people. But Conor remembered the drawing, how sweet and vulnerable her face had looked to his ten-year-old eyes. Even then, he’d doubted his father’s warnings about the opposite sex.
He’d 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 complex-buying 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 hadn’t 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 Ford’s criminal activity to a photo of the guy. He wasn’t bad-looking, Conor mused, in that polished, sophisticated, Ivy League way. A woman like Olivia probably found him endlessly charming… intelligent…sexy, even. Perhaps they’d 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 Boston’s 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 she’d worn a grim expression for most of the day, all traces of irritation had been dissolved by the wine and good food. They’d chatted over dinner, each of them revealing just enough about themselves to keep the conversation interesting. She’d told him about her shop, the excitement of finding valuable antiques, the wealthy clients she worked with, the elegant parties she’d 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 he’d told her about the most interesting cases he’d ever worked. Conor sighed. He really shouldn’t 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 couldn’t deny he was attracted to her, even though he’d always been drawn to women with more obvious beauty. Olivia Farrell’s features were subtle, plain almost, yet so perfectly proportioned that a man couldn’t help but notice. She looked…fresh. 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.
A tiny smile curled the corners of her mouth. She slept soundly, secure in the knowledge that he was there to watch over her. But could he really protect her against the power of Red Keenan? There was no doubt in Conor’s mind that Keenan would risk anything to stay out of prison. He had money and power, and those two in combination could convince unscrupulous men that a favor done for Keenan would be handsomely rewarded-even if that favor involved killing Olivia Farrell.
As he stared down at her, so unaware, so vulnerable, Conor knew he’d step in front of a bullet for her. Not because it was his duty, but because here he could make a difference. Olivia Farrell was worth saving and, for the first time in a long time, he was proud of the career he’d chosen.
He reached out and gently pulled the afghan up around her shoulders. For a moment, she stirred and Conor sat back on his heels, holding his breath. Then her eyes fluttered and before he could move away, she was looking up at him. “Is-is everything all right?” she murmured, sleep turning her voice throaty and breathless.
He nodded, then pushed to his feet and walked to the fire. He heard her sit up, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. “You’re worried, aren’t you,” she said.
Conor turned and looked at her. Her hair was mussed and her nose was red from the cold. She rubbed her eyes, then turned her gaze to his. “Not worried,” he replied. “Cautious. This place may be secluded, but that can work against us, too.”
“Do you really think they’ll come after me out here?”
The fear in her voice caused a stab of regret at his honesty. “No,” he lied. “Your testimony is important, but I think Keenan has more to worry about from your partner. Hopefully, they’ll be able to flip Ford before you actually have to take the stand.”
“Flip?”
“Yeah. They offered him a deal for his testimony against Keenan. He’s refused to talk so far, but as the trial draws closer, he might reconsider. If Ford talks, your testimony won’t be that crucial. And Keenan won’t have a reason to risk adding another murder onto the charges.”
This seemed to reassure her and she pulled the afghan around her shoulders and lay back down on the sofa. “That makes me feel better,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
She closed her eyes and curled up beneath the afghan. For a moment he’d thought she’d fallen back asleep. He braced his hand on the mantel and stared into the fire. But then her voice came out of the silence. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.
Conor smiled to himself. Strange, but right now there wasn’t any place he’d rather be.
3
OLIVIA WOKE UP with a jolt. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes slowly came into focus and she found Conor lying across her body, his hand over her mouth, his breath warm on her face. She wriggled beneath him, but he refused to budge.
“Don’t make a sound,” he warned in a voice just barely above a whisper. “There’s someone outside.”
She swallowed back the choking fear that threatened to erupt in a scream then pried his fingers off her mouth. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
He scrambled off the sofa, then handed her her shoes and jacket. “Put these on-quickly. I want you to go to the bedroom, open the window and wait. I’ll take care of whoever’s outside then I’ll come and get you.”
“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Olivia asked.
He placed a finger over her lips. “I tried to raise the officer outside on my radio, but he didn’t answer. If Keenan found you here, then we’ve got a leak in the department. And we need to get out of here as fast as we can. Now, crawl over to the bedroom and wait beneath the window. If you hear gunfire, I want you to get out as quickly as you can and keep running until you’re safe. Understand?”
Olivia nodded and he smiled. Then he brushed a quick kiss across her mouth. His boldness didn’t surprise her, merely made her feel more confident-and a little warm and tingly inside. “We’ll be all right,” he said. “I promise.”
He moved to get up, but she grabbed his arm. “Please, don’t get shot. I’m not sure I can do this on my own.” She winced. “And I faint at the sight of blood.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “You’ll be all right. If anyone grabs you, just give him a good knee in the crotch. That should give you a decent head start.” A moment later, he was gone, disappearing silently into the shadows of the darkened room. Olivia waited a few seconds, gathering her courage, then slowly began to make her way to the bedroom. Her heart slammed in her chest, so hard that she was certain it could be heard over the howling wind.
She waited for what seemed like eternity, silently praying that the next sound would be Conor’s voice and not gunfire. When she heard her name called softly from outside, Olivia nearly cried out with joy. She scrambled out the
