“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