Detective Stacey Quinn stood in the shadows of the television studio and watched her. She glowed in a proper pink suit jacket that reminded him of frosting on a party cupcake. Her hands were folded primly on the desk in front of her.

That voice, however, came from a full, luscious mouth that was anything but prim and proper, and he listened to the flow of it-honey-smooth, rich, and god-awful sexy.

With those lovely lips, she spoke of the best way to remove water spots from glassware, and the detective felt his pulse quicken.

Could it be that here she was at last-the woman of his fantasies, the woman his brothers claimed could not possibly exist? Could it be that this woman under the studio lights was one part Martha Stewart to one part Carmen Electra?

"Unfortunately, the spots may be tiny pits in the glass itself." She smiled sadly, sharing the heartbreak of scratched stemware with her fans. "So if this trick doesn't work, then I assure you, nothing will."

Detective Quinn swallowed hard.

With a little tilt of her head and a friendly grin, she held the camera's gaze. "And as always, thank you, viewers, for another wonderful week of handy comments and suggestions."

"And thank you, Helen! We'll have more Homey Helen next Monday. Stay with us, Chicago. We'll be right back after the break."

The anchorwoman flashed a smile until they were off the air, then turned to her guest. "Nice segment, Audie. Good luck tonight. Who're you playing?"

"The Sun-Times, and we're gonna kick some serious butt, let me tell you." She unclipped the tiny microphone from her lapel. "What time is it?"

" Five fifty-four."

"Crap!" She popped up from behind the long curved desk, jumped off the platform, and ran across the studio, shouting good-bye to the news anchor and crew.