Kate Hoffmann - Conor

As they headed away from the water toward the interstate, he risked a glance over at her, curious to know what Dylan had whispered, yet too stubborn to ask. Olivia’s gaze was fixed on the road ahead and she clutched her fingers in her lap, as if sitting next to him made her uncomfortable.

Conor turned his eyes back to the road, then noticed a sign for a discount store on the right. He glanced over his shoulder, then pulled into the parking lot. Olivia sent him a questioning look. “Where are we going?”

He smiled. “You’ll see.”

He found a spot near the entrance, then hopped out of the car to open Olivia’s door. But she had already stepped out by the time he got there. Conor took her hand, glad to have an excuse to touch her again, and led her through the front doors. He glanced at the store directory, grabbed a shopping cart, then pulled her along behind him.

When they reached the lingerie department he stopped. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed her a credit card. She looked down at it. “What’s this for?”

“Underwear,” he said. “On the Boston P.D. Go crazy. Buy as much as you want.” A slow smile curled her lips and relief flooded his senses. He could still make her happy.

“Underwear?”

He nodded, his heart warming beneath the delight on her face. Her earlier anger was quickly forgotten. “Even though you’re used to wearing designer clothes, discount is all I can offer for now,” Conor said. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to give her more. “Buy anything else you need.”

With a cry of delight, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a fierce hug. “Underwear,” she said in the same tone that a woman might say “diamonds” or “pearls.” Olivia stared up into his eyes for a long moment. He fought the crazy urge to kiss her, trying to ignore the perfect shape of her mouth and the way her lips glistened beneath the harsh store lighting. He put aside the vivid memories of all the kisses they’d shared already. But, in the end, he couldn’t pass on the chance to steal just one more.

Conor bent his head and touched her lips with his, just barely a kiss, yet enough to satisfy his craving and reassure himself that he’d repaired any damage he’d caused to their relationship. Then Olivia turned and began to pick through the displays and racks. At first, Conor stood back, observing her selections. But when she disappeared into a fitting room, he wandered over to a bin of black underthings. He picked up a pair of panties, no more than two scraps of satin and a bit of lace, and studied them for a long moment.

“Can I help you?”

Conor spun around to find an owl-eyed saleslady looking at him through horn-rimmed glasses. He cleared his throat and quickly wadded the panties and shoved them into his jacket pocket. “No,” he murmured. “I-I’m just waiting for someone.”

“You aren’t planning to steal those panties, are you?” she asked.

Startled, Conor laughed uneasily. Then he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and produced his badge. “I’m a cop,” he said.

She peered at his badge, then back at his face. Conor shifted uneasily. What? Did she think he planned to wear the panties himself? He pulled the panties from his pocket just as Olivia emerged from the fitting room.

“I’m done here,” she said, piling her selections into the cart. “Can we look for a few T-shirts and sweaters?”

“Sure,” Conor murmured, surreptitiously tossing the black panties into the basket as well. Then he gave the saleslady a dry smile and turned back to Olivia. “Come on, let’s go.”

They wandered around the store, Olivia stopping in nearly every department to browse. When she got to the men’s department, she pulled a couple of flannel shirts from a table, then tossed in three T-shirts. Though he didn’t say anything before she moved on, Conor liked the idea of her choosing his clothes. It was a familiar, almost intimate, gesture that warmed him in the same way her touch did.

“Before we go, we need to get some medical supplies,” Conor said after a half hour of shopping. Though he was loathe to put an end to her fun, his side was beginning to ache incessantly. “Bandages and alcohol and adhesive tape.”

Olivia frowned, then moaned softly, her eyes going wide with concern. “I-I’m sorry. Oh, I forgot all about your wound. Let’s go.” She grabbed the cart and hurried down the aisle toward health and beauty. But as they passed the men’s underwear department, Conor remembered he could use some extra boxer shorts. Maybe it was optimistic to believe Olivia might see his underwear again, but it paid to be prepared. He had no idea whether Dylan had thought to bring him clean underwear. Conor veered off and grabbed a few packages, then tossed them into the cart.

When they reached the checkout counter, Olivia picked the merchandise out of the basket and put it on the conveyor belt. But when she came to the black panties, she held them up, then glanced at Conor suspiciously. He forced a smile, then gave her a shrug. “How did those get in there?”

For a moment, he thought she might hand them to the checker to return to the shelf. But then she tossed the panties down next to the others, a tiny grin curling the corners of her mouth. Conor let out a tightly held breath, imagining how she’d look in black satin, imagining himself as he hooked a finger beneath that lace and tugged them down her legs.

As he walked out of the store carrying Olivia’s bags, he considered the possibilities that their purchases held. And though he should have pushed the idea from his mind without a second thought, Conor couldn’t help but wonder what their next night together might bring.

“IT’S A RETIREMENT COMPLEX,” Olivia murmured, staring at the entrance to Waterbrook Manor. “‘A complete residential community for active seniors’?” she read. “I don’t think we’re going to blend in here,” she said.

“Maybe not,” Conor said. “But then this is the last place Red Keenan would look. I doubt that the people here have any underworld connections. And it’s rent-free. No one can track us.”

But Olivia had learned to be suspicious of every situation. They were supposed to be safe at the Happy Patriot and Conor had gotten shot. They should have been safe on The Mighty Quinn, yet they’d stayed there only one night before running again. “Are you sure you can trust your partner? What if he tells someone where we are?”

“He won’t,” Conor said. “He may be green, but he’s loyal.” He put the car into gear and drove up the winding drive, past a group of seniors playing bocci ball and around a crowded putting green. The complex was huge, with four-unit condos set amidst tidy landscaping. They found the address, in a building set back from the road, and parked. But Conor waited before getting out.

“We need a story,” he said.

“Like one with fairies and gnomes?” Olivia asked.

“No, a cover story. Something to tell people if they ask.”

“We could say that we’re renting the condo while Danny tries to sell it. Helping to make his grandmother a little extra pocket money.”

“That’s good,” Conor said. “It makes us sympathetic.” He paused. “And I think we should tell them we’re married.”

Olivia gasped. “What?”

“It only makes sense,” Conor said. “There are bound to be people here who frown on premarital…well, you know…relations. An unmarried couple cohabitating. I just don’t want to give them an excuse to gossip.”

“All right,” Olivia said, seeing the sense in his explanation. Besides, what harm could it do? Just because they said they were married didn’t mean they had to continue the roles behind closed doors. “We’ll tell them we’re newlyweds. That we eloped last week.”