Thank God for Marjorie Stoddard.

By the time Audie stumbled up the stairs and through the reception area to her private office, she felt as if her head would fall off. But on her desk was a steaming cup of coffee and a little packet of Tylenol. That woman was amazing-a little too controlling sometimes, but positively clairvoyant.

After taking her medicine like a good girl, Audie reappeared in the reception room to greet her staff-all two of them.

"Rough game last night?" Griffin Nash was leaning against the doorjamb to his tiny office, and Audie nearly spit out her coffee.

"Good Lord, Griffin! What are you wearing?"

"Isn't it happenin'?" Griffin tugged at the snug vest and did a little spin, sending the long strips of suede fringe twirling out around his waist. "Found it at that funky little boutique in Wicker Park."

Audie gawked at him. "Just don't tell me what you paid for it, because I'll just yell at you again."

"Fifty."

"We're talking cents, right?"

"Stop it, you two." Marjorie whipped around in her desk chair and tried to produce a frown of reprimand beneath her laughing eyes. "I swear, I think you two actually get satisfaction out of making each other miserable."

Griffin smirked at Audie.

"And really, Audie. The paints are far more hideous than the vest." Marjorie slowly raised her head to catch Audie's eye, and the two women began to howl with laughter.

Marjorie was right, as usual. Griffin 's purple velvet bell-bottoms were uglier by far than the black suede vest. Audie simply hadn't had a chance to comment on them yet.

Griffin crossed his arms over his mostly bare chest and ignored them both. "You got sixty-seven E-mails to your site yesterday, Audie. You had more than four thousand hits, which was a record. I think it's 'Pet Corner'; I really do."

Audie took another soothing sip of coffee and nodded at him. "Great."

"Pet Corner" was a weekly compilation of pet-related hints and something Audie never wanted in the first place. It had been Marjorie's idea, and like most of her ideas, it had proven an instant hit with the readers.

"You gonna tell her, Marjorie?" Griffin stood up straight and walked toward the large walnut reception desk. His hand reached for the stack of fan mail.

Audie felt her shoulders sag. "Not another one?"

Griffin and Marjorie nodded.

"Oh, crap. Hell."

"Did that detective show up at the television studio yesterday?"

For some reason, Griffin 's simple question startled Audie, and she just stared blankly at her friend. "Who?"

"The police detective."

"Oh! Yes. He did." Audie reached for the letter and cradled it, nearly weightless, in her palm. It was the same white business-sized envelope, the name "Homey Helen" neatly typed front and center, a single generic stamp placed in the corner, covered by a Chicago postmark. It was just like all the others. Her hand trembled slightly.

"Did you guys read it?"

Marjorie avoided Audie's eyes and turned to Griffin.

"What's going on?" Audie demanded.

"We read it. It's bad, Audie," Griffin said. "This one's twisted. I think the guy's a head case."

Audie blinked at him. "Well, of course he is! No normal person gets his ya-yas out of threatening a household hints columnist!"

"Honey," Marjorie said softly. "This one is very weird, and frankly, I'm starting to get worried about your safety."

Audie sighed and walked around behind Marjorie's chair. She brought her lips down to the chic and short gray hair, fragrant with expensive hair spray, and kissed her on top of her head. "But that's your job, Marjie," she said sweetly. "Without you, I wouldn't have anybody to worry about me, right?"

Marjorie brought a hand up to stroke Audie's forearm and offered her a brave smile. "I've always done more than just worry about you, and you know it, Autumn."

Audie hugged her tight. "I know, Aunt Marj." She sighed again, gathered up the rest of the mail, and headed for her office. "What else did I miss yesterday? Anything?"

"Well… " Marjorie adjusted her bifocals. "Russell called. He wanted to remind you that the Banner contract is up for renewal and you can't keep putting him off."

"Great." Audie's lawyer and former boyfriend was the last person in the world she wanted to see, and her contract with Banner News Syndicate was the last thing she wanted to think about.

"Anybody else?"

"Well, honey, I'm sorry, but Tim Burke called again and he sent more flowers yesterday-with a note. The boy is besotted." Marjorie handed Audie the card.

"Ugh." She didn't think it was possible, but her headache had just gotten worse. This man would not leave her alone! How blunt did she have to be with him? She tossed the card in the trash can without bothering to read it. "You told him I was dead, right?"

"Autumn!" Marjorie shook her head with exasperation.

"Where'd you take the flowers?"

"The nursing home, as usual."

"Excellent. That it?"

"No. You also had a message on the main voice mail this morning from a Stacey Quinn-a woman's name but a man's voice. Do you know him?"

Did Audie know Stacey Quinn? She stopped in the doorway to her office and closed her eyes.

She knew that his lips were soft but demanding. She knew how good it felt to wrap her legs around his waist and have him pull her hair. She knew approximately how long and thick he became when sexually aroused, because it was difficult to miss something that big jammed up against the inside of your thigh!

But she didn't know him at all.

"He's the detective working on my case," Audie said hoarsely, taking another sip of coffee so she'd have something to do for three seconds. She felt dizzy again.

"I see." Marjorie offered her the slip of paper. "He said for you to call first thing. He inquired about your headache."

Audie chuckled to herself and caught the flash of humor in Marjorie's eye. So much for clairvoyance. She grabbed the message. "I'll call him right now."

"And you'll tell him about the latest note?" Griffin 's voice was edgy as he called after her. He seemed more shaken up by this than she did-how bad was it this time? she wondered.

Audie turned to him and smiled. "I will, Griff." She let her eyes take in the full effect of his wardrobe, and she giggled-the bald truth of it was, Griffin Nash looked gorgeous.

With his thick shoulder-length dreadlocks and that innocently sexy face, he drew women to him without effort. The man could wear a lawn and garden bag through the streets of Chicago and women of all shapes, sizes, colors, and professions would still be sucked into the gravitational pull of his charms.

"It's actually very Jimi Hendrix," Audie admitted.

"I realize that, mon," he said with a grin.

"Care for a mint?"

Detective Stanley Oleskiewicz shoved the box of Frango Mints under his partner's nose, but Quinn batted it away with the back of his hand and snarled low and deep until he backed off.

Not once in their four years together had Stanny-O altered his routine. He came in the doors to the District 18 police station, got buzzed through, and immediately reached into his top right desk drawer and pulled out a bright green box of Marshall Field's Frango Mints.

And every morning he shoved the box under Quinn's nose and offered him one, apparently oblivious to the fact that Quinn had never once taken him up on his offer.

Stanny-O shrugged and put the box away, but not after grabbing a few to savor with his coffee. "What's happenin', buddy?" He leaned back in his chair comfortably.

"Not much."

"How'd it go with the Homey Helen babe?"