“Still have to taste them, Paddy. Customers want recommendations.”
Patrick dropped his briefcase. “Fine. Set me up.”
Just as well. He had to tell everyone the news, anyway. He slid into the open chair at the table and glanced at Darcy. She was carefully avoiding his gaze, eating the linguine as if she were the food critic for the Herald Times.
“It’s good,” she finally told Marco. “A bit bland, though.”
Marco frowned. “Really?” He pushed away from the table. “I’ll go play with it a little more.”
“Hold on, Marco,” Patrick said. “I have some news.”
His brother sat down. “Yeah? About what?” He tapped his fingers on the table in a jittery rhythm.
“The police stopped by today,” Patrick said, watching Marco’s face. No reaction. “They found the person who hit Nathan.”
Darcy stilled, fork in the air.
Marco’s face tightened. “Who was it? Do they have him?”
Phyllis and Jesse shot questions at him at the same time, their words sounding jumbled.
“We need deets, Patrick,” Jesse said. “Spill.”
Darcy set her fork on the plate. It rattled a little, as if her hand shook. “Yes, Patrick. Who was it?”
She was bone-white, and it looked as if she held her breath. Watching her, glancing at Marco, he said, “The police sent out a bulletin about a dark sedan with front-end damage. A mechanic at a body shop a few miles from here called them.”
“Was it some drunk, like we thought?” Phyllis asked.
Patrick smiled. “Bridie Sullivan. Eighty-seven years old.” He gave them the rest of the information, still watching Darcy and Marco.
“No way,” Marco said, shoulders relaxing.
Darcy slumped against the back of her chair as if someone had cut her strings. “An old woman?”
“Yeah. When the police confronted her, she folded like a cheap lawn chair.”
The muscles in her throat rippled as she swallowed once. Again. “Thank God they found her,” she said with a forced smile. “Nathan must be happy.” She gulped water, coughed, cleared her throat.
More and more interesting. Marco was as relieved as Nathan had been. Darcy was shocked. Which meant all three thought they knew who the driver was.
Darcy was involved with what was going on at Mama’s. She knew Nathan’s secret.
The thought of Nathan and her bound together that way was disturbing, but he ignored the reaction. Focused on the fact that Nathan and Marco wouldn’t tell him anything. Their brother.
Pressure built in his chest. He was still the outsider.
He slapped his hands on the table and stood up. “Let’s get to work.”
All evening, no matter what he was doing, Patrick found himself watching Darcy. Wondering why Nathan had confided in her.
Whatever the reason, she buried her reaction while she was working. She smiled, chatted with the customers, teased the cooks and busboys, like she did every night.
But when she was alone in the waitresses’ station, getting bread or entering an order on the touch screen, her smile fell away. When she thought no one was watching, she let the weariness show. Along with relief and a bone-deep worry.
He wanted to know what was going on in his restaurant.
He wanted to know how Darcy was involved.
* * *
WHEN THE EVENING was finally over and everyone was leaving, Patrick put a hand on Darcy’s arm. “Hold on a minute.”
She tensed beneath his hand, then slowly drew away. “Why?”
“I need to talk to you. Alone.” He saw Marco approaching and said under his breath, “Pretend you forgot something in the other room.”
Her knuckles were white on the strap of her bag, but she turned and pushed through the swinging door into the now-dark dining room.
Marco paused on his way to the exit. “Darcy okay?”
“Forgot something,” Patrick said easily. “Go ahead. I’ll lock up.”
Marco looked from Patrick to the dining room. “See you tomorrow, Paddy.”
Luis and Jesse followed him out, and Patrick locked the door.
He strode to the swinging door and pushed it open. She stood in the dark, her bag in front of her like a shield.
“Everyone’s gone,” he said, stepping into the room. The darkness was intimate. Private. Maybe she would be more comfortable talking without the bright lights of the kitchen illuminating every expression on her face.
But before he could move toward her, Darcy straightened her shoulders and brushed past him into the kitchen.
He followed reluctantly. And when the door had swung shut behind them, she studied him. “What’s this about, Patrick?”
The freezer hummed in the background, and the acrid scent of cleaning solution hung in the air. Bright light from the overhead fixtures bounced off the aluminum tables and counters.
Late at night, empty except for the two of them, the kitchen was a cold, stark place.
Darcy stood rigid in front of him, shoulders back, arms crossed in front of her, dark red hair tousled. Suddenly he wanted more than just to talk to her.
He didn’t move.
Wasn’t going to happen. He needed her help running Mama’s, and he wasn’t going to screw that up by hitting on her and having her walk. Without Darcy, he suspected the place would fall apart. It would also delay his return to Detroit, his return to his life. He wasn’t going to risk that for a few weeks of fun and games.
That didn’t stop him from wanting her.
“What do you need?” she asked.
She’d be surprised if he told her. “What’s going on at Mama’s Place? What are you and Nathan and Marco up to?”
She let the bag drop to her side and frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You were shocked about Bridie Sullivan. You weren’t expecting an old lady to be the one who hit Nathan. Which meant you thought it was someone else. Nathan and Marco had the same reaction. I want to know who. And why.”
He watched her mentally scramble. Try to get her thoughts in order. Finally she said, “Why wouldn’t we be surprised? We all thought the driver was drunk.”
“Nathan was relieved. Which means he figured he knew who was responsible.” He moved closer to her. “He’s stonewalling. Marco, too. So I’m asking you. You know about everything going on here.”
“You think Nathan’s in trouble.” She frowned, as if surprised.
“Yeah. I want the details.”
“I don’t have any. I haven’t seen any problems.” Her gaze was clear and direct. Open.
She looked as if she was telling the truth about Nathan.
Which meant her shock about Bridie Sullivan was on her own account. She’d thought someone was after her. “So when that car hit Nathan, you didn’t think it was after Nate. You assumed you were being targeted.”
Her eyes widened. She swallowed. Her knuckles whitened.
There was the tell.
In the background, the freezer coughed and turned off. Silence pressed down on the room.
“That’s ridiculous,” she finally said. “Why would I think that?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” He edged closer. “Did you think it was Theresa’s husband? Some guy you’re dating? Someone from your life before Mama’s?” He moved closer. Intimidating her. Trying to fluster her. But she didn’t budge.
“None of the above.” She slid her half-clenched fist up and down the handle of her purse. “But even if you were right, why would it be any of your business?”
“Because it happened at my restaurant. On my time.”
“Not your time,” she retorted. “You weren’t here.”
“Nathan’s, then.” He loomed o
ver her.
She stood her ground. “If I thought I knew who it was, I’d tell the police. I’d help them find the person who hit Nathan.”
He shook his head slowly. “Lot of secrets in one small restaurant.” He was close enough to see a flicker of fear in her hazel eyes. “Does Nathan know what you’re hiding?”
“You’re letting your imagination run away with you.” Her voice was tinged with just the right amount of impatience. As if she’d practiced her response. “Do you think I’m stealing from Mama’s? Doing something to hurt the restaurant?”
Another good technique—go on the offensive. “I never said that.”
“Then why are you questioning me as if I were a criminal?” Her eyes flashed and her mouth firmed.
“Never implied you were a criminal.” He studied her expression. “You’ve got secrets, though.”
“Everyone does.” She shoved her hands through her hair, ruffling it even more. Making it look as if she’d just gotten out of bed. “Including you. Do you want me to poke into your life?”
“Depends on why you’re poking.” He leaned in, close enough to smell her gingery shampoo, the lemon-lime soda she’d gulped as she cleaned. The closed-off, guarded Darcy had disappeared. The woman in front of him was vibrant. Alive. As vivid as her red hair. “Maybe I’d welcome your interest.”
Her eyes darkened. She swallowed. Held his gaze.
Desire slammed into him. He’d been holding back with Darcy because Nathan needed her. Patrick hadn’t wanted to screw that up.
But his brother was shutting him out.
So why should he defer to Nathan’s wishes and stay away from Darcy?
Before he realized he’d moved, she was plastered against him, her back against the counter. He wove his fingers through her hair and cupped her head, lowered his mouth to hers.
* * *
PATRICK’S MOUTH WAS hard on hers. Almost rough. For a moment, Darcy was too stunned to move. Then she brought her hands up to shove him away.
Before she could, he softened the kiss. He touched his tongue to her lower lip and sucked gently. His hands shook, and he brushed his thumbs over her cheeks.
Her bag dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. She curled her palms into his shirt and held on. It had been so long since she’d felt desire. Since she’d kissed a man. Need raced through her like fire, making her burn.
Not with generic, impersonal lust. Need for Patrick. The man who’d alarmed her from the beginning. Fascinated her just as much. She wanted to know what he tasted like. How he felt with his body pressed against hers.
Slowly, trembling, she wound her arms around him. His chest was solid with muscle, hard to her softness. She splayed her fingers on his back, and his muscles bunched and tensed. It was an effort for him to hold back. Go slow.
Suddenly, she didn’t want slow. She wanted the flash and the heat and the mindless rush of desire. So she moved her hands to his head, speared her fingers into his soft hair and opened her mouth to him.
He froze for a moment, then he pressed closer. His tongue danced with hers, coaxing her to play. He slid his hands to her back, sweeping from her neck down her spine, cupping her rear. Lifting her against him.
His erection cradled against her belly, he groaned into her mouth and tugged her shirt from her waistband. He touched her belly, and her muscles tightened. For a moment, it wasn’t Patrick kissing her. It was Tim, looming over her. Hurting her.
Darcy sucked in a breath, unwound her arms and pushed. It was like trying to move a boulder. She shoved harder, and he stumbled backward and let her go.
For a moment, they stared at each other. His face was flushed, his eyes darkened to navy. His face was all sharp planes and angles.
She was equally aroused, and she knew he could tell.
Her face burning, she bent and fumbled for her purse. Her hands shook as she picked it up. Without looking at Patrick, she slid past him and broke for the door.
“Darcy, wait.”
She kept going. Outside into the darkness. She didn’t even think about what could be hiding there.
Tonight, the danger waited inside the restaurant.
He grabbed the car door just as she was pulling it closed. “Don’t go. Talk to me.”
Yanking the door shut, she started the car with shaking hands and drove away. As she turned onto Devon, her tires squealed.
She was fleeing.
Him? Or the secrets she kept?
CHAPTER EIGHT
DARCY GRIPPED THE steering wheel as she drove through the silent neighborhood. Her stomach churned and her chest ached. How could she have been so stupid?
She’d kissed Patrick. A cop. And not only had she kissed him, she’d liked it. Had wanted to do more than kiss.
The flashback to Tim had stunned her. She’d been so rattled that she’d run off like a panicked virgin who’d never been kissed. Mistake piled on mistake.
She should have stayed. Talked to him calmly, one adult to another. Told him she’d enjoyed kissing him, but nothing was going to happen between them. They worked together. He lived in Detroit, and she didn’t do flings.
Instead, she’d fled. He’d noticed her panic. Her alarm.
Patrick noticed everything.
She slammed the flat of her hand into the steering wheel. Comfortable was making her careless. Careless was dangerous.
The flash of headlights behind her made her slow down and glance in her rear-view mirror. An SUV had followed her onto the side street from Devon. She turned two blocks early. The SUV did, too. Moments later, it pulled into a driveway and vanished into a garage.
Letting out a shaky breath, she made her way back to her apartment and turned into her own garage. Crickets chirped as she walked through the dark, silent backyard, and an owl hooted in the forest preserve a few blocks away. The scent of her landlord’s mums was sharp in the cool fall air.
His light was off as she climbed the stairs, pepper spray clenched in her hand. When she reached her back door, she glanced at the tomato plant. It looked the same as it had when she’d left that afternoon.
Cat was waiting for her in the kitchen. Tossing her purse onto the chair, she went through her ritual of checking the rooms and windows and doors. Then she fed Cat and walked into the living room, throwing herself on the couch.
She’d screwed up tonight with Patrick. But at least the hit-and-run driver hadn’t been Tim. That didn’t make Nathan’s injuries any less severe, but it alleviated some of her guilt. It should have relieved some of her anxiety, as well.
It hadn’t. Everything that happened tonight only emphasized that she needed to leave. The itch at the back of her neck was worse; her whole body was shouting go, go, go.
If she’d been prepared this evening when Patrick told them about the old woman, she wouldn’t have reacted. She wouldn’t have given him anything.
But working together for the past weeks had lowered her barriers a little. Made her less cautious around him. And tonight she’d paid the price.
She’d kissed him. He’d seen how she really felt.
Reason enough to move on.
But she couldn’t leave Theresa. No matter how much she needed to move on, she wasn’t going anywhere until Theresa was safe.
Nathan got his casts off in three weeks. Then he’d be back at Mama’s, and Patrick would be gone. Nathan wouldn’t be able to do a lot of work right away, so she’d stick around another week or two, until he got back into the flow. She owed him that much.
Then she’d leave. She’d use some of her carefully hoarded cash to buy a new identity, find another city. Another restaurant.
It wouldn’t be a hospital emergency room, but her nursing career was just another loss in a long string of them. She closed her eyes tightly, holding back the tears.
Cat jumped into her lap, and Darcy ran her hand down the bumps of the animal’s spine, smoothing the soft fur. He kneaded as he purred, nails gripping and releasing, digging into Darcy’s thighs. Reminding her that every pleasure had an accompanying pain.
It was only late at night that Darcy regretted sacrificing her job to get away from Tim. In the cold light of day, she knew it had been necessary. She knew she’d do it again.
Patrick’s face filled her mind, smiling down at her as they silently acknowledged their shared expertise the night Javier had been burned. The way they’d worked so seamlessly together.
That night had led to this one.
Worse, Javier’s accident had stirred up memories. Memories that didn’t want to go back in the box where they belonged.
Tomorrow she would force them there.
Tonight, she’d let herself grieve for what she’d lost.
And for what she’d never have.
* * *
THE REFRIGERATOR KICKED ON as Patrick stepped into Nathan’s kitchen the next morning, and he tightened his grip on the banker’s box he held. The low hum reminded him of the kitchen restaurant the night before. Darcy, in his arms. Kissing him. Wrapping her arms around him.
Kicking the pile of boxes out of his way, he dropped this one on the table and shoved the memory away. He’d spent enough time reliving it during the night. This morning, he needed to work.
Last night, he’d looked at the ledger in Nathan’s computer. The amount of money in the deposit was five hundred bucks less than the amount Patrick had brought home.
What had Nate done with that five hundred?
This box was the last of six he’d carried down from the attic this morning. It was still dark outside and Nathan was asleep. Patrick was going to go through the restaurant’s financial records, looking for any anomalies. He was starting from the year their parents had died. He knew that when you looked for patterns, you had to start at the beginning.
The Woman He Knows Page 8