The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  “You’re talking about Chuck?”

  “And the woman with him.”

  “Your...associate had a run-in with an off-duty detective. Tried to pull his gun on him. The detective arrested him for carrying a concealed weapon.”

  O’Fallon’s face darkened. “What kind of bullshit is that?”

  Patrick shrugged. “Just telling you what happened.”

  “They arrest my wife, too?”

  “Of course not. Chuck was concerned about her, and I offered to drive her home. He insisted I put her in a taxi, instead.” He shrugged. “Thought it was odd, but I figured she didn’t want to get in a car with a stranger. I called a taxi. She went out front to wait. Last I saw of her.”

  O’Fallon’s hands curled into fists. “You see her get in the cab?”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t. We were busy this evening. Hockey tournament.”

  O’Fallon scowled.

  “Maybe she went to visit a friend.”

  “She knows better than... She knows her friends are all out on a Friday night.”

  “Wish I could help you.” Patrick smiled pleasantly and stared at the irate man. The guy took a step toward Patrick, tightening his fists. Come on. Throw a punch. Please.

  Suddenly, as if realizing where he was, O’Fallon shoved his hands into his pockets. “Thanks for your help,” he said stiffly. “I need to go look for my wife.”

  He turned and pushed out of the restaurant, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  Patrick drew in a deep breath and spotted Jesse standing at the end of the bar. The bartender strolled over.

  “That Chuck’s boss?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Guy’s an asshole. Just like Chuck.”

  Patrick laughed. “Yeah. But I think we’ve seen the last of Chuck.”

  Jesse eyed him shrewdly. “Nice work, Patrick.”

  “What?”

  Jesse shook his head as he walked away. “Wish Nathan had gotten rid of that guy a long time ago.”

  Patrick’s smile faded. He needed to talk to Nathan in the morning, before O’Fallon got hold of him, and tell him what had happened.

  Nathan wasn’t going to be happy.

  In the meantime, adrenaline buzzed through Patrick’s veins. This was who he was—an FBI agent. Law enforcement. Putting the puzzle pieces together. Figuring out the big picture.

  He needed to get back to this.

  It had been great to help his family. Reestablish a connection with them. But the fire was back in his blood now.

  In a couple of weeks, he’d return to Detroit. Get his life back.

  Leave Darcy behind.

  The adrenaline faded, leaving him flat.

  Yeah, he liked her a lot. Wanted her a lot. But his life wasn’t about running a restaurant. It wasn’t about staying in Chicago with his family.

  She wasn’t looking for long-term, either, he told himself. He was her bridge guy. The guy who would help her get her life back.

  No matter how much he wanted her, there was no future for him and Darcy.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AFTER DARCY CLIMBED into her car and locked the doors, Patrick clicked open his SUV and got behind the wheel. He started the engine and waited for the windows to defrost. Outside, he heard Darcy drive her muffler-impaired clunker out of the parking lot.

  Once his windshield was clear, he threw the vehicle into gear and drove to her apartment. As he traveled down the quiet streets, he watched his rearview mirror, checked all the side streets. He was afraid O’Fallon might try to follow him.

  Or Darcy.

  He didn’t worry that Darcy would head up to her apartment alone.

  Following her home was their routine now. Expected. She waited for him to arrive before she got out of her car.

  Baby steps.

  As he pulled up to the curb, he scanned the dark street. The wind was blowing hard tonight, rustling the few leaves clinging stubbornly to the branches. The full moon scudded in and out of the clouds, illuminating the street momentarily like a strobe light, then hiding everything again.

  He scrutinized the house on the other side of the street. The moonlight outlined every needle on its yew border clearly. Then the moon disappeared, leaving only a black shadow.

  A movement behind the yews caught his eye, and he paused with his hand on the door. Watching.

  Dark. Light. Dark again. A shadow crept out from behind the bush and disappeared into the foliage next door.

  Patrick jumped out of his truck and ran after it. By the time he reached the house, it was gone.

  Coyotes roamed the neighborhood at night, coming from the forest preserves on the other side of Devon. Maybe that’s what he’d seen.

  But it had looked too big for a coyote.

  He touched the gun at the small of his back. Since they’d found the mud on Darcy’s porch, he’d brought it with him when he checked her house.

  Nothing moved. The only sound was the whistling of the wind.

  Finally, he crossed the street and trotted between the houses to Darcy’s garage. When she saw him, she climbed out and shut the door, but stayed in the shelter of the garage. “It took you a while to get here.”

  “After the night we had, I was more careful than usual.” He waited until she was clear, then pushed the button to lower the garage door. He opened his mouth to tell her about the shape he’d seen, then closed it again. He didn’t want to freak her out. “No surprises. That’s my motto. Especially where you’re concerned.”

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “I used to like surprises.”

  One tiny look. Innocent-sounding words. Probably no subtext.

  Didn’t matter. All the blood in his head rushed south.

  He threw his arm across her shoulders and tucked her body against his. Her curves pressed into his side, and he curled his fingers into her coat to keep from exploring them. “Not all surprises are bad ones.”

  Another of those sidelong glances. “I know.”

  His heart thudded with a heavy beat that made his chest ache. She was different tonight. Not as nervous. Calmer. As if she’d finally figured something out.

  He studied her face. The moonlight kissed her cheekbones and made her eyes huge and dark. Her hair, tousled from the long night, glinted in the pale light. She looked mysterious. Complicated. Beautiful.

  As they started up the stairs, a stone scuffled across the alley.

  He swung her behind him and turned around. Moments later, a cat trotted by.

  “You’re jumpy tonight,” she said.

  “And you’re not. How come?”

  She shrugged as she climbed the stairs. “I’m not sure. Theresa, maybe. I’m so relieved we got her away that I don’t have room to worry about other things.” She smiled. “At least for a little while. I’ll think about all that stuff tomorrow.”

  All what stuff? He wanted to ask, but didn’t want to break the mood. “So tonight we celebrate?” he asked lightly.

  “Tonight I relax.” She drew a deep breath. Faced him. “You make me feel safe, Patrick.”

  Safe. Normally, not what he was going for with a woman. Darcy was different. For her, it was exactly what she needed.

  They’d reached her back door, and he held out his hand for the key. “Let me check the place before you start relaxing.”

  The cat was waiting in his usual place. By now he recognized Patrick, and whined for dinner.

  Patrick stood in the doorway, scanning the living room, while Darcy opened the refrigerator and took out a can of cat food. As she bent her head to peer into the fridge, the pale skin on her nape was exposed. Vulnerable. He wanted to taste that spot, see if it was as sweet as it looked.

  He’d told her th
e next move was hers, and he would keep his word. Even if it killed him.

  He drew a deep breath as he checked the bathroom. The bedroom. She’d drawn the comforter over the sheets, and the moon dappled it with shifting patterns. Dark and light.

  He closed his eyes and reached for control. That was his trademark. He was always contained. His body never ruled his mind.

  Every minute he spent with Darcy tested that resolve.

  * * *

  DARCY LISTENED TO Patrick moving around her apartment as she scraped food into the dish on the floor, then petted Cat while he ate. Her hand was shaking, she realized.

  Of course it was. She was nervous.

  She stood and rinsed out the cat-food can, then tossed it into the recycling. She was going to try to seduce Patrick.

  It had been a very long time since she’d done that. Almost as long since she’d wanted to.

  She hadn’t wanted to even think about sex. About baring herself to a man. Being vulnerable to him.

  Wind gusted through her open back door, carrying the scent of the cold. Making her shiver.

  She’d been thinking about sex a lot since Patrick first walked into Mama’s. Specifically, sex with Patrick.

  She wanted him.

  Time to gather her courage and take what she wanted.

  It was stupid. Foolish. Risky. They had no future together. It was time for her to move on. Find another city, another job.

  But that was okay. She wasn’t ready for a future with a man, even one as trustworthy as Patrick.

  They had three weeks, more or less, until he’d leave. She didn’t want to waste any more of those days. Or nights.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said behind her.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Smiled. “Thanks for checking.”

  His eyes looked darker than usual tonight. Tension rolled off him in waves. “You’re welcome, Darcy.” He straightened. “You need anything, you call. Anytime. You know that, right?”

  She swallowed. “Yes. I do.”

  She gripped the doorknob tightly. Hesitated, then pulled the door closed.

  Engaged both locks.

  He’d been moving toward her. He stilled.

  She turned and pressed her back to the door. “I have an open bottle of wine. You want a glass?”

  He nodded slowly, never taking his gaze from her face. “I’d like that.”

  Her hands shook as she pulled out the cork and poured the wine. The burgundy looked darker, richer in the soft light of the kitchen. As she handed Patrick a glass, the wine slid around in the bowl, leaving a faint trace of color behind.

  He took the glass, but kept her hand, as well. “You’re cold,” he murmured.

  Nerves had her shivering as if she were standing in the walk-in refrigerator at Mama’s. “Chilly with the back door open.” She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her palm. “Why are you so nervous? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  Yeah. She wanted to get him naked, and it was scaring the hell out of her. What if she’d forgotten how to do it? What if her experiences with Tim had...changed something inside her? Made it impossible to enjoy being intimate with a man.

  His hand tightened. “Is it Theresa? Are you worried about her? Nervous about what her husband is going to do?”

  She shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  “Then what?” He ran his finger along the back of her hand. “Talk to me, Darcy.”

  “I...I don’t want to talk.”

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “What do you want, then?”

  “I...” She bit her lip but kept her gaze on him. She trusted him. He would never hurt her. “I want you, Patrick.”

  “You want me.” He set his glass carefully on the counter, then took both her hands in his. She felt him trembling. “To fix your leaky sink? Play Monopoly? Go for a late-night run?”

  He’d told her the next step was up to her. He wasn’t going to assume anything.

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “I want to make love with you.”

  Instead of wrapping his arms around her and kissing her, he tucked her hair behind her ears and cupped her face. “Why is that?”

  She frowned. “Because I want you.”

  “I know you do. And I want you, too. But why tonight? Why all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not so sudden,” she said in a rush of breath. “The first time I saw you, I...noticed you.”

  “Yeah.” A smile curved his mouth. “I noticed you, too. But you acted like I didn’t exist.”

  “I wanted to pretend that you didn’t.” Her chest ached as she drew in air. “I haven’t had sex in more than three years. And that was... It wasn’t pleasant. I was horrified I wanted you that way. But when you took over after Nathan was injured, I got to know you.”

  “And now you’re not so horrified?”

  His thumbs caressed her cheeks, smoothing away her fears. Lighting tiny fires beneath her skin. Sending shivers down her belly. “Not horrified at all.” She was needy. Reckless and edgy. Aroused.

  He drew her closer. “If you want to stop, you tell me. At any point. I promise I will.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. “I know. I trust you.” She reached up and cupped his face. “I didn’t know it was possible to want like this. To feel as if I’ll die if I can’t have you.”

  “Right back at you.” His hands slid to her shoulders, tugged her closer. “I’ve never wanted anything this much, Darcy.” He brushed his mouth over hers, and she felt the touch deep inside. “Kiss me,” he whispered.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and fitted her body to his. The muscles of his chest were familiar. Hot, even through his shirt. She pressed closer and felt her breasts flatten against him. Desire surged, and she lifted her face to kiss him.

  His mouth was soft. Gentle. Instead of taking, he teased. He feathered kisses over her mouth. Nipped at her lower lip, then moved to another spot before she could react. He lingered at the corners, as if memorizing her texture. Her taste.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, moving against him. “You’re holding back. Trying to be careful. I don’t want careful, Patrick.”

  “That’s too damn bad,” he said, licking her lips. “Because that’s what you’re going to get. I’m not taking you up against the wall.” She felt him smile against her mouth. “Not this time, anyway. Later, we’ll talk about next time.”

  Her heart expanded until her chest felt tight. Until it was hard to draw a breath. “I’ll look forward to that talk.”

  “Me, too.”

  As he kissed her, his hands roamed over her back, down her spine, over her rear. Touching. Caressing. Loving.

  She needed more. Opening her mouth, she welcomed him in. Tasted the wine he’d had at the restaurant, the coffee he’d gulped before he left. He shifted, and the ridge of his erection burned into her belly.

  It wasn’t enough. She leaned away, and his hands loosened. His mouth stilled. She tugged at his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband. Burrowed her hands beneath it, letting her fingers trace the hard lines of his muscles, the bumps of his ribs. When she reached his flat nipples, she shoved his shirt up and licked one, then the other.

  “Darcy.” His voice was a harsh rasp, and his hands tightened on her back. Slid lower and gripped her rear. “Don’t do that again.”

  She reached up and sucked one nipple gently, swirling her tongue around it. “Okay,” she whispered, letting her breath feather over him.

  His belly twitched beneath her fingers, and she savored her power. Delighted in every little hitch of his breath, every tiny quiver beneath her hands.
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br />   “You’re destroying me,” he said, taking her mouth again. Without warning, he swung her into his arms. Carried her into the dark, shadowy bedroom. His kiss tasted of desperation. Of need that was out of control. She wrapped her arms around his neck and opened herself to him.

  His mouth still locked to hers, he fell onto her bed, twisting so she landed on top of him. He rolled her over and fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. His fingers trembled, and it seemed to take forever for him to get it off. Finally, his hands covered her white cotton bra. He stared down at her, his face all angles and sharp planes.

  “I need to see you, Darcy,” he said, bending to suck at the thin material. She groaned and lifted to him, begging him to take more.

  “Off,” she said, licking his neck. Kissing a spot beneath his ear. “Take it off. I want to feel your skin. Your mouth.”

  He eased the blouse from her arms, tossed it away. Worked the front clasp of her bra until it separated.

  Cool air moved over her, and she grabbed his hands to cover her breasts. He groaned, and she lifted into his palms. He was being so careful. So considerate. But she could sense his desperation, and loved that she was doing that to him.

  When he raised his head, she dragged her eyes open to find him watching her. His hands shook on her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  Her heart cracked wide open. She cupped his face. “I’m good. More than good.” She slid her hands down his chest, his abdomen, to his waist. Fumbled with his belt, heard the tiny clink of the buckle, the quiet rasp of his zipper. The hard ridge of his penis tented the fabric of his pants. “I could be better, though.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Take off your clothes. Please.” She skimmed her hand along the bulge of his erection, and he hissed in a breath. Then let her go, his hands sliding away as if it was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  Standing in the pale moonlight, he shucked his pants first, then the rest followed. As the trees outside her window cast shifting shadows over him, he pulled a silver packet out of his wallet, tore it open and put on the condom, reaching for her.