“I know there’s something else. Is it about Theresa?”
He held up his hand. “I swear, I never mentioned her name. It was strictly about the scotch.”
When he didn’t look away, she knew he was telling the truth about that, at least. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You ready to leave? I’ll walk you out.”
She shook her head. “I’ll finish cleaning. We’re almost done.” There was nothing to rush home to, anyway. Only Cat waited for her.
“You going to stay for wine, too?”
If she left, Patrick would think she wanted to avoid him. Like she was afraid he’d kiss her again. Both might be true, but she didn’t want to admit it to him. “Sure, why not? It’s been a long week.”
“Amen to that,” he muttered.
Forty-five minutes later, she’d nursed one glass of wine as long as she could. She’d talked to Phyllis about her grandson, commiserated with Ashley about her lack of recent dates and joked with Luis and Francisco.
She’d teased Marco and Jesse.
She’d interacted with everyone except Patrick.
She’d chosen a seat on the opposite side of the table from him, but she’d made a strategic mistake.
She couldn’t avoid his eyes.
He talked to other people, but his attention always returned to her. When she took a sip of wine, his gaze fell to her throat. When she shoved a hand through her hair, his pupils dilated.
Even when he leaned back in his chair and spoke to Jesse, sitting next to him, she knew Patrick’s attention was still on her.
“See everyone tomorrow,” she said as she pushed away from the table.
Patrick immediately stood up. “I’ll walk you out.”
Her heart began a slow thudding. “Thank you.”
She stepped into the kitchen and removed her jacket and purse from the locker. He held the door open for her, and her heart rate increased as she brushed past him. He kicked the stopper in place, then followed her into the parking lot.
It was a crisp fall night. The cold air carried the tang of wood fires burning in fireplaces. The sky was dark indigo, and in spite of the light pollution from the city, stars glittered above her.
As she rounded Patrick’s large SUV, she slowed. Her car looked as if it was listing to one side. Patrick stopped, too. He studied the vehicle for a moment, then moved to look at the other side.
Frowned. Poked at the tire.
He stood up, brushing off his hands. “You have two flat tires.”
“Two?” She moved past him to check for herself. Both tires on the passenger side were almost completely deflated. “How do you get two flat tires at the same time?”
“Did you hit any big potholes?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Damage like this, you’d notice the impact.”
She looked at the rear tire, then the front one. Replacing both of them would take a good chunk of her emergency money. Damn it!
Patrick squatted by the rear tire, positioning himself so the floodlight illuminated it. He ran his finger over the sidewall, frowned, then stood up. “I’ll be right back. I need a flashlight.”
“What did you see?”
“Not sure. That’s why I need more light.”
“I’ve got one. Hold on.”
She gave him the flashlight she kept in the glove box, and he trained it on in the rear tire. Then the front one. Finally he stood up.
“There are holes in the side of each tire. Possibly from a pothole, but I doubt it. You’d have to be really unlucky to get those from an impact.” He glanced around the parking lot. “Have we had vandalism back here?”
Her teeth were suddenly chattering. “My car was broken into a few months ago. Some CDs and loose change was taken. I haven’t heard about anything else.” Of course she’d thought of Tim first. But nothing else had happened, and she’d finally relaxed.
“We should call the police and report this.”
“No!” He raised his eyebrows. “I mean, why waste their time on something like this? They’ll look at the car, say, ‘Yeah, the tires are flat.’ What else can they do? I’ll just get it fixed.”
“Maybe there have been other incidents around here. This could be part of a pattern.”
“I read the police reports in the local paper. There’s been nothing about flat tires.”
“You read the police reports?”
Oh, God. That had been a mistake. “Doesn’t everyone?” she managed to say. “I bet you glance at them every week in your own local paper.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, well, you carry a gun,” she retorted.
“If you’re not going to call them, I will.”
He pulled out his phone and she grabbed his arm. “I’ll call them myself tomorrow.” His muscles were taut beneath her hand, and his skin was hot. She let him go. “Thank you for being concerned,” she said. “But waiting until tomorrow isn’t going to make any difference.”
He watched her as he slid the phone into his pocket, then nodded. “Let’s take a look at the other cars. See if any of them have holes.”
Should she hope that they did? At least it would mean no one had targeted her specifically.
She shivered in the cold as they stopped at each of the six cars left in the lot. All of them were fine.
Only her car had been damaged.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly freezing. Had Tim found her?
Slashing tires wasn’t his style. Lying in wait for her was.
Patrick gestured toward his SUV. “I’ll call the neighborhood auto repair guy and have him change the tires in the morning. The restaurant will pay for it, since it happened in our lot. In the meantime, let’s get in my car. I’ll start the heater, and we can talk. I need to tell you some things.”
Her feet wouldn’t move. She hesitated too long, and he frowned. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid to get into a car with me?”
“Of course not.” That was mostly true. She didn’t like being trapped with men, but that was a reflex. She wasn’t afraid of Patrick. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the restaurant?”
“I don’t want to talk about this in front of everyone else.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll get my keys.” He took a few steps and looked back at her. “You coming?”
“Yes.” She followed as he hurried toward the restaurant, shivering when they passed the tall lilac bushes surrounding the parking area. The lilacs were beautiful every spring, but she hated them. The bushes were too big, too dense, too dark. A perfect hiding place.
Something rustled on the ground, and she moved closer to Patrick. It was probably a raccoon. Or an opossum. They tried to get into the Dumpsters all the time.
Heart racing, she reached for his arm. Hesitated, then let her hand drop when they reached the restaurant. When they stepped inside, the noise in the bushes stopped.
After Patrick called the service truck and arranged for them to change her tires in the morning, they headed back to the cars. “That’s me,” he said, pointing at the SUV.
She didn’t tell him she knew. He’d think it meant she was interested—that she paid attention to him. Instead, she raised her eyebrows. “Big truck.”
“I’m a big guy. I like to be comfortable.” He clicked his key fob and the doors unlocked.
She walked toward the passenger side, but he reached it before her. His shoulder brushed against hers and both of them froze. Then he moved away and she climbed in.
The inside of the SUV smelled like Patrick—fresh air and a sharp, spicy scent she finally identified as muscle rub. He must leave his gym bag in the car. When he turned the car on, the radio blasted a rap song out of the speakers. He quickly turned
it off, but she said, “Really? Rap?”
“I like it. Lots of energy.”
Maybe he wasn’t as white-shirt, gray-suit as she’d thought.
He turned the heat up high, and pushed a button on the console. The vents blew out cold air, but the seat got warmer. She’d had heated seats in a car once. But the price of that luxury, and all the other ones, had been way too high.
She leaned against the door to watch him. As he fiddled with the heater controls, the floodlight outside the car illuminated tiny lines around his eyes. The dark shadow of his beard. The hint of a bruise on his jaw. She curled her fingers into her palms to keep from touching it.
“You’ve been boxing again.”
She hadn’t intended to say it out loud. Patrick touched the bruise. “Not a good idea to spar when you’re distracted.”
“A lot to learn about running a restaurant.”
“Not all that was distracting me.”
He shifted so he was leaning against his door. Watching her. The message in his gaze was clear—you’re distracting me.
“Won’t be long before you can go back to Detroit and leave all this behind.”
“Yeah. Thought I was looking forward to that.” He shifted and suddenly seemed closer. “Now? Not so much.”
“So spaghetti sauce runs in your blood, too?” She’d heard Nathan and Marco say that often.
“Not the sauce.”
He didn’t move. Awareness rippled over her skin, making her jacket feel too tight. Making her heart beat faster.
Never get in cars with dangerous men.
“Right. So. What did you want to tell me about Chuck and Theresa?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
PATRICK SHIFTED, filling the truck with the whisper of fabric on leather. The rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt bared his forearms, and he draped one over the top of the steering wheel.
“If I tell you, this goes no further. Okay?”
She forced herself to look at his face. Tried to focus. Nodded.
“As far as I know, only Marco, Nathan and I know about this. And Jesse, since he’s the one who’s been serving Chuck.”
“Who do you think I’d tell?” she asked.
“A friend. One of the other waitresses.”
“I know how to keep a secret,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I figured you did. And you’re involved, whether I want you to be or not.”
“What are you talking about?”
Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he held her gaze for a long moment. Then he said, “I told you about Chuck drinking for free when he comes in with Theresa. That he’s been getting our most expensive scotch.”
“I remember.”
“Nathan won’t answer my questions. He told me to butt out. Marco claims he doesn’t know a thing. Jesse says he’s just following orders. Makes me think there’s some connection between Nathan and Chuck.”
The thought of Nathan connected to Chuck made a ball of ice form in her stomach. “I don’t know anything about it, either.” She’d worked with Nathan for three years. Clearly, she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did.
“I assumed you didn’t. If Nate won’t tell me, I figure he’s not telling anyone.” Patrick slammed the fleshy part of his palm against the steering wheel. “Damn closemouthed bastard.”
The steering wheel quivered, and Patrick wrapped his hand around it.
Darcy began to reach for him, then jerked her hand back. Patrick’s gaze followed it, lingering even when she curled it into her lap.
“Sounds like Nathan is shutting you out. Marco, too.”
He raised his head. “That’s exactly what they’re doing.”
That wasn’t fair—Patrick had disrupted his life to stay in Chicago and help run the restaurant. “If I know Nathan, he’s frustrated and bored,” she said slowly. “Antsy. He’s at the restaurant every night it’s open, but now he’s forced to sit at home and let you do everything. Maybe keeping this secret is his way of feeling like he’s still in charge.”
“What are you, a psychologist?”
Thanks to living with Tim, she’d become an expert at reading facial expressions. Body language. Emotions. “Don’t have to be. I’ve spent a lot of time with Nathan over the past three years.”
His mouth thinned. “A lot more than me, right?”
“Of course I have.” She frowned, wondering where this tension was coming from. “Four nights a week add up.”
“Has Nathan been bitching about me not being around?”
“Why would he expect you to be? You have a job in another city.”
He blew out a breath. “Sorry. Forget about Nathan. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She didn’t want to get in the middle of a fight between the Devereux siblings. She leaned against the door. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell Nathan we talked about him. But maybe you need to have another conversation.”
“Pretty hard when he won’t answer my questions.”
“You’re an FBI agent, for God’s sake.” She frowned at him. “You know how to interrogate people. And it’s not like he can run away from you.”
He smiled. “Good point. But let’s get back to Chuck.”
The back door of the restaurant opened, and an arc of light appeared on the pavement. Marco, Jesse, the waitresses and the cooks hurried into the lot and headed for their cars.
Marco, who was parked farther down the line, slowed when he reached Patrick’s SUV.
Patrick rolled down the window. “Darcy has a flat tire. We’re waiting to see if the service truck can make it tonight.”
“Yeah? Need help changing it?” Marco peered over the front of Patrick’s vehicle, as if trying to confirm what Patrick said.
“Spare’s bad, too.”
“Want me to drive her home?”
“Nah, I’ve got it. Thanks.”
Marco hesitated a moment, then waved at both of them.
Darcy waited until Patrick had rolled the window up. “Why didn’t you tell him both tires were flat? That you suspect vandalism?”
Patrick shrugged as he watched his brother walk over to the small sports car Marco parked well away from everyone else. “No point worrying him. Nothing he could do tonight. And I didn’t tell him the truck was coming in the morning because I didn’t want to explain why we’re sitting here and talking.”
So Patrick wasn’t going to be up front with either Marco or Nathan. God, were all sibling relationships this complicated? She wondered if Frankie knew how the three of them were posturing and bumping chests. “What else were you going to say about Chuck?”
Patrick didn’t reply until Marco had roared out of the parking lot.
“Chuck was pretty angry the other night. You’re always the one who waits on Theresa. I wondered if Chuck was angry enough to punch some holes in your tires.”
“What?” She sucked in a breath. “Why would he flatten my tires instead of yours? You’re the one who cut him off.”
“Maybe he doesn’t know which car is mine.”
“How would he know my car?”
“Easy. Watch when everyone’s coming to work. Or leaving.”
“That’s totally creepy.” She remembered the rustling noise in the bushes earlier and wondered if that had been Chuck.
No. He was a thug. Slashing her tires would be about intimidation. He wouldn’t bother to hide and watch her reaction.
“Chuck isn’t a nice guy.” He hesitated, studying her for a moment. “I’m pretty sure he was wearing a gun that night.”
She slumped against the seat. “A gun? In Mama’s?” Her conscience reminded her that she had a gun in Mama’s every damn night. But hers was hidden in her bag, stashed in the locker.
“Yeah. Which is why I told you to be careful.”
She narrowed her gaze, and he held up a hand. “I’m not telling you to stay away from her. But for God’s sake, watch yourself. Chuck doesn’t sit at that end of the bar for nothing. He’s keeping a close eye on Theresa. You can bet he’s noticed that you’re the one who always waits on her.”
“Which is why you think he might have slit my tires.” She studied his face and noticed he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “What are you not telling me?”
“That’s all I know,” he said.
“You’re not telling me all you know.”
“You don’t need to know the rest.”
“Don’t make that decision for me. I’m an adult who can think for herself.”
“Fine. I don’t want to tell you.” He straightened and leaned toward her. “I don’t know anything else for certain. When I do, I’ll tell you.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Yes.”
As she stared at him in the darkness, she believed him. When Patrick promised something, he delivered it. Maybe assuming that made her a fool, but she didn’t think he was lying. “Okay.”
“That’s it? Okay? You’re not going to badger me to reveal my deepest thoughts?”
“Would it work?”
He’d started the truck, and as it growled beneath them, he glanced at her. “You could probably talk me into anything.”
Her heart kicked and began racing, and she couldn’t look away. Neither did he. His eyes darkened, and she was pretty sure hers did, too.
Struggling to ease the sudden tension that stretched between them, she said, “I’ll have to use my powers for good, then.”
He grinned. “You do that.”
Shifting into gear, he backed out and headed for the street. At the last moment, she twisted to look at her car, all alone beneath the light. Was there a darker shadow in front of it, in the lilacs?
“What?” Patrick asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He slammed on the brakes. “Tell me.”
She swallowed. “I thought I saw something in the bushes in front of my car.”
The Woman He Knows Page 11