KNOCK ME OFF MY FEET, Page 2

  "Can we go to my regular watering hole?"

  "Sure."

  "Great. That would be Field Box Seats Two-oh-five and Two-oh-six, Gate D, Section One-thirty-four, along the first base line. The game starts in ten minutes."

  Stacey Quinn stopped dead and stared at the pretty, flushed face and the toffee-brown eyes wide with a question. Homey Helen had just asked him for a date—to a Cubs game!

  "I'm not sure I can do that, Audie."

  Her face froze in a smile. "Why not? Are you still on duty? Or aren't you allowed to go to sporting events with taxpaying citizens?" Her smile suddenly collapsed and she shook her head. "Whoops. You've got a wife or girlfriend to go home to."

  He kept grinning. "No wife. No girlfriend. I'm off duty. And yes, I'm allowed to accept your offer."

  Her brows knit together. "Then what's the—"

  "I'm a White Sox fan, Miss Adams, born and bred."

  "Oh, is that all?" She slipped her arm through his and pulled him to a walk beside her. "It'll be our little secret then."

  * * *

  Stacey Quinn tried to keep his head down as much as he could. There were television cameras tucked away all over the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, and there was no way he could allow his mug to end up on television. If his father and brothers ever found out he had gone to a Cubs game, his life would be barely worth living.

  "Do you want a hot dog?" Audie tapped his knee. "I'm starving."

  "Sure, I'll go to the—"

  Audie suddenly stood up, brought a thumb and middle finger against her tongue, and let a piercing whistle rip through the ballpark. "Yo! Hot dog here!"

  The kid with the metal box of steaming Eckridge red hots caught her eye and nodded. He was on his way, taking two steps at a time to get to her.

  This was too much. Quinn let his head fall into his hand and starting laughing for real now. Martha Stewart, Carmen Electra, and what else? Athlete. Beer drinker. Whistler. A sense of humor and a sharp, albeit criminally inclined, mind.

  He should probably just get down on his knees now, in the middle of the second inning, and ask her to be the mother of his children.

  She took out a wad of bills from some hidden interior pocket of her shorts and began to pay for the hot dogs.

  "I've got this," Quinn said, standing and pushing her hand away. He gave the kid a ten-dollar bill and handed her one of the warm bundles.

  Audie stood very still, feeling the blood thump in her veins. "You got the beers. I should get the hot dogs."

  Quinn sat down with a shrug and began squeezing out a neat crosshatched layer of mustard along the inside of the bun. "I got it."

  Audie collapsed in her seat and left the foil-wrapped package untouched in her lap. She'd suddenly lost her appetite.

  "We're not dating, Detective. I just wanted to split the costs."

  "You don't have to."

  She laughed a little. "I know I don't have to—but I want to!" She stared at him, incredulous. "I'm the one who invited you to come, and I can pay for anything I choose."

  Quinn raised the hot dog and bun to his mouth and took a large, but tidy, bite. He looked out on the emerald green grass and watched the Padres take the field. He could hardly believe he was sitting in a National League park, watching a National League game. He'd probably go to hell for this.

  "Are you listening to me?" Audie whacked him in the shoulder.

  Quinn turned slowly toward her, one eyebrow arched high in surprise as he looked at his arm and then at her. "That's assaulting an officer," he said calmly. "I might be forced to use my handcuffs on you."

  Audie rolled her eyes. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She just wanted company for the game, and he was extremely cute. And they did need to talk. But it was clear he was the kind of man she'd clash with on a regular basis. This was a mistake.

  "Detective. I can see that you're a wildly progressive man, so it must have occurred to you that I might enjoy paying for half of our purchases this evening, that I might even prefer it."

  Quinn took another bite, then dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. He reached for the large plastic cup of Old Style beer below his seat and took a gulp. "Not really."

  He watched absently as Sammy Sosa hit a little hopper over the head of the second baseman for a single. It seemed everyone was on their feet cheering but them.

  Audie glared at him—what a jerk this Stacey Quinn was! She unwrapped her hot dog and ate in silence as the Cubs ended the inning with Sosa on base. A wasted hit. A wasted evening.

  "I'm sorry."

  Audie's eyes popped and she stared in disbelief at the detective, a mouthful of hot dog now lodged in her throat. Nothing—absolutely nothing—would have surprised her more.

  "They're your season tickets, so I thought I should pay for everything else," he said. "I didn't mean anything by it."

  She blinked. My God, he was a fine-looking man, but then, she'd always found men at their most attractive during an apology.

  Audie was about to say something nice to him when he smiled wickedly and added, "So how long did you plan to let me squirm?"

  "Huh?"

  "When were you going to admit you wrote those letters yourself?"

  A hot and electric shiver ran up Audie's spine and she wrestled for command of her voice. "What are you talking about?"

  "The letters. You wrote them and mailed them to yourself to give you an out."

  The blood was pounding in her skull, hot and blinding. "An out?"

  "So that you could stop writing the column. It obviously doesn't come naturally to you."

  The pounding had mellowed into a quaking rage, and Audie stood up over him. "Go to hell, Detective." She turned, knocking over her beer in the process, and barged down the row of seats to get to the aisle.

  Quinn was right behind her, climbing up the ballpark steps toward street level. "Audie, wait!"

  He had no choice but to look at her lovely round butt, right in front of him. This was not working out the way he'd hoped. Not at all.

  "C'mon, Audie! Wait up!"

  She was running now, and Quinn had to push himself to keep up with her. She was fast, ducking and weaving through the crowd, searching for an open exit gate. Quinn knew she was probably scared, but a decent lawyer could get the charges dropped. Filing a false report wasn't exactly homicide, after all.

  They were out on Addison Street

  now, and she was slicing through the tangle of pedestrians and souvenir vendors to get to Clark Street

  and their parking spot four blocks away. He really didn't feel like chasing her, but he'd do it if he had to.

  There she went. She didn't even wait for the light, and now she was directly across the street from him. "Audie! Please!" he yelled over the traffic.

  She flipped him off and ran faster.

  Quinn made a break across the traffic and nearly got a hold of her arm as she made a hard left and headed into the tree-lined streets of Wrigleyville.

  He was right behind her, shouting, "I can run all night, Audie! But I'd rather talk!"

  She slammed to a halt and turned toward him, and he bashed into her. A wumph escaped her lips as she fell flat on the sidewalk beneath him. Quinn heard the unmistakable sound of a skull hitting concrete.

  Her very female body went limp under him, and for an instant Quinn feared she'd been knocked out. But then she screamed something shrill and unintelligible in his ear, pushed him away, and brought a right fist to the side of his jaw.

  Quinn went sprawling, half of him in someone's tiny front lawn and half on the sidewalk.

  "You jerk! You idiot!" She was on top of him now, pummeling him in the chest and arms.

  Quinn put his hands over his head and absorbed the blows until he could sort out the situation. He couldn't remember the last time he had let a female beat him up.

  Without warning, the punching stopped and she went still, sitting on top of his legs. She began to cry.

  Quinn was paralyzed by the f
eel of her body on top of his, softly rocking back and forth with her sobs. He opened one eye to peek at her.

  "I didn't write the letters, you dumb ass! I want a different detective on the case—someone with half a brain!" She took a gulp of air and rubbed the back of her head. "You hurt me!"

  Quinn felt her begin to rise and suddenly knew exactly how to handle this situation. He sat up, grabbed Audie by the hips, and pulled her down into his lap.

  "What are you—?"

  His mouth was on hers so fast and hard that she didn't have time to catch her breath. It was beyond a kiss—it was a verdict, a claim, an assault—and he tasted like beer and hot dogs and something else, something powerfully male.

  Audie was dizzy. Her head hurt. She was crying. And she felt her body catch fire. She took a quick gulp of air and then gave as good as she got, even as it began to go black around her.

  She couldn't help it—if it was the last thing she ever did in her life, she had to open her mouth to this man and take everything he could give her. She pressed hard against him now, clutched at his back, felt his moan fill her mouth and his hands tug on her disheveled hair.

  Not a word was exchanged between them, and all Audie wanted was the pushing and seeking and taking. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed the back of his neck. She was suffocating. She had to have more of him. She was blacking out…

  "Yo, Romeo and Juliet. This is a family neighborhood." A uniformed officer stood on the sidewalk next to them, trying to hide his amusement with a serious frown.

  When Quinn pulled his lips from hers in surprise, Audie lost consciousness. She fell backward in his arms, her head hanging limp.

  The patrol officer tensed.

  "Area Three Violent Crimes Detective Stacey Quinn," he said, out of breath. "My badge is in my jacket pocket. I can't reach it."

  The officer still frowned. "Then you might want to ascertain if you just killed your girlfriend, sir."

  Quinn nodded. He rolled with Audie until she lay back in the grass. He pulled out his badge and flipped it open, then put it back in his pocket, all the while running his fingers along her scalp.

  "She hit her head on the sidewalk," Quinn said, leaning over her.

  The officer squatted on the other side of Audie's lifeless form. "Do you want me to call an—"

  Audie suddenly sat up, smacking her forehead against that of Detective Quinn.

  "Aaaah!" she screamed, bringing a hand to her head. "God! Get the hell away from me!"

  The patrol officer stood up and adjusted his leather holster. "Take this inside somewhere, OK, folks?" He turned and strolled down the sidewalk.

  Quinn and Audie sat on the grass cradling their foreheads, stunned, breathing unevenly.

  Audie started crying again. "How could you do that?" The words were muffled but full of fury.

  "I didn't mean to knock you over, Audie."

  "Not that!" she yelled. "God!"

  Quinn glanced over at her. His jaw was throbbing. "I'm sorry I accused you of writing the letters."

  She groaned in frustration. "Not that, either!"

  "Then I'm not sure—"

  "Why did you kiss me?" she yelled. "Why did you have to kiss me like that?"

  Quinn wondered if he looked as wild-eyed and confused as she did—he certainly felt that way. He raised his knees and let his wrists dangle over them.

  "God, I'm sorry. That was inexcusable. You can file a complaint, but I … damn, I just had to do it." He rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked up at her with a frown. "Why did you kiss me back like that?"

  Audie sat cross-legged in the grass, her head hanging. "Same reason, I guess." She sniffled. "I just had to." She caught his eye. "I didn't write those letters, you know."

  "OK." Quinn stared absently at the tidy houses along the north side of Grace Street

  , his pulse and breathing slowly returning to normal. He could hear the cheers inside the park, not a block away.

  "It never even occurred to me to do that," Audie continued. "But it's a good idea."

  "What, kissing me?" Quinn was confused.

  "No! Writing the letters!"

  Quinn nodded, giving her the nicest smile he could manage, given that his face felt like it was broken. "You hate being Homey Helen, don't you?"

  A single tear streaked down her face as she nodded slightly. "You could say that."

  "Then why do you do it, Audie?" Quinn scooted closer to her on the grass, and she leaned against him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do.

  "I can't talk about this right now," she said, turning her face into his shoulder. She breathed in the clean smell of him—a mixture of soap and fading aftershave and male summer skin.

  "Is it too complicated?"

  She laughed a little and looked up at him. "Not hardly, Detective. But my head hurts so bad I can't think straight, thanks to you. I think I should go home."

  "Come on. I'll drive you." He was about to get up but paused, kissed her very gently on the forehead, then stood and reached down for her hand.

  This time, she took it.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Thank God for Marjorie Stoddard.

  By the time Audie stumbled up the stairs and through the reception area to her private office, she felt as if her head would fall off. But on her desk was a steaming cup of coffee and a little packet of Tylenol. That woman was amazing—a little too controlling sometimes, but positively clairvoyant.

  After taking her medicine like a good girl, Audie reappeared in the reception room to greet her staff—all two of them.

  "Rough game last night?" Griffin Nash was leaning against the doorjamb to his tiny office, and Audie nearly spit out her coffee.

  "Good Lord, Griffin! What are you wearing?"

  "Isn't it happenin'?" Griffin tugged at the snug vest and did a little spin, sending the long strips of suede fringe twirling out around his waist. "Found it at that funky little boutique in Wicker Park."

  Audie gawked at him. "Just don't tell me what you paid for it, because I'll just yell at you again."

  "Fifty."

  "We're talking cents, right?"

  "Stop it, you two." Marjorie whipped around in her desk chair and tried to produce a frown of reprimand beneath her laughing eyes. "I swear, I think you two actually get satisfaction out of making each other miserable."

  Griffin smirked at Audie.

  "And really, Audie. The paints are far more hideous than the vest." Marjorie slowly raised her head to catch Audie's eye, and the two women began to howl with laughter.

  Marjorie was right, as usual. Griffin's purple velvet bell-bottoms were uglier by far than the black suede vest. Audie simply hadn't had a chance to comment on them yet.

  Griffin crossed his arms over his mostly bare chest and ignored them both. "You got sixty-seven E-mails to your site yesterday, Audie. You had more than four thousand hits, which was a record. I think it's 'Pet Corner'; I really do."

  Audie took another soothing sip of coffee and nodded at him. "Great."

  "Pet Corner" was a weekly compilation of pet-related hints and something Audie never wanted in the first place. It had been Marjorie's idea, and like most of her ideas, it had proven an instant hit with the readers.

  "You gonna tell her, Marjorie?" Griffin stood up straight and walked toward the large walnut reception desk. His hand reached for the stack of fan mail.

  Audie felt her shoulders sag. "Not another one?"

  Griffin and Marjorie nodded.

  "Oh, crap. Hell."

  "Did that detective show up at the television studio yesterday?"

  For some reason, Griffin's simple question startled Audie, and she just stared blankly at her friend. "Who?"

  "The police detective."

  "Oh! Yes. He did." Audie reached for the letter and cradled it, nearly weightless, in her palm. It was the same white business-sized envelope, the name "Homey Helen" neatly typed front and center, a sing
le generic stamp placed in the corner, covered by a Chicago postmark. It was just like all the others. Her hand trembled slightly.

  "Did you guys read it?"

  Marjorie avoided Audie's eyes and turned to Griffin.

  "What's going on?" Audie demanded.

  "We read it. It's bad, Audie," Griffin said. "This one's twisted. I think the guy's a head case."

  Audie blinked at him. "Well, of course he is! No normal person gets his ya-yas out of threatening a household hints columnist!"

  "Honey," Marjorie said softly. "This one is very weird, and frankly, I'm starting to get worried about your safety."

  Audie sighed and walked around behind Marjorie's chair. She brought her lips down to the chic and short gray hair, fragrant with expensive hair spray, and kissed her on top of her head. "But that's your job, Marjie," she said sweetly. "Without you, I wouldn't have anybody to worry about me, right?"

  Marjorie brought a hand up to stroke Audie's forearm and offered her a brave smile. "I've always done more than just worry about you, and you know it, Autumn."

  Audie hugged her tight. "I know, Aunt Marj." She sighed again, gathered up the rest of the mail, and headed for her office. "What else did I miss yesterday? Anything?"

  "Well…" Marjorie adjusted her bifocals. "Russell called. He wanted to remind you that the Banner contract is up for renewal and you can't keep putting him off."

  "Great." Audie's lawyer and former boyfriend was the last person in the world she wanted to see, and her contract with Banner News Syndicate was the last thing she wanted to think about.

  "Anybody else?"

  "Well, honey, I'm sorry, but Tim Burke called again and he sent more flowers yesterday—with a note. The boy is besotted." Marjorie handed Audie the card.

  "Ugh." She didn't think it was possible, but her headache had just gotten worse. This man would not leave her alone! How blunt did she have to be with him? She tossed the card in the trash can without bothering to read it. "You told him I was dead, right?"

  "Autumn!" Marjorie shook her head with exasperation.