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.
E
LEANOR
T
HORPE’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.