away. “It’s nothing.” He bent closer, as if to kiss her again, but Olivia wriggled out of his arms, her concern for his injuries taking precedence over her desire to feel his mouth on hers.

  “Sit,” she said, pushing him down on the edge of the bed. Olivia hurried to the bathroom and retur
ned with a damp washcloth. She knelt on the bed next to him and examined his injuries. This served her right! She’d sent him off to retrieve her cat and he’d been grazed by a bullet. He could have been killed and all just to satisfy a silly whim, to give her a sense of control in this game they were playing. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I was selfish. I knew you thought Tommy was a child. Since you left, I’ve been feeling so guilty. I never meant for this to happen. Was it Keenan?”

  “Not exactly,” Conor said, his gazed fixed on her mouth as she tended to his wounds.

  “Then one of his men?”

  “No,” Conor replied. “It was…your cat.”

  Olivia sat back on her heels. “Tommy did this to you?”

  “Yes. And if you ever repeat that story, I’ll fit you for a pair of cement overshoes and toss you in the Boston harbor myself.”

  Her eyes went wide then she saw the teasing glint in his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

  Conor shrugged. “You should have told me Tommy was your cat. I could have been better prepared. As it was, he tore up the leather upholstery in Dylan’s ’68 Mustang. I think he might have barfed on the floor. And I breathed in so much fur I should be coughing up a furball in an hour or two.” Conor gave her a reluctant smile, then took the washcloth from her hand. “If you plan to let that cat out of the box, you’d better keep him away from me.”

  With a giggle, she scrambled over the bed to the box and called a soft “kitty-kitty.” A “meow” sounded from inside the box and Olivia pulled back the flaps. Like a shot, a huge orange tabby leapt out of the box and onto the bed. She scooped him up in her arms and pressed her face into his fur, surprised at how happy she was to see him. “Were you a bad boy for Uncle Conor?” she cooed.

  “I should charge him with assault on a police officer,” he muttered.

  Olivia set the cat down, then gave him a long scratch on the tummy before she turned back to Conor. A shiver skittered down her spine as she caught him staring. She didn’t have to worry about his anger anymore, but there was something much more dangerous pulsing between them. She grabbed the washcloth from his hand and then she rummaged through her purse and found a small bottle of astringent she kept in her makeup bag.