“What’s wrong?” he said sharply.
“Please. Come to my apartment.”
The police officer pounded on the car window. “Ma’am! You all right?”
Patrick yelled something, but Darcy disconnected the call.
Her hand shook as she slipped the phone back into her bag. Then she stepped out of the car.
“Are you injured? Do you need an ambulance?”
“No.” Darcy clutched the handle of her bag. A tight band crushed her chest, pressing on her heart.
“Did you see an intruder?” the woman asked.
“N-no. My door was open when I got home.”
The female officer scanned Darcy from head to toe, then let her hand hover over her gun as she studied the garage. She walked around the car, looked beneath it.
She pressed a button on her radio. “Clear in the garage, Tony.”
“House is clear, too,” came a crackly voice.
“Okay if I bring the owner up?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go up to your apartment. We’ll need to ask you some questions.”
Darcy nodded, her head trembling like a bobble-head doll. Where was Patrick? “Is your partner sure there’s no one up there?”
“Yes,” the officer said. “But you can sit in the patrol car if you’d rather do that.”
“No.” She didn’t want to get anywhere near the patrol car. It would remind her too much of Tim. “I’ll go upstairs.”
The police officer waited while she locked the car, then lowered the garage door. As they walked toward the stairs, Darcy heard the screech of tires on the pavement in front of the house, followed by the slam of a car door. Moments later, Patrick ran full-speed down the walkway. His right hand was at the small of his back.
“Darcy! What happened? Are you okay?”
She got a brief glimpse of bare legs and arms before he gathered her close. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and her fingers brushed cold metal. The gun. She slid her hands higher on his back and pressed her face to his chest. He smelled like sweat and coffee and the faint, unmistakable scent of Patrick.
“Tell me,” he murmured into her ear.
“I came home and my door was open,” she said. Her teeth were chattering. “I called the police, then I called you.”
She felt him shift his head. “What have you found?” he asked the cop.
Darcy turned to look at the woman, who had straightened. Scowled. “Let’s go upstairs. We need to ask Ms. Gordon some questions.”
Patrick wrapped his arm around her shoulders and they started up the stairs, the police officer behind them.
“Hold it,” the officer yelled. “Turn around. Slowly. Hands in the air.”
Darcy raised her hands, felt them trembling in the cold air. When she turned to face the officer, the woman was holding her gun on them with a rock-steady grip.
Patrick turned as well. “I’m an FBI agent,” he said calmly. “That’s why I have the gun.”
The cop narrowed her eyes. “Tony,” she called. “Need some help down here.”
Behind her, Darcy heard the heavy thump of feet on the stairs. Then the slide of metal out of a leather holster. “What the hell?” a male voice growled. “You think you’re a tough guy? Bringing a gun to a crime scene?”
“Says he’s an FBI agent.” The woman hadn’t lowered her own gun. “Find his ID.”
“In my left pocket,” Patrick said.
He looked completely at ease. Relaxed. But as Darcy shivered, she saw that goose bumps had raised the hair on his arms. All he wore was a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of nylon shorts. A huge bruise circled his left eye.
“Your eye! What happened?”
“Later,” he said, holding the police officer’s gaze as he pulled Patrick’s wallet from his pocket.
There was silence for a moment, then the officer said, “You can drop your hands, but keep them where I can see them. Turn around.”
He glanced from Patrick to his wallet, then handed the wallet to his partner. “He’s good.”
She studied it for a moment, then handed it to Patrick. “We don’t like nasty surprises. The next time you come charging to the rescue, mention that you’re armed.”
Patrick pulled Darcy close again. “Had other things on my mind.”
“Let’s go upstairs,” Tony said, turning and leading the way.
When she walked through the door, Darcy gasped.
Everything in her cabinets had been tossed on the floor, the chairs and table overturned. Boxes of cereal and crackers had been crushed, crumbs spilling onto the cracked linoleum. Her refrigerator was emptied, as well. Shattered glass was smeared with broken eggs, a smashed stick of butter, a package of sliced turkey. Orange juice covered the mess like an oil slick.
Fear twisted her stomach. “This wasn’t a robbery.”
“No.” The flat voice belonged to Tony. “Do you want to check and see if anything’s missing?”
“Does the rest of the apartment look the same?” she managed to say.
“Pretty much,” Tony said.
“My cat,” she whispered. Oh, God, what had happened to him? Had the intruder hurt him? Killed him? “Cat! Here, baby.”
She raced into the living room.
The destruction there was as bad as the kitchen. The bookcases were knocked over, the television screen was shattered.
“Cat,” she screamed. “Where are you?”
Patrick came up beside her and put his hand on her arm. “Shhh,” he said gently. “He’s scared. Give him a minute.”
She hadn’t had a pet while she was married to Tim. She’d always been afraid of what her husband might do to it. “If that bastard hurt my cat, I’ll...” Realizing what she’d almost given away, she stopped abruptly.
“What bastard would that be?” the woman cop asked.
Patrick watched her, as well.
“The...the one who broke in here,” she finally said.
“That sounded personal. Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
She shook her head, glanced at Patrick. “Chuck?”
“Chuck who?” Tony asked sharply.
“Someone we had problems with last night.” Patrick pulled out his phone. “Let me text Kopecki and see if he’s still in jail.”
“You know Danny?” the woman asked.
“Went to high school with him. He arrested the guy last night.”
“You talking about Chuck Notarro?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“We still have him. He’s waiting for a bond hearing. So it wasn’t him.”
Darcy hadn’t thought it was. But it was the first thing she thought of to cover her slip. “Okay. Good. Thanks.”
She felt Patrick’s gaze but didn’t meet his eyes.
“Anyone else you have a problem with?” Tony asked.
She shook her head, nudging one of the books with her toe.
“How about you, Devereux? You have any ideas?”
“Maybe.”
Darcy barely suppressed a gasp as she jerked her head up to stare at Patrick. No. Don’t tell him. Please.
“I followed Darcy home from work last night. I was worried about Chuck’s...associates. When I parked in front of the house, I thought I saw something moving behind the bushes across the street.”
“You get a look at him?”
“No.”
“Sure it wasn’t an animal?” Tony asked.
“Possible. It was dark. Hard to tell.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Darcy asked, anger overcoming the heart-pounding fear.
Patrick shrugged. “I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t tell what it was. But in light of
this...” He set her armchair upright. “Maybe it was a person.”
Cat sat crouched on the floor where the chair had been.
“Cat!” She knelt in front of him and waited. His tail twitched once. Again. Then he walked over to Darcy and began licking his paw.
She swept him up in her arms and cradled him against her chest.
“So no one else you can think of who might have done this?” the woman persisted. “Someone who might have been watching you?”
Darcy shook her head, her face buried in Cat’s fur.
“Are you gonna dust for prints?” Patrick asked.
Darcy held Cat more tightly. If Tim had done this, they might find his fingerprints. He was in the system. They’d get a match. She’d know if she’d been found.
But Patrick would learn who Tim was. He’d go after him.
Cat yowled, and Darcy realized she’d been gripping his fur. She loosened her fingers and he jumped to the floor.
“We’ll check the doorknob. Don’t get your hopes up, though. Everyone watches television these days. All the mopes know to wear gloves.”
They talked awhile longer, gave her their cards, got her cell number and Patrick’s, then the two officers left to talk to the neighbors. As their footsteps receded, Darcy was left alone with the ruins of her life.
And Patrick. Who hadn’t been fooled by her claim of ignorance.
He set his hands on her shoulders. “You’re afraid it was your ex, aren’t you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DARCY TENSED AS she stared at the debris scattered around the living room. Was it Tim? Had he found her?
“If I knew, don’t you think I would have told the police?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” His hands tightened. “You need to give me names. Yours and his.”
She stepped away from him, then picked a path through the books and glass on the floor, stopping at the doorway to her bedroom.
Echoes of rage reverberated through the room. All the drawers of her dresser had been emptied, and everything on top swept to the floor and crushed. The bedding was shredded. Deep gouges had been carved into the mattress. One of her kitchen knives lay discarded on the floor.
“This was personal,” Patrick said from behind her. He was close enough for her to feel his breath on her hair, but he didn’t touch her. “Someone who knows you.”
He was right. This wasn’t a random act.
Tim.
How had he found her?
The shivering started deep inside her. Wrapping her arms around herself didn’t help. Neither did the heavy jacket she wore.
She would never be warm again.
No one else hated her. She couldn’t think of one other person who would break into her apartment and destroy everything.
Cat strolled into the room and jumped on the bed. He sniffed at the cottonlike tufts protruding from the mattress. Then he lay down and began cleaning himself again.
She had to leave. As soon as possible.
She’d been so confident when she debated between helping Theresa and being with Patrick.
As if she’d ever had a choice.
She should have paid better attention to that prickling at the back of her neck. Tim had been watching her. He’d seen her with Patrick.
That’s why he’d destroyed her mattress and everything else she owned.
“Darcy.” Patrick drew her back against him. “Could this be your ex?”
“Anything is possible.” She tried to sound dismissive. Unworried. “But I don’t know how he could have found me.”
“What’s his name? Where does he live?” He turned her around. There was only concern in his expression. He was trying to help her. And she couldn’t let him.
“I can’t tell you his name.” She touched the bruise on his face. Patrick would have a lot worse than a bruise if he got in Tim’s way.
“Why the hell not?”
“Because if you go looking for him, he’ll know. Then you won’t be safe, and neither will I.”
“How would he know I was looking for him?”
She stared at the front of his T-shirt. It said Northwestern University in letters so faded they were almost invisible. Just the thought of telling Patrick anything more made her breathe harder. Made her heart race.
But she had to tell him. She had to make him understand. “He’s a cop. Was a cop. He still has lots of friends on the police force. If you start looking for him, he’ll find out. He’ll figure out where I am and come after me.”
He already knew. But if she told Patrick that, he’d never leave her side. He’d become a target, too.
He cupped her face and forced her to look at him. “Darcy, if he did this, he already knows where you are. I can protect you.”
“Not 24/7,” she retorted, wrapping her hands around his wrists. She had to make him understand. “You can’t stand in front of me all day and all night. If he finds me, he’ll kill me. And if you got between us, he’d kill you, too.”
He stroked his thumbs over her cheeks. “He doesn’t have superpowers, sweetheart. Let me help you.”
“You can’t,” she cried. “Don’t you get it, Patrick? You can’t do everything. You’re not infallible. You couldn’t protect Nathan from whatever he’s done. You can’t protect me, either.”
His hands fell away. “I can try.”
“I won’t be responsible for getting you killed.”
“Give me a little credit, Darcy.” His voice rose and his mouth tightened. “I’m an FBI agent. I know how to protect myself and other people.”
She grabbed his arms and shook him. “Do you have any idea how I’d feel if you were hurt? Killed? I couldn’t live with myself.”
“I know exactly how you feel.” He shook her off and moved to the window. Stared down at the street, as if searching for something. “It was my fault my parents were killed. I have to live with that for the rest of my life. I’m not going to let something happen to another person I...care about.”
Pain rolled off him in waves, and she moved toward him as if pulled by a string. She settled her palm on his back, kneading the tension in his muscles. “What are you talking about? Your parents were killed in an auto accident. Nathan told me about it.”
“Did he tell you I was driving?”
She sucked in a breath. Wrapped her arms around his waist. “Oh, Patrick,” she murmured. “Nathan said it was a drunk driver. How is that your fault?”
“I should have been more careful. I should have seen him coming, been able to brake in time. But I wasn’t, and he broadsided us. Killed both of them.”
“What happened to the driver?”
“He served twelve years in prison, got out recently.”
“There’s no way it was your fault,” she said, laying her cheek against his back. “If it was, the guy wouldn’t have gone to prison. Nathan and Marco and Frankie don’t think it was your fault, either. How could they?” She turned him around.
“If my father had been driving, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You don’t know that.” Oh, God. Patrick had been carrying this burden for almost fifteen years. Was guilt the reason he didn’t spend much time with his family? She had to make him understand. Grasping his upper arms, she said, “If he was driving, maybe all of you would have been killed. Is that what you wish? That you’d died with them?”
“Of course not. But the accident wrecked our family. Nathan had to drop out of school to run the restaurant and raise us. Frankie was so devastated that she ran away. Her life was changed forever. And Marco...he hardly got to know them.”
“And you’ve let guilt rule your life.” She shook him again. “Your parents wouldn’t have wanted that. Your parents would be happy you survived. They would have wanted you to embr
ace that gift.”
She held his face the way he’d held hers. The stubble of his day-old beard was rough beneath her fingers. She brushed her thumb along it, loving the sandpapery feel. “They would have wanted you to be happy, Patrick.”
* * *
PATRICK STARED AT Darcy’s face. She seemed so certain. As if it was a given. He shook his head. “If only it was that simple.”
“It is,” she said fiercely. “It’s exactly that simple. He ran a red light, didn’t he? How is that your fault?”
“You don’t understand,” he muttered. She had no idea how badly he wanted to believe her.
“I understand perfectly.” She reared back and glared at him. “Is it my fault that my husband beat me?”
“Of course not. That’s on him. Not you.”
“Your parents’ deaths are on the drunk driver. Not you.”
“How did we get on the subject of me, anyway?” he asked, desperate to avoid the discussion. If Darcy kept telling him it wasn’t his fault, he might begin to believe her. Might begin to hope. “This is about you. It’s your apartment that was trashed. Your ex that may be responsible.”
“We were talking about you because you seem to think it’s your job to protect everyone around you. To save everyone.”
Her words made a knife twist inside him, so he tried to ignore them. “Right now, you’re the only one I care about. I want to protect you. To save you. So tell me why your ex wants to kill you. Is it because you left him?”
“Partly. But mostly because I have some information that could get him killed.”
His words came out on a rush of fear. “Goddamn it, Darcy! What kind of mess are you in?”
She rubbed her arms as if she were cold. “A bad one. I made a huge mistake, and there’s no way of fixing it. That’s why I changed my name and ran away.”
“You changed your name.” So he’d been right. “Got a fake identity?” She nodded.
“Tell me your real name.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“There’s always some way to fix things.”
“Not this time. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
He’d never felt so helpless. So powerless. He had specialized training. Expertise. He could keep her safe. But she wouldn’t let him.
The Woman He Knows Page 21
