The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  “I need to be there. Okay? It’s my job.” The fingers barely showing at the end of Nathan’s cast curled around the plaster.

  “Not going to happen, and you know it.” Patrick shifted on the chair, his antennae twitching. This was about more than Nathan being stuck at home.

  Nathan’s immobilized hand tensed and released. Tensed and released. “Let me do the bookkeeping, then,” he said. “Bring home the money every night. I’ll do the ledger and get the bank deposit ready.”

  “That’s the easy part for me,” Patrick said. “For God’s sake! I do forensic accounting for the Bureau.”

  “I know.” Nathan glanced at him then, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “But it’s the one thing I can do from here. Count the money. Enter it in the ledger. Get the deposit ready. God, Paddy. Let me do something.”

  Patrick had never seen his calm, steady brother so worked up about the restaurant. Nathan was the cool one. Why was he losing it now?

  If he’d been around more, maybe Nathan would be more open. More willing to talk to him.

  Guilt swirled through him. He’d stayed away from Chicago because the memories were too painful.

  He should have made more of an effort.

  “Talk to me, Nate,” he said quietly. “I’m your brother. Tell me what’s going on.”

  For a moment, Nathan’s haunted eyes clung to his. Then he stared out the window again. “I need something to do. That’s what’s wrong.”

  “Fine,” Patrick said. “I’ll bring the money home tonight. I’ll bring a flash drive with the updated accounts on it. You can take it over.”

  Nathan’s shoulders sagged. “Thanks, Paddy. You’re saving my life.”

  For just a moment, it sounded as if he meant that literally.

  * * *

  DARCY STEPPED OUTSIDE her door, turned to lock the dead bolt and froze.

  The scraggly tomato plant clinging to life in the big pot directly below her kitchen window had been bent. Several of the smaller branches were broken and hanging askew. Dirt had spilled onto the porch.

  It hadn’t been that way last night when she got home.

  She scanned the small wooden porch for signs of an intruder. It was clean. No footprints, no scratches, no dropped papers or cigarette butts. Nothing to make her think someone had been up here, looking in her window.

  She stood at the railing and studied the backyard below her. The apartment was on the second floor of an older house in the neighborhood, remodeled into a separate unit. Wooden stairs ran up the back of the house, widening to a deck outside the first floor’s kitchen and a smaller porch outside Darcy’s. Her landlord was an older man who loved to garden. None of his plants looked disturbed.

  The pungent tomato smell of the broken stems swirled around her. It could have been Princess, Mrs. Barnetti’s cat from across the alley. Darcy had caught Princess standing in the pot once, staring in the window. Tormenting Cat.

  A person could have broken the stems, too.

  She slid her hand into her bag and started down the stairs.

  As she approached the alley, she heard a soft crunch of gravel. Fumbling for the handle of her gun, she wrapped her fist around it. Held it there, inside her bag.

  Mrs. Barnetti’s overweight cat strolled out of the alley, the gravel shifting under her weight. She wound around Darcy’s ankles, and Darcy let go of the gun. “You don’t need any treats from me, honey,” she said as she petted Princess. “If you weighed any more, you’d fall over and not be able to get up.”

  Princess purred loudly, and Darcy straightened. She pressed the button of the garage door opener she kept in her purse, and waited as the door rumbled open. “Beat it, Princess. I’m backing out.”

  The cat stared at her, then walked away, tail twitching, as if she understood.

  Darcy sat in her car for a few moments, taking deep breaths.

  She was going to make herself crazy if she saw bogeymen behind every tree. The accident had been three weeks ago, and nothing suspicious had happened since.

  Before this morning and her broken tomato plant.

  She started the car and backed out, waiting until the door closed completely before she drove away. Maybe one day she’d accept the fact that she’d escaped. That Tim had no idea where she was. That she was safe.

  Right now that day was a long way off.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME she reached Mama’s, Darcy had managed to compose herself. It would be a good day at work, she promised herself. She’d see Theresa. Have another chance to talk to her. Sooner or later, the older woman would agree to leave her partner. To go to the shelter.

  Theresa usually came to Mama’s on Wednesdays, and now that the curiosity seekers had gotten their fill of Nathan’s story, the restaurant wasn’t as busy. Darcy would have more time to linger at her table. See how she was doing.

  She parked beneath the streetlamp that illuminated the parking lot at night, then punched in and got to work. She always came a little early, but Patrick was already there, working on the bookkeeping. He looked up from the ledger entries and nodded as she walked past him.

  She stopped, her stomach churning. “What happened to your face?”

  He touched the shiner beneath his right eye. “I was sparring and lost concentration for a moment. Took a glove to the face.”

  “You box?”

  “Yeah. It’s great exercise. Keeps my reflexes fast.” He smiled. “Good way to work off frustrations.”

  She’d never understood how anyone could allow another person to hit them. Beat them. Boxing was violent and ugly.

  Patrick enjoyed it.

  “Is this where I’m supposed to ask how the other guy looked? Sorry. I don’t want to know.”

  Patrick’s smile faded. “You don’t like boxing?”

  “No. I don’t.” She hurried away before he could say anything else.

  She’d managed to keep her composure at the restaurant and interact with Patrick calmly and professionally. So far, she was pretty sure she’d been able to fly under the radar with him.

  She didn’t want to spoil three weeks of effort by arguing about boxing. She wouldn’t be able to stay calm and cool. And she didn’t want to do anything that drew Patrick’s attention. As long as she didn’t make any stupid mistakes, there was no reason to fear him.

  He watched her, though. She always knew. When it felt as if fingers were brushing her neck, she’d turn and he’d be there.

  She was setting out the saucers of grated Parmesan when she heard him behind her. “Hey, Patrick.”

  “Darcy.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment. “When you’re done with that, we need to talk.”

  Her heart stuttered and began racing. “About...?”

  “Finish with the cheese.”

  He turned and walked away. Oh, God. He’d been working on the ledger entries. Payroll, probably. Had he checked on her credentials? Found out that her social security number wasn’t really hers? That her identity was one that had been stolen three years ago?

  She pressed a fist to her stomach to stop the churning. She hadn’t stayed alert enough. That’s why he’d blindsided her.

  She’d practiced for this, she reminded herself. She could handle it.

  Her hands shook as she set the rest of the cheese containers on the tables, then replaced the bus tray and washed the grated cheese from her hands. Approaching Patrick, she took a deep breath to steady herself.

  As she slid into a chair he looked up.

  “Hey, you look like you’re heading to the executioner. Relax.” He grimaced. “I’m not very good at managing people, I guess, if I made you think something was wrong.”

  “So what’s up?” She forced herself to smile.

  He leaned closer, his bright blue eyes
lasering into her. They were so much like his siblings’ eyes that she had to remind herself this wasn’t Nathan or Marco. This was Patrick. Patrick, who was dangerous to her.

  “Two things. First, I really need you to work that extra day every week.”

  She relaxed into the chair and exhaled slowly. “I rearranged my schedule, so that’s fine.”

  “Great. I need some more help. I suggested that Nathan make you a manager, but he said you wouldn’t be interested.”

  She’d never told Nathan about her past, but he seemed to understand she didn’t want ties or permanence. “I like waitressing.”

  “You’d get more money as a manager.”

  More responsibility, too. “I don’t think Nate wants anyone else managing the place.”

  “He’s not thinking clearly yet,” Patrick said carefully. “But he needs a life beyond Mama’s. Until he has someone to help him here, that’s not going to happen.”

  Darcy was touched. Clearly, Patrick was worried about his brother.

  “It’s very sweet that you want to help him,” she said.

  Patrick scowled. “I am not sweet.”

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Thoughtful, then. And you’re right. Nathan spends all his time here, and a manager would be a good idea. But that’s Nathan’s decision. Not yours.”

  Even if she wanted to manage Mama’s, she couldn’t do it. She had to be free to leave at a moment’s notice.

  It was easy to find another waitress.

  Replacing a manager was a different story.

  She owed Nathan and Marco more than that.

  He leaned closer, invading her space, even from across the table. “We’ll start with the extra day of waitressing, then.”

  She wanted to back away. Put more space between them. But she refused to let him intimidate her. “We can finish with that, too. What Nathan does about a manager is his business.”

  He moved closer, and the scent of the coffee he’d been drinking washed over her, mixed with a subtle, spicy aroma. It must be soap—she’d smelled it on Nathan, too.

  “Maybe not, but I’m going to be straight with you, Darcy. I need help. I have a complicated case in Detroit that requires my attention. I may have to go back there a couple times in the next three weeks. I’m not going to trust someone I don’t know to look after Mama’s. I know you will, because you care about it.”

  He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Can I count on you?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NO, HE COULDN’T count on her. She wasn’t going to commit to managing Mama’s Place, even temporarily.

  But if she refused, he might be suspicious. If Nathan had asked, she would have agreed immediately.

  “Sure, you can count on me,” she said easily. “If you have to go back to Detroit, I can handle things for a few nights.”

  “But not permanently when Nathan comes back to work?”

  “Why does it matter to you? You won’t be here.”

  “I thought you liked responsibility, Darcy.” He watched her as if he was trying to put together a puzzle, and she slid her hands beneath her thighs. “I’ve seen the way you take charge when things get hectic around here. How the other waitresses look to you for help. This would just be the next step.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She stood up to escape, but he raised his eyebrows. “Two things, remember?”

  “Right.” She eased back into the chair, anxiety churning in her stomach. Was he suspicious? Was the whole “help me out here” a setup for what he really wanted? Get her mind off the main subject, focus on something insignificant, then pounce?

  It was a well-known cop tactic. Tim had used it on her all the time.

  She swallowed. “So what was the other thing?”

  “Is there a problem here that I don’t know about?”

  She barely managed not to gasp. Had he been checking on her? “What kind of problem?” she asked cautiously. “And what do you mean by here?”

  “I mean at Mama’s,” he said sharply. She watched him struggle for composure. Finally he said, “Nathan seems really worried about the business. Almost desperate to get back here. I figured if anyone would know, it would be you. Like I said, you’re observant.”

  The pressure building in her chest eased. He wasn’t talking about her personally.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Think about it for a moment. Anything change in the last several months? Anyone acting different?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Not that I’ve noticed. The only thing that’s different is Theresa Smith.”

  Patrick didn’t move, but she saw him snap to attention. “Who’s Theresa Smith?”

  “A customer who comes in several times a week. I’m pretty sure she lives in the neighborhood. She sits at a table for a few hours, drinking martinis and not eating much of her food.” She moved the napkin-wrapped silverware an inch to the right. “I think she’s an abuse victim.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Theresa hasn’t said anything. But I’m hoping she will eventually.”

  “Does she talk to anyone while she’s here?”

  “Only me. And she doesn’t say much beyond ordering her drinks and food.”

  Patrick shook his head. “I doubt it’s her, but point her out to me next time she comes in. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “No!” Before she could think, she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t treat her any differently than the other customers. If you spook her, she might not come back. Promise me, Patrick. Promise you’ll stay away from Theresa.”

  His skin was warm beneath her fingers, his arm hard and muscular. His gaze heated as he stared at her hand, and she became too aware of the feel of him beneath her fingers. She wanted to slide her palm up his arm, feel the brush of his hair against her skin. She snatched her hand away.

  “I just said I’ll watch her.”

  “Like you did to me at Frankie’s party? Believe me, I knew you were watching.”

  “Is that right?”

  His gaze had suddenly turned heated, and her skin prickled in response. She needed to look away. Change the subject. But she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

  “It was unnerving,” she finally managed to say, although her voice was throaty. “Theresa would be unnerved, too.”

  “I wouldn’t be watching her for the same reason,” Patrick said. His voice was huskier than usual.

  She would not ask him to explain. She wasn’t about to flirt with Patrick. “The reason doesn’t matter. Don’t do anything that would make her uncomfortable.”

  “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

  Yes. “I wondered if I had something stuck in my teeth. Or if I’d spilled red wine on myself.”

  Amusement glinted in his eyes. “I see.”

  She was afraid that he did see. That she’d given away far too much. Grabbing for her composure, she said, “Just don’t do anything to scare Theresa away. It was months before she would tell me her name. She has a ‘bodyguard’ who comes with her. Every time. He sits at the bar and drinks, but always where he can see her.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “They won’t do anything.” She buried the bitter memories deep, keeping her voice flat. “I’ve asked her if she needs help, and she says no. But she keeps coming in. Sooner or later, I’ll be able to help her. But only if you leave her alone.”

  She could see the wheels turning behind his steady gaze. Finally he said, “All right, I won’t pay any extra attention to her. But if Nathan has a problem here, I want to know what it is.”

  “What has Marco said?”

  To her surprise, he rolled a pen back and forth on the table instead of looking at her. “Marco spends most of his time in the kitchen. I started
with you because you’re all over the restaurant. I figured there was a better chance you’d noticed if something was off.”

  “You’re asking the wrong person,” she said, pushing away from the table. “Marco is your brother. I just work here.”

  “Wait a minute, Darcy. I have more questions.”

  She’d had enough of his questions. “They’ll have to wait. We’re opening in less than a half hour. I have things to do.”

  Her hands were shaking as she walked away from the table. She’d told him about Theresa. She hadn’t even told Nathan that much about their customer. But she’d been unnerved by Patrick’s threat to watch the woman.

  And then she’d let him know she was aware of him. Stupid.

  Patrick was an FBI agent. Careful. Observant. And he’d gotten past her guard with disturbing ease.

  She’d been the charge nurse in a hospital emergency room. She knew how to keep her head when everything was crashing. And she’d let an FBI agent rattle her into revealing too much.

  After three years of constant watchfulness, no one should be able to do that to her.

  Patrick was going to be here for at least three more weeks.

  What other secrets would he finesse her into confiding?

  * * *

  PATRICK WATCHED Darcy walk away. She was so guarded. About everything. Until she’d reacted without thinking and let her defenses slip. Her hazel eyes had sparked as she’d told him to leave Theresa alone.

  And she said she’d noticed him watching her.

  He hadn’t imagined that moment of awareness between them. Hadn’t imagined her reaction.

  There’d been nothing guarded about her then. Nothing restrained.

  She’d been equally passionate in her efforts to protect the woman she thought was an abuse victim.

  Had a friend of hers been abused?

  Had Darcy?

  It was hard to imagine strong, take-charge Darcy as a victim. But he knew too well that any woman could fall into that trap.

  The Darcy who had practically leaped across the table at him wasn’t the one who kept him at arm’s length.

  Which was the real Darcy? The careful woman? Or the hot-blooded one?