Kate Hoffmann - The Mighty Quinns - Conor

She peered through a slit in the curtains, staring out at the restless waters of Cape Cod Bay, a sick shade of green and gray beneath the slowly rising sun. Rubbing her arms through the thick wool sweater, she fought off a shiver. How had she managed to get herself into such a predicament?

“Ms. Farrell, please stay away from the windows. We don’t know who might be out there.”

Olivia sighed. She’d been in protective custody for only two days, but already she’d had enough. She couldn’t breathe without permission from Dudley Do-Right, the by-the-book cop that had been assigned as her shadow. Detective Danny Wright looked all of about fifteen years old, with a fresh-scrubbed face and a pudgy build. If she hadn’t known he was a cop, she might have thought the gun he carried was a toy. Olivia ran her hands through her hair, then turned away from the window. “How much longer do we have to stay here? Can’t we find a place with heat?”

“We’re thinking of keeping you here until the trial.”

“But that’s twelve days away!” Olivia cried.

“We’ve got men posted at the airport, on the highway and even at the ferry landing in Provincetown. The only way one of Red Keenan’s men can get past them is if they come over on a private boat and land on the beach. And with this weather, they’d be crazy to try. Local law enforcement knows all the year-round residents on this stretch of the Cape. This is the safest place for you.”

“Then why can’t I at least go out for a while? You said it. I’m perfectly safe here. We could go shopping, or go for a walk. Maybe get some breakfast in town?”

Detective Do-Right shook his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, miss. If there’s anything more you need, I can send a man out. Books, snacks, whatever. The district attorney wants you to be comfortable.”

“Fine!” Olivia snapped. “Send him out and tell him to buy me my old life back. I want my own bed and my cat and my hairdryer. My shop can’t survive another two weeks of closed doors. My clients are going to go elsewhere. Will the department pay for all the lost business?”

The officer looked genuinely apologetic. “We’re very sorry about that, miss, but you are doing society a great service by helping us shut down Keenan’s operation.”

She sighed then bit back a sharp retort and flopped down on the sofa. She knew she ought to be grateful for the protection, but she felt like a hostage, held against her will. Her incarceration would probably be much more enjoyable if she’d cut Detective Wright a little slack. “Since we’re going to be spending so much time together, you might as well call me Olivia. I’m getting tired of miss.”

“Actually, Ms. Farrell, it’s best if we don’t get friendly. Department policy says that we should keep our relationship strictly professional.”

She grabbed the book she’d been reading from the end table. “I’m going to lie down. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Officer Do-Right was about to issue another warning but she held up her hand to stop him. “And don’t worry, I won’t stand near the windows.”

She closed the bedroom door behind her, then leaned back against it. The least they could do was put her up in a house with heat. It was probably warmer outside. Olivia crossed to the bed and grabbed her jacket, then tugged it on. In truth, she wasn’t tired. She’d been so inactive over the course of her imprisonment she’d gained five pounds. Had she been at home, she’d be heading out for her morning walk right about now, taking her usual route, down Dartmouth to the river and then back again. She’d stop in her favorite coffee shop for a half-caf, no-fat latte, then grab copies of the morning papers, and head for her flat on St. Botolph Street.

Olivia paced the length of the bedroom, then turned on her heel and retraced her steps. She picked up the speed and before long she was jogging in place. If she closed her eyes she could almost feel the brisk morning air on her face, hear the wind rustling in the leaves and smell the river in the distance.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still stuck in what amounted to a prison. Olivia glanced at the window, then walked over and pushed aside the curtains. The drop to the ground wasn’t so bad. She could easily fit through the window without making a sound. All she needed was a little time to herself, some fresh air and exercise.

She reached up and flipped the latch open. Wincing, she slowly pushed the creaky sash up, the wind buffeting her face. The sound of crashing waves filled the room and she waited to see if Officer Do-Right would burst through the door with gun drawn. When he didn’t, she threw her leg over the sash and wriggled out the window. The sandy ground was damp beneath her feet, muffling the sound.

Olivia turned around and pulled the window shut, then stepped out from the shadow of the house and headed toward the beach, avoiding the sight lines from the big wall of windows across the back of the house. The wind cut through her jacket and chilled her to the bone, but the sense of freedom sent her pulse racing and she wanted to dance and sing and shout with joy.

She ran over the dunes, through the wind-whipped sea grass to the hard-packed sand at water’s edge. The roar of the waves filled her head and she jogged along the beach, drawing deeply of the salt air, caught up in the fierce weather. No one had ventured out this morning. Not a footprint marred the damp sand, no human for as far as the eye could see. “There you are, Officer Do-Right, I’m perfectly safe. Not a hit man in sight.”

She wasn’t sure how long she ran but by the time she sat down on a small patch of damp sand, she was breathless. Olivia knew she should go back inside before her watchdog noticed she was missing, but now that she was warm, she just needed a few more minutes to—

Arms clamped around her torso and she felt herself being lifted from the ground. The shock knocked the air out of her lungs and, for a moment, Olivia couldn’t scream. She struggled to catch her breath as she was spun around and tossed over the shoulder of a dark-haired man dressed in a leather jacket and jeans.

He trudged up the dunes, carrying her as if she weighed nothing more than a sack of feathers. Finally, she drew enough air to make a sound. First, she screamed, long and hard, a shriek guaranteed to carry on the wind. Then she began to kick her legs and pummel his back with her fists. “Let me go!” Olivia cried. “This place is swarming with cops. You’ll never get away with this.”

He stopped, then hoisted her up again, adjusting her weight until his shoulder jabbed into her belly. “I don’t see any cops, do you?”

“I—I’ll make you a deal,” she pleaded, staring down at his backside. She’d do well to keep her head about her. Surely she could reason with the man. From the look of his behind, he was young, fit, probably attractive. “I—I won’t talk. I’ll refuse to testify. Your boss doesn’t have to worry. He won’t go to jail. Just don’t kill me.”

She pushed up and looked around, then noticed they were heading toward the house. Officer Do-Right was inside! With his gun! Oh, God, she was about to be caught in a hail of bullets. And the way he was carrying her she’d be shot in the butt first. “You can’t go in there,” she warned. “The cops are in there. See, I’m on your side. I’d never say anything to hurt your boss.”

When he reached the steps to the deck, he grabbed her waist and set her down in front of him, his fingers biting into her flesh.

Olivia swallowed hard, looking up at an expression as fierce as the weather. Even through his anger, she could see he was a handsome man—for a criminal. And his features were strangely familiar. She knew this man. “You!” Olivia cried. “I saw you at the station house. You’re—you’re a—”