A muscle in his jaw twitched and he didnt speak for a long time. I dont want to be here any more than you do, Ms. Farrell. But its my job to keep you safe. If you let me do my job, then well get along just fine.
When he wasnt yelling at her, he had a very pleasant voice, deep and rich. His accent was working-class Boston, but there was something else there, a hint of something exotically foreign. You said that youre being punished, she ventured. What did you do wrong?
Nothing you have to worry about, he muttered. As long as I dont lose my temper again, you should be safe. He wandered around the room, checking every window and door, then disappeared into her bedroom. She imagined him rifling through her bag, plucking at the lacy scraps of underwear and smelling her perfume. She could always tell when a man was attracted to her, but Quinn was impossible to read. He was probably telling the truth when he said hed just as soon shoot her.
When he returned, he had a pillow and comforter in his arms. He set them on the back of the sofa. Youll sleep in here tonight, he murmured.
I sleep on the sofa and you get my bed? That doesnt seem fair.
No, he said, you sleep on the sofa and I sleep on the floor. We sleep in the same room, Ms. Farrell. If that doesnt suit, we can sleep in the same bed. Thats up to you. I just need to be able to get to you quickly.
Olivia scowled. Listen, Quinn, I
Conor, he interrupted. You can call me Conor. And theres no use arguing. Im not going to change my mind.
Olivia opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut. Shed never felt entirely safe with Detective Wright. But with Conor Quinn, there was no doubt in her mind that hed do what he had to do to protect her, regardless of her feelings in the matter. When hed grabbed her on the beach, she had to admit shed been scared. What if he had been one of Keenans men? Chances were shed be floating facedown in the bay right about now.
Im going to make a fresh pot of coffee, she said grudgingly. Would you like a cup? He nodded, but when she got up, he followed her into the kitchen. He methodically checked the windows and doors, then sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar. Are you going to follow me around all day? she asked as she filled the pot with cold water.
If I have to, he said. His shrewd gaze skimmed over her body, blatantly, as if he were trying to see right through her clothes. Why did you climb out the window?
Olivia sighed. You have to understand that Im used to my own space, my own life. I never wanted this, never wanted to get involved. I shouldnt be here.
But you are involved, he murmured, his eyes probing, his expression curious.
I tried to explain to the district attorney that I didnt want to testify but
Ms. Farrell, you have a duty to do whats right. Red Keenan is scum, a big player in the mob. With your testimony, we can put him away. A little inconvenience on your part is nothing compared to the pain that man has caused countless innocent people. With that, he pushed away from the counter and walked out of the room. And stay away from the windows, he called.
The rest of the day passed in excruciating boredom. She stayed away from the windows and out of Conor Quinns way. And he stayed just close enough to make her uneasy. Whenever she looked at him, he was watching her, silently, intently. Olivia assumed he was waiting for her to make another run for freedom. But shed already resigned herself to her fate. The trial was twelve days awaytwelve long days spent in the company of the brooding Conor Quinn. Shed need to choose her fights carefully if she expected to survive.
THE SMELLS coming from the kitchen were too much to resist. Conor glanced up from an old issue of Sports Illustrated, then levered himself up from the overstuffed chair hed occupied for the past hour. Furrowing his hands through his hair, he wandered into the kitchen to find pots bubbling on the stove and Olivia Farrell busily chopping vegetables.
Smells good, he said.
She looked up at him for a brief moment, then turned her attention back to the salad she was preparing. I asked Detective Wright for some groceries yesterday. I was getting a little tired of take-out meals and a little angry with my situation, so I made the grocery list as complicated as I could.
He slid onto the kitchen stool. What are you making?
Paella, she said.
What?
Its an Italian seafood stew. They probably had fits trying to hunt down fresh shrimp and scallops. But then, I could afford to wait. Ive got plenty of time, which is what it takes to make paella, and its always better the second day. She looked at him again, this time letting her gaze linger for a long moment. Olivia Farrell had very alluring eyes, Conor concluded. Wide and trusting, ringed with thick lashes. She didnt wear much makeup, allowing her natural beauty to shine through. Theres a bottle of wine in the fridge. You can open it, if you like.
I shouldnt drink on duty, Conor said, reaching for the wine.
Olivia managed a tiny smile. I promise I wont try to escape again. You can have a small glass, cant you? She reached into a cabinet next to the sink and pulled out two wine goblets, then set them down in front of him.
Had this evening occurred under different circumstances, Conor could imagine them on a first date Olivia cooking dinner for him at her apartment, Conor bringing the wine. He grabbed the bottle, then took the corkscrew and opened it. Perhaps if he thought of this as a personal rather than a professional relationship, it might be much more tolerable. Do you like to cook?
Olivia shrugged. I dont cook often, she said, at least not like this. Its kind of silly to cook for one.
Then you dont have a He let his question drift off. Maybe that was getting too personal.
A boyfriend? She shook her head. Not right now. How about you?
He smiled. No boyfriend for me either.
She glanced up, then giggled softly. I meant, do you have a girlfriend? Or maybe a wife?
He poured her a generous glass of wine, then splashed a bit into a goblet for himself. He wasnt much of a wine drinker, but he had to admit that the crisp Chardonnay tasted good. Cops dont make good husbands.
She reached for her glass, then took a sip as she studied him shrewdly. The accent, she said. I cant place it.
Southside Boston, with a dash of County Cork, Conor replied. I was born in Ireland.
She raised her eyebrow. When did you leave?
Twenty-seven years ago. I was six. Conor hated talking about himself. His life had been so ordinary, of no interest to a sophisticated woman like Olivia Farrell. Where are you from, Ms. Farrell? he asked, deftly changing the subject.
Olivia, she said. Ive lived in Boston all my life.
A long silence grew between them as he watched her preparing the meal. She moved with such grace, everything she did seemed like part of a dance and Conor found himself fascinated by the turn of her head or the flutter of her fingers. Even though she was casually dressed in a bulky cable-knit sweater and jeans, elegance and class seemed to radiate from her body.
What made you become a cop? she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Conor pushed up from the stool and circled around the counter to peer into the pot she was stirring. Its a long story, he said.
What made you become a cop? she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
Conor pushed up from the stool and circled around the counter to peer into the pot she was stirring. Its a long story, he said.
Like I said, Ive got plenty of time. Twelve days, in fact. Which is good, because trying to carry on a conversation with the likes of you is like talking to aa bowl of vegetables.
Conor chuckled. I guess I dont talk much.
Ah, a sentence with more than five words, she said sarcastically. Were making progress. Before the night is out, I expect scintillating repartee.
She dipped a spoon into the pot and tasted the sauce. Then she held out the spoon to him. He took her hand and steadied it as he licked the end of the spoon. The feel of her tiny wrist, her soft skin beneath his fingertips, sent a frisson of electricity up his arm.
Their eyes met and, for a long moment, neither one of them moved. Had it been a first date, Conor may have taken the spoon from her hand and swept her slender body into his arms, kissing her until he lost himself in the taste of her mouth and the feel of her soft flesh.
But this was not a first date, he reminded himself. He was a cop, charged with protecting a witness. And fantasizing about this witness, no matter how beautiful she was, would only take his mind off the real dangers that waited for her outside the beach cottage. He drew back, forcing his gaze to fix on a spot over her shoulder. I should go check everything outside before it gets dark, he murmured, schooling his voice into indifference. Make sure Danny hasnt fallen asleep.
He strode to the kitchen door, not bothering to fetch his jacket from the other room. The icy air would do him good, clear his head. Dont go near the windows, he said as he stepped outside.
Conor waved at his partner, stationed in a parked car near the road. He was tempted to switch jobs again with the poor guy. To give him paella and fine wine in turn for endless hours of lukewarm coffee, stale donuts and talk radio. Conor had always taken his job seriously, but it was hard to think about work while sitting in the same room as Olivia Farrell. Why did she have to be so beautiful?
Hed flipped through the case file in the car, but hadnt really bothered to read it in detail. In truth, he didnt want to know more about Olivia Farrell. He already knew she was attractive and desirable and intriguing. But after spending the afternoon in her presence, his curiosity had been piqued. Right now, he wanted to know every detail he could about her and her involvement with Red Keenan.
Maybe, after that, he could start looking at her as just a witness and stop thinking of her as a beautiful woman.
THE LIGHT from the fire had waned and Conor rose from the floor to poke at the embers. Outside the wind howled and shrieked, waves crashing against the shore. Hed watched the weather reports earlier in the day and knew the noreaster was blowing itself out. He thought again about Brendan, wondering if hed put into port yet. The only solace he could find in the storm was that Keenans men wouldnt dare to venture outside.
Inside the beach house, the remains of dinner were scattered across the coffee table, dirty bowls, half-eaten bread, and the empty bottle of wine. Conor glanced over at the sofa. Olivia Farrell lay curled up asleep beneath a soft afghan, her hands clutched beneath her chin. He recalled a picture hed found in one of his Irish storybooks, a drawing of Derdriu, an ancient beauty, betrothed to a king yet loved by a common warrior. Olivias hair, like Derdrius, was a pale shade of gold. The waves and curls spread over the pillow and her perfect skin shone like porcelain in the dim light from the fire.
He tossed another log on the fire. Sparks scattered across the hearth and the log popped and sizzled before it caught fire. His father had often told the tale of how Derdrius beauty had brought only death and destruction to her people. But Conor remembered the drawing, how sweet and vulnerable her face had looked to his ten-year-old eyes. Even then, hed doubted his fathers warnings about the opposite sex.
Hed been sent to protect this woman, been asked to lay his life on the line for her like some ancient warrior. Yet what did he really know about her? Conor crossed the room and pulled the copy of the police file from his duffel bag. Then he wandered back to the fire, drawing nearer to the light to read. From what he could tell, Olivia Farrell was an ordinary citizen, caught up in extraordinary circumstances.
Her partner, Kevin Ford, had been arrested for participating in a money-laundering scheme for organized crime boss Red Keenan, a scheme that had included murder. The mechanics of the scheme were quite complexbuying expensive antiques for Keenan, reselling them to bogus clients for three or four times the value, then handing over the freshly laundered money to Keenan.
Olivia hadnt been aware of the scheme, but she had had the misfortune of overhearing a conversation between her partner and Keenan, providing the only solid evidence to link the two. Conor looked up, wondering if she realized the true danger she was in. He also wondered what kind of relationship she had with Kevin Ford.
He flipped past the report of Fords criminal activity to a photo of the guy. He wasnt bad-looking, Conor mused, in that polished, sophisticated, Ivy League way. A woman like Olivia probably found him endlessly charmingintelligentsexy, even. Perhaps theyd been lovers at one time, maybe still were. Conor shoved the photo back into the file and grabbed the page that included a rundown on her background.
Olivia Farrell. Graduate of Boston College, lived on a nice street in the South End. No criminal record. Single. Twenty-eight years old. Co-owner of one of Bostons most successful antique galleries, Ford-Farrell Antiques. Well-known throughout certain social circles in Boston. Dated an investment banker, a corporate attorney, and a shortstop for the Red Sox. No long-term relationships since college. Both parents living, residing in Jacksonville, Florida.
Conor closed the file and turned his gaze back to her. Stubborn to a fault, he murmured. Possible potential as a kick-boxer. Sharp tongue. Great cook. Incredibly beautiful.
His gaze drifted down to her mouth. Though shed worn a grim expression for most of the day, all traces of irritation had been dissolved by the wine and good food. Theyd chatted over dinner, each of them revealing just enough about themselves to keep the conversation interesting. Shed told him about her shop, the excitement of finding valuable antiques, the wealthy clients she worked with, the elegant parties shed attended.
He told her about the seamy underworld of the vice cop, the endless schemes criminals found to circumvent the law and the frustrations he felt when they got away with it. To his surprise, she seemed fascinated by his work and questioned him until hed told her about the most interesting cases hed ever worked. Conor sighed. He really shouldnt have been surprised. Olivia Farrell was used to sparkling conversation. She could probably make an undertaker sound like he was the most intriguing man on the planet.
She may be out of his league, but Conor still couldnt deny he was attracted to her, even though hed always been drawn to women with more obvious beauty. Olivia Farrells features were subtle, plain almost, yet so perfectly proportioned that a man couldnt help but notice. She lookedfresh. Clean. Pure.
He stood up and quietly walked to her side. Without thinking, he reached out and took a strand of her hair between his fingers. Startled by the silken feel of it on his skin, he drew his hand away then knelt down to examine her face more closely.