With a Twist

by Martin, Deirdre

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t be here long enough to drink a cup of coffee.”

  “You might, you might not. Why don’t you let Mickey make you an Irish coffee?”

  “Fine.”

  Whitey barked out his order, Mickey delivered the coffee, and then Whitey began to make small talk—lots of it. Quinn soon realized that Whitey was dragging things out on purpose, showing him he was the one controlling things after Quinn’s comment about not wanting to be here long. Quinn had no choice but to go along with it. It wasn’t as if he could say, “Could you cut to the chase?” though he was tempted. Tempted but not stupid. A memory flashed through his mind of his mother once warning him, “That mouth of yours will get you in trouble one day.” It already had on numerous occasions, but this wasn’t going to be one of them.

  “So.” Whitey splayed his veiny hands on the nicked wooden table in front of him. “I hear you’ve been asking a lot of questions around the neighborhood.” His tone was amused, almost nonchalant.

  “That’s right.”

  “Just out of curiosity, what are you hoping to find?”

  Quinn smiled enigmatically. “The one big story behind the little stories.”

  “And what stories would those be?”

  “You know: the beatings, the torchings, the building renovations by the Shields Brothers . . .”

  Whitey chuckled derisively as he withdrew his hands, his expression thoughtful as he raised his coffee cup to his lips. “And you think they’re all connected somehow, do you?”

  Quinn’s gaze pinned his. “I know they are.”

  “Hmm.” Whitey’s thoughtful expression turned unsmiling. “Son, take a word of advice from me: this will lead to no good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sometimes people, good people, get caught up in webs they don’t understand and can’t control. It’s always been that way. It’ll always be that way. Sometimes other people, who think they’re doing their jobs, overreact, trying to impress. Often, it’s best to let those who understand what’s going on handle things.”

  “Can you be a bit more specific?” Quinn pressed.

  “If things progress the way they should, those who’ve been harmed by excessive zeal will find recompense.”

  Christ, Quinn thought, he talks like a cross between Yoda and a leprechaun.

  Whitey cocked his head inquisitively, his smile reptilian. “Tell your brother that I’m grateful he hasn’t kicked Tommy Dolan’s ass. They’re both good boys, and no one wants to see them have any troubles.”

  Whitey was staring at him, waiting for a reaction to his comment about Liam, but there was no way in hell Quinn was going to give him one. It took every ounce of self-control Quinn possessed not to lean across the table, grab the old bastard by his turkey-wattled throat, and throttle him. You hurt my brother and you die, he wanted to growl. Instead, he just stared Whitey down.

  Whitey’s smile broadened, and he stood. “I know you said you were under some time pressure, but please, feel free to stay until you’ve finished your coffee. Give my best to your ma and da.” He squeezed Quinn’s shoulder on his way out the door.

  Quinn tilted his head back, finished his coffee, and then went over to Mickey, who was watching him like a hawk from behind the bar.

  “Give me my fuckin’ voice recorder. And my phone.”

  “Of course.” Mickey was a study in politeness as he handed both over to Quinn. Then he pulled out the silk scarf that had been used to blindfold Quinn. “Time to go home now.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be blindfolded and led back to the limo by Ruddy Face, whose name, apparently was Dennis.

  “Where we taking you?” Dennis grunted.

  “The Wild Hart. I need to get there fast.”

  The driver sniggered. “You get there when you get there. Right, Dennis?”

  “Oh yeah. In fact, I feel like driving around a bit.”

  “Me, too. Nice day for a drive.”

  Shit, thought Quinn. What kind of a moron tells mob guys what to do? He knew now that by the time they delivered him to the Hart, Natalie’s party would be over. Maybe she’d still be there, upstairs with his parents. He just hoped she’d forgive him. Again.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph, who the hell do you think you are?”

  Were his mother a dragon, Quinn had no doubt flames would be shooting from her needle-sharp tongue, enveloping him in enough fire to incinerate him. The moment he set foot in the family kitchen, a nimbus of rage began shimmering around her, rage he knew he deserved. He wished he could tell her where he’d been, though in her current state, it might not have made any difference.

  “Ma—”

  “Shut your gob. I don’t want to hear any of your shite. You didn’t show up for your girlfriend’s birthday party, and we all know why: because you’re a selfish bastard. Work always comes first—before people’s feelings, even the feelings of those you supposedly love. Natalie was heartbroken. Heartbroken. She tried to cover it, but you could see it in her eyes. The hurt. The disappointment. As for your father and me, you know what we were? Plain bloody ashamed of you. I never in my life thought I could be so ashamed of my firstborn son.”

  Quinn’s eyes cut to his father, standing in the doorway leading to the living room, watching this unfold from a safe distance. He shook his head sadly and walked away.

  Quinn wheeled back to face his mother. “Trust me when I tell you I had a good reason for not being there.”

  “There can be no good reason for you not being there, not if it has to do with your bloody work! Natalie didn’t say it, but I could tell she was thinking you don’t love her. And you know what? I don’t believe you do. I don’t believe you love anyone but yourself.

  “I hope she tells you to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, boy. Because she deserves better than you, a selfish eejit who doesn’t appreciate her and who’s too stupid to grasp what’s really important in life. I hope that Pulitzer you’re always chasing after keeps you warm on winter nights. I truly do.”

  Quinn swallowed and looked away. Never in his life had his mother upbraided him like that, and it was worse for it was happening now, when he was an adult. Thoroughly ashamed, he moved past her into the living room, feeling her eyes like darts on his back. Maggie and Brendan were there. Maggie glared at him, a disgusted expression on her face. Brendan kept his nose buried in the newspaper, clearly determined to avoid being drawn into the conversation. Liam wasn’t there. Shit. As soon as he left, he had to call him.

  Not knowing what else to do, Quinn returned to the kitchen. “I guess I’ll go,” he said sheepishly.

  “You do that,” said his mother, refusing to look at him as she cracked eggs into a bowl. “Because right now, I can’t stand the very sight of you. Truly. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she can’t, either.”

  “She doesn’t want to see you.”

  It was Vivi’s voice, not Natalie’s, that came through the intercom loud and clear at the front desk in the lobby of Natalie’s building. Quinn had come directly from his parents’ place, his mother’s blistering speech still ringing in his ears. He had a feeling that Vivi’s being there wasn’t a good sign.

  “Tell her she’s got to hear me out. Tell her I’m going to sit down here and wait as long as it takes for her to see me. I’m a reporter; I’m used to stakeouts. I can wait for hours.”

  The intercom went dead for at least thirty seconds. Then Vivi’s voice came back on. “You can come up, but not for long,” she said crisply.

  “Thank you.”

  Be prepared for Natalie to yell at you, because you deserve it. Be prepared for her telling you to go to hell, because you deserve that, too. Be prepared to beg if you want to keep her.

  Vivi was waiting for him at the apartment door, a formidable gatekeeper. “I don’t like you much right now,” she said coldly. “None of us do.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Can I come in?”

  “I guess,” she sniff
ed.

  Quinn took off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch. Thinking he’d be at the party, he’d worn the shirt Natalie bought him, knowing it would make her happy.

  “Where is she?” he asked Vivi quietly.

  “In the bathroom, putting on makeup. She doesn’t want you to see how terrible she looks from crying.” Vivi looked him up and down contemptuously. “You know, I’ve been telling her to be patient with you. I know all about this big article you’re working on and how you’ve been promising her that once it’s done, you’ll have more time for her. But if you were my man, well, I’d slice your neck.”

  “You mean slit my throat. Vivi, I swear to you, I had a very good reason for not being there,” said Quinn, heartfelt.

  Vivi didn’t say a word and flashed him one final glare before she disappeared down the hallway. He heard the bathroom door quietly open, then close. Quinn sat down on the couch and waited for Natalie.

  30

  “I can explain.”

  Natalie suppressed a bitter laugh. Somehow, she knew those would be the first words out of his mouth. “I can explain.” She’d heard it before.

  Quinn watched her anxiously as she sat on the opposite end of the couch, away from him. Childish? Maybe. But it sent a message. Her makeup was applied expertly enough that he wouldn’t be able to tell she’d been crying, though maybe that had been a mistake. Maybe she should have agreed to see him with her red nose and puffy eyes so he felt guilty.

  She was silent. She would give him nothing, even though, for the first time in her life, she had the urge to rail at him. But Natalie Bocuse didn’t rail. Instead, she drew herself up, dignified, the way she’d been taught as a child. She would always be the consummate French politician’s daughter.

  Quinn looked nervous. “Can I explain?”

  Natalie nodded curtly.

  “First, let me apologize for missing the party.” He edged toward her, but her glare stopped him dead. “Honey, I really wanted to be there,” he said remorsefully. “It killed me to miss it.” He pulled forward the material of his shirt. “See, I even wore the shirt you bought me.”

  He paused, waiting for her to react to his showing her he was wearing the shirt, which, admittedly, looked fabulous on him. But she wouldn’t soften. It would take more than a shirt for him to redeem himself.

  “Here’s what happened: I was on my way to the party, when a limo pulled up beside me, and this beefy guy told me to get in.”

  “Was it an alien come to abduct you?” Natalie asked, unable to resist using his mother’s line.

  “No. It was one of Whitey Connors’s henchmen.”

  Natalie looked at him blankly.

  “The head of the Irish mob,” Quinn prompted.

  “Ah. I see. Go on.”

  “I told them to go to hell, but the guy got out of the car and grabbed me and told me Whitey wanted to see me. I couldn’t turn them down.”

  “You mean, you couldn’t turn down the opportunity.”

  “You’re right: I couldn’t turn down the opportunity,” Quinn admitted honestly. “You know how hard I’ve been working on this article, and I knew that when I told you what happened, you’d understand, especially when I explained that this kind of one-on-one with a mob boss is something every reporter dreams of.”

  He slid a little bit closer to her, and though she was regarding him warily, she let him. “Baby, we didn’t talk long, and I really thought his thugs would get me back to the Hart so I could at least attend some of your party. Instead, they drove me around for hours after I finished talking to Whitey just to bust my balls. By the time they dropped me off at the pub, the party was done.”

  “People pitied me,” she found herself telling him. “Poor Natalie, whose boyfriend couldn’t even make a brief appearance at her birthday party. You could see it in their eyes and in the way they kept trying to make me jolly. Vivi especially.”

  “Well, obviously if they knew why I wasn’t there, they wouldn’t have thought that,” Quinn countered.

  “You could have called me.”

  “They took my phone.”

  What could she say to that?

  “Baby, I am so, so sorry,” Quinn repeated. “Look, if it’s any comfort, I went upstairs to see my folks, and my mother really lit into me. She told me I didn’t deserve you. And I don’t.” His voice turned plaintive, yanking hard at her heartstrings. “She said she wouldn’t be surprised if you dump me.”

  Natalie clenched her jaw, holding back the sudden rush of tears that threatened. “I’m thinking of it.”

  “Nat, please. One more chance,” Quinn begged. “Just let me get this article done, and I swear to God, I’ll figure out a way to make this all work. I’ll give you all you deserve.”

  Natalie looked at him sadly. “You’re deluding yourself. When this story is done, there will be another, and another. Our relationship will always come second.”

  “It won’t. You’ve got to believe me. I love you.”

  God, please, help me believe. Natalie’s mind was fogging with confusion. What if she gave him one more chance, and he let her down again? The pain would be unendurable. Once again, everyone would pity her. Stupid, blind Natalie, the doormat. But what if the opposite happened?

  “I’m afraid you’re going to hurt me,” she confessed in a tiny voice.

  Quinn grabbed her hands and kissed them fiercely. “Never. Never again. I swear.”

  Natalie sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Quinn O’Brien?” she asked softly.

  “You’re going to give me another chance. Right?”

  Natalie caved. She didn’t say anything. She just nodded.

  Quinn whooped with relief. “Thank you, cherie. Thank you.” His hands still held hers. He lifted them to his mouth, brushing his lips seductively across her knuckles. “Wait until you see the fantastic birthday present I have for you.”

  “Oh yes? Where is it?”

  “I’ll give it to you tomorrow. It’s all planned, and I have the day off.”

  “Are you staying here tonight?” she asked tentatively.

  Quinn rubbed his thumb back and forth across her lower lip. “If you’ll let me.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll stay here. And not just for tonight. For forever.”

  Natalie closed her eyes. She loved this man. She had no choice but to believe him.

  “This is wonderful. I never thought about doing this.”

  Natalie snuggled against Quinn as a bright blue horse-drawn carriage drove them through Central Park at twilight. She knew it was an experience usually limited to tourists, but right now, it struck her as romantic—which it was.

  She’d been so absorbed in work and Vivi’s wedding planning that she’d failed to notice that spring had arrived, and the natural world was bursting back to life. Even though they were in the heart of the city, Natalie felt as though they were riding through an oasis of tranquillity. She turned to look at him, loving the feeling of his arm tight around her shoulder. He looked somewhat contented and relaxed, a rare look for him. It made her happy.

  Quinn smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I had a feeling you would.”

  “I feel kind of silly,” Natalie confessed.

  “Why?”

  “This is such a touristy thing to do.”

  “Maybe. But who cares? Believe it or not, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  That he’d never done this with any woman before her delighted her.

  He squeezed her tight. “This is only the first part of your present, you know.”

  “What?” Natalie drew back in surprise. “This is more than enough.”

  Quinn kissed her forehead softly. “I can never do enough for you.”

  Natalie rested her head on his shoulder. This was perfection. If only she could always have him to herself just like this. She closed her eyes. She could imagine a future with Quinn. A bumpy one, maybe, but a future nonetheless.

  As th
e horses clip-clopped along, Quinn pointed out various landmarks to her, telling her a little bit about each: the Bandshell, the Boathouse, Tavern on the Green, Cherry Hill . . . he knew them all.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I’m a lifelong New Yawker.” He looked thoughtful. “I come here a lot just to think.”

  “About what?”

  “Ah, everything.”

  She put her head back down on his shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry about missing the party, Nat.”

  He’d been apologizing nonstop—at the pub, at her flat, on the phone. What had Vivi called it? Ah, yes: “Bowing and scraping.” Part of her wanted to tell him he didn’t have to keep apologizing . . . but she was still enjoying it.

  The carriage ride lasted for a full magical hour. Natalie was feeling closer to him than ever before, loving how easy it was to talk to him, the way they teased each other. It felt so easy and uncomplicated.

  She fought a small twinge of disappointment as the ride came to a stop just where they started at, Fifth Avenue and Central Park South. Quinn hopped down first, extending a hand to help her down from the carriage. She took one last, wistful look at the carriage and then slipped her hand into his.

  “Now what?” she asked, excited yet nervous at the same time.

  Quinn pointed across the street as he drew her close, nuzzling her as his voice dropped seductively low. “Now we spend a night at the Plaza.”

  Natalie impulsively threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Quinn! I love you so much!”

  He put an arm around her waist and squeezed tight. “Ready, ma petit pamplemousse?” My little grapefruit. She hit his arm playfully, and together they walked across the street.

  Natalie resisted the urge to bounce up and down on the enormous king-sized bed like an excited little girl. He’d booked them into a beautiful suite overlooking the park.

  Her overnight bag was already there. Quinn had packed it when she was away at work, filling it with a few items from her bra and panty drawer, all those lacy push-up bras and thongs he loved. Quinn was inspecting the champagne bucket. Sometimes, just the sight of him took her breath away. It wasn’t just that he was handsome, or that his shoulders were broad, or that his voice was deep and sexy. It was his love for his family, his sense of humor, his passion for what he did—his passion, period. It still amazed her that of all the women in the world he could have had, he’d picked her.