Conor

wasn’t the dangerous one. Conor Quinn was.

CONOR STARED out over Provincetown Harbor, scanning the waterfront for any sign of Brendan and Dylan. The sun was just brightening the eastern horizon and the weather had begun to clear. Stars were visible through the cracks in the clouds and the wind had picked up again, blowing from onshore. The tiny village was beginning to stir and Conor was afraid that they’d be sitting ducks once the sun came up.

He’d parked the jeep in the shadows of a fishing shanty near the docks, giving them a good view of the water and anyone approaching from town. “Damn it, Bren, where are you?”

“What if he doesn’t come?” Olivia asked, her voice thin and tired.

Conor glanced over at her. He was tempted to draw her into his arms, to reassure her with physical contact. But he wouldn’t be touching Olivia Farrell again. Not that he couldn’t exert self-control; she was the one to worry about. He didn’t need her mooning around after him, messing up his concentration and putting them both at risk. “He’ll come,” Conor said. “I called him and he’ll come.”

He felt her gaze searching his face, looking for some sign of the closeness they’d shared just hours ago. When she didn’t find it, she sank down and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm in the chill morning air.

“If he isn’t here in ten minutes,” Olivia said, “I think we should leave.”

Conor felt his temper rise. No way in hell was he going to let her start calling the shots! “I’ll decide if and when we leave,” he said in an even voice.

“I’m just saying that-”

“I don’t need your opinion!” he shot back. Maybe his frustration came from lack of sleep. Or maybe he didn’t like her questioning his competence. Or maybe he didn’t like the fact that she was probably right. But once the words had left his lips, he knew chastising her had been a mistake.

“You seem to forget it’s my life. They want to kill me, not you. I should at least have some say in the-”

Conor turned in his seat and faced her. “And if you refuse to listen to me, I might get caught in the cross fire. So, you see, it’s not just your life. It’s mine, too. We’re in this together.” At least until he got Olivia to safety. Then he had every intention of calling his lieutenant and getting someone else to do the baby-sitting. He’d make sure the cop was trustworthy, of course, but that would be the end of it. He’d rather face a year of desk duty than risk succumbing to the temptation of Olivia Farrell’s body, her sweet lips and alluring smile at every turn.

“There’s a boat coming in,” Olivia said, interrupting his thoughts. “See it over there?”

The low rumble of diesel engines echoed through the crisp air and Conor squinted. As if by magic, The Mighty Quinn appeared out of the darkness. Conor had never cared for that boat. In his mind, The Mighty Quinn had come between his mother and his father, it had taken his father away from home for long stretches of time, and it had forced Conor to grow up way too fast. But he felt pretty damn happy to see her now.

Unlike Conor, Brendan loved the water and always had, using the captain’s quarters on the boat as his home when he was in town during the summer months. During the colder winter months, he usually slept on the sofa at Conor or Dylan’s apartment-or in the bed of his current girlfriend, lost in the throes of a weeklong affair that always ended when he headed out on a research trip or another magazine assignment.

The boat maneuvered through the narrow waters, then headed for empty dock space near the gas pumps. Conor took one final look around, then nodded to Olivia. “Come on. We can go now.”

He stepped out of the jeep, then circled around to take her hand. They didn’t run, just walked calmly toward the water, Conor protecting her back and keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. Conor counted on the fact that Keenan would post his men at the airport and along the highway. Extra personnel would be slow in arriving on the Cape. He’d never expect them to leave on a private boat. When they reached the dock, Conor pressed his palm into the small of her back, urging her forward.

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