The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  “Then we’re just waiting for O’Fallon.”

  The clock in the kitchen ticked, and the two agents upstairs said something in low voices. Nathan moved his wheelchair control from one position to another, each click loud in the silent house.

  Nathan sat up straight. “He just pulled up.”

  A car door slammed, and Patrick adjusted the wire one more time. Then he waited for the doorbell to ring.

  O’Fallon looked smaller somehow. As if he’d shrunk in the past few days. His fringe of red hair seemed duller. His skin grayer.

  “Alderman,” Patrick said. “Come in.”

  Before the door closed behind him, O’Fallon said, “Why are you screwing this up, Devereux? We both had a good thing going here. You got your kitchen rehab done, I was making a little money.” He moved to Nathan, loomed over him. “Were we pressuring you? Making you pay more than you could afford?”

  “Have a seat and we’ll talk about it,” Patrick said, shoving a chair at him. He sat beside Nathan, and O’Fallon sat across from him. “First of all, who’s the ‘we’?” he asked.

  “Figure of speech,” O’Fallon muttered. “My organization. People in my office.”

  Patrick leaned closer, and the alderman flinched. “Who gives you the money you loan?”

  “I don’t loan money. Devereux was a special case.”

  “Why is that?”

  “How the hell should I know? Someone came to me, told me to make sure you had a loan. Gave me the money.”

  Patrick glanced at Nathan. What the hell?

  His brother shrugged, looking equally baffled.

  “Who was this mystery benefactor?”

  O’Fallon stared at him with flat eyes.

  “We’ll find out eventually.”

  O’Fallon swallowed. His eyes flickered from Patrick to Nathan. “Not smart to look.”

  “Are you threatening us?” Patrick asked, incredulous.

  “Just sayin’. Don’t stick your nose where it don’t belong.”

  Patrick stared at him for a long moment. O’Fallon shifted in the chair.

  He’d leave it to the Bureau to make sense of this. They knew Chicago politics better than he did. Patrick took the check out of his pocket, pushed it across the table to O’Fallon. The alderman glanced at it, but didn’t touch it.

  “I’ll need a receipt for that check,” Patrick added.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” O’Fallon scowled at him. “That’s not how it works in Chicago.”

  “I’m an accountant, and that’s how it works in Detroit. You give someone money to pay a debt, you get a written statement.”

  “You’re not in Detroit anymore, Devereux. We have a code of honor here. My...investor didn’t need any receipts. Nathan’s word was good.”

  “So what did you get out of it, O’Fallon?”

  “A cut of the interest.”

  “That’s it?”

  “A little help when I need favors.”

  “What kinds of favors?”

  “You know.” He shrugged. “Someone’s deadbeat brother-in-law needs a job, we find one for him. A kid needs to go to college, we find a scholarship. That kind of shit.”

  “What about the guy who provides the money? What does he get out of it?”

  “How the hell should I know? Like I said, this was a special case.”

  Patrick pushed a piece of paper across the table. “Standard receipt. Sign it. Acknowledge that the amount is correct. That the debt is paid in full.”

  The alderman stared at the check, then the receipt. His hands tightened on the edge of the table. Patrick thought he was going to refuse and walk out.

  He picked up the pen. Hesitated. Then scrawled his name and shoved the receipt back to Patrick.

  “Wish I could say it was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said as he shoved away from the table and headed for the door. He had it half-open when Patrick heard footsteps on the stairs.

  “Edward O’Fallon, you’re under arrest for bribery, money laundering and various RICO offenses.” The woman pulled O’Fallon’s hands behind his back. “You have the right...”

  As the agent recited the Miranda notification, O’Fallon’s eyes burned into Patrick’s. Beneath the hatred, there was fear. Moments later, the FBI agents escorted him out of the house and into their car.

  Neither Patrick nor Nathan spoke until the car drove away. Then Nathan slumped in the chair. “Thank God that’s over.”

  “It’s not over yet, Nate. This is part of a bigger corruption investigation, and they’ll have lots of questions for you. But at least Mama’s is safe. And you are, too.”

  “Thanks, Paddy.”

  “Let’s call Darcy and tell her to come home. We have lots of celebrating to do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  DARCY HAD DRIVEN more than a hundred miles and passed Bloomington, Illinois, when she started to get nervous. The same silver car had been behind her for the past hour.

  At the next exit, she pulled off. As she slowed on the ramp, the silver sedan flashed past the exit without slowing down. It was an American car, going too fast for her to see the make, with only the driver inside.

  Just to be sure, she turned right and pulled into a busy truck stop. Facing her car toward the road, she stayed close to the convenience store and watched for twenty minutes. Other silver cars got off the interstate, but none of them matched the one following her.

  Even though her nerves were already twitchy, she opened one of the cans of Red Bull she’d brought and drank it down. Three more hours to St. Louis. She couldn’t afford to let her attention drift.

  Before she got back on the interstate, she glanced at the phone on the seat next to her. No missed calls. Patrick hadn’t yet realized she was gone.

  She accelerated onto the ramp and kept driving. Endless acres of farmland unrolled in front of her, most of them a plowed-under sea of black mud. Occasionally she passed a field with dried, broken-off cornstalks sticking out of the dirt like spears, lonely and abandoned.

  She glanced at the phone again. Patrick would call as soon as he found out she hadn’t gone to Frankie’s place.

  She sucked in a breath, fumbled for the phone and turned it off. She should have left it behind. Phones could be tracked via their GPS systems. An FBI agent would know exactly how to do that.

  It was a link to Patrick. She couldn’t toss it away.

  Her hand hovered over the phone. If she turned it back on, Patrick could find her. Follow her to St. Louis.

  When her finger settled on the power button, she threw the phone into the backseat. Yes, she missed him. Yes, it felt as if she’d left a piece of herself in Chicago. Yes, she’d do just about anything to turn the car around and go back to him.

  But she couldn’t do that.

  At least he knew that she loved him.

  Switching on the radio, she searched through staticky stations until she found one playing music, then pressed the accelerator harder. She needed to reach St. Louis before dark. Easier to find a motel in the daylight. Running down her mental checklist again, she assured herself that she hadn’t overlooked anything.

  She’d gone over that list every week for the past three years. She’d always known she’d have to leave Mama’s and Chicago.

  She just hadn’t realized it would feel as if she’d torn her heart out and left it behind.

  * * *

  PATRICK PACED Nathan’s living room as he dialed Darcy’s cell. He needed to have her back here. He needed to hold her, inhale her scent, know she was safe.

  Her phone went directly to voice mail, and he frowned. She knew he’d be calling. She knew she had to leave the phone on. Had she forgotten to charge it?

  “I can’t get hold of Darcy.�
��

  Nathan set down the beer he was drinking. “Frankie makes everyone turn off their cells at FreeZone. Adults, too. Darcy’s probably just following orders.”

  “She should know better,” he muttered. “She could have put it on vibrate.”

  “Call Frankie on the center’s land line,” Nathan suggested. “Tell her to put Darcy on the phone.”

  “You have the number?”

  Nathan dug into the bag attached to his wheelchair, palmed his phone and looked it up. “Here it is.”

  Patrick tapped it in, then listened impatiently as it rang. Finally, Frankie said, “FreeZone. This is Frankie.”

  “Hey, Bunny, Patrick here. Can you put Darcy on the phone?”

  “Darcy?” she said in a puzzled voice. “Why would she be here?”

  He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest. For a long moment, he couldn’t breathe. Finally he managed, “Has she left already?”

  “What are you talking about? Darcy hasn’t been here today.”

  “Not at all?” He clenched his phone so tightly that his hand ached.

  “No. Paddy, what’s wrong?”

  He paced the living room, fear a cold lump in his gut. “The alderman left a few minutes ago in the custody of the FBI. I told Darcy to go to FreeZone and stay with you and Cal until he was arrested.”

  “Which she didn’t do.” He heard Frankie jump up and shut the door. “What do you think happened, Paddy?”

  He blew out a breath. “Either her ex found her, or she ran. I hope to God she’s heading away from Chicago.”

  “What ex? Why would she do that? Nathan told me you guys were, you know, together.”

  “She’s trying to draw her ex away from me.”

  “Hold it together, Paddy. Cal and I will be there in an hour, as soon as the kids leave. We’ll help you find her.”

  “Thanks, Frankie. I’ll need you to stay with Nathan while I go after her.”

  “Do you know where she might have gone?”

  “No, but I can find out. Get here as soon as you can.”

  He punched the off button and tightened his fingers around the phone. “I can’t believe she did this.”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” Nathan said. “What did you mean, she’s trying to draw her ex away from you?”

  Unable to sit still, Patrick gave Nathan the Cliff’s Notes version of Darcy’s story, ending with, “She thinks her ex has found her. She thinks he’s going to hurt me. So she took off. To protect me.”

  “That’s whacked.”

  “Tell me about it. Damn it! I thought she trusted me. She said she lov...” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from punching the wall. “I trusted her when she promised to go to Frankie’s.”

  “Calm down. We’ll figure this out.”

  “Don’t frigging tell me to calm down! You didn’t see what that guy did to her apartment. He destroyed everything. Ground her belongings into dust. She has evidence that can get him sent to prison or killed. You think he’s going to ask her nicely to hand it over?”

  Nathan positioned his wheelchair in front of Patrick, then grabbed his wrist and yanked him down to eye level. “Listen to me. Go punch a bag if that’s what you need to do. Stomp around the house. Then pull your head out of your ass and settle down. We’ll figure out how to fix this.”

  His brother’s words were like a splash of ice water to the face. Closing his eyes, Patrick took a deep breath. Then another one. Finally he stood up and stared at the gray, cloudy sky outside the window.

  “God, Nate! I’m supposed to know how to deal with this stuff. I was trained to think logically. Even in a crisis.”

  “Hard to do when someone you love is in trouble.”

  He didn’t even bother to deny Nathan’s words. “Yeah. It is.”

  “Okay. How do we find her?”

  “We hope.” He loosened his hold on the phone and punched in Kopecki’s number. “Hey, Danny,” he said when the detective answered. “I need a favor. ASAP. Can you do a GPS search for this cell number? It’s turned off now, but I need to know the last place it was.” He read off Darcy’s number. “Life and death, buddy. Her ex is after her, and she’s disappeared.”

  He listened for a moment, then let out a breath. “Thanks. Talk to you when you get something.”

  Feeling steadier, Patrick tapped in the number for his boss in Detroit. When Neil answered, he said, “Devereux here. I need to talk to someone in the Milwaukee office. I have some information about one of the gangs there that the Bureau might be able to use. Can you have an agent call me?”

  After his boss agreed, Patrick slipped the phone into his pocket.

  “What did Kopecki say?” Nathan asked.

  “They just got some new software. Can pinpoint her location within ten yards. He’s going to run her number and let me know.”

  “Good thinking to call him.”

  “I have my moments.” Unlike today. He shouldn’t have told her to go to Frankie’s. He should have asked Danny to take her there. He should have realized she’d be terrified. He should have paid more attention when she told him she needed to protect him.

  When she told him her real name.

  He should have connected the dots. Not let her out of his sight.

  “I can’t believe she was so devious,” he muttered.

  “Really? A woman who escaped from a vicious ex, who hid successfully for three years? Who was smart enough to find evidence of his crimes and use it to blackmail him into a quick divorce? Sounds like you seriously underestimated her.”

  “Yeah, rub it in.”

  “As soon as Danny gets a hit, take off. I’ll be fine until Frankie and Cal get here.”

  “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Do I look totally helpless?”

  “Actually, yeah, you do.”

  Nathan grinned and held up his middle finger. “Screw you, buddy.”

  “Right back at ya.” Patrick couldn’t believe he was smiling, too. “How did you do that, Nate? Get my head out of my ass and functioning again?”

  Nathan shrugged. “Little trick I learned when I was raising three kids. If you laugh at the drama, it’s hard for them to take themselves seriously.” He grinned again. “Remember that when you and Darcy have kids of your own.”

  Him and Darcy? Kids of their own? The puzzle pieces settled into place. Fit perfectly. Eased the ache in his chest. “Have to get her back first,” Patrick said.

  “You will.”

  Patrick’s phone rang. His hand shook as he hit the call button.

  “Got something,” Kopecki said. “Last time the phone was on, she was thirty-five miles south of Bloomington, Illinois. Probably on I-55.”

  “Headed toward St. Louis,” Patrick said immediately. That was her strategy. Go to another big city. “I’m on my way. Keep checking. Let me know the minute she turns that phone on again.”

  “You got it. Good luck.”

  He’d need it.

  * * *

  DARCY ROLLED TO a stop in front of a bland chain motel in a St. Louis suburb. The neighborhood around it was full of cozy houses on tidy, well-cared-for lots.

  The kind of neighborhood where kids played soccer on Saturday mornings and got ice cream cones at the Dairy Queen afterward.

  For now, it was probably as safe as she could get.

  But she sat in her car for a long time, watching. Checking every silver car that passed the motel. No one glanced at her. There was no one who even vaguely resembled Tim.

  By the time she picked up the pulled pork sandwich she’d purchased at the fast food restaurant before pulling into the motel, it was stone-cold. She ate it anyway. It was fuel. Nothing more. It meant she could lock herself into a room and not venture out
until it was light again.

  Finally, when shadows crept across the ground and the sky was beginning to darken, she checked in and asked for a room on the ground floor. If she needed to get away in a hurry, she didn’t want to run down a set of stairs first.

  She engaged all the locks, then tested them. She pulled the curtain tightly closed, so that not even a crack of light would show outside. She jammed the chair beneath the doorknob to slow any intruder.

  Finally, when she was as secure as she could make herself, she sank onto the bed and stared at the door.

  She was being paranoid. She’d watched her rearview mirror for five excruciating hours. The only suspicious thing she’d seen was that silver car, and after she’d gotten rid of it in Bloomington, she hadn’t noticed anyone following her.

  Tim was probably still in Chicago, waiting for his opportunity to grab her.

  She slid one finger over the blank screen of her phone, guilt dripping like acid in her stomach. By now, Patrick would have realized she was gone. He’d be frantic. Wondering if she’d run away, or if Tim had found her.

  How could she have been so cruel to leave without telling him anything? Fear had muddled her brain. Made her thoughtless and inconsiderate.

  Made a mockery of her “I love you.”

  Pressing the on button, she waited impatiently for her phone to power up. When her home screen appeared, twenty missed calls, ten new messages flashed on her beach scene wallpaper.

  She brought up Patrick’s name and composed a text—I’m sorry. I’m fine. Will call soon. Then she pressed Send.

  Would he believe her when she said she’d call?

  Why would he? She’d already lied about going to Mama’s. And she’d left him.

  Saying it was for his own good sounded pretty lame right now.

  Turning the phone off again, she reached into her bag, rooting through the clothes until she touched the cold metal of her gun. She set it on the small table between the two beds and dropped her purse between the bed and the wall.

  Another car drove into the motel parking lot, went past her room and parked. Darcy tensed, then told herself to settle down.

  It was a motel. People arrived by car. They parked in front of their rooms.