“I get it.” He nodded.
His speculative pauses unnerved her. “Are we going in, or what? I’m hungry.”
“We can go in.” He quickly let himself out and rounded the car, opening her door. Damn. She’d never had that happen.
“Thank you.” She put her hand into his proffered one, and stepped onto the pavement. When he didn’t let go, she didn’t fight it. His hold felt good.
They approached the door where the air was already redolent of chili peppers, cumin, and cinnamon. Her mouth watered. She’d been adventurous with her cuisine at one point in her past, but hadn’t had the opportunity to challenge her taste buds in a very long time. “God, it smells so good.”
“I can’t wait to eat,” he agreed.
It was a ‘seat yourself’ place, so they picked a booth by the front windows with a view of the city street. What a difference a couple of miles made. Her neighborhood was old, run down, dreary. This spot allowed for early morning sunshine to creep through spaces between the buildings, throwing light onto pretty iron benches flanked by bare, but substantial trees.
And not a piece of trash in sight. She sighed.
“What are you thinking?”
Not up for any more psychoanalysis bullshit before food, she plucked the menu from its holder, opening it up.
“I think I’m really hungry,” she hedged. “And you ask too many questions.”
He looked sheepish. “Sorry. My job. But still, it’s different with you. It feels…personal.”
She cut him some slack. “I get it. You went through stuff with me, so I guess it’s only natural to want some answers.” Fixing him with a pointed look, she continued. “But I want answers, too, remember?”
He nodded. “I haven’t forgotten.” He picked up his menu, too. “What looks good?”
Hah. She wasn’t the only one using avoidance tactics. She studied the offerings. “It says we should pick a meat, then a couple side dishes.” She scanned the offerings. “You want beef, pork, or lamb?”
“I’m a big fan of beef. And I know Picanha is usually the house special, so why don’t we go with that after a starter of feijoada.”
Darby read the descriptions. Feijoada was pork sausage stew, and picanha, a savory prime cut of top sirloin, cooked with the fat for juiciness, rubbed with a blend of savory spices. Her stomach growled. “Sounds good. What else?”
“You pick the sides,” he suggested.
She didn’t hesitate. “It all sounds delicious, but let’s get the polenta, served crispy, and the breaded banana.”
The waiter came, poured water, and took their order, leaving room for conversation again.
Hutch jumped right in. “I saw a few things in your dreams that might have been special memories from childhood.”
She tensed up.
“A big shaggy dog…”
Her shoulders dropped. “That was our sheepdog, Davies.” She smiled, mollified at the happy recollection. “He was so big and I was so small, I used to ride on him.”
“I got that.” He returned her smile, taking a sip of water. “And the music box?”
“A special present from my mother on my sixth birthday.” She was still okay with the line of questioning.
“And what about the baseball? I garnered it was of some importance.”
She scraped back her chair and abruptly stood.
“Ladies room,” she mumbled, and fled the table.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Hutch berated himself. He’d been attempting to sneak up on her issues, gently, but he’d hit a nerve. F, for fail. And it wasn’t because he was so out of practice. He’d proven that with his careful, but truncated handling of Paxton. No. It was because Darby hadn’t, in any way, gotten over her past. And, she was damned perceptive. She knew he pried, and was doing everything to stop him.
What if he went first?
His true reason for being here, other than the draw she presented, was to see how she’d react to hints about her assailant. Would his honesty make her bold? Put her in danger? He didn’t know, but still, it was his next, best card to play…so he’d lay down his hand.
The waiter came back with their soup before Darby returned, lingering like a wine steward, waiting for a verdict. Hutch dipped a spoonful and brought it to his mouth, delighting in its spiciness. “Delicious,” he intoned.
Satisfied, the waiter turned and left. Hutch put down his utensil and waited for Darby to return.
When she did, he noticed a telltale redness around her eyes. Dammit. He’d made her cry. A not unusual occurrence in a doctor/patient relationship, but he wanted more than that with her. Should he apologize?
“I’m sorry. Are you okay? I obviously made you upset.”
She waved a brisk hand as if swatting a fly. “I’m fine.” She leaned forward over the fragrant soup, her eyes firmly on his. “But I don’t want to talk about my past. You got that? If and when I want to share, I’ll let you know.”
He heaved a sigh. “Okay.”
“Good. How’s the soup?” She picked up her spoon and took a bite before he could answer. “Mmm.” Her face lit up. “Amazing.”
They spent the next few minutes eating in silence while he worked up his nerve.
He cleared his throat. “I have something to share about your attacker.”
Her spoon clattered to the table and her face paled. “That’s why you’re here.”
He placed his utensil down, and regarded her intently. “I’m going to be honest. There are two reasons I’m here. Neither contingent on the other. One, I find myself attracted to you. Very attracted. It’s a new thing for me, and I’m having a hard time trying not to…how can I say this…? Fix everything for you.”
Her lips flattened.
“I’m fully aware you don’t want me prying, but it’s in my nature, and I want you to stop suffering. However,” he held up a hand when she would have replied, “I will honor your request to butt out.”
She looked as if she didn’t believe him, but moved the conversation along. “And the second reason you’re here?”
“The man who harmed you. I have reason to believe money was his secondary motive for coming into the store.”
Her face showed confusion. “But it was a robbery.”
“On the face of it, yes. But Darby, in your nightmare, after you changed things up… When you didn’t pick up the bat, but offered him unimpeded access to the register, he beat you anyway.”
She huffed. “Because it’s my nightmare, Hutch. What changed, because of your intervention, wasn’t what actually happened. The morning of the attack, I picked up the bat and challenged the asshole. He beat me, then stole money and left.”
He drew on his patience to explain. “I get that, Darby, but dreams often show us subliminal things, things we repress. While he was striking you, he may have said something—or you may have seen something you’ve forgotten, something your subconscious latched onto that altered your nightmare. I believe he was after you, not the money.”
He watched her blink. Had he gone too far?
She licked her lips, nervously. “Why me? Who…?”
Hutch needed to reveal everything. “I saw some identifying characteristics. If I tell you, you may know who he is. Are you ready for that?”
She slowly, measuredly, gave a nod.
“He’s about six-two, has dirty blond hair, and a tattoo of a demon on the back of his neck.”
Her mouth fell open. Her face drained of color.
She knew.
Darby swayed in her seat, but as he stood to catch her, hands that had shaken one minute, turned to fists. A low growl, like that of a mad animal spewed from her lips. Red flooded her previously colorless skin.
“That. Asshole,” she snarled. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
The waiter approached with their skewered meat, but Hutch tersely waved him away.
“Who, Darby?” His voice failed to penetrate her rage. He gripped her wrist. “Tell me.”
&nbs
p; “Cy.”
“Who is Cy? How do you know him?”
She breathed deeply, in through her nose and out through her mouth. He recognized the technique. So they’d given her something besides drugs to cope with her nightmares. He ran a comforting thumb across her pulse point.
A minute passed and she shook him off, calmly picked up her spoon to eat. “Cy is Arkie’s nephew. He’s had a thing for me for several years, but I kept putting him off, keep putting him off, hoping he’ll lose interest. But he insists I’m ‘his’, no matter being aware I think he’s an asshole.” A humorless laugh left her lips. “Looks like he found a different way to get my attention.” She grew contemplative. “I wonder why he gave up after one try?”
Hutch wanted to find the man and beat him to a pulp, but attempted to match Darby’s composure. “He may realize he went too far when you ended up in the hospital.”
She shook her head. “More likely, he’s waiting for the heat to wind down. It’s only been four months, and up until a few weeks ago, the cops were doing a bunch of drive-bys every hour. They only just tailed off.”
“So he may be poised for another strike?”
“Maybe.” A feral smile curled her lips. “He actually just started working the shift before mine. Arkie’s been showing him the ropes for the last two days, but tomorrow he’s by himself.”
“And alone with you when you come in.”
“Uh, huh.” She didn’t look intimidated. She looked pissed. “And now that I know…”
He could see her mind plotting, and he hated to scuttle any plans, yet sought to remind her, “Any proof we have is only in your dreams. You can’t retaliate. We know he’s guilty, but there’s no evidence.”
“We’ll get some.” She took another bite.
The waiter approached, and this time he sliced meat onto their plates. Another server brought their side dishes.
Once they left, Hutch took a bite that—in his present state—tasted like dust. He hated to ask. “How?”
She attacked her meal with gusto. “I’ll set him up.”
Beletseri had warned him of this. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Not if we come up with a plan. Arkie’s put in a hidden surveillance system, so all I need to do is provoke Cy into saying or doing something stupid.”
“Darby, he nearly killed you last time.”
“Because I was totally unprepared. This time I’ll be ready.”
He pushed his plate away, appetite gone. “It’s too risky.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not my keeper, Hutch.”
“No, I’m someone who cares about your well-being.”
She leaned forward. “Then help me.”
He scowled. “In what way?”
She shrugged, sitting back, scooping up the last of her food to shovel it in. Chewing and swallowing, she indicated his half-empty plate. “You going to eat that?”
He pushed it toward her. “Be my guest.”
Putting her plate aside, she tackled his. “With two of us, and your insight into how his brain might work, we can come up with a plan.”
Words popped out of his mouth before he could think them inappropriate. “Take a break first. Come to Chicago with me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“What?” She paused with the fork halfway to her mouth, totally blindsided. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” he told her. “Can you get a few days off?”
Could she? Other than the Workmen’s Comp leave she’d taken, she’d never tried. A thrill worked up her spine. Was it foolish to consider it? Loss of income would make it necessary to dip into her nest egg. Still, she was on the fence.
“We barely know each other,” she replied cautiously, trying to tamp down her rising excitement.
He smiled, and the open look on his face drew her in. “Sort of. This might be our first date, but we’ve been keeping company for the last week.”
“Still fast.” She slowed down on the second plate, and was gratified when Hutch picked up his fork and snagged another bite. She slid it back toward him. “I’m tempted.” She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “If I do, will you help me formulate a plan to catch Cy?”
Hutch grumbled around a mouthful, said something that sounded like “fuck” and blushed.
“What was that?” she asked, smartly.
“Yes. I said yes, okay?”
She grinned, and he continued. “Because if I don’t, you’ll try something on your own, and it might turn out bad.” He pointed at her with his fork. “I don’t want you tackling this by yourself.” He captured her gaze with one of heated speculation. “So you’ll come to Chicago?”
She didn’t want to appear too eager, even with her off-the-charts attraction to him. “Do you have a guest bedroom?”
He beamed at her. “I have two. You can take your pick.”
She smiled back. “I’ll call Arkie.”
Withdrawing the phone from her pocket, she punched his number and put it to her ear. It rang twice.
“Darby? What is it?” he asked, concern in his voice. “Everything okay?”
“Great, Arkie, but I have a favor to ask.”
His voice came back cautious. “Ask.”
“Can I get a few days off? I’ve never asked, but I have a friend who—”
“Jesus Christ, Darby. You’ve worked for me for five years and never taken a sick day except…” He trailed off, clearly reticent to bring up her hospitalization. He cleared his throat. “Of course. Go. Now that I have Cy, I can cover your shift.” She heard what almost might pass for humor in his voice. “I suppose you’ll want the rest of the week?”
It was Wednesday. The shelter wouldn’t be a problem, so… “Can you hold on a minute, Arkie?” She lowered the phone and addressed Hutch. “Now through Sunday?” she asked. Too long? Was she being presumptuous?
His smile grew broader. “A month would be better, but I can work with five days.”
She rolled her eyes, grinned, and brought the phone back to her ear. “I’ll be back next Monday.”
“A guy, huh?” Arkie sounded pleased. “About fucking time. I was kind of hoping Seth… Hey, wait. It’s not Seth, is it?”
“Why, you old meddler. You were trying to set me up.”
He mumbled something about “for your own good” and “waste of a nice lady”, but she didn’t go all feminist on him. He meant well.
“And no, it’s not Seth.”
“You wanna give me this guy’s info so I can find you if things go south?”
Her heart warmed. Arkie had been pretty wonderful after her attack, but she’d never known him to go out of his way, before or since, to be protective. “I’ll text it to you,” she replied softly.
“Damn it, Darby. You know I don’t do that shit. Just tell me.”
She laughed and blinked at Hutch. “He wants your contact info.”
He didn’t hesitate, but rattled it off in sound bites she repeated to Arkie. “You got that?”
“I do. And Darby?”
“Yeah, Arkie?”
“Have a good time.”
She gave a chuckle, touched. “I will, boss.” She disconnected.
Hutch wiped his mouth on his napkin. “He sounds like a character. One who cares about you.”
“It’s funny,” she sighed. “I never noticed that side of him before. But you’re right, and it’s kind of sweet.”
While they chatted, the waiter came with the check.
Drawing out his wallet, Hutch grew serious. “How would he take it if you told him your suspicions about his nephew?”
She shrugged. “Hard to tell. He knows Cy is a jerk, but they’re blood-related, and he trusts him enough to give him an overnight at the store…” She trailed off. Could she survive if, after provoking Cy into a repeat performance, Arkie chose him over her? It would mean moving, finding a new job, starting over…
“Hey. What are you thinking?” Hutch laid down a few bills.
He regarded her with warm eyes. “No need to borrow trouble. How about contemplating your vacation first?”
“My vacation.” Words she hadn’t used in a really long time rolled off her tongue. The last time she’d taken time for herself, was during her first, truncated year of college. It brought back joyful memories she couldn’t afford to think about, because she’d break down in great, heaving sobs, in danger of drenching Hutch’s shirtfront for a second time this morning.
“You’ve gone somewhere again.” He waved a hand in front of her face.
“Sorry,” she brightened and prevaricated. “It’s been a while since I took a few days to relax. I guess I’ve forgotten how.” She took the napkin from her lap and put it on the table, both of them rising to their feet. “Where do we start?”
“With directions to your place. You can pack a suitcase.”
Did she have a suitcase? A duffle, maybe. “I pack light,” she told him, not wanting him to know she didn’t have much. “It shouldn’t take long.”
“I’m interested in seeing your apartment.” He held the door open for her and she walked out onto the sidewalk.
“Nothing to see,” she snorted. “Two rooms, and some well-loved furniture.” She turned the tables. “I can’t wait to see your place.”
“Don’t get too excited. Although it’s a nice space, bright, with lots of windows, my mother and her decorator did the interior. It’s what they call ‘masculine chic’.” He rolled his eyes. “Which in normal people speak means lots of white, with accents of black.”
She chuckled as they got into his car. “Why don’t you change it? Make it your own?”
“Truthfully?” Hands on the wheel, he maneuvered his vehicle out of the lot.
She studied those hands. Large, clean, blunt nails. Capable.
“I guess I never thought about it.” He shrugged. “It’s a place to live.”
“If I had a big place with lots of light, I’d fill it with color,” she told him, then pointed. “Take a right at the light.”
“Maybe you can help me rethink it while you’re there. Help shop for some new stuff.”
Hutch Nightmare Men Page 13
