"My family," Quinn said, grabbing the frame and handing it to her. He scooted his chair closer and reached over the top, pointing, so near her now.

"This is my da, Jamie Quinn, retired from the force in 1996, a beat officer for thirty-two years in District Twenty-two, on the South Side. This is my mother, Trish-she died not long after this picture was taken."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Quinn pointed to the faces, all handsome and flushed, pressed together in a casual tangle of arms and shoulders and hugs. It was an outdoor setting-maybe a summer barbecue. They had the openmouthed smiles of laughter, and she could almost hear it. It must have been a raucous, rolling sound. They all looked like accomplished laughers, these Quinns.

About as different from her family as you could get, she thought.

"This is my baby brother Michael, an assistant state's attorney, and his wife, Sheila, and their two kids, Kiley-she's two here-and Little Pat. He was about four at the time."

Audie nodded, noticing the pinkie ring again. It was one of those Irish rings in the shape of a pair of hands holding a heart-it had some strange name she couldn't remember.

"The kids are six and four now." A huge smile lingered on Quinn's face before he resumed the tour. "And this is my brother Patrick. He's a parish priest at St. Aloisius on the Southwest Side, but he's a vicious liar, so don't ever believe a thing he says. And that's me. You know me."

It was the longest string of words she'd heard Stacey Quinn put together, and she noticed his voice had a charming cadence to it, somewhat scratchy but musical nonetheless. She looked up and caught his eye, their heads still quite close together.

"So your family's Irish?"

Audie didn't think it was the world's stupidest question, but the look Quinn gave her clearly indicated it had been.

"I see you picked up on that right away."

Should she just get up and walk out, or should she laugh at herself? She was still deciding when his green-and-gold eyes crinkled in amusement, and she heard her laugh escape without her permission. "Maybe I should be a detective, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, if Stanny-O can do it, I see no reason why you couldn't."

She giggled. "It was your ring, Quinn."

Quinn looked puzzled for a second before he glanced down at his left hand. "My mom's wedding band. It's a claddagh-youknow those?"

"I've seen them before." She smiled at him, noting the sweet, shy expression in his eyes. Then she abruptly stopped smiling, because the sweetness left and it was replaced by something hungry.

Then she recalled the ridiculous words he'd written on his card, sat up straight, and pulled away.

Quinn put the frame back in its place and returned to her list. "This is a regular who's-who of Chicago 's most eligible bachelors, Audie. Can I ask for their autographs when I talk with them?"

"Talk wit…?"Audie's mouth fell open. "You have to talk with them? In person?"

"Either myself or Detective Oleskiewicz."

"Why?" she cried.

He cocked his head a bit. "To try to find the bad guy."

"But I told you none of these guys would do something like that! I told you they were happy to get rid of me!"

Quinn narrowed his eyes. He didn't believe that for a second. "We still have to check," he said with a shrug. "We wouldn't be doing our job if we didn't."

Quinn began to read out loud. "'Russell Ketchum, attorney,' your steady up until six months ago. Nobody since then?" He looked up, his face a mask of professional politeness.

"No one."

A tiny satisfied smile crooked up the corner of his mouth. He went back to the list. "WBBS anchor Kyle Singer-I just assumed he preferred men."

Audie had no comment.

"Then we've got University of Illinois – Chicago professor Will Dalton, the guy who wrote that famous book on TV sitcoms and childhood depression, right? Wasn't he on Oprah?"

She nodded.

"And then there's Chicago Bears placekicker Darren Billings-is he coming back this season? How'd the knee surgery go?"

Audie rolled her eyes-she knew Darren could use a brain transplant, but she didn't know squat about his knee. "I have no idea."

Quinn suddenly stilled. She watched his whole body go rigid. He looked at her, his face stiff and completely unreadable.

" Chicago 's illustrious vice mayor, Mr. Timothy Burke," he said, his voice flat. "And how's Timmy these days?"

"Ireally don't know. Look, is there a point to this?"

Quinn placed her list inside a manila file and closed it. He sat back in his chair, tucked his hands behind his head, and studied her.

She studied him, too. He'd taken off his jacket, and Audie could see how the long muscles of his upper arms tugged at the sleeves. She noticed how his gun holster cut snugly across his big shoulders.

"How the hell did you end up with Timmy Burke?" he blurted out.

Audie watched Quinn's chest rise and fall in rapid breaths. He was positively vibrating with some kind of unfriendly energy, and it alarmed her.

"We met at a ribbon cutting a couple months before my mom died. Why?"

Quinn shrugged, and Audie saw him close his eyes for a moment to switch gears. Then he smiled pleasantly. "So, how did you come to do the column? What kind of work did you do before?"

She shook her head, trying to figure out how he'd gotten from Tim Burke to her job résumé.

"Before?" Audie gave her wavy hair a nervous fluff. "I was a teacher at Uptown Alternative School, a place for high school kids who aren't making it in the traditional setting. They sign a contract to graduate and stay out of trouble."

"I'm familiar with it. It's a good place."

"Really?" Audie was pleasantly surprised. "I was one of the founding teachers. I taught physical education, sociology, and anger management; plus I coached girls' soccer, basketball, and softball."

"Anger management?" Quinn's lopsided grin spread. "As in how to manage a wicked right cross to the jaw?"

She pursed her lips. "I said I taught it. I didn't say I actually did it."

Quinn laughed loudly at that. "OK, Miss Adams. So how long were you there?"

"Since right after college-seven years. That's where I met Griffin."

Quinn's eyes lit up. "OK. So tell me the story with him."

"Why?" Audie scowled, shifting in the chair and crossing her legs defensively. "Do you have to know everything about me? Aren't there some things I get to keep private?"

He shrugged a little, reaching for his tiny notebook. "Sure. Lots of things. Just not this."

Audie looked down at her hands and took a breath. "He's my best friend, Quinn, the best friend I've ever had. There is no way in hell he's sending me those letters."

"That's good to hear. Then I'll be able to cross him off right away."

She grunted. "I don't like this."

"How serious was it?"

She closed her eyes. "We were together for over two years. We broke up when he turned pro-soccer-and was traveling all the time. But we're still close. We'll always be close."

"Two years is longer than seven weeks, Audie."

She smiled a bit. "I think we stayed together a lot longer than we should have because it felt safe, comfortable. It was the first serious relationship for both of us. Besides, I think that was before I had the green slimy problem we discussed."

Quinn nodded, letting his eyes trace the line of her cheek and jaw. "Do the letters scare you, Audie?"

She looked around the room again, a blur of activity. Quinn seemed so calm compared to the rest of the cops in here, she thought. He seemed to move slower-not a lazy kind of slow but an intentional hesitation.

"There's definitely something about the letters that bothers me," she said, biting her bottom lip and gazing at her sandals-anything to keep from looking in his eyes. "It's not so much what he's saying. It's the way he's saying it. There's so much hate there, but it's like he's laughing at me, too. Like he knows me, like the joke's on me." She looked off into the room again. "Do you know what I mean?"