She surfaced with an elastic band and haphazardly bunched and twirled her thick hair into a heap at the back of her head. Those little damp curls appeared on her neck again, and he had to turn away.

"I read all of the letters you dropped off, Miss Adams. Sixteen notes in all, beginning last summer, right?"

"Unless I got another one today. I haven't been to the office to check my mail." Autumn crossed her arms over her chest and looked out at the calm summer-blue water of Lake Michigan.

"All were sent to your office on Chestnut Street, is that correct?"

"Right-which I don't make public. I tell readers to write in care of the Banner." Autumn jolted up again and rooted around in the gym bag at her feet. She produced a little pot of lip balm and dipped her finger inside. With eyes heavy-lidded in concentration, she ran a slick pinkie over lips that formed a perfect O of wet, soft flesh.

Quinn couldn't watch. His chest hurt. "And you reported that before the letters there were other incidents? Slashed tires, the delivery of dead flowers?"

"Yep. Dead roses. Creepy. It started right after my mom died last spring."

"And you have no idea who is doing this to you?"

She tossed the lip balm into the gym bag and gave him a sassy shake of her head. "That's your job, isn't it? I tell people about one hundred and one uses for dryer lint. You solve crimes."

The dark cop sunglasses hid his expression, but Autumn could see his face strain to suppress an outright smile.

"You know, Miss Adams, you're not exactly what I expected."

She groaned. She'd heard that one before.

Wrigley Field now loomed over them and Autumn turned in her seat as they drove by, feeling a huge silly grin spread over her face.

The crowds were already milling around Clark and Addison for the night game. She could smell the roasting peanuts. The doors to the neighborhood taverns were flung wide, and raucous music and the sharp tang of draft beer floated out into the streets.

Autumn closed her eyes and breathed it all in, letting herself remember.

The spring afternoons she had spent at Wrigley Field with her father were by far the happiest times of her childhood. Her dad would skip work at the Chicago Mercantile Exchange and take her out of school to catch a Cubs game, a forbidden thrill made all the more thrilling because Helen never once found out. They used to giggle together the whole way home to Winnetka.

Autumn giggled with pleasure now-because the smells and sounds of Wrigley Field still made her happy.

"You can call me Audie," she said, turning back around in her seat as they drove past the ballpark. "And puh-leeze don't tell me you don't know I inherited the column from my mother, the real Homey Helen. It's not exactly a secret."

"I knew. I just didn't expect… well… you."

"Sorry to disappoint," she snapped.

Detective Quinn didn't respond. How could he? Everything he wanted to say would sound ridiculous, because, Holy God in heaven, she didn't disappoint him at all. She just amazed him.

He wanted to tell her he couldn't remember the last time that fifteen minutes with a woman had left him unhinged. He wanted to tell her he could barely prevent himself from reaching over and letting his fingertips brush the back of her neck. And most of all, he wanted to tell her that he was her biggest fan, that he kept many of her columns in a recipe organizer in his kitchen, sorted by date and topic.

"We'll need to discuss who you might have offended, Miss Adams, who it is that might hold a grudge against you. I'll need a list of husbands and boyfriends, current and ex-."

Autumn burst out laughing. They were driving north on Ashland Avenue now, almost at the school. It took several moments for her guffaw to die down.

"Sure, Detective. No problem." She pursed her lips and frowned. "Let's get right to it. Never was a husband, and at this rate there never will be. There's no current anything. And how do you want the others-would alphabetical work for you? Or how about according to the way I got the bad news-E-mail, beeper, voice mail, answering machine, or telepathy!"

She perked up a bit and waved her hand in the air. "Wait! I know! How about I organize the names by the man's neurosis-fear of commitment, fear of boredom, inability to stop lying, unclear sexual orientation, like that?"

Detective Quinn pulled up alongside Lakeview High School and cut the engine. He methodically removed his sunglasses and tucked them inside his jacket pocket. He waited for her to turn to him, and when she did, he saw tears in her eyes.

Despite the attitude, she was scared.

"Someone is threatening to hurt you, Miss Adams. I need to ask questions if I'm going to find him. Do you think we can work together on this?"

Autumn nodded slightly and brushed the tears away with a quick sweep of her hand. "I'm sorry for the snide comments. I'm just so incredibly pissed about this whole thing."

"About the letters or the boyfriends?"

Autumn exhaled sharply and noticed that his uneven grin had returned. "Both, since you asked."

It startled her when he reached inside his jacket and offered her a crisp white handkerchief.

"Thanks." She blew her nose with enthusiasm. "Look, Detective, I don't have a very good track record with men, OK? Nothing ever lasts very long. It's like after seven or eight weeks some green slimy and hairy thing with eleven eyeballs suddenly jumps out of the top of my head and the men start running for the nearest exit."

She sniffled and sighed and rubbed her forehead. "But I don't think I ever did anything to make any of them mad at me. They all seemed pretty glad to see me go."

"Uh-huh. Green and slimy, you say?"

She cast him a sideways glance-he was scribbling in a small notebook. Was he laughing at her? "Hairy, too."

He nodded soberly.

Autumn looked down at her hands. She'd been biting her nails again. "I think I scare men," she sighed. "I'm kind of a spaz."

"Really?"

"Look, I've got to go warm up. You can stay for the game and I'll take you back to your car after, if you've got time. Maybe we can talk more then?"

"I've got time."

She cocked her head and looked at him closely. "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?"

What color were those eyes? she wondered. Hazel? That word hardly did justice to the complexity of color there-an olive green iris with a sunburst of gold around the pupil. They were dazzling.

The rest of him was way above average as well.

Detective Quinn had a head of straight, neatly trimmed light brown hair that the sun had kissed near his forehead and temples. His face was handsome as much for its self-assurance as its strong, even features and wily grin. He was probably a good four inches taller than she was, and she could see the outline of his solid body beneath the lightweight sport coat.

"Everything's relative," he said.

"Meaning I talk too much?"

"I didn't say that."

"Right."

"Audie?"

She stopped before she opened the door. "Yeah?"

"You did say I can call you Audie?"

"Yes, I did."

"Then please call me Quinn. My friends call me Quinn."

"Not Stacey?"

"Nope." The grin was back. "Stacey's a girl's name. I'm not a girl."

Autumn laughed. "You know, I think I noticed that at the TV station. See you after the game."

She didn't fall once, Quinn noticed. In fact, she ran with speed and grace, soared over toppled bodies, bent and twisted to get a good angle on her kicks, and pivoted with quick and sharp agility.

And the whole time, Autumn Adams was smiling. She scored again and, with two other women, jumped high into the air to slap hands-a sight he found amusing. These women were all professionals from the thirty-and-over Chicago Parks and Recreation Women's Soccer League, yet they were running around like a bunch of boys.