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.”
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.”
