The Woman He Knows

by Margaret Watson

  “I’ll take them off when we get to the office. It’s about a half hour away. Relax.”

  “‘Relax’? On my way to the FBI office in handcuffs? Right.”

  A muscle jumped in his cheek and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Neither of them spoke until they drove into a garage beneath a skyscraper in the downtown area.

  “Can you walk to the elevator?” Patrick asked gruffly. “It’s about twenty-five feet away.”

  “What’s the alternative? Crawling?”

  “I can carry you.”

  “I’ll walk.”

  With every step a pain shot through her face. Her head pounded, and her throat was raw. Patrick tried to wrap an arm around her shoulders, but she shook him off. Once in the elevator, he stood too close, but he didn’t try to touch her again. Waves of tension poured off him. She wanted to lean against him, wanted to soak up his strength, but she wouldn’t let herself do it.

  This was her fault. She’d hidden the evidence, she’d bought the stolen identity. And now she’d put Patrick in the terrible position of having to arrest his former lover.

  She thought she’d lied to protect him, but her lies had hurt him. Badly.

  Finally the door pinged and they stepped into a brightly lit corridor. The door in front of them said Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Patrick steered her inside. Several people glanced at her handcuffs and then at Patrick. He ignored all of them and led her into a small office. Closed the door.

  “Don’t say a thing,” he warned.

  In moments, a man dressed in a dark gray suit, wearing a white shirt and a dark blue tie, walked into the room. “Hello, Ms. Reynolds. I’m Special Agent in Charge Leo Jackson.” He dropped a folder onto the table and sat down across from her, nodding to Patrick. “Uncuff her.”

  Darcy massaged her wrists rather than look at either of them. After a few moments, Jackson leaned across the table. “You’ve withheld valuable information from federal authorities. Information about Timothy Reynolds’s gang activities. You also purchased a stolen identity from the King Cobras street gang. You’re looking at five to ten years in federal prison.”

  She lifted her head and stared at the other agent, but didn’t speak. Beside her, some of the stiffness left Patrick’s shoulders.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Ms. Reynolds?”

  She pressed her lips together. Patrick had warned her not to say anything.

  After an uncomfortably long silence, he leaned back in his chair. “Looks like you have an uncooperative witness, Jackson.”

  Jackson glared at Patrick. “What did you tell her, Devereux?”

  “I Mirandized her. That’s it.”

  “You sure you didn’t coach her?”

  “You ordered me to arrest her. I did.”

  “We want some answers, Ms. Reynolds,” Jackson demanded.

  She wanted to tell him that wasn’t her name. That it hadn’t been her name for a long time. She felt Patrick’s gaze, but she continued to stare at Jackson.

  Finally Patrick leaned forward. “I’ll tell you how this is going to work, Jackson. Ms. Gordon is willing to give you the information she has on Timothy Reynolds. In exchange for that, you’re going to give her immunity from prosecution. If you’re unwilling to do that, Ms. Gordon will keep her information. In addition, she’ll get hold of an investigative reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. She’ll tell him all about the leak in your department. How at least one of your agents is involved with the King Cobras in St. Louis. How that agent was in contact with Timothy Reynolds, supplying information to him. Information used in the execution of a crime.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Devereux. How could she possibly know anything about that?”

  “Reynolds told her he was going to have to kill her fast because the police were on their way. He said he had friends in law enforcement here. Only the FBI knew I was following her and what was going on.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  Patrick shrugged. “Suit yourself. Ms. Gordon will sit in federal lockup tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too. But the story will be all over the paper.” Patrick smiled. “‘Abused wife protects herself, FBI arrests her.’ Sounds like the kind of story Washington would love to see in the local paper, doesn’t it?”

  Jackson held his gaze for a long moment. Then he scowled and straightened the papers he held. “I’ll have to check with the U.S. Attorney’s office.”

  “You do that, Jackson.”

  “Your SAC in Detroit is going to hear about this.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be appalled at what’s happened tonight.”

  Jackson held Patrick’s gaze for another long moment, then stormed out of the room.

  As soon as he was gone, Darcy said, “Patrick, I...”

  He put his index finger on her lips. “Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

  She frowned. “Is this room...”

  “Darcy. Shut up.”

  They sat silently in the room for more than an hour. Finally, Jackson returned. He didn’t look happy.

  “Immunity from prosecution. In return, we want the information she has and assistance interpreting it, if necessary. And we want the name of the person who sold her the stolen identity.”

  “No,” she said. “I won’t give up the person’s name.”

  “Why not?” Jackson asked.

  “That person helps domestic violence victims escape from their abusers. I’m not going to be responsible for putting him or her out of business.”

  “Ms. Reynolds, the government will provide new identities to abuse victims. The person who sold you that identity is using those women’s misery to make money. That’s all.”

  “The answer is still no.” She glanced at Patrick. He’d know if she should give up the name. But she wouldn’t do it for Jackson.

  She turned to stare at the agent. He stared back. Finally he shoved some papers across the table at her.

  “Read and sign these. Then tell us where to find the information.”

  She read the legalese, then glanced at Patrick. When he nodded slightly, she signed. Then she extracted the flash drive from her bag and set it on top of the papers.

  “She’ll need a receipt for that,” Patrick said.

  Jackson pushed another paper across the table. Patrick read it. Nodded. Folded it and slid it into his jacket pocket. “Interesting working with you, Jackson.”

  Then he slid his arm around Darcy, helped her up and led her out the door.

  She should be happy. Patrick had stayed with her instead of abandoning her to Jackson. He’d made sure she was off the hook with the FBI for the crimes she’d committed. They were leaving together.

  But all her emotions, her feelings, were covered with a layer of ice.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  NEITHER OF THEM spoke until they were in the elevator. Then Patrick said carefully, “Do you think you can drive back to Chicago tonight?”

  He assumed she was going back there. With him? Some of the ice inside her melted. “If we have to. I’m a little tired, though. I’ll need another Red Bull.”

  “You’ve had enough of that stuff. We’ll stay here tonight.”

  “I don’t want to go back to that motel.” The thought of that room, those memories, made her shiver.

  His arm tightened around her. “You don’t have to. There’s a hotel right across the street.”

  Now that the drama was over, now that she was safe, the buzz from the energy drink dissipated like air out of a balloon. By the time they exited the building to walk across the street, Darcy had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Patrick’s arm was steady around her shoulders. Unwavering.

  A chilly wind blew up the street and sw
irled around her. She’d left her jacket at the motel, and goose bumps rose on her exposed skin. Patrick slid his hand up and down her arm, warming her. She wanted to lean into him, but forced herself to stay upright. She wasn’t a victim and wasn’t going to act like one.

  After crossing the street, he opened another door and they walked into a building that smelled like fresh flowers. A hotel lobby. It took only a minute to register, and she clung to the counter as Patrick passed the clerk his credit card and signed the form.

  The elevator ride took moments, and when they stepped into the corridor on the tenth floor, Patrick lifted her into his arms.

  “Put me down,” she said, struggling. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

  “Maybe I want to carry you,” he murmured.

  Before she could argue, he stopped in front of a room, inserted the key card and pushed the door open. Out the window, she saw the Arch, St. Louis’s signature landmark, spotlights reflecting off its silver surface. Patrick set her down on the bed.

  “You want help getting undressed?” he asked.

  “I can do it myself.”

  His expression tightened, but he nodded. “I got a couple of toothbrushes and toothpaste from the clerk. I’ll leave them in the bathroom.”

  She stumbled through preparations for bed, then, still shivering, she crawled beneath the blankets. As she drifted into sleep, she heard Patrick speaking in a low voice. “Yeah, I have her. She’s bruised but otherwise okay.” There was a pause. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what she wants.”

  * * *

  SHE WAS FINALLY WARM.

  Darcy opened her eyes slowly and looked around. The room was bright with sunlight. She was in a bed, and there was a second bed next to it. A table between them.

  A hotel room.

  She lifted her head, and pain stabbed her cheek. Groaning, she lay back down. Memories crowded in—her drive from Chicago. The motel in St. Louis.

  Tim. Choking her. Slapping her.

  Patrick.

  Arresting her.

  She clutched the blanket and turned over slowly. Patrick was lying next to her, his eyes open. Watching her.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  “Sore.” She touched her throbbing face.

  He swung out of bed. “You were shivering for too long last night. I slept with you to warm you up.” Wearing his T-shirt and boxers, he padded across the floor and picked up a small vial. He shook two tablets into his hand, and gave her the pills and a glass of water. “Ibuprofen. You should have taken it last night, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  She sat up and swallowed the pain medication, then gulped the glass of water. Her throat ached, but she hadn’t realized how thirsty she was.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I think I am.”

  “I’ll order breakfast.”

  By the time she’d eaten some pancakes and had drunk two cups of coffee, her head wasn’t throbbing as much. And she didn’t feel so muddled anymore.

  Patrick had watched her eat, but hadn’t said much. And why would he?

  She’d lied, run away and almost gotten killed. She’d broken trust with him, and he had every right to be angry.

  Where did that leave them?

  She didn’t know. When she’d first met him, she’d had no idea what he was thinking. As she got to know him, she’d grown much better at reading him. At knowing what he was thinking.

  Now? It was as if they were strangers again.

  Was it just twenty-four hours ago that she’d told him she was going to Mama’s and then taken off? She wished she could roll back the clock. Wished she could change everything that had happened between yesterday and today.

  But she couldn’t. She had to move forward. Figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She could go back to nursing. Live a normal life, in the open, wherever she chose.

  The only life she wanted was with Patrick. And this morning, it sure didn’t look like he was interested in that.

  She would deal with it, just like she’d dealt with everything in her life. She’d put her head down and go forward.

  “Reynolds is in federal custody,” Patrick said. “We got him from the local cops, who arrested him for attempted murder. You didn’t do any serious damage when you shot him, so he was patched up and is sitting in the federal lockup.”

  “He had a GPS unit attached to my car. So he always knew where I was.”

  “Yeah, the local cops found it.”

  All her efforts to protect Patrick and Nathan and Marco had been futile. Tim had always known where to find her. He’d known who’d sheltered her after he destroyed her apartment.

  Her flight from Chicago had been the most dangerous thing she could do. “What will happen to him?”

  “He’ll be convicted, and he’s going to federal prison for a very long time. If he gets out of the federal lockup, he’ll go to prison in Missouri for attempted murder. You won’t have to worry about him again.”

  Darcy swirled her fork in the maple syrup pooled on her plate. Fear had been her constant companion for the past three years. She should feel lighter. Free. Happy.

  Instead, she just felt tired.

  Sad.

  “You arrested me. Walked me out of that motel room in chains. In front of the paramedics and everyone else.”

  “In chains?” A tiny smile played across his mouth. “For God’s sake, Darcy. They were handcuffs.”

  “I was scared.” She chopped the remaining half pancake into tiny bits until there was nothing but syrup-soaked crumbs on the plate. Then she tried to make them smaller. “You could have told me it would be okay. That they would make a deal with me.”

  “I didn’t know that.” He leaned across the table. “I was scared, too, Darcy. For more than five hours. All the way to St. Louis, tearing down I-55 at ninety miles an hour—I had no idea if Reynolds had found you. No idea if you were alive or dead. How do you think that made me feel?”

  In his shoes, she would have been frantic. Terrified. Out of her mind.

  Feeling ashamed, she said, “I guess I deserved to be treated like a criminal. That’s what I am.”

  “Yes. You are. And making you wait to find out what was going on? Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I was really angry.”

  He had a right to be.

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. Sorry for everything. For lying to you, for running away. For not trusting you.” Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  He pushed away from the little table, stood up and began pacing. “So what do you want to do? You can become Beth Reynolds again. Go back to Milwaukee and get your nursing job back. Look up your old friends. Resume your old life.”

  Was that what he wanted? For her to walk away? Her hands began to shake, and the fork she was still holding rattled against the plate.

  She dropped it and folded her hands together tightly in her lap. “I don’t want to go back to Milwaukee. And I’ll never be Beth Reynolds again.”

  “All right.” He shrugged. “Then you can stay here in St. Louis. This is where you were heading, isn’t it?”

  “Only because it was a big city. And in the opposite direction from Milwaukee.”

  Patrick didn’t look at her as he paced. He was the closed-off man she’d met right after Nathan’s accident. She had no clue what he was feeling.

  Finally he stopped in front of her. “What do you want, Darcy?”

  She wanted to be with him. Wanted to go back to Detroit with him. Make a life with him.

  But she was afraid to say so. Afraid she’d ruined everything. Afraid to hear him say he was done with her.

  He stood in front of her, waiting.

  She’d faced
Tim and survived. Defeated her tormentor. Surely looking at the man she loved and saying she wanted him wasn’t that hard.

  But it was harder than anything she’d ever done. Because it meant more than anything.

  She wanted Patrick to be her future. Wanted to hear him say he wanted the same thing.

  If he said he was through with her, that she’d killed his love for her, it would be far worse than anything Tim had done to her.

  But she had to take the risk.

  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then she let her gaze meet his. “The only thing I want is you, Patrick. I love you. I want to be part of your life. Is that possible? Can you ever forgive me?”

  He stopped pacing and stood in front of her, but he didn’t touch her. “I thought about this all the way to St. Louis. I was angry.”

  “I know,” she said, drawing a shaky breath. Her heart thundered and her chest was too tight.

  “It hurt,” he said quietly. “That you didn’t think I could protect you.”

  “That’s not what I thought! I was trying to protect you.”

  “Yeah, I got that. But this is what I do, Darcy.”

  She jumped up and stared out the window at the Arch and its reflection in the brown water of the Mississippi. “Tim made me less than myself,” she said quietly. “He diminished me. And I let him. When I got away from him, I swore I’d never be that woman again. That I’d be strong. Capable. Stand up for myself. I guess I never looked at it from your point of view. That taking care of myself, and trying to take care of you, would make you feel diminished.”

  “Maybe we both have some things to learn.” He stood close behind her, close enough that she felt the heat from his body, close enough for his scent to wrap around her.

  “Yes. I guess we do.” Did that mean it wasn’t too late? Her palms were sweaty, and she rubbed them against her thighs. “Can we... Are we going to have a chance to work on them?”

  “I’d like to,” he said. His hands settled on her shoulders and he pulled her against him. “How about you?”