The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  Getting involved with Patrick wasn’t a good idea. But every morning when she saw him waiting at the curb, she wanted him a little more.

  Patrick knew how to be patient.

  She shivered, wondering if he was patient in bed, as well.

  As she rinsed her mouth, someone began pounding on her door. Her heart jumped, then thudded with dread.

  The sun was barely up. Patrick wouldn’t be here for at least a half hour.

  He always waited for her downstairs.

  Spitting water into the sink, she threw on her bathrobe and grabbed her gun from the nightstand in her room.

  In the kitchen she lifted the curtain and peeked out. Exhaled.

  She dropped the gun into her pocket and unlocked the door. “Patrick. What are you doing here?”

  His gaze swept over her, lingering at the deep V of her robe. She drew the lapels together and tightened the belt. But the weight of the gun pulled the right side down, baring her right breast beneath the paper-thin T-shirt. She clutched the top of the robe together. “Patrick. Eyes up here.”

  Instead of apologizing or making a joke, he just looked at her, his gaze heavy-lidded. “I should get here early every morning.”

  “Why are you here so early?” She was horribly conscious of the gun in her pocket. The illegal gun.

  “I couldn’t wait. We need to run. Right now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  He closed the door and leaned against it. “Get your running stuff on. We’re going somewhere different today.”

  Ten minutes later, she followed him down the stairs and into the yard. They stretched for five minutes, then he led her into the alley. As they pounded down the broken cement, black trash cans stood as sentinels at each garage, silently watching their progress.

  Normally, Patrick was relaxed when they ran, smiling, talking, teasing. Today, his mouth was a hard line and a muscle in his jaw jumped. He ran faster than usual, and she wanted to ask what was wrong. Instead, she sucked in a lungful of air and concentrated on keeping up. She didn’t have any extra breath for questions.

  A few minutes later they emerged onto Lehigh, the street running alongside the train tracks. They ran on the shoulder, which was gravel and dirt. She glanced at Patrick again. “Why are we running here, rather than through the neighborhood?”

  “Tell you later.”

  Puzzled and faintly alarmed, Darcy kept pace with him. What had happened? He looked so grim. So focused. The way she imagined he’d look when he was on the job.

  A bolt of fear shot through her. Had he found out about her past?

  No. That wasn’t Patrick’s style. If he had something to say to her, he would have said it after bursting into her apartment.

  This was something else.

  When they reached the next intersection, Darcy hesitated. This cold, detached Patrick made her nervous. But as she slowed, he hooked his arm through hers and propelled her across the street.

  On this side of Touhy Avenue, Lehigh ran through a maze of warehouses and small office buildings. Patrick turned onto a street that was still deserted—it was too early for any offices to be open. He finally stopped at a storage facility.

  An iron fence surrounded it, and the gate across the drive was closed and padlocked. A small door in the fence was also locked.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Shhh. Don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

  Why the hell not?

  But she stood beside him, breathing hard, and watched him unlock the door. He drew her through, then clicked the padlock back into place.

  He led her away from the main building and down a row of storage units with corrugated metal doors. When they reached one in the middle of the row, he unlocked it, rolled the door up just high enough to get under, drew her inside and closed the door again.

  Patrick reached into his backpack and pulled out a flashlight. The beam bounced off the metal walls and slid over boxes and ghostly shapes.

  A long cord hung in the middle of the room, swaying gently. He yanked it, and the harsh light of a bare bulb illuminated stacks of banker’s boxes along one wall. A few pieces of furniture were clustered together at the back of the unit, but the rest of the space was open.

  “Okay, Mr. Secret Agent Man. What’s going on?”

  He switched off the flashlight and tossed it into the backpack, then laid it on the floor. “I have to find some records in here.”

  “And you couldn’t drive over later this morning, walk in and pick them up?”

  “No.” He held her gaze. “Nate is in trouble. I’m not sure what kind of trouble, but I’m going to figure it out. I didn’t want anyone seeing me drive in here to check his storage area.”

  “You think people are watching it?” She looked around the room, wondering what could be in here that was so dangerous.

  “No. But the people who own the place might be keeping track of who comes and goes.”

  “There could be cameras. Did you disable them?”

  At that he smiled a little. “You watch too much television. Or maybe you read too many books.”

  “Just saying.”

  “No cameras. I already checked.”

  She sank onto the top of a dusty box. “What kinds of records are you looking for?”

  His smile disappeared. “Anything to do with the renovation of Mama’s last winter.”

  “How do you know they’re here?”

  “I asked Frankie. She told me that right after Nathan was hurt, he asked her to bring them over here. He said they were taking up a lot of space in the spare room and he needed to get them out of the way so I could use it.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  Patrick glanced at the dates scrawled on the boxes. “He’d just been hit by a car. He was in traction, on pain medication. And this was the first thing he thought of?”

  “Maybe. That sounds like Nathan—he thinks of everyone but himself. What did Frankie say?”

  “She knows how Nate is. He’s always taken care of us. She thought it was a typical Nate thing to do—think about where I would stay when he should have been thinking about himself. So she did it.”

  “And you knew this how?”

  “Called her this morning.”

  Darcy scanned around the room, which was about twelve feet square. “Where do we begin looking?”

  “Any box with the current year’s date.” He studied her for a long moment. “You’re not going to ask me what’s going on, what I’m specifically searching for?”

  “Of course I want to know. I’m dying of curiosity.” But if she wasn’t willing to share her own secrets, she couldn’t ask him to share his. “I can see this is hard for you, though. You’re upset with Nathan. I’m not going to push.” She wanted to reach out and smooth away the lines on his face. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  His expression was impossible to read as he stared down at her. “That’s it? I drag you out of your apartment when it’s barely light, make you run to this ugly-ass industrial park, and you’ll wait for an explanation?”

  “You didn’t make me do anything. I chose to run with you. And yeah, I want to know. But I trust that you’ll tell me what’s going on when you can.”

  He looked vulnerable. Sad. Emotions she’d never seen in Patrick. Parts of himself he hadn’t let her see. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him. Pulled him close.

  She’d meant to comfort him. To make him feel less alone. But she realized it was more than that. She needed to connect with him. To let him know he wasn’t alone.

  His arms tightened around her, and his lips found hers. He lifted her off the ground, supporting her against him. Then her back hit something cold and hard. The metal wall.

 
“My own brother doesn’t trust me.” He pressed kisses to her cheek, her neck, the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “But you do. God, Darcy.” He returned to her mouth, his lips on hers. When she opened to him, he swept inside.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IT WAS COLD in the storage area, and her drying sweat chilled her. But she leaned into Patrick’s heat and savored his kiss. She could taste his desolation, the anger and pain bursting out of him.

  She should be afraid of his anger. The desire that consumed him. But instead, it fed her own craving. He’d needed someone, and he came to her.

  He was angry and upset, but he was gentle with her. Careful.

  So she shoved her fingers into his hair and held his mouth to hers. Learning his texture, his taste. Letting him learn hers.

  With a rough sound, he shoved one hand between them and cupped her breast. It swelled in his hand, and even through her jacket, her T-shirt, her sports bra, his touch sent lightning crackling through her.

  She hooked one leg around his waist and pressed closer, suddenly frantic to feel him there, to let him ease the ache. He yanked her jacket and shirt up, shoved the bra to the side and bent to take her in his mouth.

  “Patrick,” she gasped, arching her back. Rolling her hips against him, she tugged at his running shorts, but his jacket was in the way. Frustrated, she plucked at it, but her hand shook too much to pull it away.

  Pressing her against the cold metal, he slid his hand into the back of her leggings, cupping her rear. His palm was shockingly hot on her cool skin. The rasp of his slightly callused fingers made her quiver. Every nerve in her body was alive. Throbbing. Needy.

  When he dipped into her cleft, she arched into him with a tiny cry. He stilled. His fingers trembled against her, then he slid his hand out of her leggings, excruciatingly slowly, as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. He lowered her to the floor. Pressed his forehead to hers. Smoothed one hand up and down her back.

  “I’m sorry, Darcy,” he whispered, brushing his mouth over hers. “I was...worked up. And when you told me you trusted me, I lost it. I wanted you. Right now.”

  “And that’s a problem because...?”

  One side of his mouth curved up. “You are something else.” He tugged her bra back into place, smoothed her T-shirt, straightened her jacket. “The first time we make love is not going to be up against a wall in a dirty, cold storage cell.” He kissed her again. “And besides, I don’t have a condom.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “You call yourself a cop? What happened to serve and protect?”

  He smiled slowly and drew a line down the center of her chest, trailing fire. Making her shiver. “Trust me. Won’t happen again.” He leaned in and nipped at her ear. “And I can’t wait.”

  She couldn’t, either. And that was damn scary.

  She disengaged from him slowly. “It’s cold in here. Let’s find what you need and get out.”

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, as Darcy peered out the front window of Mama’s once again, panic began to stir. Theresa often came in on Thursdays.

  It had been a week since Darcy had seen her last.

  Up until now, it had never been more than a few days.

  “Darcy.” Patrick laid a hand on her shoulder. Heat seeped through her blouse, and the weight of his fingers was comforting. “You have an order up in the kitchen.”

  She spun around in the almost-empty restaurant. “Something’s wrong, Patrick.”

  He began to lift his hand, then let it drop. “Yeah. But you need to serve your order before it gets cold.”

  She nodded and stepped around him. He brushed her arm as she hurried to the kitchen, and she swallowed hard.

  This was why workplace affairs were a bad idea. There was no thinking when Patrick touched her, even accidentally. There was only reacting.

  She was careful to avoid him when she was carrying a tray full of food.

  After backing out the door, balancing a pizza and two pasta dishes, she delivered them to a table in the corner of the room, brought all three customers another glass of wine, then checked her other tables. None of them needed anything, and she found herself scanning the room for Patrick.

  He stood in the waitresses’ station, rolling silver. She stepped in beside him. “That’s our job.”

  “Slow night. Have to do something.” He turned to face her. “I know you’re worried, Darcy. Hell, I am, too. But there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “You could look her up. Try to find her address.”

  “Do you really think her name is Smith?” he asked gently. “I don’t.” He glanced around the room, then moved closer. “I have someone checking on things.”

  His breath caressed the sensitive skin of her neck. Heat pooled in her abdomen, and she wanted to lean into him, to take comfort from his solid strength.

  They were in the middle of a restaurant, in plain view of anyone who walked past. So she just whispered back, “What kinds of things?”

  “Later.” The front door opened. He dropped the silver in the basket and moved to the podium with a smile.

  He’d gotten pretty good at managing a restaurant in the past four weeks, she thought as she watched him lead two people to a table. He chatted with the young couple as he motioned for Phyllis to take over.

  The staff would miss him when he went back to Detroit.

  She’d miss him, too.

  The knowledge should have sounded alarm bells in her head. Should have had her scrambling to back away. Instead, she watched him walk to another table, let her gaze linger on his smile.

  Let herself want.

  After that kiss in the storage unit this morning, he’d expect her to ask him to stay tonight. But as her desire faded to a background hum, she’d been able to think logically again. She wanted to ask him.

  It would be a very bad idea.

  Still, she watched him stroll to the podium. Watched his long legs in the dark gray pants, the way the shirt made his shoulders look impossibly wide.

  “You’ve got good taste,” Phyllis said behind her.

  Darcy spun around, color creeping up her neck. “What are you talking about?”

  The other waitress jerked her head toward the podium. “Patrick. He’s hot to the max.”

  “Phyll!” Darcy swallowed. “That’s... You’re...”

  The other woman poked a friendly elbow in Darcy’s ribs. “You telling me you haven’t noticed?”

  Darcy’s face flamed.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You two better get busy and do more than ogle each other. ’Cause if you don’t, the eye sex is going to burn this place to the ground.”

  As Phyllis hurried off with a basket of bread, Darcy stared after her. Had everyone at Mama’s noticed her and Patrick doing an intimate, private dance?

  “Darcy? What’s wrong?”

  Patrick. Behind her.

  “Nothing.” She tossed a random number of silver rolls onto a tray. They landed with a clunk, and she snatched the tray up.

  Before she could escape, he touched her arm. “Tell me.”

  “It was just Phyll. Saying typical Phyll stuff.” Eye sex.

  He turned her to face him, studied her for a moment, and grinned. “Can I guess what it was?”

  “No! It wasn’t important.”

  His smile widened. “I can get it out of Phyllis. She thinks I’m hot.” He nodded toward the front of the restaurant. “I seated a group in your section.”

  Phyllis was right, Darcy thought as she watched him walk away. Patrick was hot.

  For the next fifteen minutes, Darcy’s gaze flew to the door every time it opened. The hard ball of dread in her stomach grew larger each time someone walked in.

  While she served drinks to the table of five, the
door opened again. Chuck held it for Theresa, then walked through himself. Leaving her standing in front of Patrick, Chuck strode to the bar. A young woman was sitting in his usual seat, chatting with a guy. Scowling, Chuck took the next stool.

  As Patrick helped Theresa into a chair at her usual table, Darcy forced herself to concentrate on her table’s order. Then she slipped the pad into her pocket and hurried to Theresa.

  Stopped. Put a hand to her mouth.

  Theresa’s left arm was in a cast that ran from her fingers to the middle of her upper arm. And not even makeup could hide the bruise covering the left side of her face.

  She hurried toward Theresa, but Patrick stepped in front of her. Darcy had to rear back to avoid colliding with him.

  “Easy,” he murmured. “We have an audience.” He jerked his head toward the bar.

  Right. Chuck.

  She stared at Patrick, took a deep breath, then nodded once. “Thanks.”

  Swallowing hard, she stepped to Theresa’s table and smiled. The smile faded as she studied the woman’s face. “What happened?” she murmured, touching Theresa’s shoulder. Any acquaintance would ask the question.

  “I fell,” Theresa said, adjusting the neck of her high-collared sweater.

  Darcy sensed Patrick behind her, then he placed a basket of bread on the table. Theresa began shredding a slice into tiny pieces.

  “Would you like a drink?” Darcy asked.

  “Yes, please.” Her voice was low and raspy, as if she’d been yelling.

  “The usual?”

  Theresa nodded.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Darcy’s hand shook as she punched the order in, Chuck’s gaze boring into her back. Forcing herself not to look at him, she waited for Jesse to mix the drink, then set it on a tray.

  It was harder to avoid glancing at Chuck as she retraced her steps. He was staring at her, his eyes cold and flat. Unblinking. She shuddered, remembering the eyes of the Komodo dragon she’d seen at the zoo.

  As she walked past him, she nodded, as she would to any customer. She felt his gaze on her as she delivered Theresa’s drink. “Are you hungry?” Darcy asked.