Liam

some fool with a gun.

When he reached the third story, he slowly pushed the door open and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. Then he saw him, a figure of average height and weight, moving around the living room, his face hidden by a ski mask. Liam took a deep breath, knowing it would take the element of surprise to subdue the guy. If he could just knock him off his feet, his greater height and weight would win out in the end.

He steeled his resolve and said a silent prayer that the guy didn’t have a gun. Then he launched his body across the room, hitting the burglar square in the back and knocking him to the floor.

ELEANOR THORPE’S EYES opened suddenly and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was-or what had brought her out of a deep sleep. But when she heard a thud come from the vicinity of her living room, she bolted upright in her bed and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

She held her breath and waited, wondering if the sound came from the street. She’d locked the door before going to bed and she lived on the third floor, too high for someone to crawl in the window. But the back porch allowed easy access. After moving from Manhattan, she was well aware of the perils of city living. But there was no denying the fact that someone was in her apartment!

Her mind began to whirl with the possibilities. Should she call the police first and then try to lock her bedroom door? Or should she make sure of her safety first? She reached for her bedside table, then remembered that she didn’t have a phone in her bedroom here, only in her old apartment in New York.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Only to realize it didn’t have a lock! Now what? Ellie took a ragged breath. She had two choices-get to a phone or take her chances with whomever was banging around her living room. Well, three really. She could hide under the bed. Or scream until someone came to her rescue-that was four.

Gathering her courage, she started down the hall. As she stepped into the living room, she grabbed a lamp. Suddenly a figure appeared out of the dark. Ellie shrieked as loud as she could, then swung the lamp at his head. The ceramic base cracked and a soft curse slipped from the man’s lips as he fell to his knees.

“Jeez, what the hell are you doing?” He rubbed his head. “That hurt!”

Ellie clutched the lamp tighter, determined this time to hit her mark. She raised it high. “Lie down on the floor and put your hands behind your head.”

“What?” He cursed again. “I came in here to-”

“Do it,” she threatened. “Or I’ll knock you senseless.”

“I’m not the one,” he said, feebly pointing across the living room. “It was him.”

Ellie glanced in the direction he pointed and noticed a dark figure crawling along the floor toward the open door of her apartment. Her first instinct was to find another lamp and throw it at his head. But she already had one of the burglars subdued. With his help, the police would be able to track down the other.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye just in time to find the man at her feet making a lunge for her waist. With a tiny cry of alarm, she brought the remains of the lamp crashing down on his head. He hit the floor with a thud as the other intruder stumbled down the stairs. Taking in another ragged breath, Ellie hurried over to the light switch and flipped it on.

The man lying on her Oriental rug didn’t look nearly as frightening as he had in the dark. She gave him a poke with her toe just to make sure he was out, then raced through the apartment to find something to bind his hands and feet. Plastic wrap and a few pair of panty hose would have to do.

She quickly trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, sitting on the small of his back as she tied his feet to his hands. Then she sighed softly and began to search his pockets for some kind of identification. If he managed to escape, at least she’d have his name.

He groaned softly and Ellie jumped away from him, retreating across the room. She grabbed up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. “I’m calling the police,” she shouted. “Don’t try to escape.”

“Don’t bother,” he muttered. “I already called them on my way over here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was here to help. I saw that guy breaking into your apartment, so I followed him in.”

Ellie frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let the cops sort it out.”

The emergency operator answered and Ellie quickly gave her the address, only to learn that the police were already on their way. Ellie informed them that she’d tied up the burglar and he’d be waiting for the police when they arrived. Then she hung up and watched her captive. Deciding she’d need another weapon, she ran to the kitchen and retrieved the biggest knife she could find. She perched on the arm of the sofa and watched him warily.

The burglar winced as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. “These knots are a little tight.”

“Shut up,” she said.

A long silence grew between them. Ellie tried to slow her pounding heart and replenish her courage.

“So what do you think he was after?” the burglar murmured.

“Who?”

“The guy you let get away. Is anything missing? When I came in, he was going through your desk. Do you keep money in there?”

“I’m not telling you where I keep my money,” Ellie said. For a criminal he was awfully concerned about her welfare. A guy so handsome shouldn’t have to make his living on the other side of the law. She opened his wallet and began to flip through it. “So…Liam Quinn, what made you turn to a life of crime?”

“What makes you so sure I’m a criminal?”

Ellie wasn’t sure. But what choice did she have? Criminals weren’t known to be the most honest people in the world. She wasn’t about to fall for some line. “If you’re not a criminal, then what are you?”

“A photographer,” he said. “I string for the Globe and one of the news syndicates. There’s a clipping tucked in my wallet, next to the money. That was the first photo I had published.”

She pulled out the folded newspaper and smoothed it on her knee. It was a photo of a little girl dressed in a huge firefighter’s jacket, clutching a ragged teddy bear. Her gaze dropped to the credit line. “Photo by Liam Quinn.”

“I took that three years ago. Her house burned in a fire. Her family lost everything.”

“She looks so sad,” Ellie murmured.

“Yeah. She was. But that photo caused a lot of publicity for the family. People sent money, and by the end of the week there was a fund established to help her family replace everything they’d lost. I felt like I’d done a good thing.” He twisted and sighed impatiently. “Can you just loosen my feet? I’ve got a cramp in my thigh that’s killing me. I promise I won’t try to run.”

Ellie hesitated, glancing down at the photo. She riffled through the rest of his wallet. She found a press pass for the Boston Globe, three credit cards and punch card for a place called Cuppa Joe’s. She also found a small photo of a family at a wedding, an elderly couple standing next to a beautiful bride and handsome groom. They were flanked by six tall, dark and handsome men. One was Liam Quinn.

This didn’t add up. He looked like such a nice guy. Maybe he was only trying to help. “I have a knife,” she said. “And I want you to stay on the floor.”

“Deal,” he said.

Ellie approached him and untied his feet. Then she stepped back. He rolled onto his back and wriggled over to the sofa, then leaned back against it. For the first time she got a good look at his face and she realized that the picture of him in his wallet didn’t do him justice. He was most likely the most gorgeous man, criminal or not, that she’d ever set eyes on. And he also had a cut on his forehead that was dripping blood.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured.

“I’m not surprised,” he said with a chuckle. “You hit me pretty hard.”

Ellie knew she shouldn’t trust him, but he seemed content to wait for the police. She got up from the sofa and backed toward the kitchen. “Don’t move.” She quickly grabbed the box of bandages from the drawer beside the sink, then wet a wad of paper towel. When she returned to the living room, he was right where she’d left him.

“I’m going to bandage the cut on your forehead. If you even twitch, I’ll stab you with this knife. Understood?”

“Understood.”

She knelt beside him, setting the knife next to her on the floor. Then she leaned close and dabbed at the cut with the damp paper towel. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “I don’t think it will need stitches.”