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Brian leaned forward, trying to study the map, wondering where in the Atlantic his father was. He’d traced the route on the school atlas, but it had looked so simple then. He’d been on the boat before, far from the sight of land. Out there, everything looked the same.
“Meanwhile, the Coast Guard has had its hands full with distress calls from boaters and fishermen caught out on the Atlantic when the storm blew up. The fishing boat Selma B. out of Boston sank after taking on water, but the crew was airlifted off the deck to the safety of a Coast Guard helicopter. The Willow put into Gloucester a few hours ago after a search by Coast Guard cutters. Their radio had been knocked out.”
A knot twisted in Brian’s stomach and a wave of nausea washed over him. They all knew the dangers that faced a commercial fisherman. Brendan’s teacher had once said that commercial fishing was the most dangerous occupation of all, more dangerous than driving a race car or flying an airplane. That knowledge had stuck with Brian over the years and now it seemed like a weight pressing down on him.
He stared at the man on the screen. If anything happened to the Mighty Quinn, the newscaster would know first. He’d know if the boat was sinking. He’d know whether Seamus was alive or dead. Like Riddoc Quinn, this man knew everything.
Brian pulled his knees up under his chin and shivered, refusing to allow himself the luxury of tears. “Someday, I’ll be the first to know. And then I won’t ever have to worry again.”
1
THE NEWSROOM WAS a picture of controlled chaos as Brian Quinn strode through. Weekends were always a little crazy, the junior staff at WBTN-TV working with a skeleton crew. As he walked to his cubicle, Brian tugged on the starched collar of the pleated shirt, the fabric chafing his neck. He didn’t wear a tux often, but when he did he found the experience wholly uncomfortable.
He caught his reflection as he walked by a plate glass window. The monkey suit did have an undeniable effect on the ladies, though. What was it about a black suit and a bow tie that made women swoon? A tux was no more unusual than a white T-shirt and faded jeans. Brian frowned. Women seemed to like that combination as well. That and plain old boxer shorts.
Too bad this wasn’t a social occasion, he mused. At least then, maybe the starched shirt would have paid off in the end. Though there were bound to be more than a few beautiful women at the fund-raiser tonight, Brian was attending the party for business reasons. And he never mixed business with pleasure.
“Look at you.”
He glanced to the left and saw Taneesha Gregory leaning over the wall of one of the cubicles, her smile wide, her dark eyes bright with humor. Taneesha was his favorite cameraman—or camera goddess as she preferred to call herself. Shameless and fearless, she often had to muscle her way through a crowd of male news photographers to get the best shot, shoving her camera into a person’s face to catch the nuances of their reaction to a question. When it came to a hard-hitting investigative piece, Taneesha was the person Brian wanted to be there to get the shot.
“Don’t even start,” he warned, wagging his finger at her.
“You da bomb,” she said, laughing and clapping her hands. She came around the cubicle, then reached up and straightened his bow tie. “But I think a tux is a little over the top for a weekend anchor. I hear you’re doing the eleven o’clock news tomorrow night.”
“Yeah. But the tux isn’t for that. I’m working on a story.”
“I hope you don’t need me for this story. Because you know I don’t wear a—”
“Dress,” Brian finished. “Yes. I know. The last time you wore a dress was your wedding.”
“That’s right,” she said, brushing a speck of lint off his shoulder. “And I promised Ronald that I’d wear a dress on our silver wedding anniversary. That’s still eleven years off.”
“Don’t worry,” Brian assured her. “Tonight I’m just checking out a lead. Richard Patterson, our sleazy neighborhood real estate developer is hosting a fund-raiser tonight. And I’m going to crash the party and get a look at his guests.”
Taneesha groaned. “Are you still on that story? If the boss finds out you’re chasing Patterson around town, he’ll have your head. Or have you forgotten just how much money Patterson spends on advertising with this station?”
“He’s got six fast-food restaurants and a car dealership which represent a fraction of his total business worth. And it’s station policy that the sales department and the news department are independent of each other.”
“That’s what they say, but without advertising, WBTN wouldn’t exist. And you’d be left shouting your stories from the top of Beacon Hill.”
“I know there’s a story here,” Brian said in a serious tone. “I can feel it. I’m going to corner him and see what happens. Hell, what can he do? All those rich folks and him wanting to buy a place on the social ladder. I don’t think he’s going to haul off and hit me.”
“Are you crazy? They’ll toss you out of there so fast you’ll—”
“Don’t you think the public has a right to know? Three other developers spend seven years in court, trying to get approval on that property. Patterson buys it and he gets the zoning variance within weeks. He paid for that variance and I want to know how much it cost him and who got the money.”
“Guys like that cover their tracks well.”
“Shady real estate deals, backroom bargaining and a lot of money changing hands. Sooner or later, they’re going to get lazy and make a mistake. Patterson’s deals always seem to come too easily. My brother-in-law, Rafe Kendrick, is a developer and even he says that Patterson isn’t legal.”
“You realize that the guy who owns this television station is an old friend of Richard Patterson’s? Maybe you should think about your career here?”
Brian laughed. “I’ve become the top investigative reporter in Boston in just over a year and I pull in the viewers. They’re not going to fire me.”
“But they may not offer your cocky ass the weekend anchor position. And you know the weekend anchor will be the one to replace Bill when he retires in two years.”
The rumors had been swirling around the station since the last ratings period but Brian tried not to listen to them. “You think I want to sit in front of a camera and read news for the rest of my career?” he asked.
“Well, you certainly have the face for it,” Taneesha said, giving his cheek a playful pat.
Brian shouldn’t have been surprised by the talk. He had moved up the ladder pretty quickly at WBTN and though he wanted to believe it was because of his journalistic abilities, he suspected that it had a lot to do with his looks. The demographics said it all. He was the most popular newsperson in the entire city with women aged twenty-one through forty-nine. And his numbers with the male audience weren’t too bad either. The women in focus groups liked the way he looked and men liked that he was just a regular guy from Southie. The people of Boston trusted Brian Quinn to tell them the truth.
“I may have the face, but not the stomach for it. Any more than you’d be able to handle standing behind a studio camera. You’re like me. You like to be out on the streets.”
“But if you don’t want the promotion, why do you work so hard?”
Brian shrugged. “Because I like to be the first to know.”
“Taneesha! We’ve got a three-alarm fire in Dorchester. You’re up.”
Taneesha turned and waved at one of the junior reporters who was racing toward the door. “Let’s go, then.” She gave Brian a smile. “When you break this story, don’t you forget your favorite camera goddess. I’ll stick that camera so far up Patterson’s nose, we’ll be able to read his mind.”
“You’ll be there,” Brian replied. He watched as Taneesha hurried off to the waiting news truck, then opened his desk drawer and pulled out the handheld tape recorder. He popped in a new tape, pausing to think about what Taneesha had said.
He knew that management had plans for him, that he was fast becoming “the new face of WBTN-TV.” And until this moment, he’d been caught up in all the excitement of his meteoric rise. But Brian knew what he wanted and it wasn’t an anchor job, even if it meant big money and a high profile in town. All he really cared about was telling a good story.
When he’d gotten out of college, he’d been determined to work in print journalism. So he’d paid his dues with small newspapers in Connecticut and Vermont. But he’d wanted to get back to Boston and when he’d been offered an entry-level news-writing job at WBTN, he’d taken it. He’d never once expected it to blossom into the career it had.
Brian slipped the tape recorder into his jacket, then pulled his car keys out of his trouser pocket. As he headed toward the door, Taneesha’s warning still niggled at his brain. He’d worked with her for over a year and she’d never steered him wrong—when it came to a story or personal advice. But every instinct told him that, contrary to public opinion, his career wasn’t headed in the right direction. And Brian trusted his instincts.
Hell, he could just quit right now and start over again, find a job at a decent newspaper and work his way up. But he was thirty years old. At that age, a guy was supposed to have his life in order, his priorities straight. But then, he hadn’t been brought up in a conventional family, so maybe he had a good excuse.
Life in the Quinn house had taught all six of the Quinn brothers to live from moment to moment. Their father, Seamus, was rarely at home, his job as a commercial fisherman keeping him away from Southie for weeks at a time. And Brian’s mother had left the family when Brian was only three years old. He and his brothers had raised themselves, with oldest brother Conor serving as the parental figure.
They’d all gotten in their share of trouble, but Brian and his twin, Sean, had been the wildest. They’d managed to compile a rather impressive record of petty crimes with the police, but luckily, by the time the trouble got serious, Conor had begun working as a cop. He’d thrown them in jail for three days after they’d stolen a neighbor’s car, then made them spend the summer painting the guy’s house as punishment. The neighbor was happy to have the help and Brian and Sean decided that a life of crime truly didn’t pay.
So Brian turned his energies to his studies and took a part-time job loading newspapers on the trucks at the Globe. And when he graduated from high school, he became the second Quinn to attend college after his older brother, Brendan. When he registered, he’d been asked to declare a major and asked the pretty girl next to him in line what she was majoring in. Journalism had simply been a fallback position, but it had been the best place to meet passionate girls, short of the nursing program. And the classes had been surprisingly interesting, especially when he discovered he had a knack for constructing a story.
Brian jogged to his car in the station parking lot. If he was lucky, he’d get what he needed early in the evening and he could spend the rest of his Saturday night at Quinn’s Pub, relaxing over a pint of Guinness and charming a few good-looking women. Brian chuckled. Maybe he’d even wear the tux. Though it probably meant at least an hour’s worth of good-natured ribbing, he’d at least have his pick of the beauties in the bar.
“First business, then pleasure,” he murmured as he started the car.
BY THE TIME THE TABLES were cleared and the band began playing, Lily Gallagher was ready to go home—or back to her hotel, which was home for now. She leaned on the bar and ordered her first glass of champagne, then winced at her sore feet, chiding herself on her choice of footwear. Though the strappy designer shoes went perfectly with her gown, they weren’t made for a long evening on her feet.
She’d flown into Boston just that afternoon from Chicago, curious as to the reasons she’d been summoned. Richard Patterson had personally contacted her boss at DeLay Scoville Public Relations and requested her services. According to Don DeLay, Richard Patterson was willing to toss down a hefty retainer without any explanation of what he wanted her for.
Lily wasn’t about to refuse. A job like this was her ticket to the top, just one step away from a vice presidency and a corner office. And right now, that office was in her sights. Though nothing had been explained up front, Lily suspected why she’d been the chosen one. Patterson was a big real estate developer and just last year she’d handled a huge scandal with a real estate developer in Chicago.
Crisis public relations was her specialty. People called her when things went bad and it was her job to make them better. On the plane trip from Chicago, Lily had read everything she could about Patterson Properties and Investments, a company that owned shopping malls and motels and fast-food restaurants. Richard Patterson was well-connected politically and was slowly climbing the social ladder in Boston, despite his humble beginnings in a working-class Boston neighborhood.
For Lily, it had been a relief to be offered a job outside of Chicago, though she missed her new house and her best friend, Emma Carsten. She and Emma worked together at the agency and often talked about breaking out and starting a company of their own. But the practicalities of paying a mortgage had made a promotion at DeLay the primary goal for the moment.
Hopefully, Richard Patterson would have some juicy crisis that she could sink her teeth into, some touchy political problem or maybe a community relations issue that she could solve. She’d fix what needed fixing and have a nice addition to her portfolio when she went back to Chicago in a few months. Then she could demand that promotion.
“Lily?”
She turned to find Richard Patterson standing behind her. He was a handsome, forty-something guy with graying temples and impeccable grooming. He wore a beautifully tailored tuxedo, probably from one of the best menswear designers. If he hadn’t been a client—and he hadn’t been married—Lily might have considered him a possibility. But she never mixed business with pleasure. “The party is wonderful,” she said. “You’ve done a terrific job as chairman, Mr. Patterson.”
He forced a tight smile. “I didn’t do anything. I hired a party planner and my wife took care of the rest. Listen, I have to leave. I’ve got a flight to catch. An emergency with a group of investors from Japan. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk and I’ll be out of town for the next few days. But I want you to call my secretary on Monday. She’ll set up appointments with my key management people. You’ll be up to speed when I get back.”
“Good. I need to know everything I can. Maybe if you tell me what you’d like me to work on, I can get a head start and when we meet I—”
“We’ll discuss that on Tuesday,” he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder.
“All right.”
“If there’s anything you need, call Mrs. Wilburn. Boston is beautiful in the month of June. Get out and see some of the sights.” With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Lily to wonder why it had been so important for her to arrive today—and to attend this party.
Lily glanced around, deciding that she’d wait until she was sure Richard was gone and then call it a night. She took another sip of her champagne as she studied the couples on the dance floor. The ballroom at the Copley Plaza was beautifully decorated to look like the gardens at Versailles. Fountains trickled and arbors were laced with heavily-scented flowers and tiny white lights making an incredibly romantic scene. She sighed softly.
There were other reasons she was glad to leave Chicago. Her engagement to attorney Daniel Martin was now officially off. After two years of dating and a four-month engagement, she’d thought she’d finally found the man of her dreams—until she’d discovered him naked and in bed with an exotic-looking brunette and her two artificially enhanced breasts. She’d never expected him to sink to such depths and his only excuse had been that he just wasn’t ready to commit.
Lily had planned her life around this man, had invested her future with him, and suddenly it was over and she had been forced back to square one in her personal life—forced to admit that she’d surrendered far too much for love. Sometimes Chicago felt like a desert for single women. Plenty of great-looking men on the horizon, but when you got too close, they were simply a mirage, a figment of a desperate imagination.
She took another sip of her champagne and glanced around the room. Maybe it was time to stop being desperate, to quit looking so hard for love and just settle for…a little lust. She’d made the first move toward independence, buying a house of her own. “I know exactly what I need now,” Lily murmured. “A nice, tidy, but very passionate, one-night stand.”
She hadn’t gone looking for creeps and jerks, but the men who wandered into her life had always been strangely unavailable—engaged to someone who didn’t understand, married to a woman they’d forgotten to mention, emotionally cold, commitment-phobic, fascinated with ladies’ footwear, contemplating a change in sexual preference, and then Daniel, a unrepentant philanderer. She’d even tried to make a bicoastal relationship work with a Los Angeles writer which racked up an impressive number of frequent-flyer miles but ended with him falling in love with a vapid starlet.
But now she had an opportunity to have a man on her terms. She was the unavailable, commitment-phobic party, living and working in Boston for only a few months, uninterested in a long-term relationship. She could play the field, have a little fun and avoid all the messy strings that seemed to keep two people tied together for far too long.
Lily sighed. This fund-raiser was the last place she’d find a single man. The only reason men attended a charity event was that their wives insisted. In truth, most of the men in attendance probably didn’t want to be there at all. Lily had always wanted to plan an “un” event. An imaginary charity dinner and dance that people paid not to attend. Then all the money could go to charity rather than to overblown decorations and overpriced foie gras and over-the-top designer gowns.
She quickly snatched another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stared up at the balconies, deciding to find a table on the second level where she could observe the party in peace. A few minutes later, she settled down in a quiet corner on the opposite end from the dance band. She kicked off her shoes and rubbed her feet together, finally feeling a nice buzz from the champagne she’d gulped down. A waiter stopped at her table and offered her another glass and she took it and set it across from her, as if she were expecting someone to join her.
“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be sitting here alone.”
Lily’s gaze slowly rose to a man standing beside her table, wondering at her luck. But though he was attractive enough, his smile was just a little too…practiced. His dark hair was slicked back and he wore an ill-fitting tuxedo. Still, she decided to at least give him a chance. “Actually, I’m fine,” she said.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, despite the champagne goblet. “Well, I’m not,” he said. “I’m here alone and everyone else is here with a significant other. I’m Jim Franklin.”
“I’m Lily,” she said.
“Just Lily?”
“Lily Gallagher.”
“Well, Lily Gallagher, since we both seem to be alone here, maybe we can be alone together. Tell me about yourself.”
Lily opened her mouth to respond, but Jim Franklin didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m an investment analyst with Bardwell Fleming. Let me tell you, these parties are a great investment. My bosses buy a spot at the table and then send us guys in to drum up some business. We don’t sell stocks and bonds, but we offer analysis services for all types of investments. I’ve lived in Boston for about five years. Got transferred up here from our New York office.”
After all her bravado, when it came down to it, lust was a tricky thing. Either a girl felt it or she didn’t. And Lily already knew that this was a guy who didn’t make her pulse pound.
“So, what do you do, Lily?”
“Mr. Franklin, I’m really not—”
“Jim,” he insisted. “Do you have a retirement plan? Have you invested your money wisely?”
Lily grabbed her glass and drained it, then quickly stood. “I’m just going to get myself some more champagne. If you’ll excuse—”
“And here’s a waiter now,” Franklin said, flashing her a blinding smile.
Lily bit back a curse and sat down again. If this wasn’t pure torture, she didn’t know what was. It wasn’t her habit to be rude, especially in a business situation, but she doubted that Richard Patterson was friends with Jim Franklin, investment analyst.
As Franklin prattled on about liquid assets and high-yield bonds, Lily let her gaze wander, interjecting a word every now and then to answer one of Franklin’s questions, before he resumed his Wall Street chatter. She pasted a bland smile on her face and fixed her gaze just over his right shoulder, wondering how long she’d be obligated to carry on this one-sided conversation. Her mind scrambled for an excuse, something that would politely put him off. Then she noticed a man standing behind Franklin, his shoulder braced against a marble column, an amused grin twitching his lips.
Lily quickly glanced away, but when she looked back, she found him still staring at her. Then he looked at his watch and pretended to yawn and Lily couldn’t help but smile. She took another sip of her champagne and observed the man from over the rim of the glass.
Unlike Jim Franklin, this guy was downright gorgeous. He had dark hair, just long enough to brush his collar but perfectly trimmed. Dark brows accented eyes of an indeterminate shade, but Lily knew they were probably some uncommon and very arresting color. Her gaze skimmed over his body, finding him taller than average and beautifully built, his tailored tux accenting wide shoulders and a narrow waist.
When she returned to his face, his smile was a bit wider. He nodded at her, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. And then he pushed away from the column and started toward her. Lily held her breath, her eyes still fixed on his, her heart beating a little faster.
“Sweetheart,” he said, stopping next to the table. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
He reached out and Lily hesitantly placed her hand in his. But to her surprise, he drew it up and placed a kiss near her wrist. She swallowed hard. “Darling,” she said. “You’re late.”
“Not too late, I hope. You will forgive me, won’t you?”
She slowly stood. “Of course.” Lily glanced over at Jim Franklin as she grabbed her shoes from the floor. “Thanks for the investment advice, Jim. Have fun at the party.”
The stranger tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and started toward the nearest exit. When they reached the hall, he stopped. “You’re safe now.”
“I wasn’t really in any danger,” Lily said. “Unless boredom is fatal.”
“With a guy like that, you never know. I wasn’t willing to watch you throw yourself over the railing just to get away from him.”
“Thanks for saving me,” Lily said.
“No problem. So, are you here alone? Or did your date desert you?” He paused. “Or maybe that was your date?”
Lily shook her head. “I’m here alone. A professional obligation.”
“And when is that obligation finished?” he asked.
“Right now.” Lily smiled hesitantly, realizing that she might have given him the wrong idea. Suddenly, she wasn’t interested in going back to the hotel. She’d just met an attractive, sexy, and witty man—a rare occurrence in her life. “What about you? I suppose you have a reason for being here—besides rescuing me from the scintillating Mr. Franklin.”
He chuckled. “Actually, I crashed the party. The band sounded good so I thought I’d check it out. But the crowd was a little bit too stuffy for me…until I saw you.” He let his gaze rake over her body and Lily shivered. “Has anyone told you that you look incredible in that dress?”
