by Clare Revell
“Way more than that, Li.” Patrick spoke quietly, aware of the fact he and Liam were in church. Back then, he’d been a different person and acted in ways he wouldn’t dream of today. His faith was nowhere near as strong then as it was now. “Elle and I, we, uh, we were close.” Irritation rose at Liam’s scrutiny, and he cringed, annoyed for letting his emotions control him.
“How close?”
“Let’s just say I knew her. But then she vanished, and I haven’t seen her since.” He glanced up into his brother’s stunned face. “Shocked you, haven’t I?”
Liam struggled to find the words. Being an English teacher he always had a plethora of them at his disposal, most of which Patrick had had thrown back at him over the years. “I just never imagined you of all people—”
“Yeah, well. No one’s perfect. And I’m sure you’ve done stuff you’re not proud of, too.” Patrick cleared his throat. “It’s in the past.”
“Uh huh. Your reaction says otherwise.”
“Trust me, it’s over. She’s as cold as ice toward me now.”
“And how do you feel?” His firm gaze gave Patrick nowhere to hide.
“That’s irrelevant.” Yet his mind drifted back to the cramped student library and the table crammed with textbooks.
Patrick finished explaining the passage that’d had Elle stumped for weeks. He grinned as the figurative light bulb suddenly flashed on over her head and the joy of understanding shone in her eyes. “You got it?”
Elle grinned back. “Yes, finally. Thank you so, so much.”
His grin widened. “You’re very welcome. I think we should celebrate. How about going to see a movie?”
She almost froze in her seat. “As in the cinema?”
“Yes. They’re showing the new Hiram Davies film at the campus playhouse.”
“Who’s Hiram Davies?”
Surprise filled him. “You’ve never heard of Hiram Davies?” As she shook her head, he winked. “Wow. He’s the current heartthrob of every female on campus.”
“Except me.”
He nodded. “Except you. Anyway, he’s starring in the new historical film, An Arrow Through Time.”
“Ohhh,” she breathed, her eyes lighting. “I read that last year when it came out. It’s good. Written by Tels Merrick. I always thought it would make a good film.”
“Then come and see it with me.” He tilted his head. “Or are you scared of dates?”
“Not at all. I’m not scared of apples or grapes either.” She grinned at him. “I’ve never been to the cinema. Never been on a date, either.”
“Seriously?” His amazement grew and his brows shot up into his hair before he could stop them. “You’re kidding, right? You’re in your third year at university and you’ve never been to see a film or gone on a date?”
“Nope.”
“Are you a nun in disguise or something, Elle?”
A shy smile crossed her face. “No, I’m not Catholic. It’s just complicated. So, sure, why not? If you still want to take me, that is?”
Patrick’s heart leapt. “Brilliant. Of course I do. Two firsts in one night. Let’s drop the books off at my place on the way over.”
“Your place?”
“It’s on the way. Or we leave them in my car and then I’ll drive you home afterwards.” He noticed the hesitation and a glimpse of what could be fear or trepidation in her eyes and carried on rapidly. “Look, I’m not going to jump you, all right? It’s dark and it’ll be even darker when we come out and it’s not safe for a girl to be out there alone and I don’t want anything to happen to you because if it did then I’d feel responsible and—”
Her fingers folded over his mouth, cutting him off. Brown eyes sparkled at him. “Breathe, before you pass out on me. That has to be the longest sentence I’ve ever heard. Yes, a lift home afterwards would be good. Thank you.”
He lifted her fingers away and kissed them, noticing the tips of her ears going pink. “Good. Want to know a secret?”
“Go on.”
“This will be my first date, too. First date with you.”
Her smile lit her face as she grabbed her books. “A night full of firsts then. First date, first movie…and first lift in that pile of junk you drive.”
He rolled his eyes. “Just because my car’s old...” He laughed. “It goes, what more do you want?”
4
Leaving Shay in the car, Patrick charged into the library, book in hand, and over to the desk in order to retrieve the new envelope placed there that morning. He smiled at the head librarian and handed her the book he’d borrowed as she slipped him the intel. “Hi. Is Elle, uh, Eleanor working today?”
“She’s over in the children’s section, doing story time.”
“OK, thanks.” He headed across the quiet building and leaned against the wall, watching her read the story of the three bears to a group of primary school children. When she finished, he waved to get her attention. As she came over, he whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
She wrung her hands then wiped them on her skirt, bouncing slightly from one foot to the other. “I really can’t do this. I can’t see you. I’m sorry.”
“I can see you’re busy. All I want is coffee and a chance to talk, please, Elle.”
Whether it was his pleading whisper or his insistence, he wasn’t sure, but she nodded. “All right. I have my lunch break in an hour. I could meet you then.”
He smiled. “Sure. How about we go to the Three-Sixteen café on the High Street?”
She hesitated. “No, maybe the precinct coffee shop would be better. It’s just around the corner.”
“OK. I’ll see you then.”
Patrick returned to the car. He handed the envelope over and looked at Shay. “She agreed to coffee at least.”
“Good. Now can we possibly get some work done here?” Shay’s tone was curt.
“Work?” he teased, trying to lighten the moment.
“You know, the stuff that pays the mortgage, keeps the country safe, and stops Nahum tearing strips off us at the end of every day.”
“Ah, yes, work. Sure. I have an hour. Then I’m taking a lunch break.” He raised an eyebrow at the comical expression that crossed her face. “Yes, me, taking a break. It happens.”
“Pfft. We’ve been partners for five years now, Patrick. You never take a break, unless Nahum forces you to. You work twenty-four seven. I have never met a man more dedicated to the job than you are.”
“Someone has to keep the streets safe.”
Shay winked at him. “Not the way you do it. The rest of us, one way or another, manage to fit a personal life in somewhere along the lines.”
He shrugged. “Let’s just go check out this lead and then reconvene after lunch, as I also need to return a phone call. Again.”
“Oh?”
“DI Nemec. The bloke is either never in the office or his mobile is switched off.”
“See. He has a life.”
“Point taken. You drive and I’ll call him.” He dialed the number, praying this time the call would go through.
“Nemec.” The American voice still jolted him, even though this time he was expecting it.
He almost sighed with relief. “DI Nemec, this is Agent Patrick Page. Nice to finally talk to you rather than your voice mail.”
“And you. Did you get the photo I sent?”
“I did. And I checked out the club on Saturday night.”
“And? Is it him?”
“He looks similar, but this chap has a long scar on his left cheek and dark hair.”
“Did he have a tattoo?”
“The lighting in the club is dark, but I didn’t see one. Where would it be?”
“Left wrist. It’s a dragon—very detailed one.”
“The guy had long sleeves. The barman told me his name is Mr. F. He is in and out fairly regularly and seems to be the “center of things” and from “up high” to quote his exact words. He also apparently has a thing for the curr
ent singer, Lisa Bellamy. As far as the barman knows, his main interest in the club is the singer. Although he did say they get advanced warning of police raids.”
“Interesting. That would imply someone on the inside again.”
“Again?”
“Fits his M.O. That’s what he did before. What did you say the singer’s name was?”
“Lisa Bellamy.”
“My wife likes her music.”
“So does my brother. But going back to this Mr. F, no, I didn’t see a tattoo.”
“Maybe try talking to this Ms. Bellamy. See what she knows.”
Patrick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She wouldn’t be involved in this.”
“Don’t bank on it.” Nemec’s voice turned harsh. “This guy has a record. He sucks people in. He appears charming, but he’s a psycho. Manipulating is what he does best.”
“If this Mr. F is who you think he is.”
“Can you send me a picture of him?”
“I’ll do my best.” He suddenly broke off and pointed. “There, red car. The plates match the APB the police put out this morning. Sorry, I’m going to have to go. I’ll fax what I have later.” He shut off the phone and hung on as Shay did a handbrake turn. “Going to have to arrest you for that, lady,” he told her.
“Fine, once we catch him.”
He barely concentrated on anything for the next twenty minutes. Not even the thrill of the chase and finally making the arrest. That at least took one bad guy off the streets and tied up a case the police had been working on for ages. That should please them at any rate. They handed him over to Manor Road Station and then headed back on the road.
His lack of concentration worried him. Despite her teasing tone, Shay was right. He didn’t have time for anyone or anything, except his family and even that was limited. The one thing he did make time for was his relationship with God. Even if church consisted of downloading the sermon and listening to it as he fell asleep.
Aside from his job, his faith was the most important thing in his life, and that was the way it should be.
But now, instead of his latest assignment filling his mind, Elle was. He didn’t care right now who thought she might be involved. She was the one person he’d loved and lost so long ago. She’d vanished after their one night stand. Some things were best left for marriage only. Now she acted as if he’d hurt her. Either way, he needed to apologize, and put right what he’d done.
The coffee shop was busy, but Elle sat just inside the door, nursing a coffee and sandwich. He smiled and went to order, half expecting her to flee before he returned. He slid into the seat opposite her. “Hi.”
“Hello.”
He picked up his cup, taking a long sip. “I needed that. How are you?”
“Fine, and you?”
“Busy. I kind of shocked my partner by stopping for lunch. Normally she has to eat while we keep working.” He picked up his sandwich, inspecting the filling. “Which is kind of weird. You were the one who used to skip meals.”
Elle nodded, looking down at her cup.
“Anyway, I was wondering if we could talk.”
“About?”
“About what happened.”
“What happened when?” Her eyes widened, but her smile never reached them. “Yesterday? Last week? Saturday night when you were at the club again?”
He held her gaze. “You saw me?”
“Yeah, I saw you. I avoid eye contact with everyone while I’m working, but I know who’s there and who isn’t.”
He hesitated. That could be an opening, but he didn’t want to discuss work right now. He wanted to talk about something else. For the moment, he wanted to keep the illusion that Elle wasn’t involved in the operation at the club. “That last day at the house party.”
“There is nothing to talk about. I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye, but I had to be somewhere and left midafternoon. I’m sorry I left you stranded.”
“Garth gave me a lift to the station, and I got a train. But we still need to talk.”
She shook her head. “I really can’t do this right now.”
“I’m not going to drop this.”
“Why? Why can’t you just let it go? I have.”
“Have you?” He glanced up as someone blocked the light.
Mrs. Harrison stood there, glowering at her daughter. “What are you doing?”
Elle jumped. “Mum. I’m having lunch. Patrick just stopped to say hi…”
“Really?” She placed her palms on the table and leaned down, forcing herself into Elle’s personal space. Patrick watched as Elle visibly flinched and pulled back into her seat. “Just make sure you’re home to be with Abbie tonight.”
“I can’t. I’m working tonight.”
“Tough,” Mrs. Harrison snapped. “I’m going out. Abbie can’t be left alone. You sort it.” She turned on her heel and left the shop.
Patrick glanced from her retreating back to Elle. She’d lost all the color from her face and her hands shook. “Are you all right?” He’d been trained to pick up on subtle gestures, facial expressions, postures, and all of that told him Elle was in some kind of trouble, and in deep.
“I’m fine. I have to go.” She pushed to her feet.
Should he go after her? He rose, to follow her and make sure she was all right, but his phone rang. “Page…yeah, OK. Coming.” So much for lunch and making amends with Elle. He’d go home tonight via the club and check on her then.
****
Eleanor spent the rest of the day in a complete state. The one man she’d never expected to see again had waltzed back into her life and seemed intent on turning it upside down.
One look from Patrick’s steely blue eyes and her legs turned to jelly. One word made her heart race. She longed for his touch. She wanted…
No. I’m over him. I have to be over him...
She shoved the books back onto the shelf. Some choice. Her daughter or the man she loved. Not a fair choice. Not a choice at all. And she dreaded the conversation with her mother when she got home.
She eased her shoulders, taking another pile of books from the trolley.
“Ellie?”
She turned, and smiled at Abbie. “Hey, squirt. What are you doing here?”
“Mum’s not in. She left a note on the door.”
Eleanor’s heart sank. She’d hoped her mother hadn’t meant it. “Did you bring the note with you?”
Abbie held it out. Short, sweet, and to the point.
Gone out. Not sure when I’ll be back. Go and meet Eleanor after school. She’s in charge tonight.
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you singing in the club tonight?”
“I am. I guess you’ll have to come too.”
By the time she’d gone home, picked up her outfit, and cooked Abbie’s tea, she was running late. She was even later by the time she finally found a parking space. She and Abbie went in the back entrance.
Abbie wrinkled her nose. “It smells in here.”
Eleanor took a deep breath. “I guess it does. I’m used to it. It’s all the alcohol.”
“Ewww. You don’t drink, do you?”
She ruffled Abbie’s hair. “Of course not. It dulls your reflexes and makes you do stupid things.”
“I don’t need drink to do that,” Abbie winked. “I can do stupid things without thinking about it. Where do you change?”
“I’ll show you.” She headed down the corridor to the small room designated her changing room. The title itself was laughable as it was little more than a cupboard.
Abbie sat on the stool in front of the dresser and mirror, while Eleanor put on her dress. “It’s pretty. Wish I had one like that.”
Eleanor studied her daughter in the mirror. Personally she hoped Abbie would never have to dress like this and do what she did for a living. “Maybe one day. Come on, we need to get out front. Bring your book and you can sit where I can see you, but no one else can.”
As soon as Eleanor appeare
d, Zeke marched over to them from the bar. “You’re late, Lisa.”
“I’m sorry. Things just piled up and time got away from me. But I’m here, surely that’s what counts.”
“What’s she doing here?”
“It’s just for tonight.”
He shook his head, his brows and eyes narrowing as he scowled. “She’s underage. She can’t be here. You know that.”
“I have no choice. There’s no one else to take her. Mum’s gone out. She’ll sit backstage and keep out of the way, I promise. She won’t move.”
“And am I supposed to give her coloring pens?”
“She’s not a baby.”
He shook his head firmly. “No way. Jake will lose his license if they find her in here, close us down, and you won’t have a job. Can’t her father take her?”
Abbie drew in a breath. “I… don’t have a dad anymore.”
Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Zeke knows very well Dad’s dead.”
Zeke peered at Abbie and Eleanor cringed at his leering assessment. “You look very much like your sister. Apart from your hair and your eyes.”
Abbie shot him a small smile. “Ellie used to be blonde when she was younger as well. I want to be a singer like her, too, when I grow up.”
“Very nice.” His dark frown pierced Eleanor. “But it doesn’t change the fact she can’t stay here.”
She swallowed, her stomach churning. “Then I can’t sing. Come on Abbie, we’re going home.”
“You walk out and you’re fired.”
Abbie caught his arm. “Please. Don’t fire Ellie, we need the money.”
Zeke shook her off. “Get rid of the child, or no job.”
“You’d really fire me?” Eleanor managed, past the lump in her throat.
Zeke walked closer and stood before her almost nose to nose. “No CD, no contract, no nothing.”
“You can’t.”
“I think you’ll find I can.”
Eleanor turned away, angry tears stinging her eyes. She didn’t have a choice. She had to sing, but she had to look after Abbie. If she recorded the CD, there was a good chance she’d get a recording contract with one of the major record labels and then Abbie wouldn’t have to beg vile men like Zeke for mercy. Somehow, she had to dig her own way out of the mess she’d created.
