Kate Hoffmann - Conor

He glanced up at her and she saw it in his eyes, as if the sound of her voice had triggered a realization of what they were about to do. His jaw tightened and then he cursed softly and rolled off of her. Levering up, Conor swung his legs off the side of the bed. “You should probably get dressed,” he muttered.

The regret was thick in his voice. But was it for what they’d already done or for what they couldn’t do? Olivia readjusted the towel then sat up beside him, trying to maintain her composure. The towel suddenly seemed too small and too thin. “I guess we probably shouldn’t do that again,” she said, forcing a smile.

Conor shook his head. “It wouldn’t be recommended. It’s against almost every department rule.”

“And if there weren’t any rules?” she asked.

“I’m a cop and I deal with facts, not hypotheticals,” he replied, the hard edge returning to his voice. He rose and then rubbed his hands together. “Why don’t I go find us something to eat. You can finish…whatever it is you have to finish.”

Olivia nodded, then hurried to the bathroom, anxious to escape his dark mood. She closed the door behind her, then leaned back against it. Her pulse still hadn’t slowed and, though she wore only damp terry cloth, a flush had warmed her skin until it prickled with embarrassment. She turned and stared into the mirror, then sighed.

What stroke of luck-or misfortune-was responsible for all this? Why had she chosen to go into business with Kevin Ford? And why had she walked into the office at that very moment that her partner was meeting with Red Keenan? And why did the detective assigned to protect her have to be Conor Quinn?

“You used to be a lucky girl,” Olivia said to her reflection. “Now you’re plagued with misfortune.”

She tossed aside the towel and gathered her clothes from the floor. But she was loathe to put them back on again. She’d been wearing the same clothes since they’d run out of the cottage on Cape Cod, a pair of jeans, a sweater, a camisole and silk panties. “I don’t even have a change of underwear.”

Olivia pulled on the jeans without underwear, then slipped into the camisole and the sweater. After the Tommy incident, she wasn’t sure how much credibility she had with Conor. A sob story about clean underwear probably wouldn’t go over very well.

She combed her damp hair and considered the best tactic to use, then remembered Tommy. He’d need food and litter and a litter box, maybe a few cat toys. A visit to the nearest discount store would take care of that, along with fresh clothes, underwear and a whole list of luxury items for her, like toothpaste and hand lotion and deodorant.

Olivia slowly opened the bathroom door, but the sound of Conor’s voice stopped her. At first she thought he might be talking to Tommy. Then she wondered if one of his brothers had stopped by. But as she continued to listen, she realized he was on the phone with his station house.

“She’s fine,” he said. “What the hell happened to the officer at the cottage on the Cape? He was supposed to be watching the road and then he was gone.” Conor paused. “He went for coffee and donuts? Listen, I want Carlyle or Sampson assigned to this case. In fact, send both of them. And don’t go through regular channels; I still think Keenan might have someone inside the department.” He paused again. “I can’t. No, it won’t work. It’s…difficult. She’s developed feelings for me. Yeah. You know how that goes. I just can’t deal with her. All right. A half hour. Good.”

Olivia slowly closed the door then sat down on the edge of the tub. He was leaving her to someone else? Just like that? She bit her bottom lip as a tremor of apprehension rocked her body. She trusted Conor. He was the only one who could protect her from Red Keenan. And she didn’t want him to leave!

She fought the urge to walk out of the bathroom and tell him exactly what she thought of him! But then his words ran through her mind.

She’s developed feelings…won’t work…can’t deal with her.

“He can’t deal with me?” Olivia groaned softly. She’d thought that everything that happened between them had come from a mutual desire. Had she misread him? Was he only tolerating her until he could pass her off to one of his colleagues? Oh, God, how humiliating. She glanced around the bathroom, her gaze falling on a small window above the shower.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she murmured. “I just can’t face him.” But the window looked too small to crawl through. Maybe if she just locked herself in the bathroom until the other cops came, then she wouldn’t have to talk to him again. But she didn’t want to wait. All she could think about right now was escape!

CONOR STARED at the bathroom door, then glanced at his watch. She’d been in there for over fifteen minutes, long enough for him to run across the road to the convenience store and grab them a couple of sandwiches and a bag of cat litter. How long did it take to get dressed and fix her hair? Had he grown up with women in the house, he’d probably know the answer to that question. All he really knew now was that fifteen minutes should be enough.

He stood and crossed the room to the bathroom, then rapped his knuckles on the door. “Olivia? What’s going on in there? Are you almost finished? I’ve got us something to eat.” He listened carefully, but there were no sounds coming from inside the bathroom. Conor tried the door and found it locked. “Olivia, open the door.” He knocked again, an uneasy feeling growing in his gut. “Damn it, Olivia, open the door or I’ll break it down.”

The threat was met with no reply. Conor cursed softly, then stepped away from the door. “If you’re in there, you’d better step back.” One swift kick right below the knob was all it took to splinter the cheap wood and to send the door crashing open. He hurried inside, expecting to find Olivia cowering in the bathtub. But instead he found a long pair of legs and a shapely backside hanging from a small window above the tub.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “You can’t get out that window-it’s too small.” He grabbed for her feet to pull her back inside, but she kicked at him, the heel of her shoe catching him in the nose.

“Leave me alone,” she shouted, her voice muffled from the other side of the window.

Conor rubbed his nose. He’d had his share of bumps and bruises on the job, but this case was killing him! “You’ll never get through there,” he said. “You’re stuck.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she called.

“Then just keep still and I’ll pull you out.” This time he grabbed her legs firmly enough so he wouldn’t get kicked again. “Raise your arms over your head.” She did as she was told, and with one good pull, she fell back into the bathroom-and into his arms.

They both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Then she scrambled away from him, brushing her hair out of her eyes and tugging her sweater down from where it had bunched beneath her breasts. Conor sighed and leaned back against the wall. “What were you thinking?”

“Obviously, I was thinking I was a lot smaller than I really was,” she shot back. “Remind me to lay off the French fries.”

“Where did you plan to go?”

“Shopping,” she muttered.

“Shopping?”

“Yes! If you must know, I needed some clean underwear. We ran out of that cottage on Cape Cod so fast that I didn’t have time to grab my things. I’ve been wearing the same underwear for two days.”

“Someone is out to kill you and you’re worried about clean underwear?” he asked.

Olivia nodded, refusing to meet his gaze, her jaw set stubbornly, her arms crossed beneath her breasts.