Kate Hoffmann - Conor

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.

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.”

Olivia must have been in a desperate state to leave her son with such a harridan, Conor mused. He was glad that he’d be responsible for reuniting mother and son. And though protecting the two of them would be more work, at least there’d be a buffer between them, a reason to keep from touching her at every whim. “Where is he?” he asked, holding his arms up above his head to avoid touching the woman.

“He’s on the bed in my bedroom.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d gather his things. I don’t have much time.”

Mrs. Callahan muttered a curse. “I should make you get him. He’s got a wicked temper, that one. He’ll scratch your eyes out.” She sniffed disdainfully, gave Conor the once-over, then opened the inside door. “Wait here,” she ordered.

As Conor waited, he peered out the lace curtains onto the street, puzzling over her words. He’d rather not give the neighbors anything to talk about, he mused. If he could get the kid to his car without being seen, then all the better.

A few moments later, he heard shouting from inside the house, then an ungodly howl that sounded more like an animal than a human being. He reached for the doorknob, but the door swung open in front of him. Mrs. Callahan shoved a cardboard box into his arms. “Good riddance,” she said and moved to shut the door in his face.

Conor jammed his foot against the bottom of the door. “Wait a second. Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s in the box,” the landlady said.

“In the box?” Conor carefully set the box on the hardwood floor, then peered beneath one of the flaps. A low growl emanated from the interior, and before he could pull his hand away, a paw snaked out and scratched him. Conor gasped, shaking his hand with the pain. “Tommy is a cat?”

“Yeah,” Mrs. Callahan said. “What’d you think he was, one of them fancy French poodles?”

Conor didn’t care to illuminate the old lady on his expectations. Right now he was having enough trouble keeping his temper in check. Of all the scheming, low-down, ridiculous- He ground his teeth, reserving his anger for the confrontation he planned to have with Olivia Farrell. “Does he have things? I mean, cat toys, food, stuff like that?”

“It’s all in the box.” She nodded, then smiled disdainfully. “Just don’t touch his tail or you’ll be scraping pieces of your hand off the ceiling.” With that, she shut the door, leaving Conor cramped inside the little foyer with just a thin layer of cardboard separating his manhood from a spitting and hissing hellcat. He turned and opened the door, then hefted the box up into his arms. “You’re going to pay for this, Olivia Farrell,” he muttered.