Quinn sighed. It had to be a real bitch to pretend you were someone you weren't, day after day.

And then he smiled to himself. God, he loved the way his brain worked! No wonder he'd made detective at the age of twenty-nine.

Obviously, Autumn Adams was sending those notes to herself. If she didn't enjoy doing the column, if the job cramped her style, which it clearly did, then these letters would be a way to bow out without anyone accusing her of failure.

He had to give the woman credit-it was certainly worth a try. Too bad he was so good at his job.

Autumn was walking toward him, and he watched her lift the front of her jersey to wipe her sweaty face, exposing a stretch of flat, smooth, and golden skin.

She smiled up at him. "I could really use a beer. How about you?"

Quinn pushed aside the starched cuff of his oxford shirt and checked his watch. So she wanted to play with him a little, did she? He was up for that. He grinned at her. "Sure. Why not?"

"Can we go to my regular watering hole?"

"Sure."

"Great. That would be Field Box Seats Two-oh-five and Two-oh-six, Gate D, Section One-thirty-four, along the first base line. The game starts in ten minutes."

Stacey Quinn stopped dead and stared at the pretty, flushed face and the toffee-brown eyes wide with a question. Homey Helen had just asked him for a date-to a Cubs game!

"I'm not sure I can do that, Audie."

Her face froze in a smile. "Why not? Are you still on duty? Or aren't you allowed to go to sporting events with taxpaying citizens?" Her smile suddenly collapsed and she shook her head. "Whoops. You've got a wife or girlfriend to go home to."

He kept grinning. "No wife. No girlfriend. I'm off duty. And yes, I'm allowed to accept your offer."