Liam let the camera lens move along the length of her body

From his surveillance point, he had a clear view of her through her bedroom window. He watched as she pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her jeans were next and she skimmed them off her hips and kicked them away. “Hmm, black underwear. Pretty racy for an accountant,” he murmured to himself.

He’d been given a picture of her when he’d accepted the job, but that woman had been all conservative and efficient looking, nothing like this beautiful, sensual lady. But Eleanor Thorpe was a suspect in the embezzlement of a quarter million dollars. What better way to pull off a crime than to play the dependable, quietly forgettable employee?

But now she was reaching around for the hook on her bra and Liam’s mouth went dry.

He was about to get an insider’s look at just how unforgettable Eleanor Thorpe could be….

Dear Reader,

The Quinns are back! For those of you who read my first MIGHTY QUINNS trilogy, I’m sure you probably realized that I couldn’t just leave the younger brothers—Brian, Sean and Liam—living life as carefree bachelors. After all, what fun would that be?

The Quinn family has always done its best to avoid commitment. But the three youngest brothers have more to deal with than just the old family legends—where all the men are heroes and the women are schemers. Now there’s a new Mighty Quinn “curse.” After brothers Conor, Dylan and Brendan each rode to the rescue of a beautiful woman in distress, they ended up tumbling helplessly into love. Can Brian, Sean and Liam avoid the same fate? Or will destiny give them their own chance at happily-ever-after?

I hope you enjoy Liam’s story. And watch for Brian and Sean coming in the following months. And then who knows? There are probably a few Quinn cousins out there waiting to find romance.

Happy reading,

Kate Hoffmann

P.S. I love to hear from my readers. Visit my Web site at www.katehoffmann.com for news about all my books, past, present and future.

The Mighty Quinns: Liam
Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my great-great-great-great-grandfather Patrick Doolin,

who provided me with my only drop of Irish blood.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Prologue

THE THREE BOYS hunched down on the floor of the front parlor, peering through the tattered lace curtains at a figure on the front porch.

“What should we do?” Liam Quinn whispered. “We can’t let her in.”

“Answer the door,” his brother Brian ordered. “We have to pretend everything is okay.”

“She’ll go away,” Sean reassured them both. “Just wait.” Sean was Brian’s twin and they usually disagreed on everything.

“No,” Liam whispered. “She’s not going away. Not this time.”

A knot of fear twisted in his stomach and he held his breath. He and his five brothers had been dodging social workers long enough for Liam to know exactly what they looked like. This one wore a gray coat, nearly the same color as the dirty snow that melted on either side of the street. But it was the dour expression and overstuffed briefcase that really gave her away.

“Answer the damn door,” Brian snapped. “Just tell her you’re home sick and Da is napping in the bedroom.”

Liam turned to his older brothers, the twins both glaring at him. He was the swing vote, a position very difficult for a ten-year-old. “What if she wants to talk to him, Einstein?”

“You’ll just have to convince her that he can’t be bothered,” Brian explained. “Tell her he has a contagious flu…and that he’s barfing…and that the doctors said he has to sleep. You can do it, Li.” Brian gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

The doorbell buzzed again and Liam jumped at the harsh sound. The social workers had been a fear for as long as he could remember. They were like the mythical dragons in their father’s tales of the Mighty Quinn ancestors, always lurking in the shadows and waiting to swoop down to tear their family to shreds.

Winter was the worst season for the dragons to strike. In the winter, there was no way they could produce a responsible parent. In late October, Seamus Quinn took The Mighty Quinn down to the Caribbean, following the swordfishing fleet to warmer waters where he’d earn a winter income not possible on the North Atlantic. Since he was due to return at the beginning of April, they were still on their own for a few more weeks.

Liam didn’t exactly have a perfect family, but it was as close as the six Quinn brothers would ever come. Though his older brothers remembered a time when things were better, Liam had never known any other life. Conor, Dylan, Brendan and the twins, Sean and Brian, had all been born in Ireland, a country Liam only knew as an island on a map. But to hear them speak of it, Ireland had been a land filled with magic and mystery and wonderful, happy times.

Liam had tried to imagine what it was like to have a regular family, a father who came home every night and a mother who cooked dinner and read stories. But all that was over by the time Liam joined the family. Their father, Seamus, had brought his wife and five sons to America before Liam was even born. He’d bought a partnership in Uncle Padriac’s long-liner, The Mighty Quinn, working at an occupation that took him away from South Boston for weeks and sometimes months at a time.

Liam had been the first Quinn born in America. He had always harbored a secret guilt that maybe he’d been the cause of his family’s problems. He’d pieced together enough bits of information from whispered conversations between his brothers to know that everything had gone bad about the time he was born. His father had begun drinking and gambling, his mother often shut herself in her room and wept, and when they were together, they fought all the time.

And then she was gone. Conor had been eight at the time, old enough to remember her. Dylan had been six and remembered even less, and, at five, Brendan had only vague memories. As for the three-year-old twins and infant Liam, they’d been left to only imagine the dark-haired beauty who’d sung them lullabies and tucked them into bed.

“Fiona,” Liam murmured, his lips forming her name like a charm against evil. If she were here, he wouldn’t be scared. She was a Quinn, too, and she’d be strong enough to slay the dragon waiting on the porch. “The dragon is leaving.”

The social worker turned and started down the front steps, but suddenly she returned to the door, this time pounding on the weathered wood with her fist. “I know you’re in there,” she shouted. “Mr. Quinn, if you don’t let me in, I’m going to have to involve the police. Your three youngest sons didn’t show up at school today. They’re truant again.”

Why they had to interfere, Liam didn’t understand. He and his brothers were doing just fine. Conor was seventeen now and he had a part-time job that helped pay the bills. And Dylan and Brendan watched over things at home while their father was gone, picking up odd jobs when they could to add to the family treasury. And the twins, Sean and Brian, did chores around the house.

They managed pretty well as long as they stayed out of trouble. He cursed inwardly. Maybe skipping school that day hadn’t been the smartest move, but sometimes the twins could be so persuasive. Besides, they rarely invited him along on their adventures, so he’d been flattered by the invitation.

Liam turned his attention back to the porch. He knew the real reason why they’d asked him today. He served as a good excuse. If they got caught by Conor, Sean and Brian would convince Liam to lie about how he’d had a stomachache or a headache and his twin brothers had been generous enough to stay home with him.

“She’ll call the cops,” Sean muttered. “They’ll bust down the door and take us all away.”

“All right, I’ll do it,” Liam said. “But you’ll owe me.”

“Anything,” Sean said.

“My choice of your baseball cards—and yours,” he said, turning to Brian. “Any ten I want. No dibs or saves.”

“No way!” Brian protested.

“Give him what he wants,” Sean insisted. “He’ll get rid of her. She’ll believe him. People always like Liam.”

Though it was a backhanded compliment, Liam relished it anyway. People did seem to trust him and he did have a knack for disarming most adults. Wasn’t that why the twins always took him along when they planned to pinch candy from the corner store? If they got caught, Liam could always charm the store owner into letting them off the hook.

“Six cards,” Brian said. “Three from each of us.”

“Any ten that I want,” Liam said. “And you have to help me study for all my math tests and my spelling tests for a month. And you have to do whatever I say for the rest of the day.” He knew he was pushing it, but Liam so rarely had any power in the Quinn household.

“No way,” Brian said.

“Deal,” Sean countered.

Brian gave his twin a shove. “Who made you the boss?” A moment later he was pinned on the dusty parlor rug, Sean’s knee pressed into the small of his back. “All right, all right. Deal.”

“You guys go into Da’s room,” Liam said. “Close the curtains and crawl under the covers and pretend you’re him. I might have to prove he’s here. And don’t make any snoring noises. Make it look good.”

“Just get her out of here before Conor and Dylan and Brendan get home. They’ll kill us if they know we let her in.”

“You just do your job,” Liam said, walking to the door. “And I’ll do mine.”

When the twins got to the back of the house, Liam waited a few seconds then pulled the door open a crack. He tried to appear frightened. “What to you want? I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t go away.”

The lady stared down at him with a stern expression. “I’m Mrs. Witchell from County Social Services. I’d like to see your father, Mr. Seamus Quinn.”

“He’s sleeping,” Liam said. “And he said I’m not supposed to let any strangers in.”

“What are you doing home from school?”

“I’m sick. I have a fever.”

“You can let me in,” she said, showing him her identification. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to help.”

Liam shut the door, then grabbed his coat from the pile near the radiator. He slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind him. “I’m not supposed to let anyone inside. But I guess I can talk to you out here.” He sat on the top step, then patted the spot beside him. Mrs. Witchell smiled weakly at his invitation before she sat. “Why do you want to talk to my da?”

“Some of the neighbors are concerned. They say you boys are here on your own. That they haven’t seen your father since before Thanksgiving.”

“No,” Liam said. “My dad is here. He has a job where he works at night so he sleeps during the day.”

“That’s not what they tell me,” she said. “They say he’s off fishing.”

He shrugged. “Then they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I really need to talk to your dad.”

Liam tried to summon some tears, and when one dribbled down his cheek, he said, “He’ll be mad at me if I let you in. And if you wake him up, he’ll be madder still. Can’t he just call you on the phone? I’ll tell him to call as soon as he wakes up.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be good enough.”

Liam paused. He had to play this very carefully. He had a sense that Mrs. Witchell wasn’t easily charmed. But he could also tell that her determination was wavering. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I suppose you could wait inside until he wakes up. Then I wouldn’t be in trouble.”

“That would be all right,” she said.

Liam stood. It was a risky move, letting her in the house. But he had to make her believe that he wasn’t hiding anything. He held the door open for her and she nodded, clearly impressed with his manners. When they got inside, Liam helped her off with her coat, then showed her into the front parlor. Luckily, Conor and Dylan had cleaned the house last night. Though the furniture was tattered and stained, the room looked tidy.

“I’ll just get you coffee,” Liam said. He hurried to the back of the house and put the teakettle on, then tiptoed to his father’s room. In the darkness he could make out a huge lump beneath the bedcovers. “Stay in bed,” he whispered. “She’s in the house.”

Brian bolted upright. “You let her in? Jaysus, I knew we couldn’t trust you to do this. What’s she doing?”

“I’m making her coffee,” Liam said.

“Aw, hell.”

“Just pretend you’re Da. I’ll get her out as fast as I can.” Liam softly shut the door behind him, then turned to find Mrs. Witchell watching him from the end of the hallway. Liam cleared his throat. “He’s not awake yet. I’ll just get your coffee.”

She followed him into the kitchen and Liam watched as she carefully examined the room. Like the parlor, the kitchen was a bit shabby but still neat. “Who does the cooking?”

“Oh, my da,” Liam said, dumping a good measure of instant coffee into a clean mug. “He loves to cook. And he’s a good cook, too.”

“What about when he’s out on the boat?”

“Then Mrs. Smalley takes care of us. She’s a good cook, too.” Liam said a silent prayer that the social worker wouldn’t insist on a conversation with Mrs. Smalley. Though Seamus paid her a small salary to serve as their baby-sitter, she usually didn’t show up. And when she did, she was always drunk. Conor had told her long ago that they didn’t need her help, even though Seamus continued to pay her.

The teakettle screeched and Liam snatched it up from the stove. He’d watched Conor make coffee a hundred times, his brother’s choice of drink when he had to stay up late to study. He grabbed the sugar bowl and scooped a generous measure into the bottom of the cup before filling it with hot water. “Do you want milk?” he asked.

A smile broke across Mrs. Witchell’s face as he handed her the cup. “No, this is fine.” She took a sip and then winced. “It’s very good.” For a long moment she stared at him, then sighed. “I really have to be going. I have another appointment in a half hour. I’m just going to go talk to your father.”

“But he’s not awake,” Liam pleaded.

She stared down at him for a long moment, then sighed. “All right, why don’t I just look in on your father, just to make sure he’s here with you? Then I’ll leave my card and you can have him call me once he wakes up.”

Liam gave her a wide smile, the kind of smile that all the girls at school seemed to like. “All right,” he said. “But you have to promise to be quiet.”

She set her cup down and Liam grabbed her hand, pulling her along to the bedroom. He pushed open the door and allowed her to step inside. The lump on the bed breathed roughly, a perfect mimic by the twins. Liam quickly pulled the social worker back out of the room and shut the door.

“Fine,” she murmured.

By the time Liam showed her out, he could barely contain his relief. He watched her descend the front steps and walk down the block to her car, and as it drove by, he let out a loud whoop. A few seconds later Sean and Brian emerged from the bedroom. “She’s gone!”

Sean grabbed Liam around the waist and gave him a fierce hug. “I knew you could do it. What did she say?”

Liam handed him the card. “She said Da is supposed to call her. Today.” He turned to Brian. “Go get your cards. I want my ten.”

The twins looked at each other, Brian balking at the request. “We made a deal,” Sean admitted.

Liam settled onto the sofa and after Brian and Sean presented him with their treasured collections, he silently flipped through them, weighing the value of the cards he wanted. “Go get me some chocolate milk,” he ordered Sean. “And you have to tell me a story,” he said to Brian.

“No way,” Brian cried.

“You promised. If you don’t tell me a Mighty Quinn story, then I get twenty cards instead of ten.”

“Tell him a story,” Sean ordered.

“You tell him,” Brian countered.

“I’m getting him chocolate milk. And you’re better at stories.”

“Tell me the one about the boy with the silver tongue,” Liam said. “I like that one.”

“This is the story of Riagan Quinn,” Brian began. “Riagan was a foundling—”

“His father was killed in battle,” Liam interjected.

“And his dying mother left him in the forest,” Brian continued grudgingly. “And no one knew his real name, or where he came from. The fairies gave him the name Riagan ’cause it meant ‘little king.’ The forest was wild with wolves, but the fairies watched over him, feeding him drops of dew from their wands.”

“Magic drops of dew,” Liam added.

“Yeah, but that comes later. I’m not supposed to tell that part first.”

Liam snuggled down on the sofa, distractedly examining a Bucky Dent card as his brother’s voice wove the familiar tale. He loved the Mighty Quinn stories, especially this one. When his father or one of his older brothers decided to tell a story, Liam could almost picture Ireland. Brendan was the best storyteller and then his da. But in his da’s stories, the women were always the enemy and Liam wasn’t sure he liked that.

“One day, a poor beggar woman wandered into the forest, looking for food for her starving family and she came upon the wee child. But where were the babe’s parents? she wondered. They were probably doing the same thing she was, gathering food in the forest. So she sat and waited for them to return.”

“But they never came because Riagan didn’t have parents,” Liam said.

“He did. No one knew who they were,” Brian said.

“No, he didn’t. He was an orphan,” Liam said.

“If you know the story so good, then why don’t you tell it?” Brian snatched the Bucky Dent card away. “You can’t have that one. Take the Carlton Fisk.”

“As darkness fell, the woman began to worry,” Liam said, prompting him to continue as he clamped his fingers on the Bucky Dent card and pulled.

Brian gave up the card. “She couldn’t leave the baby in the woods for surely he’d be eaten by the wolves. But she already had seven children to feed at home. She walked away, but her heart had been captured by Riagan’s sweet smile. In the end, she returned and carried him out of the woods. The fairies watched from the shadows, happy to see that Riagan had found a loving home.”

Just then, the front door opened and Conor stepped inside. He shrugged out of his jacket, then glanced over at his brothers, giving them a suspicious look. “What are you three up to? You’re supposed to be doing your homework when I come home.”

“A story,” Liam said. “A Mighty Quinn story. Come and tell it. Brian doesn’t do it the right way. It’s the one about Riagan and the silver tongue.” Conor groaned, but he didn’t refuse. In truth, Conor rarely refused Liam anything. “The lady found him in the forest and took him home. That’s where we are,” Liam prompted.

Conor sat between Brian and Liam, throwing his arms along the back of the sofa. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, then began to spin the tales that had become a regular part of their evenings together. There were so many Mighty Quinn tales to choose from, all of them featuring one of their long-ago ancestors, all of them exciting and heroic.

“Riagan settled into his new family,” Conor said. “And soon their fortunes seemed to change. Everyone in the village came to see the baby and were so captivated by him that they left small gifts of food and clothing. And as Riagan grew, he became more and more handsome. And the drops of dew that the fairies had fed him had given him a silver tongue. Riagan could talk anyone into anything.”

Liam snuggled against his brother’s side, his earlier fears fading. Everything would be all right. Conor would make it right.

“Around the time Riagan was growing tall and strong, the king died and Queen Comyna came into power over the people of Ireland. She was greedy and suspicious and coveted all things of beauty and value, believing these things to be reserved for those of noble birth. And while her husband was generous with the poor people of his kingdom, his queen wasn’t. She went through the kingdom, stripping her subjects of even the tiniest valuables. Times were hard and many people went hungry.”

“But Riagan was a clever boy,” Liam continued.

“Yes, he was. One day, while he was fishing in a stream, he came across a shallow pool, the bottom lined with pretty pink stones worn smooth by running water. He gathered them up and when he got back to his village, he sought out one woman in town, a woman known as a gossip. Riagan showed her one of the stones and told her that a fairy had given it to him and that it was more valuable than gold.”

At that moment Dylan and Brendan came bursting through the front door, joking and laughing. They caught sight of their four brothers lined up on the sofa. “What’s this?” Dylan asked.

“A story,” Liam said. He motioned them over. “Brendan, you tell now.”

Of all the Quinn brothers, Brendan had a special way with words, and if Liam closed his eyes and listened to Bren, he could see the story as if it were a movie in his head.

Conor continued, giving Brendan his cue. “Of course, the story about the pink stone spread quickly around the kingdom and, a few days later, Queen Comyna’s soldiers showed up at Riagan’s door, demanding that he turn over the fairy stones he’d found. But Riagan told them that the fairy had only given him one.”

Brendan sat on the floor and stretched his legs out in front of him. “The next day Riagan retrieved another pink stone from his hiding place and took it to town, telling the gossip that the fairy had visited him again. This time, a local merchant paid him a tidy sum for the fairy stone, but, as expected, the queen’s soldiers soon came to collect the stone from the merchant. Time passed, and again and again, Riagan brought the fairy stones to town. And each time, the wealthy merchants fought to buy them from Riagan, certain that if the queen was collecting the stones, they must be of great value.”

“I love this story,” Liam murmured.

Bren smiled. “Finally, the day came when the queen’s soldiers came to Riagan’s house again and took him away to the palace. Queen Comyna demanded that Riagan give her all the stones he possessed, but Riagan told her that the fairy only gave him one stone at a time, for these stones were very powerful. Once a person possessed them all, they would be granted anything they wished for—wealth, beauty, youth, happiness.”

Liam wondered where he might be able to find a stream in Boston. All he and his brothers needed were a few pink stones. They could use them to keep the family safe. And they could use them for food and to pay the heating bill.

“Now, no one knew how Riagan was able to convince the queen of this fantastic tale, but, many years later, they said it was his silver tongue, which he’d gotten from drinking the dewdrops from the tips of the fairies’ wands. But many believed that Riagan was just a very clever boy, for he not only convinced the queen that the pink stones were more precious than diamonds or gold, he convinced her that trading all her possessions for the remainder of the stones could only increase her wealth a hundredfold. For all those possessions could be immediately replaced simply by wishing for them and so much more.”

“So the greedy queen offered him everything,” Liam said.

“Riagan walked home to retrieve the rest of the stones and, on they way, had to walk through the deep woods where he’d been found as a baby. There he met a fairy who appeared before him in a beam of light.”

“Riagan, you have returned,” Dylan interrupted in a high, squeaky voice. “You have shown yourself to be a kind and clever lad, but now you must become a man and take your rightful place as king. Give the stones to Comyna and she will offer all she owns. Take it. It is your birthright, but you must rule as King Ail-frid did, with compassion and a generous spirit.”

This was the part in which their father usually launched into a long lecture about trusting women, about how all women were greedy and deceitful at heart, and how Ailfrid met his ruin because he loved Comyna and was blinded to her evil side. But Conor and Brendan usually left those parts out.

“And so the charming boy learned of his charmed life,” Brendan said. “Riagan took his place on the throne, and during his reign, the kingdom flourished. And in a crofter’s cottage at the edge of the dark forest, the greedy Comyna lived out her days, with only a bagful of pink stones found on the bottom of a small stream, knowing she had been bested by the boy with the silver tongue.”

Brendan reached over and ruffled Liam’s hair. “How was that?”

“Good,” Liam murmured with a smile. “I feel better now.”

Conor frowned. “What was wrong before?”

Liam heard Sean suck in a sharp breath and Brian nudged him in the ribs, a silent plea to keep his mouth shut. But Liam knew better. Conor was the only one who could keep them all safe. He was the Mighty Quinn and he’d find a way to keep the dragons from descending on the house.

“We skipped school today,” Liam said. “And a social worker came to visit.”

1

LIAM QUINN’S NOSE itched as he stepped into the musty attic, dust kicking up with every step. The place smelled of old wood and the floorboards creaked beneath his feet. A decrepit horsehair couch sat in the corner, and against the far wall he saw a tiny abandoned fireplace, probably used by a former household servant. The first three stories of the Charlestown home were in the midst of renovation, transformed into condos, like so many in this old neighborhood of Boston. But the attic held clues to a different past, when Irish immigrant families had replaced the wealthy shipbuilders who had founded the neighborhood.

Liam glanced into the shadows behind airy cobwebs. Somewhere in the dark corners he knew there were bats waiting to swoop down on him. Hell, he hated bats. “Could it be any colder in here?”

“The presidential suite at the Four Seasons didn’t happen to be on the right street,” Sean muttered.

“I had a date tonight, you know. Cindy Wacheski was supposed to meet me at the pub at ten.”

“You’re going to run out of women in Boston to charm,” Sean muttered.

“Luckily, new women arrive every day,” Liam teased. “I could introduce you to a few, boyo. How long has it been?” He picked up the camera he had hanging from a strap around his neck, peered through the lens at his older brother and snapped the shutter. “You look like a guy who needs sex and a lot of it.”

The flash illuminated the dark attic and Sean cursed vividly, holding his hand up to his eyes. “This is a stakeout. Anyone on the street can see that flash.”

“I’m sure there are hordes of tourists on the street looking up at this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on the historic Boston tour.” He shook his head in derision. “Couldn’t you have found a place with heat? What could possibly be worth photographing in this attic?”

“It’s not here. It’s across the street. Take a look.”

Liam reached down into his camera case and pulled out his telephoto lens, then exchanged it with the one on his camera. He walked to the grimy attic window and looked out at the street. To his eye, there wasn’t anything worth watching outside. The sidewalk below was empty, the narrow street lined with parked cars.

“This is an important case,” Sean said. “If you’re in, you’re in for good. No backing out later.”

“You could at least start acting like you appreciate me more,” Liam muttered. “I’m your brother and your roommate. I pay half the rent, and tidy up after you and collect your messages when you’re out of town. I don’t have to help you out with this case. I have important work of my own to do. What if I get an assignment from the Globe? Being a stringer means that I have to be available. I had a nice photo on page three of the sports section last week. Did you see it?”

“They pay you pennies. And you haven’t paid the rent in three months.”

“So, I’m a little short right now.”

“If you do this job for me, I’ll split my fee with you.”

Sean had been working on and off as a private investigator for nearly four years, starting right after he’d washed out of the police academy—or, more accurately, got kicked out for chronic insubordination. Of the six brothers, Sean was the odd one, quiet, reserved and fiercely private. The only people he truly felt comfortable with were his brothers, and half the time they couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head—especially in the past year or so.

Sean had built his business on tailing cheating spouses and deadbeat dads. He supplemented his income by tending bar at their father’s South Boston pub. And when he needed help, he usually called on his little brother. Liam could always use an extra buck or two.

Sean made a perfect P.I. He was always silently watching those around him. Their eldest brother, Conor, was known as the steady one, and Dylan, the strong one. Brendan had always been a dreamer, an adventurer. Sean’s twin, Brian, liked the spotlight, and was confident and gregarious.

And then there was Liam. His place in the family had been carved out early on. Liam was known simply as the charmer, the pretty boy who breezed through life with more friends and admirers than he could count. Though Liam had always considered his social skills rather ordinary, people just seemed to be drawn to him. Early on, he had learned how to read people. He could see inside their heads and understand exactly what they wanted from him. And if he needed something in return, he would give them what they wanted. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smile or a compliment or simple reassurance. His brothers called it charm.

Maybe that’s what made him a good photographer. He could look through a lens and see a story inside the people he photographed—all their fears and conflicts and doubts. He knew what the public wanted to see in a photograph and he gave that to them. Unfortunately the photo editors at the Boston Globe considered his work a bit too “artistic” for a daily newspaper. “Just give me a news photo,” his editor would say, “not a damn masterpiece.”

“So just how much am I going to make on this job?” Liam asked.

“We’re working for a bank,” Sean replied. “Management found a quarter million missing. They think a pair of employees embezzled it, then took off. After tracking one of them to Boston, they called me. If we find the money, we get ten percent.”

Liam blinked in surprise. Split in two, that was over twelve thousand dollars! He barely made that in a year as a stringer. Twelve thousand would buy a lot of film and lab time. “Why don’t they just call the police?”

“Bad P.R. for the bank. They brag about security on all their television commercials. It would look bad to admit the money is missing.”

“All right. I’m in. What am I looking for?”

Sean stepped up to the window and pulled the moth-eaten curtains back. “She lives there,” he said, pointing to a window across the street.

“She?” Sean handed Liam a photo and he held it up to the light from a streetlamp outside. It revealed a rather plain-looking woman wearing glasses. Her hair was pulled back from her face and she wore a starched shirt with a scarf artfully tied at the neck. “She looks like my third-grade teacher, Miss Pruitt. We used to call her Miss Prunes.”

“Eleanor Thorpe, twenty-six, graduated summa from Harvard business school. Took a job as an accountant at Intertel Bank in Manhattan right after graduation. Considered a stellar employee. Six weeks ago she quit without giving any reasons and showed up here in Boston. She’s looking for another job in banking. She went back to Intertel for references.”

“Isn’t that a little odd for an embezzler to ask for references?” Liam questioned.

“It diverts suspicion. She lives there.” He pointed in the direction of the place across the street. “Third floor in that redbrick, three-flat. All the windows are hers, bedroom on the right, living room on the left. Watch her, keep track of her visitors, keep a schedule of her movements.” He handed Liam another photo, this time of a conservative-looking man. “Her partner, Ronald Pettibone, thirty-one, a co-worker at the bank. I want to know if he shows up. I need photos of them together.”

“That’s it? I’m just waiting for him?”

“Yep. If they were in it together, they should make contact so they can divide up the loot. When I get back from Atlantic City—”

“What’s in Atlantic City?”

“A cheating husband,” Sean said. “Big money and an infidelity clause in the prenup. She needs proof.”

“Why don’t you let me take that job and you can stay in this freezing attic and spy on the bean counter?”

“I wanna know who she sees, where she goes,” Sean said.

“Why don’t you just bug her apartment?”

“You can go to prison for that.”

“And not for spying?”

“Nope.”

“So, how long are you going to be gone? If I were going to Atlantic City, I’d have a little fun, meet some pretty girls, do a little gambling. I know this one lady down there who has a killer—”

“It’s strictly business,” Sean muttered.

Liam laughed. “It’s hard to believe you’re a Quinn. When they were handing out the hound-dog gene, they skipped over you.”

“I don’t spend every spare moment chasing woman,” Sean murmured. “I have better things to do with my time.”

“Hey, I don’t chase women. They just happen to chase me. And why they keep chasing you, I’ll never understand. Maybe they like that aloof, silent act of yours. Or maybe they enjoy the challenge. I can hardly wait for the Quinn curse to catch up to you.”

“It won’t if I stay away from women,” Sean murmured. “You’re the one who should worry.”

Liam frowned. “I happen to love women. All kinds of women. And if I keep moving from one to another, none of them will catch me.”

Still, Liam’s joking about the Quinn curse could only go so far. Throughout their childhood, their father had warned them of the dangers of love, hiding his own mistrust of women in the tales of the Mighty Quinns. But now that three of Seamus’s sons had fallen under a woman’s power, Seamus had declared that they’d been the victim of a long-ago curse.

He’d told the new tale to his sons one night when they were all gathered around the bar at the pub. And though the three oldest brothers scoffed at the idea, the three youngest weren’t so skeptical. Liam wasn’t about to be caught in the same trap that had caught Conor, Dylan and Brendan. In truth, he knew the secret, the reason Olivia, Meggie and Amy had managed to snare themselves a Quinn. “Never ride to the rescue of a damsel in distress,” Liam murmured. For some reason, once a Quinn came to a woman’s rescue, it seemed he was doomed.

He glanced down at his watch. Had this been a normal Friday night, he would have been behind the bar at Quinn’s, scoping out the female clientele and deciding exactly which women he was going to charm that evening. Just because the three eldest Quinn brothers were off the market, women hadn’t given up on the younger trio.

“I bought you beer and sandwiches,” Sean said. “In the cooler. There’s take-out Chinese just down the block. Coffee shop on the corner. If you need to leave, set up the video camera. I’ll be back Sunday night, Monday night at the latest.”

“What am I supposed to do if this guy shows up? Do I tail him or her?”

“Call me. You’ve got your cell phone and my number. Then get as much on him as you can, the make of his car, his plate number, anything that we can use to track him down. Hell, break into his car if you have to.”

“Can’t they put me in jail for that?” Liam asked with a grin.

“Only if you get caught,” Sean said as he walked to the door.

Liam watched as his brother closed the attic door behind him, then turned back to the job at hand. Though the conditions weren’t ideal, his side jobs for Sean were usually pretty easy. He turned back to the window and focused his telephoto lens on the third-floor apartment. The lights were on in all the rooms and he found the subject of their surveillance sitting in the living room. Her back was turned to Liam but he could tell she was reading a book.

Suddenly she stood, holding the book in one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. He quickly scanned the apartment, wondering who the hell she was talking to. Then he realized she was talking to herself. “Ground control, we have a loony here,” he murmured.

Liam let the lens move along the length of her body. She was tall and slender with dark hair that fell to the middle of her back. A pair of faded jeans hugged her backside and her T-shirt was tight enough to reveal delicate shoulders and a narrow waist. “Come on, Eleanor,” he murmured. “Turn around and give us a look. I’m not used to spending Friday night without some feminine companionship.”

But she didn’t turn. Instead she dropped her book and walked into the bedroom, too fast for him to focus on her face. When he caught her there again, Liam watched as she stood in front of the closet. Then, in one slow, sinuous movement, she grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. Liam held his breath for a moment, then let it out slowly. “Wow,” he murmured.

Though he felt a bit like a peeping Tom, he couldn’t drag himself away from the telephoto lens. He snapped a picture and the autowind on his camera whirred ahead to the next frame. “Turn around, turn around,” he whispered.

But as if she were teasing him, she refused. Her jeans were next and she skimmed them off her hips and kicked them away. Dressed only in her bra and panties, she bent to pick up the jeans off the floor, offering Liam a tempting view of her backside. “Hmm, black underwear. Pretty racy for an accountant.” He snapped another photo.

Suddenly the damp chill in the attic didn’t seem to bother him. His blood pumped a little quicker, warmed by the subject in his viewfinder. He leaned forward, pressing the camera even closer to the grimy window. “Now the bra,” he murmured. “Or the panties. I’m easy. You choose.” And then she turned around and seemed to look directly at him, her dark hair tumbled around an exquisite face.

With a soft curse, Liam jumped back from the window, letting his camera drop against his chest. She was beautiful, nothing at all like the photo he’d been given. “Oh, hell,” he muttered, raking his hand through his hair. He’d probably been watching the wrong window. He snatched up his camera and focused it on the building, counting the floors, reviewing the description his brother had given him.

But he was trained on the right place, and when he found her, she had turned again, reaching around for the hook on her bra. He swallowed hard. He’d been to strip clubs before and watched women take off their clothes for entertainment. But this was something more than just a gorgeous body, it was almost…intimate. And when she slipped into a silk robe, he breathed a long sigh of relief.

Who was this woman? She certainly wasn’t the woman in the picture, all conservative and efficient-looking. But maybe that was all a part of it. Sean had said Eleanor Thorpe was a suspect in the embezzlement of a quarter-million dollars. What better way to pull off a crime like that than to play the part of the dependable, quietly forgettable employee?

She moved to the window. “No,” he murmured. “Not the curtains. Leave them open.” But his plea went unheard.

He dragged an old easy chair over to the window and sat, kicking his feet up on the sill. Liam watched the apartment for a long time, his mind spinning images of the woman inside. And when the lights of the apartment went off a few hours later, he took a long sip of the beer he’d opened.

Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes, ready to settle in for a long night. He saw her in his head, turning to face him, letting the silk robe drop to the floor. He imagined her body, perfect breasts, a slender waist, and long and supple legs. And then she began to move, a provocative dance caught by the lens of his camera.

Liam wasn’t sure how long he’d slept or what woke him up—a noise from the street or maybe a sense of something happening. He rubbed his eyes, then looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight and the attic was frigid from the damp spring wind that had picked up outside.

He sat up and rubbed his arms, then raked his fingers through his hair. The apartment was still dark across the street, but he grabbed his camera and looked through the telephoto lens anyway. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded, and nearby a dog barked. And then a strange light appeared in the window of Eleanor Thorpe’s apartment.

Liam slowly stood and focused the lens. The light seemed as if it was coming from a moving source as it cast odd shadows against the living-room windows. “What the—” He adjusted the telephoto, searching, trying to see inside the darkened room. The light moved closer to the window and Liam realized that there was someone inside Eleanor Thorpe’s apartment—someone dressed in black and carrying a flash-light.

“What the hell?”

Was this the man he was waiting for, Eleanor Thorpe’s partner in crime? Or was Eleanor Thorpe about to become the victim of a burglary? Liam wasn’t going to wait around to find out. As he ran to the door and raced down the stairs, he grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 9-1-1. “Burglary in progress,” he said, bursting out the front door. “Six-seventeen Summer Street. Send a patrol car right away.”

Liam found the front door of the three-flat ajar and he took the steps two at a time, trying to keep quiet as he approached. He knew that the police wouldn’t arrive for at least a few minutes and hoped he wouldn’t be facing some fool with a gun.

When he reached the third story, he slowly pushed the door open and allowed his eyes to adjust to the light. Then he saw him, a figure of average height and weight, moving around the living room, his face hidden by a ski mask. Liam took a deep breath, knowing it would take the element of surprise to subdue the guy. If he could just knock him off his feet, his greater height and weight would win out in the end.

He steeled his resolve and said a silent prayer that the guy didn’t have a gun. Then he launched his body across the room, hitting the burglar square in the back and knocking him to the floor.

ELEANOR THORPE’S EYES opened suddenly and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was—or what had brought her out of a deep sleep. But when she heard a thud come from the vicinity of her living room, she bolted upright in her bed and wiped the sleep from her eyes.

She held her breath and waited, wondering if the sound came from the street. She’d locked the door before going to bed and she lived on the third floor, too high for someone to crawl in the window. But the back porch allowed easy access. After moving from Manhattan, she was well aware of the perils of city living. But there was no denying the fact that someone was in her apartment!

Her mind began to whirl with the possibilities. Should she call the police first and then try to lock her bedroom door? Or should she make sure of her safety first? She reached for her bedside table, then remembered that she didn’t have a phone in her bedroom here, only in her old apartment in New York.

She slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the door. Only to realize it didn’t have a lock! Now what? Ellie took a ragged breath. She had two choices—get to a phone or take her chances with whomever was banging around her living room. Well, three really. She could hide under the bed. Or scream until someone came to her rescue—that was four.

Gathering her courage, she started down the hall. As she stepped into the living room, she grabbed a lamp. Suddenly a figure appeared out of the dark. Ellie shrieked as loud as she could, then swung the lamp at his head. The ceramic base cracked and a soft curse slipped from the man’s lips as he fell to his knees.

“Jeez, what the hell are you doing?” He rubbed his head. “That hurt!”

Ellie clutched the lamp tighter, determined this time to hit her mark. She raised it high. “Lie down on the floor and put your hands behind your head.”

“What?” He cursed again. “I came in here to—”

“Do it,” she threatened. “Or I’ll knock you senseless.”

“I’m not the one,” he said, feebly pointing across the living room. “It was him.”

Ellie glanced in the direction he pointed and noticed a dark figure crawling along the floor toward the open door of her apartment. Her first instinct was to find another lamp and throw it at his head. But she already had one of the burglars subdued. With his help, the police would be able to track down the other.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye just in time to find the man at her feet making a lunge for her waist. With a tiny cry of alarm, she brought the remains of the lamp crashing down on his head. He hit the floor with a thud as the other intruder stumbled down the stairs. Taking in another ragged breath, Ellie hurried over to the light switch and flipped it on.

The man lying on her Oriental rug didn’t look nearly as frightening as he had in the dark. She gave him a poke with her toe just to make sure he was out, then raced through the apartment to find something to bind his hands and feet. Plastic wrap and a few pair of panty hose would have to do.

She quickly trussed him up like a Thanksgiving turkey, sitting on the small of his back as she tied his feet to his hands. Then she sighed softly and began to search his pockets for some kind of identification. If he managed to escape, at least she’d have his name.

He groaned softly and Ellie jumped away from him, retreating across the room. She grabbed up the phone and dialed 9-1-1. “I’m calling the police,” she shouted. “Don’t try to escape.”

“Don’t bother,” he muttered. “I already called them on my way over here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was here to help. I saw that guy breaking into your apartment, so I followed him in.”

Ellie frowned. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine,” he said. “Let the cops sort it out.”

The emergency operator answered and Ellie quickly gave her the address, only to learn that the police were already on their way. Ellie informed them that she’d tied up the burglar and he’d be waiting for the police when they arrived. Then she hung up and watched her captive. Deciding she’d need another weapon, she ran to the kitchen and retrieved the biggest knife she could find. She perched on the arm of the sofa and watched him warily.

The burglar winced as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. “These knots are a little tight.”

“Shut up,” she said.

A long silence grew between them. Ellie tried to slow her pounding heart and replenish her courage.

“So what do you think he was after?” the burglar murmured.

“Who?”

“The guy you let get away. Is anything missing? When I came in, he was going through your desk. Do you keep money in there?”

“I’m not telling you where I keep my money,” Ellie said. For a criminal he was awfully concerned about her welfare. A guy so handsome shouldn’t have to make his living on the other side of the law. She opened his wallet and began to flip through it. “So…Liam Quinn, what made you turn to a life of crime?”

“What makes you so sure I’m a criminal?”

Ellie wasn’t sure. But what choice did she have? Criminals weren’t known to be the most honest people in the world. She wasn’t about to fall for some line. “If you’re not a criminal, then what are you?”

“A photographer,” he said. “I string for the Globe and one of the news syndicates. There’s a clipping tucked in my wallet, next to the money. That was the first photo I had published.”

She pulled out the folded newspaper and smoothed it on her knee. It was a photo of a little girl dressed in a huge firefighter’s jacket, clutching a ragged teddy bear. Her gaze dropped to the credit line. “Photo by Liam Quinn.”

“I took that three years ago. Her house burned in a fire. Her family lost everything.”

“She looks so sad,” Ellie murmured.

“Yeah. She was. But that photo caused a lot of publicity for the family. People sent money, and by the end of the week there was a fund established to help her family replace everything they’d lost. I felt like I’d done a good thing.” He twisted and sighed impatiently. “Can you just loosen my feet? I’ve got a cramp in my thigh that’s killing me. I promise I won’t try to run.”

Ellie hesitated, glancing down at the photo. She riffled through the rest of his wallet. She found a press pass for the Boston Globe, three credit cards and punch card for a place called Cuppa Joe’s. She also found a small photo of a family at a wedding, an elderly couple standing next to a beautiful bride and handsome groom. They were flanked by six tall, dark and handsome men. One was Liam Quinn.

This didn’t add up. He looked like such a nice guy. Maybe he was only trying to help. “I have a knife,” she said. “And I want you to stay on the floor.”

“Deal,” he said.

Ellie approached him and untied his feet. Then she stepped back. He rolled onto his back and wriggled over to the sofa, then leaned back against it. For the first time she got a good look at his face and she realized that the picture of him in his wallet didn’t do him justice. He was most likely the most gorgeous man, criminal or not, that she’d ever set eyes on. And he also had a cut on his forehead that was dripping blood.

“You’re hurt,” she murmured.

“I’m not surprised,” he said with a chuckle. “You hit me pretty hard.”

Ellie knew she shouldn’t trust him, but he seemed content to wait for the police. She got up from the sofa and backed toward the kitchen. “Don’t move.” She quickly grabbed the box of bandages from the drawer beside the sink, then wet a wad of paper towel. When she returned to the living room, he was right where she’d left him.

“I’m going to bandage the cut on your forehead. If you even twitch, I’ll stab you with this knife. Understood?”

“Understood.”

She knelt beside him, setting the knife next to her on the floor. Then she leaned close and dabbed at the cut with the damp paper towel. “It doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “I don’t think it will need stitches.”

He winced as she pressed on the cut to slow the bleeding. “I didn’t twitch,” he said. “That was just a reaction to pain.”

Ellie let her gaze drift down to his eyes, an odd mixture of green and gold. She stared at him for a long moment, her heart skipping a beat. She saw no evil in his gaze, no malicious intent. Instead she saw warmth and—amusement?

“Stop it,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Ellie said. This was what always got her in trouble! She’d encounter an attractive man and, before she knew anything about him, she’d fabricate a wildly romantic and dashing personality for him. She just loved being in love. It was like a sickness. In fact she’d just read a self-help book, Loving Out Loud, that advised a daily reality check when it came to romance. “Fracture the fairy tale,” the author had written.

Love had been precisely the thing that had sent her running from New York and a job she’d adored. Actually, it wasn’t love, but the lack of love. Not on her side, but on— She cursed inwardly. Ellie had vowed never to speak or think his name again. All right, Ronald Pettibone. When she’d first met him, she’d thought his name was so aristocratic. And he had a nose to match his name. And then she’d—

“Maybe you should call the police again,” Liam said. “They’re taking a long time to respond to a 9-1-1. I could have had a gun. You could be lying dead in the middle of this room right now. My brother is a cop, and I understand what kind of pressure they’re under, but this is ridiculous. My hands are starting to fall asleep.”

“I suppose I could untie you and you could—” She hesitated. “No. No, no, no. I’m doing it again. I can’t believe this. After Ronald, I swore off men and now—” Ellie ground her teeth. “You’re very nice-looking. I’m sure you know that. And if you did save my life, I’m grateful. But I’ve been entirely too trusting when it comes to men and that’s got to stop. Right now.”

Liam frowned. “Who’s Ronald?”

“None of your business!”

“Hey, I’m just making conversation, Eleanor.”

Ellie frowned. “How did you know my name?”

He paused for a moment. “You gave it to the police when you called.”

“I said Ellie.”

“I assumed Ellie was short for Eleanor. Isn’t it? Or are you Ellen? Eloise? Elfreida?”

She tore the wrapping off the bandage and quickly covered the cut. “Ellie. That’s all you need to know.”

“And who’s Ronald?”

Ellie sat back on her heels and picked up the knife again. “My ex-boyfriend. But I don’t want to talk about him. In fact, I don’t think we should be talking at all.”

“We could always talk about you.”

Ellie wagged her finger at him. “Oh, no. Don’t try to turn on the charm. I’m not going to fall for that. I’m impervious. I’m a rock.”

He chuckled softly. “All right. Then maybe you could get me a glass of water. I’m a little—”

The thud of footsteps on the stairs interrupted his request and Ellie jumped up, anxious to put as much space as she could between her and Liam Quinn. He was exactly the kind of man she always fell for. In truth, he was a whole lot nicer looking than the men in her past. And if he really was a photographer, then he was probably a lot more interesting, as well. And he had a better body and a decent fashion sense. And he knew how to choose men’s cologne.

“Police!”

Ellie turned to the door, setting the knife on a nearby table. The two officers rushed into the room, their guns drawn. Ellie sat on the sofa and watched as they patted Liam down and pulled him to his feet. Then they shoved him up against the wall and searched him more thoroughly.

“Would you like to tell us what you were doing in this lady’s apartment?”

“I was passing by on the street and I saw an intruder slip in the front door.”

“Yeah, right. How did you know it was an intruder and not this lady’s husband?”

“Oh, I’m not married,” Ellie piped up.

“He was wearing a ski mask,” Liam explained. “I figured my first impression was probably right. Hey, we can clear this all up right now if you just call the downtown station house. My brother is a detective there. Conor Quinn.”

They turned him around. “We’re from the down-town precinct,” the taller officer said, “and I don’t know any detective named—”

“I do,” the other officer said. “Conor Quinn. He’s in homicide. Tall, dark-haired guy. Wife just had a baby. In fact, this guy looks a lot like him.”

“She’s got my ID,” Liam said, nodding toward Ellie.

Ellie quickly stood and handed the officer Liam’s wallet. “He’s telling the truth. His name is Liam Quinn and he’s a photographer. And—and I think I may have made a mistake.”

The short officer cuffed Liam and shoved him toward the door. “I’ll take him down to the car while you take her statement,” he said.

“’Bye!” Ellie called as Liam walked through the door. “It was nice meeting you.” She paused. “Officer, can you make sure you have a doctor look at the cut on his forehead? It could need stitches.”

“Ma’am, why don’t you have a seat and we’ll figure out what happened here?” the officer suggested.

“All right. But I want you to know that he was very polite and well behaved while he was here. And he told the truth. There was someone else in the apartment. I saw him run out. I thought they were partners. I didn’t realize he was trying to save me.”

“What his intentions were aren’t really clear, ma’am. I just need your side of the story.”

Ellie folded her hands on her lap and began to recount the events of that night from the moment she woke up. As she did, her mind kept returning to the instant her eyes had met Liam’s, to the powerful current that had passed between them. Had she simply imagined it or was the attraction mutual? As she spoke she tried to push the thought from her head.

For all she knew he was a burglar and he’d end up in prison for his crime. But in her heart she hoped it wasn’t true. She hoped that the story he’d told was real, that a handsome stranger had come to her rescue without thought to his own safety.

“Is Liam Quinn going to go to jail?” she asked.

“Do you want him to go to jail?” the officer countered.

“I really think he was telling the truth. If you think he’s telling the truth, then you should let him go.”

“Is anything missing?”

Ellie glanced around. “Liam said the guy was going through my desk when he came in. But there’s nothing of value there. My computer is still here and so is the television and the stereo equipment.”

“Well, if you find anything missing, call me and I’ll put it into the report.” The officer handed her a business card as he stood. “And you may want to get those locks checked. Burglars sometimes come back a second time.”

Ellie showed the policeman to the door, then closed it behind him, making sure to lock the dead bolt. Then she grabbed up the knife and sat on the sofa. She was afraid to go to bed now, afraid that whoever had broken in would come back. She scrambled off the sofa and picked up a chair from the dining alcove, then jammed it under the doorknob. But, given the choice, she didn’t want to depend upon locks and chairs and butcher knives to protect herself.

A lot of good her white knight was doing her now, locked up in a jail cell. “I should have left him tied up on the floor,” Ellie said. But somehow she suspected that he wouldn’t have stayed tied up for long. Liam Quinn would have convinced her to untie him—and then who knows what might have happened?

2

LIAM LAY on the cold steel bench in the holding cell. Until a few moments ago, the cell had been filled with an assortment of petty criminals—two pimps, a handful of drunk and disorderlies, and four Harvard boys who’d been caught trying to climb the steeple of the Old South Meeting House. But they’d all been hustled out to central booking and then to night court, leaving Liam to the rather Spartan and smelly accommodations.

This was all his fault. He’d spent too much time listening to those stupid Mighty Quinn stories when he was a kid and the first chance he had, he decided to ride to the rescue. He could have waited for the police or alerted a neighbor or even caused enough commotion on the street to send the guy running. But instead he’d felt compelled to burst into Eleanor Thorpe’s apartment to snatch her from the jaws of certain danger.

His mind flashed an image of her dressed in the nearly transparent nightgown. Once she’d turned on the light in the living room, he could see right through the thin cotton.

Liam groaned and put his arm over his eyes, trying to banish the image from his head. But it lingered in his mind, and rather than fight it, Liam decided to enjoy it. She had incredibly long legs, slender and perfectly shaped, and hips that curved in a way that made her seem instantly seductive. And her breasts—her breasts were just… Liam swallowed hard, his fingers clenching into fists.

Hell, it wasn’t as if she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Not even close. In truth, her features just weren’t that remarkable. Though she did have very nice eyes, her mouth was just a little too wide, her lips too lush. And her dark hair fell around her face in a way that made her look as if she’d just gotten out of bed—which she had.

As he thought about their encounter, he realized it was more than her looks that attracted him. But what was it? Was it the breathless way she spoke when she was nervous? Or the way she moved, almost amusing in her awkwardness?

Maybe it was the fact that she’d never once responded to him the way other women had. She hadn’t cozied up to him and found any excuse she could to touch him. She hadn’t sent him teasing looks or seductive smiles. No, Ellie Thorpe had hit him over the head with a lamp then tied him up like some S & M fantasy man. And even after he was certain he’d convinced her of his innocence, she still hadn’t fallen prey to his charms.

“I just wasn’t trying hard enough,” Liam murmured.

A cell door slammed nearby and Liam glanced up to find a uniformed officer watching him from behind steel bars. He quickly stood and crossed the cell. “Can I have my phone call?”

“You had your phone call,” the officer said.

Liam had decided Conor was his only option when it came to straightening out this mess. But the late-night call had been answered not by Conor or Olivia, but by their voice mail, and Liam had hung up without leaving a message. “I couldn’t get hold of my brother. It doesn’t count if I didn’t talk to anyone.”

“Are you making the rules now, Quinn?”

Liam shook his head. “No, I’m just saying that—”

“You got caught breaking and entering. Right about now, you should be sitting in night court and thinking about how you’re going to make bail.”

Liam pressed his forehead against the cold, steel bars. “This isn’t exactly the way I wanted to spend my Friday night. I had a date that I canceled. I should have just gone on that date and not even bothered saving Eleanor Thorpe’s life. You’d think she’d be at least a little grateful.”

The cop reached down and unlocked the cell door. “Well, I guess she was. Her story checked with yours. And we paged your brother. He’s downstairs talking to the two guys who arrested you.”

“I’m free to go?”

“We’re not booking you. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to keep your nose clean. The next time you see someone breaking and entering, dial 9-1-1 and wait for the police.”

Liam smiled. “Right. That’s exactly what I’ll do. By the book next time. I promise.”

The cop swung open the door, waiting for Liam. Without wasting any time, Liam grabbed his jacket and walked toward the exit. But at the last moment he turned and took one long, last look. There were times when he wondered just what kind of guardian angel sat on his shoulder. His childhood hadn’t exactly been the best in the world. There’s no telling what kind of wrong turn he might have taken had he made just one or two bad decisions.

But instead of a life as a petty criminal, he’d actually survived a shaky childhood and become a responsible adult. The kind of adult who’d try to save a woman from an intruder. Maybe the Mighty Quinn tales had done some good—not that he was planning to take up a career as a superhero.

Liam followed the cop to the door of the holding area. “He’s downstairs at the desk,” the officer said. “You need to sign for your stuff.”

“Thanks.”

Liam saw Conor before he even reached the bottom of the stairs. His big brother stood below, his eyes dark with anger, his arms crossed over his chest. Liam grinned as he hurried down the steps, but he could tell that Conor was in a foul mood.

“Hey, bro,” he said, giving his brother a playful clap on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Don’t say a word,” Conor warned. “The next thing out of your mouth better be an apology or I’ll take you out back and beat the crap out of you.”

“Sorry,” Liam murmured. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Conor turned on his heel and strode to the door, nodding brusquely to the desk sergeant as he passed. “Thanks, Willie. I owe you.”

When they reached Conor’s car, Liam slipped in the passenger side, watching in silence as his brother pulled out into traffic. “My car is in Charlestown. If you could just drop me—”

“I’m not taking you to get your car. You can do that in the morning.”

“Where are we going?”

“To Da’s place.”

“Good,” Liam said. “I could use a drink.”

“I’m going to have the drink and you’re going to explain why you got me out of bed at one a.m. on a Friday night. Since Riley was born, Olivia and I have averaged about three hours of sleep a night, and when my beeper went off, he woke up and started crying.”

“How is the kid?” Liam asked.

“Probably still awake. He’s either sleeping or eating. And when he isn’t doing one or the other, he cries. Olivia is exhausted.”

The mood in the car remained tense and Liam was glad when they finally reached the pub. Friday night business had always been good in Southie, and the bar was still packed when they walked inside. Two pretty girls sitting at the bar called Liam’s name as he entered and he waved, trying to remember their names. He found himself comparing their rather conspicuous beauty to the subtle attractions of Eleanor Thorpe.

She wasn’t pretty in the traditional sense. She didn’t have pouty lips or sultry eyes or a body designed for a men’s magazine. In truth, she was the exact opposite of the type of woman he was drawn to—a little up-tight, a little goofy. But there was something about her that he found undeniably attractive.

Maybe it was the fact that she’d single-handedly subdued an intruder. She hadn’t cowered in a corner or locked herself in the bathroom, she’d picked up a lamp and hit him over the head. Liam rubbed his wrists, still chafed from the ties. She hadn’t known who he was or what his intent had been. For all she’d known, he could have been a crazed serial killer out to do her harm, but she’d stood up for herself.

Seamus, tending bar, drew two pints of Guinness and set them down in front of his sons as they each took an empty stool at the far end of the bar. “Didn’t expect to see you out tonight, Con.” He turned to Liam, his snow-white hair falling across his forehead. “As for you, I could have used your help behind the bar, boyo. Your brother Brian was the only relief I had and he left an hour ago with a blonde. And where the hell is Sean when I need him?”

“He’s out of town,” Liam said.

Seamus shrugged, then wandered off to talk with another customer.

Conor took a slow sip of his Guinness, then licked his upper lip. “What were you doing in that woman’s apartment?”

“Exactly what I told the police. I was trying to protect her.”

Conor slowly shook his head. “Go back to the beginning.”

“I saw this guy sneak inside her apartment.”

“From the street?”

“No, from the attic of the building across the street.”

“And what were you doing in the—” Conor paused. “Don’t tell me. You were on a case with Sean, weren’t you? You know damn well that he skirts the law every chance he gets. What was this, another one of his divorce cases?”

“Well, as Sean would say, his clients expect a high level of confidentiality. All I can say is that I was watching the apartment. I told the cop I was walking by and he bought the story. As long as you vouch for me, I think I’ll be all right.”

“Did you get a look at the burglar?”

Liam shook his head. “Nah, it was dark and he was wearing a ski mask. He wasn’t very tall. About five-eight or nine, maybe. Not very heavy. And he was kind of clumsy. Not much of a street fighter. I told this all to the cops.”

“You’re not going to tell me what kind of case you and Sean are working on?”

“I think it would be better if you don’t ask. And we haven’t broken any laws—not yet, anyway. I swear.”

Conor rubbed his forehead. “And except for the reason you were on the street, did you tell the police the entire truth?”

“Yeah.”

Conor nodded. “Fine. As long as the woman doesn’t insist on pressing charges, I think you’ll be all right.”

“Eleanor. Ellie Thorpe. She’s really nice. Kind of goofy, but nice.”

Conor’s brow shot up. “What? You had a conversation?”

“Well, there wasn’t much else to do once she tied me up. It took the police forever to arrive.”

This brought a laugh from Conor. “Jeez, Liam. You break into a woman’s house, she ties you up, and you still manage to charm her. Did you get her phone number?”

“No,” Liam replied. He shrugged, then smiled. “But I know where she lives.”

Conor took a long drink of his beer, then slid off the bar stool and grabbed his keys. “You know what this means, don’t you? When a Quinn rescues a woman from harm, he’s pretty much done for. You’re stuck with her now, Li. There’s no going back.”

“You don’t think I believe all that Mighty Quinn garbage, do you?” Liam said. “I did a good deed and that’s the end of it. I’m never going to see her again.”

Liam wasn’t afraid of being vulnerable to love. Hell, he knew better. He’d always been the one to walk away from a relationship when it got too serious. Besides, he wasn’t about to get involved with a probable felon.

“Stay away from her,” Conor warned. “She might just decide to press charges and I only have so much juice with the guys downtown.” He sighed. “By the way, we’re having a little get-together for Riley’s christening. A brunch. Olivia sent you an invitation. Did you get it?”

“Yeah. I thought I’d stop by. Who else will be there?”

“Everyone.”

“Ma, too?”

“Of course,” Conor said. “She is Riley’s grandmother. And Olivia’s parents are coming up from Florida.”

Since Fiona had reappeared in their lives over a year ago, family gatherings had become regularly scheduled events. First, there’d been Keely’s wedding, and after that a birthday celebration for Seamus held at Quinn’s Pub. And last May, Dylan and Meggie’s wedding. And then Christmas at Keely and Rafe’s. And everyone had gathered at the hospital the night Riley was born, a large, noisy family still learning how to be a family.

Even though Liam’s father was gradually making peace with his runaway wife, not all the old scars had healed. Conor had accepted his mother back with no questions asked, as had Dylan and Brian. But Brendan had maintained a cool distance and Sean was outright hostile toward Fiona. Liam wasn’t sure where he stood yet. Though he wanted to get to know his mother, he had no past to remember. She’d left when he was just a year old.

“I’ll be there,” Liam said.

“Good. And see if you can convince Sean to come. Don’t tell him Fiona is going to be there, though. Oh, and bring your camera.”

“Anything else?”

“Just be sure you stay out of trouble until then.”

“Hey, you won’t mention this to Sean, will you? He’s paying me pretty well to help with this case. I could use the money.”

Conor smiled. “No problem.” With that, he turned and strode out of Quinn’s Pub, Seamus shouting a hearty good-night.

Liam finished his beer, then followed Conor out the door. He zipped up his jacket and glanced up and down the street. He and Sean had a flat seven blocks from the bar. He could go home and get some sleep or he could go back to the attic and keep his eye on Ellie Thorpe.

Liam shook his head as he headed for the bus stop. He wasn’t going back for her. He had a job to do and he promised Sean he’d do it. The fact that he hadn’t been able to get Ellie out of his head since he’d met her made absolutely no difference at all.

“DOUBLE AMERICANO, half caf!”

A man in a business suit pushed past Ellie to retrieve his coffee from the counter. Ellie raked her fingers through her hair and yawned. She leaned over and counted the number of people in front of her, deciding she’d get four shots of espresso in her latte rather than her usual two. Since her encounter with Liam Quinn three nights ago, she really hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep.

Her mind flashed back to a memory of him tied up on her living-room floor. A tiny flush warmed her cheeks. She certainly hadn’t expected her next encounter with a handsome man to include a little bondage. Just the thought of indulging in sex games with a man like Liam Quinn was enough to start her blood pumping much more effectively than any form of caffeine could.

Luckily, the police had dragged him away before she’d had more serious thoughts in that direction. When she’d left New York City, she’d vowed to take a break from men. It wasn’t that she didn’t like men, they just never seemed to like her—enough. She’d had five serious relationships in as many years and all of them had fallen apart for reasons unknown to her. One day everything had been perfect and the next she’d been single again.

After the second breakup, Ellie had decided that men were just fickle. After the third, she’d determined that she’d have to be more careful with her choices. By the fourth, she’d started to wonder if there was something wrong with her. And after her breakup with Ronald Pettibone, she’d come to the conclusion that she just wasn’t any good at romance.

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