The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  But she let her hand hover over her gun for a long time.

  * * *

  A HALF HOUR LATER, a tinny sound echoed through the quiet room as Darcy dropped an empty Red Bull can in the garbage container. Her hands shook a little and she felt as if she was climbing out of her skin. But she wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon.

  Silent images flashed across the television screen, with the close-captioned words scrolling beneath the pictures. She’d know if someone was trying to get into her room. There would be no laugh track from a television show to hide the sounds of someone at her door.

  Her fingers drummed on the coarse fabric of the bedspread as she clicked on the remote, looking for something other than sitcom reruns. She wasn’t in the mood to laugh.

  Something scratched at the door, and she froze. It sounded like the click of a key card missing the slot. She reached for her gun, but her trembling hand knocked it to the floor. It landed with a cannon-loud thud.

  The noise stopped.

  She retrieved the gun and pointed it at the door, but her hand shook so badly she knew she wouldn’t hit anything she aimed for.

  Damn Red Bull.

  It wasn’t only the energy drink.

  It was one thing to shoot at a firing range. It was quite another to point the gun at a human being and pull the trigger. Even if it was her ex-husband.

  Maybe it wasn’t Tim. It could be someone who was trying to get into the wrong room. Someone who’d had a few beers too many.

  She waited, heart pounding, mouth dry, body trembling. She didn’t hear footsteps.

  The noise came again, louder. As if the person trying to get in wasn’t bothering to be quiet any longer. She fumbled with the phone, tried to dial 911, but her sweaty fingers slipped off the buttons.

  With a loud bang, the door crashed open, knocking the chair over. Tim surged into the room. His head was shaved, his T-shirt tight over bulging muscles. Acne pitted his forehead and cheeks.

  Teeth-clenching fury darkened his expression.

  “Hello, Beth,” he said. “I’ve missed you. Have you missed me, too?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  IN SPITE OF THE terror that made her heart race, Darcy pointed the gun at Tim’s chest. “Get out. Or I’ll shoot you.”

  He glanced at the gun, momentary surprise on his face. As if he hadn’t expected her to fight back. Then he laughed.

  “The way your hand is shaking? You won’t be able to fire that thing.” He took another step into the room and pushed the broken door closed behind him. It hung on two hinges, leaving a gap. A streetlight threw shadows over the dark parking lot. There was no noise—no yelling, no sirens. Apparently, no one had heard Tim kick in her door.

  “You want to try me?” she said, bracing the gun with her other hand. The nose of the weapon wobbled back and forth, but she kept it level with his chest. “Take another step, and I’ll shoot.”

  “Bethie! You’ve grown a spine.” He smiled, showing yellowed teeth. The reek of cigarette smoke had followed him into the room. “You’re going to be lots more fun than you used to be. But before we get started, give me that flash drive you have.”

  “You think I’m stupid enough to have it with me? It’s in a safe-deposit box, somewhere far away from here.” She swallowed, hoping she sounded calm. Confident. “But I’ll make you a deal—as long as you leave me alone, it’ll stay in the bank. I won’t turn it over to the head of the King Cobras in Milwaukee—Aron Phillips, right?”

  Anger flared in his eyes. “Give me the flash drive, Beth.” He took a step closer, and she tracked him with the gun.

  “Stop right now,” she said. He was at the end of the bed. Another step and he could grab her. “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “Are you so stupid you didn’t figure it out? I put a GPS unit on your car. Just had to stay back and follow you.” He took another step. “But we’re going to have to wrap this up. The police know where you are. They’re probably on their way.”

  “How do you know that?” Damn the Red Bull. She had to raise one knee and rest the gun on it to keep it steady.

  “I still have friends in high places.” He smiled, and her skin crawled. “They’ve been a big help.”

  Without any warning he lunged toward her. She pulled the trigger.

  The noise was deafening in the small room. The acrid smell of gunpowder floated in the air, and Tim stumbled backward.

  “Damn.” He glanced at the hole in the wall behind him. “Hope they didn’t ask for a security deposit, Beth.”

  She’d practiced shooting until she could hit the target every time. “Get out, Tim. Someone heard that. They’re calling the police.”

  “Then we’d better get this over with.”

  With no warning, he leaped for her. She got off another shot, but it went wide, as well. Before she could fire again, he had his knee on her forearm, pressing it into the bed. She couldn’t turn her hand enough to point the gun at him.

  He fastened his powerful fingers around her neck. “Tell me where it is.”

  “In the bank.”

  “You’re lying.” He tightened his grip, and she gulped in air. “Try again.”

  “In the bank.”

  “Beth, you know what happens when you lie.” He let her go and backhanded her. Her head hit the headboard and bounced forward. Dazed, her ears ringing, her face throbbing, she struggled to free her arm. He pressed down harder and squeezed her neck again.

  “I know you have it with you. So if you don’t tell me, I’ll just kill you. Then I won’t have to worry about you contacting Phillips.”

  He was going to kill her anyway. Fury danced in his eyes, reddened his face. He began to choke her, and she gasped for breath. Her vision grayed as she punched at his face.

  She jammed the heel of her hand into his nose. When he flinched, the elbow holding her down shifted, freeing her. As blood poured down Tim’s face, she turned the gun and fired.

  * * *

  PATRICK HEARD TWO gunshots as he pulled into the motel parking lot, tires squealing. Darcy’s car was parked several spots down from a room whose door was hanging off the hinges. When he heard a third shot, he threw his SUV into Park and leaped out.

  Pulling his gun from its holster as he ran, he kicked the door open.

  Darcy was sprawled on the bed, a man on top of her. They were both scrabbling for a gun lying next to her.

  “Hands in the air,” Patrick yelled.

  The guy’s hand closed around the gun, and Patrick grabbed his collar and pulled him off Darcy. Kicked the gun out of his hand. Punched him. Once to the cheek. Hard. Another to the jaw. Even harder.

  The guy’s head snapped back, but he continued to struggle. Patrick kept punching until the man’s head lolled on his neck and he became dead weight, dropping to the floor. Blood streamed from the dirtbag’s nose and a gash in his side, but neither wound looked life-threatening.

  Rolling him onto his stomach, Patrick pulled a pair of flex-cuffs tight around his wrists, then leaped over him to Darcy.

  Blood spattered her chest. Her face and neck were red and bruised, and she was pulling herself to a sitting position.

  “Darcy!” He slid an arm around her and lifted. After he’d settled her against the headboard, he ran his hands over her sides, her legs, her abdomen. “You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?”

  “Patrick.” Her dazed expression faded, and she stared at him as if he was a mirage. “What... How did you get here?”

  “In a minute. First I need to know if you’re okay. Where are you bleeding?”

  “His blood. Broke his nose, I think.” She touched her cheek. Winced.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” She brushed her fingers over his face. “You’re here. I thought I’d never see
you again.”

  “So did I! Why did you run away, you idiot? If I hadn’t broken the speed limit all the way down here, that asshole would have killed you.”

  “I’m sorry.” She reached for him, let her hand fall to her lap. “But I did what I thought I had to do.”

  “You said you loved me. But you didn’t trust me.”

  “Of course I trusted you.”

  “Just not enough.”

  The sound of sirens grew closer. Heavy vehicles rumbled on the street in front of the motel. “We’ll talk about this later.” He put his hand on her cheek, caressed her skin. He should be angry. Furious. And he was. But he was so damn glad to see her.

  “How did you find me?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Pinged your phone.”

  She frowned. “But it was off.”

  “Not until you were already on I-55. When I realized you were heading toward St. Louis, I followed you. You turned it on again when you got to this motel. Just for a moment, but it was enough to pinpoint your location.” Thank God he’d told the FBI what was going on. They were sending the local cops.

  She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and swayed a little. Her face was pale around the ugly bruise, and red fingerprints circled her neck. Patrick wrapped his arm around her shoulder to steady her and glared at Reynolds, still unconscious. He wanted to pull him off the floor and punch him a few more times.

  She tried to stand, and he tightened his hold. “Paramedics are almost here. Sit still.” He glanced at the gun on the bedspread. “How did you get the gun away from him?”

  “It’s mine.”

  “Yours? Where did you get it?”

  “I’ve always had it. In my purse.”

  “You have a permit?”

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “You’ve been carrying an illegal gun around with you?” he asked, incredulous.

  “Yes. Good thing, too. If I hadn’t had it, he would have killed me.”

  “Keep your mouth shut about the gun. They’ll assume it was his.”

  “Patrick, I...”

  “Not now.” Not until he’d calmed down. He didn’t want to discuss her illegal gun, her boneheaded flight from Chicago, the fact that she could have died.

  “He knew police were on their way,” Darcy said quietly. “How did he know that?”

  “I have no idea.” Patrick studied her. “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. Hard to forget stuff when someone’s trying to kill you.”

  He tugged her closer until their thighs were touching. Until he could smell her skin and her hair. Reassure himself she was alive.

  Doors slammed outside the room, and two local cops ran in, guns drawn. Patrick fumbled in his pocket for his badge. “I’m an FBI agent. The guy you want is on the floor between the beds. Cuffed.”

  The cops lowered their weapons, but didn’t holster them until they saw that Reynolds was still out. Then they pulled him to his feet and studied the bruises on his face. “He get these falling to the floor?” one of them asked.

  “Resisting arrest,” Patrick answered.

  “With this wound?” The cop studied the man sagging from his grip, then shrugged. “Looks like he’s juiced. Probably never felt the injury.”

  “Probably not. Better search him, though. I didn’t get to it.”

  One cop held Reynolds up and the other patted him down. Found two knives. “Knives and a gun? Your boy was looking for a fight.”

  “Yeah. Get him out of here.”

  One paramedic put Reynolds on a gurney and began assessing him. His partner squatted in front of Darcy. When Patrick didn’t move, the woman raised an eyebrow. “You want to get out of my way?”

  He let Darcy go and slid a foot to the side. Took her hand.

  The paramedic rolled her eyes. “I like a sappy love story as much as anyone. I get it. Now get the hell off the bed and let me examine her.”

  * * *

  AS THE PARAMEDIC shined a light into Darcy’s eyes and studied her reaction, Patrick’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and stepped out of the room to take the call.

  “What day is it today?” the paramedic asked her.

  “Monday. And it feels as if it’s lasted forever.”

  The woman smiled. “Yeah, I bet it does.” She took Darcy’s blood pressure once more, then folded the cuff and wrapped the tube around it. “Your blood pressure’s a little high.”

  “Too much Red Bull,” Darcy told her.

  “Take it easy with that stuff. You’ll have a headache for a while, but it’ll pass. Tylenol or Advil should take care of it.” She reached into her tackle box and pulled out an ice pack. Cracked it to activate it, then handed it to Darcy.

  “Keep this on your face. Ten minutes on, ten off. It’ll help with the swelling.”

  “Thank you—” she glanced at the woman’s name badge “—Sasha.”

  “My pleasure.”

  As she repacked her box, Patrick’s voice drifted in from outside the door. “Damn it, Jackson! I’m not going to do that.” A few moments later, he said, “You are going to regret this.”

  As he stepped back into the room, he shoved his phone into his pocket. “You done here?” he asked brusquely.

  “Yeah. Sasha says I’m fine.”

  “Just a headache and some nasty bruises.” The paramedic pointed the blood pressure cuff at him. “You make sure she takes it easy. Nothing strenuous.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. He looked far too forbidding, and Darcy wondered why. “She won’t be doing much of anything for a while.”

  Sasha nodded, picked up her box and walked out of the room. Patrick stared down at her, and Darcy shifted uncomfortably.

  Was he going to turn around and drive back to Chicago, leaving her behind? He seemed angry enough to do that.

  He’d held her against him, even when the paramedic showed up, but now he was distant.

  How could she blame him? She’d lied to him. Run away. He’d had to drive five hours to save her from Tim. Save her from her own stupidity.

  He stared at her shirt, touched one of the drying blood spatters with his index finger. His hand was warm, even through the fabric. She wanted to lean into his touch, but he stepped away.

  “You have another shirt somewhere?”

  “In my bag. On the other side of the bed.”

  He dragged the leather satchel up and handed it to her. “Put on a clean one.”

  Darcy pulled a long-sleeved, green T-shirt out of her bag, took off the bloody shirt and dragged the clean one over her head. Patrick watched her face, his expression grim.

  She grabbed her bag and stood up. When her head spun, she swayed a little and sat back down abruptly.

  Patrick glanced at her, then turned away and focused on a spot on the wall. “Beth Reynolds, you’re under arrest for identity theft and withholding evidence in a federal case. Anything you say can and will be used against you.” As he finished the Miranda warning, he slipped handcuffs over her wrists.

  The metal was cold against her skin. He closed them carefully, leaving them loose on her wrists. She stared down at her lap dumbly.

  She’d committed the crimes. But handcuffs? “You really think I’m going to run away?” She felt so wobbly, she was going to have trouble walking.

  “Cuffs are standard in an arrest,” he said, his voice terse.

  At least he hadn’t made them tight. She should be grateful, but all she could do was stare at the cold metal around her wrists.

  He helped her stand up then supported her with one hand on her back, the other on her upper arm, and slipped her bag over his shoulder. “Can you walk to the car?”

  “Are you going to drag me if I say no?”

  His
hand tightened on her arm, then he steered her out the door and toward his SUV, parked on an angle in the middle of the pavement. An ambulance idled behind it, the back doors open.

  Sasha stepped out and frowned when she saw them. “We’re arresting victims now?”

  “You do your job, I’ll do mine,” Patrick answered curtly.

  Darcy stared at her cuffed hands as heat rose in her face. She stumbled over a chunk of loose asphalt, and Patrick tightened his hold on her.

  She tried to wrench her arm away from him. “You can let me go. I’m not going to take off.”

  “Damn it, Darcy!” They’d reached his SUV, and he yanked the door open. She started to climb in, but couldn’t balance with her hands cuffed in front of her and slipped. Swearing beneath his breath, Patrick lifted her, slid her onto the seat and buckled her seat belt. He slammed the door harder than necessary.

  Sasha stood next to the ambulance and watched their progress as he maneuvered around the boxy truck. Darcy stared at her hands, watching the lights from the parking lot reflect off the silver metal around her wrists.

  Tension coiled tight in the car as Patrick sped through the quiet streets. Finally, still jittery and becoming more anxious by the moment, Darcy asked, “Where are you taking me?”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “St. Louis FBI office.”

  “Are you putting me in jail?”

  “Goddamn it!” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, and the car swerved to the right. “You think I wanted to do this? I was ordered to arrest you. Would you rather I do it, or some stranger?”

  “My ex-husband almost killed me tonight,” she retorted. “If I hadn’t had that false identity, he would have done the job much sooner. Is that why you’re arresting me? Because I didn’t die a few years ago?”

  “You should have turned that evidence over to the authorities. Maybe Reynolds would still be locked up.”

  “I was scared. Not thinking straight. But I can’t go back and change things now.” Knowing Patrick was right didn’t make it any easier.

  Darcy stared at the cuffs on her hands. When she moved her fingers, the chains between the two bracelets jangled quietly. “Are these really necessary? Do you think I’m going to jump out of a moving car?”