Patrick let out his breath and lowered the gun as he stood up. “Helen.”
She turned toward him, looking cool and beautiful and untouchable in a simple ivory blouse and a pencil-slim skirt. In one hand, she carried a small leather suitcase, and in the other, she held a white paper sack. “Patrick.” Her gaze dropped to his gun. “What on earth are you doing?”
His relief at the sight of her dissolved into sudden anger. Dropping his gun onto the couch, he folded his arms over his bare chest. “What does it look like? I didn’t know who was coming through that door.” He scowled. “Where have you been?”
“I went to my apartment to get a few things.”
“What?” His voice rose. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving to my own apartment.” She dropped his key ring onto the coffee table, set down the paper sack, and straightened to face him. “Unless you’re objecting to me borrowing your car.”
“No. I’m objecting to you putting yourself in danger. Not to mention taking off without a word. How the hell do you think it feels to wake up and find you gone like that?”
She looked at him coolly. “You didn’t have to worry. I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need a twenty-four-hour bodyguard.”
The fist of anger tightened in his gut. Was that her way of saying she didn’t need—or want—him? He’d figured it would happen sooner or later, but this was a whole lot sooner than he’d expected.
He narrowed his eyes. “So why did you have to go back to your place?”
“To get the things I need for Seattle. I wanted us to get an early start. We’ve got a lot to do.”
“In Seattle? What are you talking about?”
“I talked to a stripper at the bar last night. She was Jamie Lee’s best friend, and she saw Jamie getting into a car the night she was murdered. A brown car.”
Patrick froze. “The killer. It must have been him. Driving the same car he used to try and kill you.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Did the girl see who was driving?”
Helen shook her head. “No, but she thinks it might have been one of Jamie Lee’s regular customers. Apparently Jamie Lee had a few regulars.”
“Does this girl know who they were? Know anything about them?”
“No. Jamie told her they’d kill her if she breathed a word about them to anyone. Apparently the only person she might have told is her sister Candy, who lives in Seattle.”
“Then we’d better get down to Seattle right away.”
“Exactly.”
Patrick shoved his hands through his hair. He knew he should be excited about the new lead. Even ecstatic.
But instead he felt tense and angry. After last night, that incredible night, he’d imagined waking up slowly this morning. With Helen curled in his arms. He’d envisioned laughing with her, maybe eating breakfast in bed. Making sweet, hot love—again. And again.
He sure as hell hadn’t imagined standing naked in his living room while Helen—looking altogether too damn cool and calm and lawyerly—informed him that they had to go to Seattle.
A splinter of hurt stabbed through the anger. Hadn’t last night affected her at all?
“Why didn’t you tell me this last night?” he asked abruptly.
“I was on my way to tell you when you disappeared from the bar. And then you were attacked by those thugs, and—”
“You could have told me when we got back here.”
Helen glared at him. “Well, I forgot, okay? I’m not perfect. I was thinking about other things. Like whether you were going to die on me. I was worried sick about you, Monaghan.”
His anger drained away as swiftly as it had come. Suddenly he felt like a jerk. Who did he think he was? He’d known last night what he was getting himself into. He had no right to snarl at her now.
“Hell,” he said roughly. “I’m sorry for barking at you like that. When I woke up and found you gone all over again, I guess I went a little crazy.”
Helen looked at him, and her eyes softened. “Oh, Patrick, I’m sorry. I should have woken you.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I thought you could use the extra sleep, and I was sure I’d be back before you woke up.”
Warmth burst through his chest. So that’s why she’d sneaked out like that. She’d been concerned about him—not trying to reject him. That meant...that meant....
He reached for her, curling his hand around the back of her neck and burying his fingers in her hair. She came to him willingly and put her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his naked shoulder.
He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her in his arms. Breathing in deeply, he smelled the fresh shampoo—his shampoo—fragrance of her hair, the faint womanly scent that clung to her skin, and he felt the last remnants of his tension and anger melt away.
He kissed the top of her golden head. “Next time, wake me up, all right? It’s dangerous out there.”
She pulled away from him a little, raising a hand to trace his swollen lip. “Dangerous for who?” she said, her voice husky. “Looks to me like you’re the one in danger.”
The whisper of her fingers against his skin sent a surge of heat to his groin. He wrapped his arm around her hips and pulled her against him. “In danger? Maybe. From you, Helen. Maybe from you.”
A smile curved her lips as she looked up into his eyes. “How’re you feeling this morning?”
He pulled her a little closer and dipped his head down to kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss—a kiss as leisurely as the ones last night had been urgent. He explored her mouth thoroughly, loving the taste of her, the feel of her. Beneath her fragile silk blouse, he could feel the supple warmth of her skin, feel the rapid thump of her heart against his chest.
Finally, he broke the kiss. Helen was breathless, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. He surveyed her, drinking in her beauty, before he finally spoke. “I’m feeling just fine.” He ran his thumb over her jaw. “What about you?”
“I’m fine, too.” Her voice was husky. “Better than fine.”
“Good.” Regretfully, he lifted his hand away from her face. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to invite you back to bed, but I guess we’d better get ready to go.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Helen pulled away and walked over to the coffee table. She opened the white paper sack she’d dropped on the table and pulled out a foam cup bearing the distinctive green logo of a gourmet coffee company.
“Here,” she said. “I brought you some coffee.”
Patrick took the cup. Her fingers brushed against his, sending a tingle racing up his arm.
“Thanks.” He popped off the lid. Steam curled into the air, bringing with it the warm, bitter scent of coffee. He took a long swallow and set the cup back on the table. “I’m going to jump in the shower. I’ll be ready to go in half an hour.”
“Good. The sooner we find Candy Turner, the better.”
Two hours later they were on the outskirts of Seattle. Helen clenched the steering wheel and stared out into the rain. Six solid lanes of congested traffic inched their way toward the downtown core. Concrete walls topped with metal fences rose up on either side of the interstate, which sliced through residential neighborhoods like a scar. Horns blared unceasingly. From the other side of the freeway, Helen heard the wail of a siren.
The closer they got to the city, the tighter the knot in her stoniach wound.
“You doing okay with this traffic?” Patrick asked.
Helen gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s too late in the morning for rush hour. And we’re nowhere near downtown. We still have to cross the ship canal.”
“It’s just life in the big city, I guess. Aren’t you glad you don’t live here anymore?”
She tensed. “How did you know I used to live here?”
“You told me so the other day, remember?”
“Right.” She let out her
breath, relieved he hadn’t heard it through the grapevine. She’d told very few people in Evergreen even that much about her past—and she hadn’t told a soul about her mother. When she’d left Seattle, she’d wanted to leave the past behind....
She looked out at the city. Memory tangled through her mind, dragging the old, rusty pain with it. Memories of wandering through downtown streets, looking for her mother. Of seeing Lana stumble out of an endless stream of different bars with different men. Of days and months and years crawling by in a blur of shame and misery.
Oh, yes, she was glad she didn’t still live in Seattle. It was bad enough coming here twice a year to visit her mother. Bad enough that the memories of her childhood here would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Hey,” Patrick said softly. “What’s wrong?”
The sound of his deep voice wrenched her thoughts away from the past. “Nothing. It’s just a pain sitting in traffic.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
Helen glanced over at him. His handsome face was concerned, his silver eyes serious. Suddenly, irrationally, she felt the urge to tell him. To tell him about her childhood. About her mother’s drinking, her endless parade of men. To confess all the shameful secrets of her past.
But she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t bear to see the concern in his eyes turn to disgust and revulsion. Patrick would never understand—not with a happy, loving family like his.
She forced a smile to her lips. “Really: It’s just the traffic.”
Patrick tapped his fingers against the dashboard. “Where are we headed?”
She didn’t hesitate; there was no way she’d take Patrick to her mother’s apartment. “I thought we could get set up in a hotel and start phoning around to find Candy.”
“If you want, we could go to my sister’s place.”
“I thought Deirdre lived in Evergreen.”
“Not Deirdre. My other sister, Moira. You haven’t met her.”
Helen hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“It wouldn’t be an imposition. Moira’s family. Besides, she loves having company. She’s single, and she’s got this big old house, so there’s lots of room.”
“Are you sure?”
“You bet. And the best part of it is, she lives out by Lake Washington, so we can take the next exit.”
Helen glanced at the traffic as they crawled forward. At this rate, it would probably take them at least an hour just to get downtown. And the University of Washington exit was just coming up on their right.
“Okay,” she said. “But only if you’re sure your sister won’t mind.”
Patrick took her hand and squeezed. “Trust me. She won’t mind.”
Twenty minutes later they pulled up outside a rambling older house. The white clapboard siding was weather-beaten and needed a coat of paint, and the huge porch in front sagged more than a little. But the house had a welcoming, lived-in feel that reminded Helen of the older Monaghans’s home.
A row of wind chimes hung from the porch roof, making music as Patrick and Helen walked down the front path. A giant maple guarded the front yard. Someone had raked its bright, fallen leaves into a pile by its trunk, and the damp, pungent scent filled the air.
Helen followed Patrick up the wide stairs that led to the porch. She glanced around curiously. Two huge wicker chairs stood on the porch with a table between them. A colorful woven mat sat beneath the front door. Beside it stood a pair of muddy boots.
Patrick twisted the old-fashioned doorbell. It rasped with a faintly musical sound. A moment later a woman pulled open the door. She was tall and slender and unmistakably a Monaghan. Her hair was red, like her father’s, but she had Patrick’s sculpted mouth and Adam’s light green eyes.
She threw her arms around Patrick’s neck and gave him a fierce hug. “Patrick! I wasn’t expecting you!”
Patrick hugged her back. “Long time no see, stranger.” Helen watched them, a faint pang in her heart. What would it be like to have a sister or a brother? A family that actually cared?
Moira pulled away from Patrick, and her smile faded as she looked at his face. Lifting her hand to his bruised cheek, she touched it lightly. “What in God’s name happened to you?”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ll bet. Well, you’d better come in and tell me everything.” She turned to Helen and held out her hand with a welcoming smile. “I’m Moira Monaghan. You must be Helen Stewart.”
Helen shook the other woman’s hand. “Hi, Moira. I’m Helen.” She hesitated. “How did you know who I was?”
Moira grinned. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you from Dad.”
A whirl of confused emotions slid through Helen. So Sean had been talking about her—she didn’t know what to make of that. She cast a sideways glance at Patrick, and he smiled back at her. The tension in her stomach unfurled a little at the warmth in his eyes.
Patrick turned back to Moira. “When did you talk to Dad?”
“Just last night.” She pulled them both into the hallway and shut the door. “You know how he is. He calls me every couple days just to make sure I haven’t crashed.”
“Crashed?” Helen asked. “Are you a pilot?”
“I fly the news helicopter for Channel Seven.” Moira smiled wryly. “And my parents just love it, believe me. Especially my father.”
Patrick slung his arm around her shoulders. “You should’ve become a teacher, like DeeDee.”
Moira elbowed him in the ribs, and he groaned. “You’re one to talk,” she said. “Showing up on my doorstep with a face like a rainbow. You look as if someone jumped up and down on your head.”
“You’re not too far wrong there,” Patrick said.
“You always were a magnet for trouble.” She turned to Helen with a grin. “How do you put up with him, anyway?”
“I, uh....” Helen’s cheeks flamed.
Moira’s grin widened. “I see.” She glanced at Patrick. “Well, I think I’ll go put on a fresh pot of coffee.”
“I’m just going to grab our bags,” Patrick said. “You mind if we stay for a few days?”
“Mind? Of course not. You’re family. Treat it like your own house.” She turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
Patrick slid his arm around Helen’s shoulders. “See? I told you she wouldn’t mind.”
Helen shook her head, still a little dazed by the force of Moira’s personality. “She’s so...friendly.”
“That’s our Moira. As easygoing as they come.” He touched her cheek. “I’m going to get our stuff out of the car. I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
“Do you need a hand?”
“No, that’s okay.” He tossed the keys into the air and caught them with a flourish. “Go on and talk to Moira.”
Helen walked back to the kitchen and poked her head in the door. The room was large and bright, with red countertops and a brilliant yellow-tiled floor. Coils of garlic hung from the ceiling, and a heaping basket of fruit stood on the counter. The whole room smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Moira stood by the sink, measuring coffee into an automatic coffeemaker. She looked up and smiled as Helen walked in. “Have a seat. Coffee’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Thanks.” Helen sat at the kitchen table.
Moira turned on the coffeepot and strode over to the table to join her. Tossing her mane of hair over her shoulder, she gave Helen a sympathetic smile. “I was sorry to hear about your job.”
Helen took a sharp breath at the reminder. Her throat tightened, and she felt tears sting the back of her eyes. “It’s okay,” she mumbled, embarrassed.
Moira propped her chin on her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you by mentioning it. But, honey, you should know—there’s no secrets in this family.”
Helen flushed. No secrets. Did that mean that everyone in the Monaghan family knew about her and Patrick? Knew they’d slept together a year ago...and last night?
Moira
flashed her a reassuring grin. “At least,” she amended, “there aren’t very many. Don’t worry, I’m not going to broadcast it to my parents that you and Patrick are lovers.”
If she went any redder, Helen figured she’d set off the smoke alarm in Moira’s kitchen. “How did you know?”
“That you’re lovers? It’s written all over your faces. Besides, Patrick never would have brought you here—or to my parents’ house—if he didn’t have pretty strong feelings for you.”
“Strong feelings?” Helen bit her lip. She couldn’t stay here, in Patrick’s sister’s house, knowing that Moira believed a lie. Opening her mouth, she forced herself to speak. “I—I don’t think you understand.”
“Understand what?”
“Patrick and I—it’s not like that.”
“No?” Moira’s green eyes were frank and understanding. “Then what is it like?”
Helen bit her lip. “He doesn’t have those kinds of feelings for me.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.” She took another deep breath. She’d gone this far—she might as well tell the whole truth. “He told me himself. Ever since he got divorced, he hasn’t made anyone any promises. And he doesn’t want to.”
“And?”
Helen stared at her. “Don’t you understand? All his relationships are strictly temporary. Including this one.”
Moira just smiled and shook her head. “Honey, I think you’re underestimating yourself.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You want to bet?” Her smile turned into a wicked grin—a grin so much like her brother’s that Helen couldn’t help responding to it with a faint smile of her own.
“Besides,” Moira said. Her eyes crinkled. “You have the whole family on your side. And believe me, we Monaghans can be very persuasive when we want something badly enough.”
“Don’t I know it,” Helen muttered.
“Are you telling Helen all the family secrets, Moira?”
Helen’s gaze snapped to the doorway. Patrick lounged against the door frame, a grin tugging at his lips. She wanted to sink under the table. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?
Moira gave her a conspiratorial wink and turned to Patrick. “I didn’t tell her the half of it,” she said easily. “Didn’t even mention the time you and Jake Rafferty—”
Motive, Means... And Marriage? Page 19