"I'm sorry."

Audie's eyes popped and she stared in disbelief at the detective, a mouthful of hot dog now lodged in her throat. Nothing-absolutely nothing-would have surprised her more.

"They're your season tickets, so I thought I should pay for everything else," he said. "I didn't mean anything by it."

She blinked. My God, he was a fine-looking man, but then, she'd always found men at their most attractive during an apology.

Audie was about to say something nice to him when he smiled wickedly and added, "So how long did you plan to let me squirm?"

"Huh?"

"When were you going to admit you wrote those letters yourself?"

A hot and electric shiver ran up Audie's spine and she wrestled for command of her voice. "What are you talking about?"

"The letters. You wrote them and mailed them to yourself to give you an out."

The blood was pounding in her skull, hot and blinding. "An out?"

"So that you could stop writing the column. It obviously doesn't come naturally to you."

The pounding had mellowed into a quaking rage, and Audie stood up over him. "Go to hell, Detective." She turned, knocking over her beer in the process, and barged down the row of seats to get to the aisle.

Quinn was right behind her, climbing up the ballpark steps toward street level. "Audie, wait!"

He had no choice but to look at her lovely round butt, right in front of him. This was not working out the way he'd hoped. Not at all.

"C'mon, Audie! Wait up!"

She was running now, and Quinn had to push himself to keep up with her. She was fast, ducking and weaving through the crowd, searching for an open exit gate. Quinn knew she was probably scared, but a decent lawyer could get the charges dropped. Filing a false report wasn't exactly homicide, after all.

They were out on Addison Street now, and she was slicing through the tangle of pedestrians and souvenir vendors to get to Clark Street and their parking spot four blocks away. He really didn't feel like chasing her, but he'd do it if he had to.