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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?"
    "I really 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