When Piper had said he was an acrobat, I hadn't realized what that meant. It was kind of…yeah….it was pretty dang hot.
Another acrobat joined him on the tramp. This one dressed in blue. At first they bounced in perfect synchronization, but then—while at the top of his jump—Sergio latched one hand onto a hanging trapeze bar. When he dropped, he and the other acrobat were now bouncing out of sync, which looked absurdly impossible. Death-defying.
I couldn't help oooh-ing along with the crowd. Just when I thought it couldn't get any more thrilling, a third acrobat sailed from a high platform. It was a girl, dressed in head-to-toe yellow. I was completely captivated as the three of them turned flips and aerial twists and spins around each other. At the end of their performance, I was on my feet applauding like mad. I even tried to whistle through my teeth.
"Want to go backstage?" Patrick asked.
"Hell, yeah," I exclaimed. "Where do you think he learned to do that? It was incredible. I can't breathe!"
"Maren." Patrick tugged on the sleeve of his coat I was still wearing. "We're here to find Piper."
Piper? Oh, crap—right. "Of course, I remember," I said, putting on a show of being insulted. "I just meant, well, we should compliment him, you know, if we get the chance to meet him."
Patrick smiled and shook his head, taking my hand as we climbed down the bleachers. Behind the big top, I noted two possible ways in. We tried the closest one, but a guard was posted at the entrance.
"We need to see Sergio," I said to the huge man with tattooed biceps thicker than a tree trunk. "He was just on, so…"
"No one's allowed in," the big man replied.
"But I have to find my sister. It'll take two seconds."
"No."
I stepped right up to him, gave him the up-down with my eyes, then huffed. "Listen, Hulk Hogan, this is a circus, not the White House, so take it down a notch."
He shook his head in grim silence.
"I work at the newspaper, see." I pointed a finger in his face. "And you're going to be in so much trouble if you don't let me in right this second, or I'll just…well, I'll—"
Patrick hooked an arm around my waist, voicing words of apology to the burly man, while pulling me outside the tent.
"Let me go," I said, struggling against his grip.
"Maren, you were this close to getting zapped with a Taser. Wait here and let me try." He disappeared behind the tent flap and returned seconds later. "We can go in."
"How did you—"
He reached for my hand. His other hand was at his face, index finger tapping over his "shhh"-shaped lips. Again with the shushing. That was so ticking me off.
"Don't say anything yet. Let me do the talking."
"Fine." I exhaled, gripping his hand with both of mine as we passed the guard, who didn't hide his glare at me. "Let's hurry. Sergio might be gone."
"He's not," Patrick said. "I saw him while you were chewing out the bouncer." He smiled down at me. "Which was very impressive, by the way. Remind me to never get on your bad side."
"Hmph." I was about to unleash on him all the reasons why he should currently be on my bad side, or at least my you're-totally-confusing-me side, when we came face-to-face with the acrobat.
"You. Where's Piper?" My voice croaked, almost in a sob, forgetting all about his impressive high-flying act. "My sister. Where is she?"
"Como?" the tall, very tanned guy replied in a Spanish accent. "No comprendo, senorita."
"Don't give me that no comprendo routine," I barked. "Piper Colepepper—where is she? You better tell me right now, or I swear I'll—"
"Mare?"
"Piper!" I swung around, broke from Patrick, and torpedoed toward my sister. Her lungs whooshed with a laugh as I propelled into her. "Where've you been?" I gasped, hugging her like mad, fresh tears stinging my eyes. "Why didn't you call?"
"When?" She laughed again, allowing me to hang around her neck. "And what are you doing here?"
I pulled back, wiping the corner of my eye. "Mom called. She said you didn't come home, and when I tried your cell, you didn't answer."
"My phone's been in my bag all day. In Sergio's trailer." She moved to my ear. "Isn't he a dream?"
"Piper!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "You can't do that. Mom is totally freaking out."
"Mom will get over it. Serg brought me back here after our date. We hung out on his practice tramp all night." She laced her arm through mine. "Did you see his act? Make you lose your breath or what?"
"Pretty much," I admitted, blinking. "But…so then why was our mother hyperventilating, thinking you were abducted?"
Piper shrugged and fingered the purple stripe in her hair. "She does that. I should've warned you, sorry. I told her I'd move out if she didn't chill, but you know her—she thrives on the drama of the ones she loves. I'm sure I'll be the feature on her blog tonight." She combed her hair into a high ponytail then let it drop. "It's annoying, but I don't know what she'd do if she didn't have something to panic over on a regular basis."
"I'll kill her," I growled, squeezing Piper's hand.
"She can't help it. Until they invent a new disease or we start giving her grandkids, she'll have to go to pieces over us. Which reminds me…" By the hand, she led me over to the lanky, tan, smiling guy. "Maren, meet Sergio. Serg, this is my sister, Maren."
"Mah-rin," he pronounced. "Hallo." He sounded like a cartoon character forcing a Spanish accent. His English was pretty broken, and—apart from the intrigue of the whole acrobat thing—he was charming. I could definitely see what had captivated Piper.
The three of us tried our best to converse. Evidently, he'd been with Circus Gatti for five years, and before that, he'd competed in the Olympics. At the end of this coming summer, he was retiring from the circus and joining his other gymnast friends in Romania, where they were opening a school to train future Olympic hopefuls.
"Wow," I said. "That's impressive."
Sergio nodded modestly, wiping the sweat pouring off his brow. "Sorry," he said. "I must go." He pointed toward the tent exit.
"He's got to do his cool down thing now," Piper explained. "His act is the physical equivalent of doing cartwheels up fifty flights of stairs. It really gets the old organs pumping, if you know what I mean."
"Well, don't let me keep you." I waved to him as he walked off. "Nice to meet you, um…enchanté."
"That's French, you dork." Piper elbowed me. "My bad about Mom. Sorry."
"It's okay. I'm just glad we found you."
"We?" She peered behind us. "Is your boss with you again?" She tugged at the coat sleeve hanging way over my hands. "He's bigger than I thought. Is this his coat?"
"Shhh—no," I said, lowering my voice, hoping Piper would do that same. But of course, she didn't.
"Maren, I know he's cute and all that, but seriously?" She cackled and swatted my arm. "I mean, it's too hilarious. How can you date a guy with the name Eric Brady?"
"You're dating Eric Brady?"
Crap. I scrunched my face into a cringe then wheeled around to see Patrick behind us by the scary tattooed guard. "N-no." I cleared my throat, but my voice was high and squeaky, sounding all kinds of guilty. "No."
"The other day"—Patrick took a slow step toward me—"you said you didn't know him very well."
"I don't. We just…he just…"
"Hi, Patrick." Piper waved at him, saving me from digging my hole any deeper. "Sorry about all this. Colepepper family drama at its finest."
His eyes hadn't moved from mine, his dark expression a mixture of perplexity and disappointment. Finally, he turned to Piper. "It's no trouble. I'm glad it worked out." His gaze flickered back to me. "I need to get going, so either come with me now or catch a ride with your sister or…whatever."
Judging from the twinkle in Piper's eyes, she wasn't about to leave any time soon.
"I'm ready. We can go." I gave my sis's hand one last squeeze, she promised to call me tonight before the play, then I followed Patrick out the t
ent flap.
It was starting to drizzle and my boot heels kept getting stuck in the soggy terrain as we crossed the fairgrounds. If Patrick would only walk a bit slower, I wouldn't have to balance on my toes. I didn't catch up to him until we were practically at the gate.
"Thanks for helping out," I said. "Sorry it ended up being a huge waste of time."
He shot me a look. "You think today was a waste of time?"
"I mean, since Piper wasn't really lost and…hey." I grabbed his arm as he was about to cross to the parking lot. "Slow down. Why are you in such a hurry all of the sudden? And Patrick, why were you at the restaurant today? Were you waiting for me or for Katie?"
He stood in place and folded his arms, his mouth opening. But the next second, it snapped shut. Whatever he was about to tell me—to admit or confess—he changed his mind.
"It's raining, Maren. Can we save this until we're in the car?"
I spread my hands, tired of smacking my head against this particular brick wall. "Fine."
In silence, we crossed the street and got in the car, both of us soaking wet. I might've launched into the interrogation again, but the way Patrick's light blue shirt clung like second skin to his pecs, flat abs, and muscly arms made me want to throw out the classic, "better get you out of these wet clothes."
"Do you want to go home or to work?" he asked, as the engine warmed up. "Or do you need your car at the restaurant first?"
I wished I could crack another joke about him being a chauffeur, but now wasn't the appropriate time. "Whatever's easiest for you," I said, gun-shy from his from formal tone.
"I've got some things to take care of. Your car is closer. I'll drop you there."
I nodded and stared out the window. It was growing prematurely dark, thanks to the low rain clouds. Neither of us said anything until we were practically at the Chalet. During the short drive, questions swirled inside my head, important ones about Patrick's history, his job, and how was he involved in the mess at SPI. Which was why I was surprised at what spilled out of my mouth.
"I'm not dating Eric Brady."
Patrick didn't so much as glance at me. "None of my business."
"We went out once."
He turned, fixing his silent gaze on me.
"Last night, but it wasn't even a date."
"Doesn't matter."
"I'm not interested in him."
"I said it doesn't matter."
"What does matter to you?" I punched the armrest between us. "Or who matters? Katie Cunningham?"
He shut his eyes briefly and shook his head, but it wasn't clear if he was answering the question, or annoyed by my outburst.
Since the Chalet closed mid-afternoon, the Taurus was the only car in the parking lot. Patrick pulled up next to it, didn't even bother putting his car in park. Did he expect me to roll out like a stunt driver?
I knew I was supposed to be mad, and should be yelling at him for half-truths and for hiding things from me. But I couldn't. I was too worried he'd gotten the wrong idea about Eric.
"See you around," he said.
I yanked the lever and pushed the door open. "Yeah. Thanks again," I said, matching his detached tone.
While unlocking my car, I remembered I was still wearing his jacket. When I turned back, I caught him watching me. He didn't look away, didn't try to hide it. Tenderness and longing shone in his eyes. Regret, too. Seeing that combination caused pain to scrape the back of my throat.
But it also made me hopeful.
"I forgot." I peeled off his coat, which had kept the top half of my clothes relatively dry. I walked to the driver's side where he'd rolled down the window. Any trace of that tender expression was gone, making my throat ache again, my heart twinge in disappointment. "Thank you for this," I said, passing the coat through. "And for earlier, in the big top. You were very sweet to listen to my problems."
"Sweet," he muttered down at his lap. Finally, he turned off the ignition and got out of the car. "Maren." Instead of going on, he tipped his chin and looked up at the sky—at nothing. "I'm not…"
Again, he didn't finish, but sighed and leaned against the door, gaze fixed on the drizzly sky. "Earlier, you said you want to trust me. I want that too, more than anything. There are things, though, things I just can't tell you."
He leveled his eyes to mine, intensity blazing behind them. "But if you can believe me about one thing, it's this: I have zero interest in Katie—"
I didn't know what his next word would be, because my lips cut him off. I'd never been very good at the sneak attack, but right then, it was beyond my control. I believed him about Katie, and I hoped this helped him believe me about Eric. Something in my heart knew that understanding this information on both sides was imperative.
The chilly temperature outside made me press against him, stepping between his legs. When his arms wound all the way around me, tucking me in, it was like we were in our own cozy bubble.
"We shouldn't do this," he whispered, making no move to pull away or stop.
"Yet somehow we are."
He chuckled softly and swept my rain-wet hair off the side of my neck, moving his mouth down in a hot trail. "This is a bad idea," he breathed against my skin, making me quiver everywhere he touched.
I didn't admit it aloud, but I couldn't have agreed more. None of the puzzle pieces had slid into place yet, so I had no idea if or how this man I couldn't stop kissing was mixed up with SPI or with Terry Replogle, or maybe even the arrest of Aaron Sorenson.
It was stupid and foolish and very un-investigative journalist of me, but none of that mattered a hoot. Because I wanted to kiss him, I needed to kiss him. I needed to be with him right now, just like this. Something else in my heart knew that Patrick Loomis needed me the exact same way. The way he kissed me was like he was trying to pass on a message, maybe disclose those things he said he couldn't tell me.
"Drop your story," he said. His lips moved to a corner of my mouth, his hands holding the sides of my neck, thumbs sliding to the sensitive spot behind my ears. "It's dangerous."
I knew this too was true. Patrick was caught up in something and didn't want me involved. But this was my seduction scene. Feminine wiles, my only weapon.
"Tell me why," I whispered over his mouth, pushing him against the car and leaning my weight on him until his belt buckle dug into my stomach.
He didn't say anything, just shook his head.
When I clasped my fingers at the back of his head and buried my face in his neck, he moaned helplessly, gloriously, his fingers splaying low over my hips.
I pulled back and pressed my hands against his chest so he was pinned in place. "If you don't tell me why"—I kissed him on the mouth, slowly—"I'll find out myself."
His hard and thorough kiss in return made my back arch, my stomach pool with swirling heat. "No, you won't," he said, touching his forehead to mine so we were eye to eye. "You won't get within a hundred feet of that place. Trust me."
"Ha!"
His arms enveloped me, tighter than ever…a heavenly straitjacket that knocked the breath from my lungs. His lips covered mine, sweet and fiery and intense. The memory of cinnamon made my mouth water, my tongue ache for a deeper taste. I could feel his heart beating against my chest, as strong and fast as mine. We were in sync once again.
This man was capable of making me lose my mind. And I was falling for it. Worse than that, I was chasing it.
After hours of kissing and eons of kissing, he stepped back and placed a hand on each of my cheeks, framing my face. "Don't go to the mill," he said in his stern, all-business whisper. But he couldn't fool me, he was breathing just as raggedly as I was. His eyes, though, and their imploring expression begged me to agree, to give in and trust him. Unconditionally.
"If I…if we mean anything to you," he added, "don't go out there."
He did mean something to me—a lot of something. Patrick's feelings and happiness and my role in that meant more to me than I could have fathomed a week ago. But I als
o had a job to do. And even though a heavy weight pressed on my heart at the thought, I couldn't give that up, not even for him.
"F-fine," I said, taking my own step back, forcing him to drop his hands. "I won't go tonight. I'll hang out with Piper."
I figured this might be an excuse he'd actually buy. His hazel eyes narrowed, studying my face like he was a living polygraph machine. Aw, crap. How the hell could he tell I was lying?
After a second, he exhaled, though he didn't look at all convinced. "Sounds fun. Have a nice night in."
I smiled, overly sweet. "Oh, you bet." My first step free from him wobbled on weak and shaky, swooned-out legs.
"We should get together over the weekend," he called after a low, cocky chuckle at seeing me stumble.
Hmm, this guy needs a little somethun-somethun to make his legs shake.
"Yeah, maybe." With each step, I knew my short, wet skirt was riding higher and clinging tighter to my booty. Once I was in his view, I purposefully dropped my keys and bent myself in half, derrière on full display. After scooping them up, I straightened, flipping my hair to glance over my shoulder.
Patrick's mouth hung open, jaw slack, unblinking eyes dark and smoky. It didn't look like he was even breathing.
"This weekend, you say?" I asked, brightly.
"Uhhh." He swallowed then his shoulders flinched like his lungs forced in a breath. "S-sure. Yeah. Okay."
I tilted my head. "Alrighty then." Feeling quite pleased that, indeed, I still got it, I smiled one last time and climbed in my car. Even as I was driving away, I felt the heaviness of his gaze on me. Let him try to sleep tonight.
I went home and dug out all the black clothes I owned. If I was going to sneak into the mill tonight, I'd have to be at my most cunning.
First, however, I had one stop to make.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
On the way to the paper, I called Mom's cell to tear her a new one. She admitted that yes, Piper maybe had mentioned something about not coming home last night, but she swore it came to her mind only a few hours ago while she'd been vacuuming the hallway, and by then it had been too late to do anything since she knew I was on the case.
Chalk Lines & Lipstick: a Maren Colepepper cozy mystery (Maren Colepepper Mysteries Book 1) Page 16