The Mighty Quinns: Conor

Had she been standing next to him, she might have crumpled into his arms, hiding her sobs against his shoulder. But the glass between them was like an impenetrable barrier and he’d become nothing more than a voyeur. He’d never seen a woman cry before, except for the hookers he’d arrested, but those tears were usually just for show.

She cried for a long time while Conor watched, memories of his mother’s pain flooding his mind. He knew he should leave and allow her the privacy of her emotions, but he couldn’t. He felt as if his feet were glued to the floor, his gaze caught by her beauty and her pain. The tears had opened her soul and for a moment, he could see inside. He fought the urge to pull open the door and go to her. Whoever she was, criminal or not, she deserved a shoulder to cry on.

Conor reached out to turn the doorknob so he could enter the box, but just as he was about to open the door, he saw Danny Wright stroll into the room, a grocery bag in his arms. Slowly, he drew his hand away, stunned by the unexpected change in the woman’s expression. The transformation was astounding. Almost instantly, the vulnerability vanished and her expression became cool and composed, almost icy. Surreptitiously, she brushed away all traces of her tears and glanced up at his partner, her lips pressed into a tight line.

Conor flipped the switch on the intercom, then braced his hands on the table beneath the window and listened to Danny’s voice, crackling through the speaker.

“Ms. Farrell, I’m Detective Wright. My partner and I have been assigned to protect you until the trial. I’m sorry you’ve been waiting so long, but we’ve been making arrangements to take you to a safe place.”

Conor sucked in a sharp breath. This was his witness? This woman who’d drawn him into her troubles with just a few tears and a stunningly beautiful face? “Aw, damn it,” he muttered, throwing his notepad onto the table. He figured he’d be baby-sitting some wimpy little accountant or slimy two-faced informant. Considering his reaction to Ms. Farrell so far, spending the next two weeks in her company would be hell on earth.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just disappear,” she said, a sharp edge to her voice. “I can go to Europe. I have business associates there who would be happy to—”

“Ms. Farrell, we’ll keep you safe. There’s nothing to worry—”

She brought her palms down on the table and shot out of her chair, the action causing Danny to jump. “I don’t need you to keep me safe,” she cried, her voice suffused with anger and frustration. “I can keep myself safe. I don’t want your help.”

Danny took a step back, caught offguard by the intensity of her outburst. “But—but we won’t have any assurance that you’ll return to testify.”

“What if I don’t testify?” she demanded. “Then you’ll have to let me go, right?”

“Keenan will find you eventually, Ms. Farrell. Because, if you don’t testify, he’ll be out on the street and he won’t leave any loose ends.”

She gripped the back of the chair with a white-knuckled hand. “That’s what I am? A loose end?”

Danny blinked, then shook his head. “Th-that’s not what I meant. I was just telling you what Keenan would think. Listen, I’m going to go find my partner and let him talk to you. He’s a good cop. He won’t let anything happen to you, either.”

Conor snatched up his notepad and stalked out of the observation room, straight through the squad room to his lieutenant’s office. He wanted a reassignment and he wanted one now. He’d even settle for desk duty if that got him out of watching over this woman. Conor rapped on the door, then closed his eyes as he waited for an answer.

“Lieutenant went downtown,” Rodriguez called. “The commissioner is holding some big press conference on his Cops and Kids program. He talked to Danny a few minutes ago. I think your witness is in the box.”

Conor turned on his heel and walked back through the squad room, muttering beneath his breath. He met Danny halfway down the hall.

“There you are,” his partner said. “Are you ready to roll?”

“Lieutenant’s gonna have to find someone else for the job,” Conor muttered. “I’ve got too many open cases to take time off. Besides, District One should be handling this witness. It’s their case.”

“What? You can’t bail on me now. I need you to talk to the witness. Her name’s Olivia Farrell. Red Keenan’s guys took a shot at her earlier this evening and she’s pretty shook up. She doesn’t want to testify. I don’t know what to say to make her—”

“So let her take her chances on the street,” Conor muttered. “If she doesn’t want to testify, she doesn’t have to.”

Danny frowned. “What are you saying? We’ve got a chance here to nail Keenan. Besides murder and drug dealing, the guy’s been running us ragged in vice. You should want him off the street.”

Conor raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. “I do. But I’m not going to talk to her. She’s your responsibility, Wright. You’re the point man on this one. You get her ready to go and you drive her out to Cape Cod. I’ll be in the backup car watching your ass.”

“I gave her some clothes,” Danny said. “Lieutenant figured we should sneak her out of here in disguise, like a suspect transfer. We’ll drive past the South Boston station house on the way out of town, and if you don’t see anyone on our tail, we won’t stop until we get to the safe house.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Conor muttered. “I’ll wait for you in the parking lot and follow you out.”

Conor shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and started down the hall. Suddenly he needed fresh air, time to breathe. What had this woman done to him? With just one look, she’d sapped his strength and sent him running for cover. If he didn’t know better, he’d have to believe his father’s warnings were true. But this was just a job and he could certainly maintain a professional demeanor if he had to. Besides, as with all women in his life, the fascination would soon fade.

Consumed by his own thoughts, his gaze fixed on the floor, he didn’t notice the figure who stepped out of the doorway to the box. She slammed into him and he grabbed her as she bumped against the wall. With a soft curse, Conor looked into the most incredible green eyes he’d ever seen.

She’d changed out of her designer clothes and was now dressed in a faded T-shirt, tattered chinos and a slouchy hat. An old camouflage jacket was clutched in her hands. If he didn’t know her, he might mistake her for one of the vagrants who hung out down on the waterfront. Conor stepped to one side and, at the very moment, she made the same move. Twice more, they tried to get past each other, the two of them participating in some bizarre little tango right there in the hall.

Finally, he grabbed her arms and impatiently moved her against the wall. But the instant he touched her, his anger with her dissolved. Her skin was warm and so soft. A current shot up his arms, and as if he’d been burned, he snatched his hands away. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It—it’s all right,” she said. “It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The sound of her voice surprised him. The intercom in the box had distorted it until she sounded like some harpy fishwife. But here, standing so near to him, her words were low and throaty, wrapping around his brain like a mind-numbing drug, immediately turning him into an addict for the sound. “No, it was my fault,” he said, hoping she’d speak again.

“Can you tell me where Detective Wright is?” she asked. “He gave me these clothes to wear but I’m afraid they don’t fit very well.”

She glanced up at him again and he saw the vulnerability return to her eyes, the hard facade gone. “Detective Wright will be with you in a moment, miss,” he said, steering her back through the door to the box. “Wait in here until he returns.”

With that, he turned and strode down the hall, rubbing his tingling palms together as he walked. “See? She’s nothing special,” he murmured. “Just an ordinary witness. Sure, she’s a beautiful woman. But sooner or later they all turn into clinging, grasping shrews.” Conor repeated these words over and over as he walked to the parking lot.

By the time Danny helped a handcuffed Olivia Farrell into an unmarked sedan and roared off into the night, Conor had nearly convinced himself that his words were true. But as he followed the taillights of his partner’s car, memories of the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice flooded his brain.

She wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but Olivia Farrell was different. Conor couldn’t help but feel a small measure of regret at the revelation. He’d never really know how she was different, or why she made him feel the way she did.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he damn well didn’t intend to get within fifty feet of Olivia Farrell ever again!

2

CAPE COD during an October nor’easter—Olivia Farrell couldn’t think of anything worse, except maybe a root canal without anesthesia. October was supposed to be warm and sunny. But the sky remained endlessly bleak and the wind blew off the Atlantic, seeping through every crack and crevice in the beach house and rattling the single-pane windows until she was certain she’d go mad from the sound. The fireplaces throughout the cottage blazed but they did nothing to take the damp from the air. And the furnace, meant only to keep the pipes from freezing in the winter, did a pitiful job of staving off the cold.

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.”