Kate Hoffmann: Liam

“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.”

He winced as she pressed on the cut to slow the bleeding. “I didn’t twitch,” he said. “That was just a reaction to pain.”

Ellie let her gaze drift down to his eyes, an odd mixture of green and gold. She stared at him for a long moment, her heart skipping a beat. She saw no evil in his gaze, no malicious intent. Instead she saw warmth and-amusement?

“Stop it,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ellie said. This was what always got her in trouble! She’d encounter an attractive man and, before she knew anything about him, she’d fabricate a wildly romantic and dashing personality for him. She just loved being in love. It was like a sickness. In fact she’d just read a self-help book, Loving Out Loud, that advised a daily reality check when it came to romance. “Fracture the fairy tale,” the author had written.

Love had been precisely the thing that had sent her running from New York and a job she’d adored. Actually, it wasn’t love, but the lack of love. Not on her side, but on- She cursed inwardly. Ellie had vowed never to speak or think his name again. All right, Ronald Pettibone. When she’d first met him, she’d thought his name was so aristocratic. And he had a nose to match his name. And then she’d-

“Maybe you should call the police again,” Liam said. “They’re taking a long time to respond to a 9-1-1. I could have had a gun. You could be lying dead in the middle of this room right now. My brother is a cop, and I understand what kind of pressure they’re under, but this is ridiculous. My hands are starting to fall asleep.”

“I suppose I could untie you and you could-” She hesitated. “No. No, no, no. I’m doing it again. I can’t believe this. After Ronald, I swore off men and now-” Ellie ground her teeth. “You’re very nice-looking. I’m sure you know that. And if you did save my life, I’m grateful. But I’ve been entirely too trusting when it comes to men and that’s got to stop. Right now.”

Liam frowned. “Who’s Ronald?”

“None of your business!”

“Hey, I’m just making conversation, Eleanor.”

Ellie frowned. “How did you know my name?”

He paused for a moment. “You gave it to the police when you called.”

“I said Ellie.”

“I assumed Ellie was short for Eleanor. Isn’t it? Or are you Ellen? Eloise? Elfreida?”

She tore the wrapping off the bandage and quickly covered the cut. “Ellie. That’s all you need to know.”

“And who’s Ronald?”

Ellie sat back on her heels and picked up the knife again. “My ex-boyfriend. But I don’t want to talk about him. In fact, I don’t think we should be talking at all.”

“We could always talk about you.”

Ellie wagged her finger at him. “Oh, no. Don’t try to turn on the charm. I’m not going to fall for that. I’m impervious. I’m a rock.”

He chuckled softly. “All right. Then maybe you could get me a glass of water. I’m a little-”

The thud of footsteps on the stairs interrupted his request and Ellie jumped up, anxious to put as much space as she could between her and Liam Quinn. He was exactly the kind of man she always fell for. In truth, he was a whole lot nicer looking than the men in her past. And if he really was a photographer, then he was probably a lot more interesting, as well. And he had a better body and a decent fashion sense. And he knew how to choose men’s cologne.

“Police!”

Ellie turned to the door, setting the knife on a nearby table. The two officers rushed into the room, their guns drawn. Ellie sat on the sofa and watched as they patted Liam down and pulled him to his feet. Then they shoved him up against the wall and searched him more thoroughly.

“Would you like to tell us what you were doing in this lady’s apartment?”

“I was passing by on the street and I saw an intruder slip in the front door.”

“Yeah, right. How did you know it was an intruder and not this lady’s husband?”

“Oh, I’m not married,” Ellie piped up.

“He was wearing a ski mask,” Liam explained. “I figured my first impression was probably right. Hey, we can clear this all up right now if you just call the downtown station house. My brother is a detective there. Conor Quinn.”

They turned him around. “We’re from the down-town precinct,” the taller officer said, “and I don’t know any detective named-”

“I do,” the other officer said. “Conor Quinn. He’s in homicide. Tall, dark-haired guy. Wife just had a baby. In fact, this guy looks a lot like him.”

“She’s got my ID,” Liam said, nodding toward Ellie.

Ellie quickly stood and handed the officer Liam’s wallet. “He’s telling the truth. His name is Liam Quinn and he’s a photographer. And-and I think I may have made a mistake.”