Kate Hoffmann - Conor

“Then I’ll tell you a magical story,” he said, putting on a thick Irish accent. She listened as Conor wove a fascinating tale about a beautiful fairy named Etain. He patiently explained in a soothing tone that fairies, or the Sidh, were not tiny creatures with wings, but human size. They lived in a parallel world, a world that met the real world at times when one thing became another-dusk into night, dawn into day, summer into fall.

Etain had bewitched a king with her beauty, but when the king’s brother met her, he fell in love with her as well. Conor filled the story with vivid detail, and by the time he had finished, she was captivated by the images he wove in her mind. Such a complex man, she mused. So tough and calculating on the outside, and so sensitive on the inside.

Olivia looked up at him. “How do you know that story?”

“My da used to tell us. He wasn’t home much, so we’d try to memorize all the details so we could retell them after he was gone. It was like a competition between me and my brothers as to who could tell it the best.”

Without thinking, she reached up and placed her palm on his cheek. He gazed down into her eyes and, for a moment, she was certain he’d kiss her. Olivia thought about making the first move, curious as to how he’d taste, how his lips would feel on hers. Would they be hard and demanding? Or gentle and tentative?

“We shouldn’t do this,” Conor murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth. “You’re a witness. I’m supposed to protect you.”

Hesitantly, Olivia drew her hand away. She shouldn’t have assumed he’d be as attracted to her as she was to him. Such a fantasy, lusting after her protector. And how silly that she couldn’t see it for what it was-a way to escape the troubles of her real life. He was just a convenient man, someone to make her feel safe and cherished. “I’m sorry,” she said, drawing away.

“Don’t be,” Conor replied uneasily. “It-it’s pretty common. You’re afraid-I’m…reassuring. It happens all the time.”

“Then it’s happened to you before?” she asked.

“No,” he murmured. “Never.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better.” She pushed up from the sofa. “I’m going to go find a bed. Wake me when it’s time to leave.”

She wandered down a long hallway, anxious to put as much distance between Conor Quinn and herself as she could. When she finally closed the bedroom door behind her, she leaned back and sighed. Everything seemed so unreal, as if she were watching herself in a movie. What had happened to her life? Just a few months ago, she’d been consumed with work, finding no time to even think about her pitiful social life.

And now she was tossed into the company of the most intriguing and handsome man she’d ever met. She should be thrilled. But the more she got to know Detective Quinn, the more she began to believe that Red Keenan 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.