And she loved Theo.
The love she carried for Scott came with the ache of loss. It echoed in a vast, lonely well, a cavern she could see and touch but one she couldn't truly access. His pillow had long ago lost its scent, and his clothes sat in plastic bins in the basement. She had memories and photographs, but that was all.
But the love she had for Theo was bright and new. When he held her, she knew hope and her heart pulsed with vibrancy and life. With him she had a future. With him she had the strength to push forward and move on with her life.
Finding herself alone in bed, nursing maudlin thoughts and sad resolutions, brought no surprises. Last night had stripped her bare and left her vulnerable. Theo had probably left soon after dawn broke, heading off to service whatever client he had put on the back burner while he spent time on Victor's projects.
She glanced at her bedside table and noticed the folded paper on her nightstand with her name written in Theo's bold strokes.
Darcy,
I cancelled your appointments for this morning. Take the day off, sweetheart. You deserve some rest. I'll be back this afternoon. I love you.
She hazarded a glance at the alarm clock. The green display read 11:17. If he'd neglected to wake her up, at least he'd cleared her morning. While she wasn't pleased about him rearranging her schedule without asking first, she could appreciate his intention. The warm shower spray shook the cobwebs from her eyes and her brain. She couldn't take the day off. She'd promised a rough estimate to her new clients, Future Beat, by Tuesday. It would take working most of the weekend to make that deadline.
Wrapped in a towel, she dried her hair and put on makeup. A twinge in her lower back suggested her period might be imminent. Then, with a start, she realized she hadn't seen her monthly visitor in a while. Sinking down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, she did the mental math. Six weeks. The first time she slept with Theo coincided with the window of time she would have been ovulating.
If the nausea she'd experienced for the past several afternoons had happened in the morning, she might have suspected something earlier. Apparently the mood swings she'd attributed to nerves were symptoms of something else entirely.
But they'd used condoms every time. She shook her head, banishing the whirlwind of her thoughts. It was no use dwelling on probability. She remembered an old pregnancy test shoved in the cupboard under the sink from the last time her schedule hadn't come out right. Though they had hoped to wait until after the wedding, she and Scott had wished for a positive result. When it came out negative, Scott had brought home another test, one that promised hospital accuracy. She hadn't needed to use it.
Digging through bottles of lotion, shampoo, conditioner, sunscreen, and a whole bunch of other half-empty bottles she should throw out produced nothing. It looked like a trip to the store was imminent. She sat back on the edge of the bathtub and thought about what this would mean for her relationship with Theo.
It was a new relationship. Both of them had declared their love for one another, and she knew he meant what he said. She hoped it could survive something as unexpected as this without going sour. While she hated the idea of losing Theo, another part of her very much looked forward to being pregnant. Plus she had faith that he was the kind of man who didn't scare easily. Steadfast, solid, and loyal, he epitomized the strong kind of man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
But life was full of surprises, and sometimes people didn't react as expected.
Darcy put her hand over her abdomen and imagined what it would feel like swollen with life. Eventually she drifted downstairs to make breakfast.
Afterward she wandered down the short hall that led to the garage, and she paused at the door to Scott's workroom. It had originally been meant as a family room, but he had turned it into space for his business. They hadn't needed a family room for just the two of them.
Half of his things had still been boxed up from the move when the police had removed anything electronic during one of their searches. Now, almost a year later, they still had everything.
Firming up her resolve, she turned the knob and pushed open the door. It hadn't been locked, and she hadn't cleaned in there since the last time the police ransacked the room. A fine layer of dust covered everything, but it was surprisingly clean for a space she never used.
She looked around, taking in the mess of tools and component parts for things she couldn't identify. It was time to pack it up. Replace the carpet, repaint the walls, buy curtains for the window and drapes for the sliding door. Perhaps she'd have a deck built.
Maybe Theo could help her sort through the items. He was bound to know what some of them were. It would be a way to tell him she'd moved on, that Scott would always be in her heart, but he wouldn't be hanging between them.
She backed out of the room without touching anything, but she left the door open. The room was no longer off-limits.
She spent the next several hours considering how this might change her life, how this would affect her relationship with Theo, and myriad other thoughts and emotions. Between moments of bliss and panic, she managed to set down a skeleton for the Future Beat proposal.
Malcolm spent the morning putting the finishing touches on the program that would provide a long-term back door for the FBI to gather intel on Snyder's organization. If Darcy didn't agree to work for Snyder or even go to his house for dinner, then Malcolm's role in this investigation had come to an end. In failing to deliver Darcy, his career at Snyder Corporation would be finished. He would hand it off to the next person, perhaps advising they find someone like Darcy who could catch Snyder's eye and slide into the public relations role.
Staring at a mountain of data, as he had been doing for hours each day, Malcolm searched for some clue as to what Yataines had done, what he had found that could have led to his death. It couldn't be simply over a woman. Snyder was too savvy to resort to murder over a woman in which he had no romantic interest. There had to be more.
He rubbed his eyes as images of Darcy, bound and helpless, superseded the lists of file names on the display screen. She had looked so lovely last night. Her spunky, disdainful attitude had disappeared once he took control. He had no illusions she would suddenly turn into a kitten, and for that he was grateful. He had no desire to spend the rest of his life with someone who lacked passion or a spine. She stimulated his body and his mind.
When her image dissolved, he frowned at the screen. The pattern of file names made sense, and they were in order. However something was missing. A deeper search of the file tree took a few hours. At the end of that time, his eyes were fatigued. He'd found places where the numeric coding for files had been erased. Deleted files were ridiculously easy to recover. Unless the hard drive was professionally scrubbed or damaged, no computer ever truly deleted information. It merely removed the link to the information. When his mother had lost several hundred pictures she downloaded from her camera, he had recovered not only those pictures, but over twelve thousand more. Every photo she had ever taken using that memory card was still there. She had been amazed with his skill, and he had let her go on appreciating his brilliance.
The fact that someone had gone to such lengths to actually erase the files aroused his suspicion. He found scrubbed areas, locations that had been overwritten more than seven times, where he wouldn't be able to recover the files. However they had been copied before they were permanently erased. Whoever did this hadn't quite covered their tracks. After another hour elapsed, he had more than a vague hunch. Yataines had stumbled upon something. Malcolm bet he had hidden the files somewhere safe.
Unfortunately he had gone through all the tech the police had seized from their search of the Markovich-Yataines residence. Nothing there hinted at hidden files, but it was nearly impossible to find something without having a clue as to what it was.
Malcolm left for the day. He took the long route to headquarters and buried himself in Yataines's stuff. At least he had an idea of what he wanted to find.<
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The steady tap of keys coming from Darcy's office meant she'd be working for at least a little while longer. His quest to find the missing files had yet to bear fruit, but he had found several clues to indicate that some of Yataines's hard drives had been tampered with after they had come to be in police custody.
He threw vegetables and shreds of leftover roast into a pot of water to make stew. Darcy was no doubt still sore from last night, so he figured they could relax with a movie tonight.
The short hallway off the kitchen led to the garage and Yataines's workroom. While she hadn't prohibited him from entering, she had never once opened the door. She treated the room as if it didn't exist. If Malcolm hadn't seen footage of the police search, he wouldn't have known Yataines's workshop lay behind that door.
The door was open now. Fading afternoon light spilled through it to penetrate the shadows in the hall.
The room was a good size for hanging out and watching television or rigging out with some serious bondage equipment. The higher ceiling would let him swing the single tail easily.
Had Darcy been in here, remembering the man she'd lost? Malcolm wasn't stupid. He knew falling in love with him wasn't easy for her to do, and it wasn't easy for her to admit. It meant putting Scott behind her and moving forward with her life. His heart beat faster at what had to be a bittersweet process for her.
But the federal agent in him knew he couldn't pass up this opportunity.
A slow, steady search revealed the husks of computers, three broken space heaters, dishwasher parts, and a lot of tools. Dust coated the tiled floor. The space heaters looked like Yataines had been using one for parts to repair the other two. The cat poked her head into the room, sniffed tentatively, and then slinked inside.
The toolboxes were a mess. Though they bore labels marking them as plumbing, electrical, and technical, none of the tools inside matched their designation. A pipe wrench sat on top of a tiny soldering iron used in computer repair. Socket wrenches occupied space with a stud finder and a live-wire detector.
Miss Priss hopped onto the table and peeked into a box. She batted at the frayed end of a wire poking out. Malcolm took it out and teased the cat, who swiped at it for about thirty seconds. Then she stopped and stared at Malcolm with a too-wise look in her yellow eyes.
“Where is it, Miss Priss? You were Scott's cat. Where did he hide those files?”
She blinked, sneezed twice, and ran out of the room. Malcolm shook his head and got back to work.
While he was occupied with sorting through the toolboxes, the door pushed open. Darcy's gaze slid away from his face and fastened on the tools he had spread on the table in the center of the room. She looked a little like she was stuck in a daze.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought I'd fix the dishwasher.” He pulled out the excuse he thought would work best. “You said it never worked. It's programmable. I thought it was a shame such an expensive piece of equipment never worked.”
She pushed her hair back, tucking a strand behind her ear. “I'm sure it's not fixable. It's stupid to keep it around. I just haven't gotten around to throwing it out.”
He studied her closely. Small stress lines creased around her mouth, but she didn't seem upset with him. “Are you mad that I'm in Scott's workroom?”
A bitter frown touched her lips and disappeared. She shook her head. “He'd be happy someone was using it. I don't know what kinds of tools he has. The police left this room a complete mess. They took away so much of his equipment. I don't think I'll ever get it back, not that I'd know what to do with it anyway. I tried to clean it up the best I could.” She ended with a shrug.
“That explains the toolboxes.” He grinned to show he was teasing.
She smiled at last, but it was small and vanished quickly. “Scott gave up trying to teach me where his tools went a long time ago. I wasn't allowed to touch his stuff.”
Whatever caused her upset wasn't coming out with this line of conversation. Malcolm went for the direct approach. “Sweetheart, what's wrong?”
Her face lost a little color. “I need to pack up this room.”
He hadn't meant to push her to do something she wasn't ready to do. “Darcy, please don't think I'm pressuring you to take that step. I understand who Scott was to you and what he meant. If me being in here bothers you, just tell me, sweetheart. I understand.”
Color returned to her face. She shook her head and smiled regretfully. “It's time. I need to move on. Though the police won't officially rule him dead, I know he's not alive. I know he's never coming back. That part of me had the sense to accept your offer of a drink at that convention.”
She came into the room, crossing the space and slipping into his embrace. The steady staccato of her heartbeat thumped against his chest. He brushed a kiss over her eyebrow. “I'm here for you, sweetheart.”
“I need this closure. I wish they'd at least found his body. At least then I'd know for certain. There will always be a part of me that'll look over my shoulder, searching for him.” She burrowed against him as if she could draw strength from close physical contact. He gladly gave it to her. “I meant it last night when I told you I love you. You're my future. I want that future.”
“So do I.” He pushed her away a little so he could tilt her head back. The press of her lips against his had never held such poignancy. “Can I help?”
She half turned away from him, and he dropped his hands to her hips to give her the freedom to look around. “I'd love your help. I have no idea what most of this stuff is for, much less what to do with it. I mean, is there someplace where I can donate it?”
The tools were in good shape, but the pieces of space heaters and dishwashers were fit only for the junkyard. Anything of value had been removed by the police department's forensics and tech units.
“You should keep some of the tools around. Every house should have wrenches, screwdrivers, a hammer, things like that. Some of these other things can be donated or sold.”
She faced him suddenly. “You're a tech guy. Is there anything you want?”
The offer took him by surprise. Scott had some mighty fine tools. If he actually had time to be a computer geek, Malcolm wouldn't mind having some of them. Still, he knew better than to refuse. “I could use some of these things. I have a buddy or two that would want some things. What about Scott's parents? And doesn't he have a brother?”
“And a sister.” She swallowed. “His parents don't speak to me anymore. The police have them convinced I murdered Scott because he beat me.” She drew a line on his forearm. “There were a few times he left some nasty welts or bruises because I didn't use my safe word when I should have and we didn't know the full effect of what we were doing. Once I had to get stitches. Scott was so pissed at me for not calling red that he refused to scene with me for a whole month.”
Malcolm laughed at her bemused tone. Being upset with her wouldn't accomplish anything, and Scott had already punished her for what she'd done. She still wasn't entirely sorry for putting her safety at risk. He made a mental note to watch her closer when they played, just in case she wasn't over her recklessness. “When you're starting out, navigating those limits is definitely trial and error.”
“Yeah.” She laughed, a husky sound that told him talking about this wasn't as easy as she tried to make it appear. But it was a healthy step in the grieving process, and he wasn't about to interfere with her progress. “And when you're working with a masochist, those lines are even harder to find.”
He pulled a high stool out from under the table. Sitting on it, he pulled her between his legs so that her back rested against his chest. “When did you want to go through this stuff? I'm free Saturday.”
His mother, aunt, and cousin wanted him to do something charity related. He didn't remember what, but he'd gladly put it off to be here for Darcy.
She shook her head. “I'm not. I promised a friend I'd help with a project. How about Sunday? That'll give me some time to get some
boxes together. Plus I'll need a break from working on this proposal for Future Beat.”
He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Sounds like a plan. I'm making stew for dinner. I thought we'd curl up with a movie tonight.”
She twisted to face him. “Theo, I'm not very sore, and I've learned my lesson from those times when I pushed things too far. I'm not saying we should do a scene tonight, but you don't have to keep your hands off me.”
It felt so good to sit there in the middle of the dusty, stale workroom and hold her in his arms. While he would welcome a chance to make love to her tonight, they first needed to discuss the scene from the night before in a little more detail.
He tapped her on the ass. “How about we eat dinner and talk about last night, and then we can decide what we want to do tonight?”
She nodded. “I think it's about done. It smells divine.”
As he prepared his list of questions in a way that wouldn't sound like an interrogation, he noticed she didn't seem to be enjoying the meal very much. She spooned bites of stew into her mouth slowly, almost as if eating made her sick. At last she stopped frowning at her dinner and pushed it away.
It was decent stew. He lifted a brow. “Not hungry?”
“I guess not.” She chewed her bottom lip, something she hadn't done since their first week together. When she looked up and caught him watching, she stopped. “Did I hurt you yesterday?”
His ribs were a little bruised. She packed some power in that elbow. “Nothing serious. A few bruises.”
“Were you terribly upset that I hit you?” Her bright blue eyes regarded him a bit warily. “It seems we need to talk about limits.”
“I have a problem with hitting for no reason. In a scene, if you're fleeing and I'm pursuing, you can defend yourself.” He had the training to handle anything she could dish out, and one day she'd be aware of it.
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