Motive, Means... And Marriage?

by Hilary Byrnes

  “How long have I been out?”

  “It’s been two days since you were shot,” Adam said, straightening. “With all the Demerol they’ve been giving you, you’ve been out of it most of the time. We’ve all been taking turns sitting with you.” He spun around and headed for the door. “I have to get Helen. She’s down in the cafeteria.”

  “No!” Patrick barked.

  Adam paused with his hand on the doorknob. Slowly he turned around. “No? What do you mean?”

  Patrick closed his eyes. Doing this hurt. Hurt like hell. But there was no other way.

  “I don’t want to see her,” he rasped.

  “Do you mean not until later?” his mother asked.

  Pain tore through him, but he forced himself to say the words. “No. Not now. Not later.” The lie burned like acid in his mouth. “I don’t want to see her at all.”

  “Why the hell not?” Adam asked, his voice taut and angry. “She’s spent the last two days at the hospital, just waiting for you to wake up.”

  Patrick dug his hands into the rough cotton blankets, clenching his fingers so tight he thought they might explode. There was no way to explain. No way to make them understand the weight of his own failure, the knowledge that he’d let Helen down again. That his mistakes had almost meant her death...over and over again.

  The truth was, he wasn’t good enough for her. Had never been good enough—and never would be. Jessica had known the truth about him all along.

  And somewhere deep inside himself, he’d known it, too.

  Pain and anger and grief twisted through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Helen deserved a different kind of man, he told himself grimly. A better man. The last thing she needed was a beat-up cop who’d let her down one too many times.

  She had her career back—the thing that was more important to her than anything else in the world. She might have hung around the hospital out of some kind of misguided gratitude, but he wouldn’t let her screw up her life by sticking around any longer.

  He’d messed up her life badly enough already.

  And it was better to just end things between them now, before anyone got hurt.

  “So what am I supposed to tell her?” Adam demanded, the harsh sound of his voice cutting into Patrick’s thoughts.

  He opened his eyes and looked straight at his brother. “Tell her...tell her to take the job in Olympia.”

  Adam spun on his heel. He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Patrick closed his eyes against the intrusion of the bright lights, of his mother’s unhappy gaze.

  He’d done the right thing. He was sure of it.

  But the pain of the gunshot wound was nothing compared to the pain in his heart at knowing he had to let Helen go.

  Helen slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the wall in front of her. Someone had painted the walls yellow—no doubt trying to make the cafeteria a little more cheerful than the rest of the hospital—but the paint had faded and cracked, leaving it the sickly color of jaundice.

  In the past two days she’d spent seemingly endless hours sitting at this ugly table in this ugly room, praying for news of Patrick. After the first morning, she hadn’t even bothered going home to try to sleep. There was no point. She knew she’d just toss and turn in her cold, empty bed, thinking of Patrick lying wounded in the hospital.

  Wounded...after saving her life.

  For the hundredth time that day, Helen felt hot tears start to her eyes. Swallowing hard, she forced them back. She couldn’t break down now. She had to be strong. For Patrick. When he woke up, he would need her to be strong....

  Curling her fingers around her mug of coffee, she lifted it to her lips and took a sip. It was lukewarm and bitter, but she forced herself to swallow a mouthful. After three days straight with no sleep, the coffee was the only thing keeping her alert.

  She took another sip and grimaced. Setting the mug down on the table, she pushed back her chair. It was time to go check on Patrick, and—

  The cafeteria door swung open and Adam walked into the room. He headed straight toward her, his jaw tight, his expression grim.

  Helen sprang to her feet, her hands suddenly icy cold. “What’s happened?” she demanded as Adam reached the table. “Patrick isn‘t—”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Thank God.” She sank back down in her chair. “For a moment, I thought...I thought the worst.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Adam pulled out a chair and sat heavily. “He’s awake.”

  She gasped, elation shooting through her. “Awake?” She stumbled to her feet once again. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll go up right away.”

  Adam’s hand clamped around her wrist like a band of iron. “No.”

  “The doctors won’t let me.... But surely—”

  “It’s not the doctors.” Adam looked at her, his green eyes softening. “Helen, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  A cold feeling of foreboding curled through her. “Tell me—tell me what?”

  He tugged her back to the table and pushed out her chair. “Sit down. Please.”

  Helen sat slowly. “What is it, Adam?”

  He cleared his throat, and then he leaned across and took her hand. “Patrick says he doesn’t want to see you.”

  “What?” Helen whispered. Nausea flooded through her, lodg ing deep in her stomach. “You mean, not right now?”

  Adam’s fingers tightened on hers. “No. He says he doesn’t want to see you at all.” He paused and looked down at their hands. “He wouldn’t explain it to me. He just insisted he wouldn’t see you.”

  A sudden wave of tears rose in her throat, blurred her eyes, and she struggled to keep them back. “Did he say anything else? Anything at all?”

  Adam raised his head to look into her eyes, and she saw pity in his expression, pity and anger. He cleared his throat. “He said to take the job in Olympia.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth. “No.” She choked, her throat so tight she could barely speak. “No.”

  “I’m so sorry, Helen. Patrick isn’t himself. It’s not too surprising. He’s been pumped full of drugs for days, and—”

  She stood abruptly, almost knocking over her chair. “It’s not the drugs. It’s me. He doesn’t want me.” The truth of her own words sliced through her with an agonizing pain. A sob welled up in her chest, a sob so huge she thought it would tear her apart.

  Adam got up, his face a mask of sympathy. He stretched out his hand, reaching for her.

  Helen turned and fled.

  Patrick lay on his back in the darkness, staring at the shadowy ceiling overhead. Somewhere out in the hall, he could hear the soft squeak of a nurse’s shoes and the rattle of a cart, and low voices hummed in the room next door.

  But here in his room, everything was quiet. Too quiet. Other than the labored rasp of his own breathing, there was nothing but a bleak, empty silence.

  A silence that was slowly driving him out of his mind.

  Visiting hours had ended hours ago, and the nurses had shooed out the crowd of friends and family and fellow police officers who’d stopped by to say hello. But even when they’d been there—even when his room had been filled with talk and laughter and the warmth of old friends—he’d felt the emptiness. The silence of the one voice he wanted to hear.

  Helen’s voice.

  Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear her voice in his mind, hear the low husky notes of it as she said his name. Hear the sound of her aching moans as he’d made love to her for the last time.

  And he could see her, too. Even in the empty darkness, even with his eyes closed tight. Oh, yes, he could see her and smell her and feel the satin of her skin against his hands....

  He’d tried to put her out of his mind all night, tried to concentrate on the weight of the blankets against his legs, on the pull of the needle in his hand and the scent of the roses Deirdre had arranged by his bed. But nothing had worked.


  Nothing.

  Whatever he did, he couldn’t get Helen out of his mind.

  Restlessly, he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling again. But the pattern of cracks in the plaster somehow reminded him of Helen’s smile, and the alabaster color, shadowed with moonlight, made him think of the way her skin had looked when he’d made love to her on the beach that very first night....

  The memory made his groin tighten painfully, and he let out a groan of frustration and anger. Dammit, why was she haunting him like this? He’d done the right thing by sending her away. He was sure of it. So why couldn’t he just forget her?

  He couldn’t count the number of women he’d broken up with over the past three years; the women he’d sent away after a day, or a week, or a month. And he’d never had any trouble forgetting any of them.

  So why was Helen so different? What was this hold she had on him? And not just on his body, but on his mind? And on his—

  Patrick caught his breath. On his...

  Heart.

  The realization crashed through him like a bolt of thunder. The hold Helen had on him wasn’t just on his mind. Or his body. It was on his heart. His heart.

  Because he was in love with her. Wildly, crazily, desperately in love.

  He loved her for her courage. For her strength. For that stubborn determination that kept her fighting even when things were at their worst. He loved her for her beauty, for her smile, for...so many things.

  And if he was honest with himself—brutally honest—he had to admit he’d been in love with her all along.

  Patrick’s heart began to thump as the memories raced through his mind. Memories of the first time he’d seen her, striding up the courthouse steps with her briefcase in her hand. Memories of the funny tingles that had slid through his body as he’d watched her, of the joy that had burst through him when he’d danced with her at the ball that magic night.

  He’d started falling in love with her the very first time he’d seen her. And when he’d made love to her on the beach that night, made love to her with his heart and his mind and his soul, he’d fallen completely, utterly, in love.

  That was why he hadn’t been able to forget her, even after the way she’d left him that night. That was why he’d never really been able to let her go....

  He’d told himself he didn’t care about her. Told himself that all he wanted was a casual affair. And when he couldn’t lie to himself about that anymore, he’d told himself he wasn’t good enough for her.

  But it was a lie. All a lie. He’d only told himself those things because he’d been angry. Angry and in pain. Because of Jessica. Because of the child he’d lost. And because he’d been afraid of getting hurt all over again.

  Oh, God, he was a fool.

  Because even if he did get hurt—even if Helen told him she could never love him, never want him—it didn’t change the one essential fact He loved her.

  And it didn’t change what he had to do.

  Shoving the bedcovers down to his waist, Patrick pushed himself upright. Pain knifed through his chest, but he gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Yanking the IV needle out of his hand, he shoved himself to his feet.

  Four days ago, on the rain-swept beach, he’d told Helen that she had to fight for what she wanted. And that was exactly what he had to do.

  He loved Helen. Loved her. Needed her. Wanted her.

  And this time...this time, he would fight.

  Helen sat on a giant, ragged piece of driftwood with her hands clasped around her knees, staring out at the water as the tears ran down her cheeks.

  The tide was on its way out, pulling kelp and driftwood with it A wet expanse of fresh, unmarked sand stretched out before her in the starlight, empty and cold and dark.

  Like her life.

  Helen’s throat tightened. Of course, her life wasn’t really empty, she told herself bleakly. She still had her career. Her name was not only cleared, but the papers were calling her and Patrick heroes. In the past two days, she’d had job offers from half the counties in the state. Even the state attorney general had called. She’d heard about the case, and she’d wanted to congratulate Helen and to personally offer her a job.

  Two weeks ago she would have been thrilled. It was another step up in her career. A sure thing.

  But now, the job meant less than nothing to her.

  Her career just didn’t seem so important after all.

  Helen stared sightlessly out at the dark, heaving ocean. Somehow, all the trauma of the past few days had brought things clear in her mind.

  All those years when she’d fought to get ahead, she hadn’t really been striving toward something in the future—she’d been running away from her past. The truth was, she’d used her career as a way to escape her childhood. And as a way to avoid getting close to anyone.

  For as long as she could remember, she’d always been afraid. Afraid that she really was like her mother, the way everyone had always thought. Afraid that if she let anyone get too close, they would see who she really was. See her—and reject her.

  She’d put herself in a rigid box, where everything went according to plan. An organized life where she progressed from job to job according to what was best for her career. No messy emotions or entanglements. No real risks. Just logic.

  And then Patrick had come blazing into her life, shattering everything she’d ever believed in, blowing her tidy, organized life to bits. But the days she’d spent with him, the days of danger and uncertainty and risk, the nights of hot, sweet passion, had been the best of her entire life.

  And now that they were over, she didn’t know how she was ever going to go back....

  A fresh wave of tears welled up in her throat, and this time, she didn’t try to stop them. There was no point It was late—so late it was almost morning—and she was alone on a windswept beach in the middle of nowhere.

  There was nobody here to see her cry.

  As the tears dripped down her cheeks, a gust of wind blew her hair around her face. She lifted her hands to push it away, and as she did, she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.

  Her breath snagged in her throat, and she jerked her head around. In the shadowy distance, she saw a figure walking across the sand. Against the star-capped waves, she could just make out the dark shape. It was a man, and he was tall, tall and familiar and—

  “Patrick,” she whispered. Her heart began to thump, and she stumbled to her feet. “You came!”

  Almost as if he could hear her voice, he lifted his head and looked straight at her across the expanse of darkness. She couldn’t see his face—or hear his voice above the noise of the wind and the waves—but she saw him spread his arms wide in a silent invitation.

  Her heart leaped crazily. Kicking off her shoes, she began to run. Elation and joy and hope coursed through her as she raced barefoot across the cold wet sand, the wind tangling her hair around her face.

  Patrick strode toward her along the edge of the surf, still holding his arms open wide. As she neared him, she saw his face in the starlight, and it was filled with a raw, aching emotion that made her heart almost burst. With a little cry, she flew over the last few yards of sand between them and flung herself into his waiting embrace.

  “Ah, Helen,” he said against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. “Helen, I’ve been such a fool.”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “I have. Because I love you. I’ve loved you from the first time I saw you. I love you so much that I couldn’t stand the thought of spending even one more minute away from you....”

  She tilted back her head and looked into his eyes, her happiness almost too much to bear. “Oh, Patrick,” she whispered, “I love you, too.”

  And then he kissed her—kissed her with all the passion and love and possession she felt in her own heart. She kissed him back, and he tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet. He twirled her around and around and around, until she was dizzy and la
ughing, and they collapsed together onto the beach.

  He didn’t let go of her even then, but kept his arm tight around her waist, holding her close as they lay in the sand.

  Helen pushed herself up on her elbow and looked into Patrick’s eyes. “I’m so glad you found me.”

  He looked at her, his face dappled with starlight, the wind ruffling his hair, and he gave her a slow, beautiful smile. “So am I.”

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  He reached up and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb across her lips. “Just a lucky guess.” His eyes crinkled. “This seems to be where I always find you.”

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” she said softly. “Not this time.”

  His expression turned serious, and he looked straight into her eyes. “Helen, I’m sorry. I—”

  She put her fingers across his mouth. “No. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. Not with me. Never with me.”

  “Yeah, I do,” he said bluntly. “I acted like a jerk by refusing to see you today. I was scared—scared of the way I felt—”

  “But so was I. I was scared of letting myself feel anything, and you made me feel so much. I was scared of letting my emotions run out of control. Scared of being like...being like my mother.”

  He put his arms around her and held her tight. “You’re nothing like her. Nothing at all.”

  “I know that now.” She put her head against his shoulder. “And I’m sorry. Sorry for the way I treated you last year, for running away.”

  “You weren’t the only one who was running away.” He stroked her hair with his rough hand. “I never should have told Adam I didn’t want to see you. I was a fool, a coward, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  She shook her head. “A coward? How can you call yourself a coward after the way you saved my life? After you got shot and ev—” She broke off with a gasp and pushed herself upright, scattering wet sand across them both. “Patrick! Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?”

  He lay back against the sand and grinned. “Probably. But somehow this seemed a little more important than lying around in some hospital bed.”

  “But are you sure you’re all right?” She ran her hands over his chest, feeling the lump of bandages beneath his unfamiliar wool jacket. “You’ve probably burst your stitches and—”