The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  The top layer was income tax returns for the last two years of his parents’ lives and beneath them the returns from the first five years Nathan was in charge of Mama’s. The latter showed a drop-off in income the first year, then a gradual increase after that.

  Made sense. Nathan would have been overwhelmed at first with new responsibilities. Patrick remembered how his brother had focused on his siblings, struggling to be a parent to seventeen-year-old Patrick, thirteen-year-old Frankie and ten-year-old Marco.

  Nothing suspicious in those early years. He could always dig into the actual ledgers from the restaurant if he needed to, but first he was going to do a quick scan.

  As he set the first envelope of tax returns back into the box, he felt the crinkle of paper beneath his fingers and frowned. He thought he’d taken everything out.

  Standing up, he saw that the bottom was filled with loose papers. Photos. Folders. He pulled out the top one and stilled as he opened it.

  It was a file of notices Nathan had gotten from their schools that first year. Detention slips for Frankie—talking back to the teacher. Fighting with other girls. Pushing a boy on the playground.

  There were trips to the nurse for Marco—stomachaches. Headaches. Difficulty breathing. Each time, Nathan had gone to the school, talked to the nurse, talked to Marco. Usually brought him home.

  There were papers from Patrick’s high school, as well. Notices from his teachers about falling grades. Homework not turned in. Mouthing off in class.

  God. The three of them had been screwed up. And Nathan had handled it all. Finally, after Frankie had run away, the school social worker had pushed Nathan to take his siblings to counseling. Patrick had hated it. He’d given the therapist the answers she clearly wanted and gotten out as soon as he could.

  Frankie and Marco had done better. Gradually, their problems had eased.

  Patrick slammed the folder shut and reached for the next one. As he cracked it open and saw the pictures, he almost shut it and tossed it back in the box. But he forced himself to look.

  They were photos from the first couple of years after the accident. Family shots, mostly. In almost all of them, Nathan, Marco and Frankie were a tight cluster in the center. He was standing off to one side.

  He knew why. He’d been eaten up with guilt. When he got to college, he’d finally matured enough to realize he needed therapy and it had helped some. But the distance between him and his siblings had widened, and it grew into a gulf when he joined the FBI and was assigned to Detroit, five hours away.

  He slammed the folder shut and tossed it in the box. He didn’t have time for a trip down memory lane. Shoving on the lid, he reached for the next box. He had a restaurant to run, and he needed to find out when things had gotten off the tracks. He was a forensic accountant. There would be evidence, and he would find it.

  * * *

  THAT AFTERNOON, Darcy arrived at the women’s shelter for her regular shift, her head pounding. She’d hardly slept the night before, worries bouncing through her mind like a squirrel in a cage. She’d come to no conclusions, except that she couldn’t leave yet.

  That hadn’t make it easier to fall asleep.

  For the moment, though, she’d put her own predicament aside. The women at Safety Net had their own problems, and she was here to help them.

  The aroma of beef stew lingered in the air as she walked into the house. In the living room, several women sat on the worn couches, watching television. The laugh track blended with the voices of the children playing with Lego blocks on the floor.

  Kelly sat at her desk in her office, her head propped in her hand, doodling on a pad. Darcy stopped in the doorway. “Kelly? What’s wrong?”

  “Mary left today.”

  “Oh, no.” Darcy walked in and slumped into a chair. “She took her kids back to her husband?” Darcy knew too well how an abusive relationship destroyed a woman’s self-confidence and distorted her self-image. But it was still hard to understand how a mother could take her children back into a dangerous home.

  “She said she was going to stay with her sister.” Kelly tossed her pen down. “I hope she was telling the truth. And that she’s safe there.”

  “Does the social worker know she left? The one who brought Mary here?”

  “I called Emma right away. She’s trying to connect with her.”

  “God! It never gets easier to watch women going back to their abusers. Or start up with the same kind of man. Why can’t we learn our lesson?”

  Kelly leaned back and studied her. “Who are you talking about, Darcy?” she asked softly.

  “All of us.” As she waved toward the women in the other room, Patrick’s taste still lingered on her mouth. “Why are we so self-destructive? Why do we repeat our mistakes?”

  “What happened, Darce?”

  The understanding in Kelly’s voice made her eyes sting. “Nothing. A moment of stupidity.” She stared at the bookcases in the corner. “What is it about me and cops?”

  “You want the long answer, or the short one?”

  Darcy shifted her gaze to Kelly, who was smiling. “The short one.”

  “I’m guessing he was hot.”

  She stood up. “Who cares about hot when he’s whaling on you?”

  Kelly’s smile disappeared and she half stood. “Did someone hit you?”

  “No. And he wouldn’t. I know that. But he’s a cop. You know what that means.”

  She looked at her friend, sinking back into her chair. Kelly knew everything that had happened to her. She knew why a cop was so dangerous—a cop would be more likely to see through her cover story. More likely to be suspicious.

  “So keep it light. Have a little fun.” Kelly came around to sit on the edge of her desk and took Darcy’s hand. “It’s good that you’re interested in someone. It’s healthy. It’s been three years.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve had therapy. I know that. But a cop?”

  “Is he a good man?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then his job shouldn’t matter. As long as you don’t let things get too heavy.”

  “Easier not to get involved at all.” She drew her feet onto her chair and wrapped her arms around her legs. Staring at the worn spot in the knee of her jeans, she whispered, “What if I did find someone? I’m not sure if I could give my whole self ever again. I’m not sure I could let go and allow myself to completely trust anyone.”

  “Before you can figure that out, you have to take a first step. Do more than work at the restaurant and volunteer here.”

  “I’m not sure I want to. Right now, I’m safe. Safe makes me happy.”

  “Maybe it’s time to take a few chances, Darce. Let yourself live again.”

  “Not with a cop.” Her voice was flat and final. “What’s going on here tonight?”

  Kelly held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. Conversation over. “Rosie wants you to take a look at Michael. She’s worried about his rash. And Jessica found a lump. Can you see them?”

  “I’m not a doctor, Kelly. We have one on staff. Why do they keep asking me about medical stuff?”

  “Because they know you. They trust you. They don’t know Doc Allison very well.”

  “Fine.” She knew how important trust was. But every time she looked at a rash or a lump or a sprain, it was a little pinch at her heart. A reminder of her lost nursing career. “Go get Rosie and her baby.”

  Kelly walked across the hall, and Darcy plunged her hand into her bag to find the latex gloves she always brought to the shelter. Almost every time she volunteered, someone had a medical question. As she felt around for the gloves, her hand stilled as it brushed against her gun. Her very illegal gun. She never went anywhere without it. If it wasn’t safe in her bag, it was on her nightstand as she slept.

&n
bsp; If anyone found out she had it, she’d have a problem. A big one. But she’d rather be in legal trouble than dead.

  Finally she found the gloves and pulled them out. A young brunette with a fading black eye walked into the office, cradling a six-month-old baby. Darcy forced a smile. “Hey, Rosie. Let’s take a look at Michael’s rash. We should be able to have him feeling better in no time.”

  She wished all problems could be solved as easily.

  * * *

  WHEN HE ARRIVED at Mama’s that afternoon, Patrick automatically looked for Darcy’s car. It wasn’t there. Had she quit because he’d kissed her last night?

  No. That would be stupid, and Darcy wasn’t a stupid woman. Her style would be to freeze him out. Rebuild the wall that had been slowly crumbling.

  He wasn’t going to let her do it.

  He’d kissed her because he was angry with Nathan. Not a good reason to kiss a woman, but once he’d tasted her, once he’d felt her response, he’d forgotten all about his brother.

  Her sweetness, the tentative way she’d kissed him at first, her gradual participation had driven him wild. He closed his eyes as he remembered the tiny sound she’d made in the back of her throat when she’d finally wrapped her arms around him.

  He’d been restless all night, his dreams vivid and arousing. Darcy would want to pretend the kiss had never happened. He’d remind her, every chance he got. Sooner or later, she’d kiss him again.

  As he walked in the kitchen door, he asked Marco, “Darcy sick or something?”

  His brother turned from the stove, frowning. “It’s her day off, dude. Get your head in the game.”

  “Lot on my mind,” he answered mildly.

  The staff had Marco’s tasting and the customers began arriving, but without Darcy, the evening was black and white. There wasn’t as much laughing in the kitchen. No one teased the regulars at the bar about what they were watching on television. No one made Marco laugh.

  The nights she worked, everything was in Technicolor.

  He missed her. She felt like an ally, more than either Marco or Nathan. When she wasn’t working, he felt stranded.

  Hell of a thing.

  As he was speaking to a couple at a table, a tall man walked into Mama’s. He stood at the podium, looking around, cataloging the place. It was Danny Kopecki.

  Thanking the couple for coming in, Patrick hurried to greet Kopecki. The cop was wearing a suit instead of a uniform, and he had a badge clipped to his belt. “Hey, Danny,” Patrick said, holding out his hand. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “How’s it going, Devereux?” Kopecki answered. His mouth twitched as he studied Patrick’s khaki pants and dress shirt. “Not often I get a Fibbie asking for favors.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll owe you.” He nodded toward a table in the corner. “Have a seat. You want a beer?”

  “Just went off-duty. Beer sounds great.”

  Five minutes later, Patrick set a pint of Guinness in front of his friend and slid into the seat across from him. Kopecki’s eyebrows rose. “Remembering what I drink. Impressive.”

  “That’s why I’m federal and you’re local.” Patrick rattled the ice cubes in his glass of soda. “Heard you’re a detective now. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Kopecki took another drink of the dark beer and set it aside. “What can I do for you, Paddy?”

  Patrick glanced around to make sure no one was close. “It’s complicated. I’ve got a guy who comes in here regularly. He’s with a woman, and one of my waitresses thinks she’s being beaten at home.” Kopecki started to speak, and Patrick held up his hand. “He’s not the husband. The woman calls him her ‘bodyguard.’ I think he’s carrying.”

  Kopecki glanced around the restaurant, studying every couple. “They here?”

  “Not now.”

  “You know their names?”

  “Woman is Theresa Smith. Pretty obviously not her last name. Guy’s name is Chuck. No last name.”

  “Description?”

  “Theresa’s between forty-five and fifty-five. Dark hair. Thin. Chuck looks like a thug. Lifter, maybe. Probably a juicer.”

  Danny drummed his fingers on the table. “I might know who they are. First names are right.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There’s an alderman’s wife named Theresa. He has a goon working for him named Chuck. I’ll see if I can find pictures.”

  “God.” What had Darcy gotten involved in? “I don’t want some connected mope coming in here with a gun.”

  “Even if he’s not the alderman’s Chuck, we can take care of that.”

  “Soon would be good.”

  “Give me a call the next time they’re here.”

  “Will do.”

  Kopecki finished his beer and stood. “How’s Nate doing?”

  “Better. Pissy as all hell about being laid up.”

  Kopecki shook his head. “Who can blame him? He coming back soon?”

  “Few weeks.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  “Thanks, Danny.”

  Tension tightened Patrick’s shoulders as he watched his friend walk out the door. If Theresa was the alderman’s wife and her bodyguard was getting free drinks, did it mean the alderman was involved in whatever was happening at Mama’s?

  Chances were good that it did. Darcy needed to step back. She was putting herself squarely in the crossfire, and she could end up getting hurt.

  He’d tell her to leave Theresa Smith alone.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS DARCY DROVE toward Mama’s Place on Friday afternoon, she wasn’t thinking about work.

  The kiss she had shared with Patrick replayed itself on a loop, over and over.

  Just like it had done last night. And the night before.

  She told herself it was just a kiss. People kissed all the time, and most of them didn’t spend two days brooding about it. Worrying what it meant. Trying to decide how to act when she next saw the guy she’d kissed.

  She’d known why he’d kissed her. He was trying to intimidate her. Get her to spill her secrets.

  It had morphed into something else almost immediately, but she didn’t want to examine that. Didn’t want to think about Patrick really wanting her.

  Or that she wanted him, too.

  She was pretty sure he’d pretend nothing had happened. That would be the smartest thing. The easiest thing, since they had to work together.

  That would be her strategy, too.

  As she pulled into the parking lot, his big, black SUV was parked directly in front of her. So he was here.

  Her heart jumped and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Of course he was.

  The only spot close to the floodlight was next to Patrick’s car. She pulled in there, ignoring the way the truck seemed to loom over her subcompact. Apparently, he liked to intimidate on the road, too.

  The late afternoon air promised that winter was coming, and she tugged her expensive fleece jacket closer. It had been a present from Tim, and she’d almost thrown it away. But pragmatism had trumped emotion. It was a warm jacket. She couldn’t afford anything nearly as nice.

  When she walked in the kitchen door, the familiar aroma of garlic cooking in butter surrounded her with its delicious scent. Settled her. She took a deep breath as she hung her jacket in the closet. “Smells great, Marco,” she called.

  From his position at the stove, he smiled. “I made it just for you, Darce.”

  “And I love you for it.”

  “Really?” a voice behind her said. Heat washed over her skin. “That’s all it takes? I guess what they say about garlic is true.”

  Don’t engage. Keep walking.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see Patrick leaning against the wall ne
xt to the office. He wore a dark suit and a blue tie, which emphasized the width of his shoulders and the color of his eyes. “What do they say?”

  His eyes darkened. “Garlic is an aphrodisiac.”

  Her heart raced and her palms got damp. “You’re kidding me. Right?”

  Patrick shook his head. “One whiff and you’re telling Marco you love him.”

  “Marco?” She sucked in a deep breath, but managed to say, “You mean my annoying younger brother? Please.”

  “I heard that, Darce,” Marco called. But she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Patrick.

  He was closer than she’d realized. “Someone else, then,” he murmured, in a voice too low for Marco to hear.

  “Don’t know who that could be. Even garlic couldn’t make me interested in any of the sad cases around here.”

  Patrick’s lids were half-closed. “Could have fooled me.”

  He held her gaze, and she was the first to look away. Okay, then. Patrick wasn’t taking the “pretend it never happened” approach.

  Marco glanced over his shoulder as he threw more minced garlic into the simmering butter and waggled his eyebrows. “Something interesting going on over there that I don’t know about?”

  Horrified, she stared at Marco’s back. How had her “ignore it” plan gone south so quickly?

  Eyes twinkling, Patrick disappeared into the office.

  “Of course not! Jeez, Marco!” She swallowed, but rolled her eyes for his sake. “Patrick and me?”

  “Good to know you’re saving yourself for me,” Marco said with a wink.

  “Don’t hold your breath, dude.”

  He grinned and turned back to his garlic butter.

  Patrick stepped out of the office again. “Marco?” he said, but focused on Darcy. “Could you help me out when you get a moment? I need to know about cheese.”

  Darcy finally turned away from Patrick. Her ears burned and her hands shook as she pushed through the door into the dining room.

  This was bad. She’d hoped to be cool. Calm, with a hint of amusement.