The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  As she threw open the door, Patrick said, “Hold on, Darcy. I’ll walk you out.”

  “Not necessary,” she said. His footsteps speeded up behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She slid into her car, slammed the door and took off.

  * * *

  THE HOUSE WAS DARK by the time Patrick arrived home that evening. Nathan had left the kitchen light on, but he was sprawled, asleep, on the hospital bed in the den. In the dim light, his hair was disheveled, as if he’d shoved his hands through it repeatedly before he fell asleep. The streetlamp in front of the house cast shadows over the bed and made his white casts gleam in the darkness.

  Patrick wanted to wake his brother and demand answers about Chuck and the free drinks. Tell Nathan to stop shutting him out. Instead, he tightened his grip on the bank bag and the flash drive that held a copy of the ledger. The accountant in him made him open the bag and count the cash. Nathan had been desperate to get his hands on both the ledger and cash. Did they have something to do with whatever was going on at Mama’s?

  He headed into the kitchen. After his confrontation with Marco, he needed a damn beer.

  No one had stayed for wine tonight. After Darcy had stormed out, clearly pissed off at both him and his brother, the other employees had scattered, as well.

  Patrick smiled faintly at the memory of Darcy chewing out Marco. Nathan had been right—the woman had a mouth on her.

  His smile faded as he gulped the beer. He’d been spending too much time thinking about her mouth. Her ass. Her breasts, bouncing in her running bra.

  He hadn’t seen her running again, although he’d looked. Had she been going out at a different time? Trying to avoid him?

  She cut him off whenever he asked her a personal question, and it had almost been fun to watch her attempts to keep him at a distance. She could dance with the best of them. But he hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen two nights ago—the way she’d tended to Javier. The way she’d been desperate to help Theresa tonight.

  Darcy was an interesting mystery, one he’d like to solve while he was here. He wasn’t looking for anything serious—not long-distance—but maybe he’d come back to visit her once in a while.

  His fight with Marco had reminded him that he didn’t belong here. This wasn’t his home anymore. After Nate was back at work, he’d return to Detroit.

  His home. His life. A place with no messy, emotional family complications.

  But before he left, he’d do his best to help his brothers if they needed it. They knew how to run a restaurant. He knew how to solve a problem.

  Patrick leaned against the den doorway and watched Nathan sleep.

  What have you gotten yourself into, Nate?

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Patrick waited until his brother was eating breakfast, then asked him about Chuck. Pressed him about what was going on at Mama’s. Why he’d been so agitated the day before.

  Nathan stared him down, his eyes hard, his expression carefully blank. “Butt out, Paddy.”

  “If you’re in some kind of trouble, let me help.”

  “Run the restaurant for me. That’s all the help I need.”

  The plates rattled as Patrick shoved away from the kitchen table. “I’m good enough to do the work, but not good enough to help you?”

  If anything, his brother’s expression got harder. “I repeat. Not your business. Not anyone’s business but mine.”

  “If it affects Mama’s, it’s my business. Marco’s and Frankie’s, as well.” He slid his hands across the table and stared at Nathan. “We own the place, too, buddy.”

  “You’re a silent partner. And you’re getting your share of the profits, buddy. So back off.”

  Patrick held his brother’s gaze for a long moment, and when Nathan didn’t look away, he dropped back into his chair. Nathan was right. He’d never wanted to be involved with Mama’s. So why should his brother think anything had changed?

  He watched as Nathan stabbed a fork into a crust of wheat toast, swirled it through the yellow smears of yolk on his plate and shoved it into his mouth. Then, holding Patrick’s gaze a moment, he swung the wheelchair around and rolled out of the kitchen.

  Hell.

  Patrick got up and followed Nathan into the living room. His brother had already opened his laptop and inserted the flash drive into one of the USB ports. He ignored Patrick as he typed.

  Patrick lowered himself to the couch. “Shouldn’t have jumped on you.” He had more finesse than that. He’d been interrogating people for years.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Nathan spoke without looking up, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

  “I am going to worry about it,” he said softly, resting his elbows on his knee as he slid to the edge of the worn plaid couch. “You’re my brother. I’m not letting this go. I’m going to keep digging.”

  “Dig away. You won’t find a thing.” Computer keys clicked furiously.

  “Is that a dare, Nate?” Patrick peered at the laptop, trying to see what was on the screen. “I like dares. You should know that by now.”

  Nathan slammed the computer closed. “Get the hell out of my face. Go for a run. Go hit somebody at the gym. Come back here all sweaty and tired and rub it in my face that I’m stuck in this chair. Just leave me the hell alone.”

  Patrick flinched. “Nate, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to rub it in.”

  “That’s what it looks like,” Nathan said. He opened the computer screen, closed it, opened it again. “Look. I appreciate you bringing this stuff home. I need to get some work done, to feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. So go away and let me do it.”

  Patrick stared at his brother, at a loss for words. Before he could figure out what to say, the doorbell rang.

  When he opened it, a Chicago police officer stood there. “I need to talk to Nathan. May I come in?”

  * * *

  BRIGHT SUNLIGHT streamed through the trees, dappling the ground with golden light. Sweating, chest heaving, Darcy stumbled to a halt at the top of the pedestrian tunnel beneath the railroad tracks that separated Wildwood from Edgebrook. She’d run down almost every street in her own neighborhood, but anxiety still gnawed at her. Patrick. Theresa. The persistent itch at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her.

  Maybe she should stop by the shelter and talk to Kelly, the woman who ran it. Maybe she would have some suggestions for helping Theresa.

  Maybe she’d have some advice for Darcy.

  She stared at the ramp to the tunnel. She could do this. It was broad daylight. There were people around. She heard children’s voices, laughing and shouting, on the playground at the other end.

  Stupid to be afraid. And inconvenient. She could either go through the tunnel, or run an extra six blocks around it.

  She took a step onto the ramp. Then another. During the day, the green lights weren’t creepy, she told herself. They were only spots of color on the wall. She wiped her hands on her shorts, took another step. Scanned the shadows. Nothing.

  Tim wasn’t waiting on the other side to grab her.

  Damn it, she thought she’d banished this kind of fear from her life. She ran as fast as she could, down the ramp, into the shaded tunnel, up the other side. She staggered as she reached the top and bent over near the playground, hands on her knees, her breath sawing in and out.

  As her breathing slowed, she straightened. Three children soared through the air on swings, their legs pumping, huge grins on their faces. A woman she assumed was their mother watched them from a bench, a book in her hand. In another lifetime Darcy had been one of those free, joyful kids, savoring something as simple as a ride on a swing.

  The woman smiled at Darcy. Managing an answering smile, Darcy headed for the water fountain near the monkey bars.

  Now she was an ad
ult, and joy hadn’t been part of her life for a very long time.

  She drank the cold water, then lifted her shirt to wipe the sweat from her face. With one last look at the family, she began running again.

  She’d needed the reminder that there was still innocence and joy in the world.

  Five minutes later, she stood outside the shelter house, which was enclosed by a tall fence. She pressed the buzzer, and after a moment, Kelly’s voice answered.

  “Who is it, please?”

  “Darcy. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  The gate unlocked with a click and Darcy pushed through, shutting it firmly behind her. When she reached the front door, it opened wide. The tiny brunette embraced her as she walked in.

  “Darcy. What’s up?”

  Darcy nodded toward the office. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Sure. Hold on a second.” Kelly turned to a tall blonde woman standing behind her. “Are Mary and her girls settled in?”

  “No, but she told me to get lost. She’s having second thoughts. I’m afraid she’s going to leave.”

  Kelly glanced up the stairs. “I’ll do my best to convince her to stay.”

  “I know. And I’ll come back tomorrow to talk to her some more.”

  “A familiar face will be good.” Kelly stepped back. “Emma, this is Darcy Gordon, one of our volunteers. Darce, this is Emma Sloan. She works for the Department of Children and Family Services.”

  They shook hands, exchanged greetings, then Emma slipped out the door. Once it was closed, Kelly said, “Mary and her two daughters are clients Emma’s been working with. Took her a long time to convince the woman to leave.” Kelly walked into her office, waited for Darcy to follow, then closed the door. “Hope to God Mary’s still here the next time you’re working.”

  “Me, too,” Darcy murmured. She looked at the photos Kelly kept on a corkboard above her desk—women and children who’d come through her shelter, who’d successfully escaped from their abusers. She didn’t know Mary yet, but she wanted to see her picture on that board. If Mary went back to her husband, the violence would be worse. She might not get a second chance to leave. “Do you want me to talk to her?”

  “Not now. Give her a chance to settle.” Kelly threw herself into her chair and leaned back. “What can I do for you, Darce?”

  Darcy explained about Theresa and her fear that the abuse was escalating. “Any ideas? Suggestions? This is the first time I’ve seen such a large bruise on her face.”

  Her rickety chair squeaked as Kelly sat upright. “You know there’s nothing more you can do.” She held Darcy’s gaze. “Don’t you, Darcy?”

  “Yes.” Darcy closed her eyes, remembering Theresa’s bruise. Her dead eyes. Her whisper. Had her husband tried to choke her, as well? “That doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

  “You’re doing everything you can. Keep showing up at work, keep talking to her. And pray that eventually she listens to you.”

  Darcy thought about the car that had hit Nathan and come so close to hitting her. About Patrick and the questions he asked. The speculation in his eyes. About the itch at the back of her neck that wouldn’t go away.

  Run? Or save Theresa?

  She didn’t really have a choice—getting Theresa away from her abuser might save her life. But she needed to act quickly.

  She stood up. “I’ll be here on Thursday for my regular shift,” she said. “If Mary’s still here, I’ll talk to her then.”

  “It helps them,” Kelly said, standing as well. “Hearing how you escaped. How you got your life back.”

  She hadn’t gotten her life back. Maybe never would. But she was alive. That was something.

  And if she stayed in Wildwood, kept working at Mama’s, kept volunteering at the shelter, maybe she could keep some other women alive, as well.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHAT’S THIS ABOUT?”

  Patrick’s question made the cop frown. “What the hell do you think it’s about?”

  “I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking.” Patrick held eye contact with the cop. No local uniform was going to intimidate him.

  The cop studied Patrick for a long moment. “You must be the brother. The Fibbie.”

  “That would be me.”

  “My business is with Nathan. Not you.”

  Even the locals were shutting him out. “Let me get him.”

  Patrick heard the whirring of Nathan’s wheelchair. “Paddy, let Marino in,” Nathan said behind him.

  Patrick spun around to face his brother. “You know this guy?”

  “Of course I do. He’s the one investigating the accident.”

  Feeling like an idiot, Patrick stepped to the side. When Marino was in the house, Patrick shut the door, then planted himself on the couch.

  “You want some coffee, Marino?” Nathan asked.

  “That’d be great,” the cop replied.

  Nathan glanced at Patrick, who raised his eyebrows. “Paddy, would you mind?” he said through clenched teeth.

  “That’s why I’m here, right? To serve and protect?” He pushed off the couch, started the coffee, then leaned against the wall in the dining room as it brewed. Nathan and the cop were making neighborhood small talk, and Marino glanced at Patrick. Nodded once.

  Satisfied that the cop would wait for Patrick to return before having his conversation with Nathan, he returned to the kitchen and poured two mugs.

  Marino called, “Black is fine.”

  Patrick scowled.

  The two men continued talking, their voices a low rumble, as Patrick carried the coffee into the living room. He set one mug on the table next to Marino and put the other in Nathan’s cup holder. Then he sat down again.

  Nathan narrowed his eyes. Patrick gave him a “go to hell” stare. He hadn’t come to Chicago to be dismissed like a friggin’ servant when a cop came to talk to his brother.

  Marino took a drink then set his coffee down. “So, Nate, good news. We found the person who hit you.”

  Patrick was watching his brother and it was hard to miss the way Nate went still. Turned a little pale and braced himself. “Yeah? Who did it turn out to be?”

  Marino pulled out his notebook and studied it, frowning. Nathan’s knuckles whitened on the arm rests. “Bridie Sullivan. Eighty-seven years old. Isn’t supposed to drive at night, but she sneaked out when her daughter wasn’t home. She knew she’d hit the railing at Mama’s, but she’d forgotten to turn her headlights on and didn’t realize she’d hit you.”

  “An old lady?” The relief on Nathan’s face was impossible to mistake. “Shut up. No way.”

  Marino laughed and snapped the notebook closed. “She took the car to a body shop a few miles away, and they called us. She feels horrible. Asked me if she could make you some cookies.”

  “Cookies? No.” Nathan rubbed one finger over the arm in the cast. “So what happens to her?”

  “She’s been charged with leaving the scene of an accident, failure to report an accident and a bunch of other stuff. I have her insurance info for you.” He took a piece of paper out of the pocket of his jacket and handed it to Nathan. “Sounds as if her daughter is taking away her license and getting rid of her car.”

  “So that’s it?” The tension in Nathan’s shoulders eased and he exhaled.

  “Case closed,” Marino said. He narrowed his gaze and glanced over at Patrick. “Unless there’s something else you’d like to talk about.”

  Time to get rid of this guy. Patrick stood up. “You have any brothers, Officer?”

  Marino grimaced. “Four of them. Each a bigger pain in the ass than the next. They worry.”

  “I do, too.” Patrick opened the door. “You got the blowback. Sorry.”

  “Right.” He glanced over
his shoulder at Nathan. “Glad you’re doing okay.”

  “Thanks.”

  Patrick closed the door behind Marino and waited until he drove away. Then he turned to Nathan, who looked like he’d gotten a last-minute pardon from the electric chair.

  “You were shocked as hell when he said it was an old lady. Which means you thought you knew who it was.”

  “I figured it was some drunk,” Nathan muttered. He took a deep breath. “You’ve been a stand-up guy, and I’ve been an ass. Let’s drop this.”

  “You think you can distract me with a lame apology?” Patrick said scornfully. “Not a chance. I’ve had pros shining me on. Who did you think hit you, Nate?”

  “I had no idea.” Nathan jerked on his wheelchair control and spun around to face the window. “I’d have told the police if I did.”

  Like hell you would. “Come on, Nate, who would run you down? And why?”

  “You gotta trust me, Paddy. Have a little faith.”

  “Pretty hard to do when you don’t trust me.” He threw himself into the chair closest to the wheelchair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You don’t think this is any of my business. I get that. But I can’t stand by and do nothing if my brother is in trouble. Please talk to me. Hell, talk to all of us. Four heads are better than one.”

  “No, they’re not. Drop it, Patrick. It’s all good.”

  Patrick stared at his brother and Nathan held his gaze. Finally he stood. “Fine. Keep your secrets. If you can.”

  * * *

  PATRICK SLAMMED through the back door of Mama’s an hour late. His office in Detroit had called to remind him he needed to be in court in three weeks to testify about one of his cases. He’d been trying to figure out how to juggle his court date with his responsibilities here, and he’d lost track of the time.

  When he hurried into the dining room, the waitresses and cooks were sitting around the big table, tasting Marco’s specials of the day—salad with pears and blue cheese and a linguine with roasted vegetables.

  Marco nodded at him. “Hungry?”

  “Don’t have time.” They’d had a liquor delivery this morning he hadn’t been able to supervise, and he had to make sure the receipt and the actual delivery matched. Then he had to find out what food needed to be ordered for tomorrow.