by Amy Marie
"I bet you've seen some stuff." He'd not really thought about the job that she did. Sylvia had a bird’s eye view to some of the worst the world had to offer.
"It was worse when I was a cop. When the lights go out and the moon shows up, so do all the crazies."
"You were a cop?" This shouldn't have surprised him but it did.
She fiddled with the hem of the sheet. "Durham, North Carolina. Almost ten years."
"What made you leave?"
Sylvia seemed to retreat into her own head as soon as the question came out of his mouth. They sat in silence for a long time before she finally took a deep breath and spoke. "I went undercover a lot. Deep cover. The kind where it's easy to forget who you really are. Living the lie day in and day out messes with your mind. My last undercover job went bad. Like, really bad. I nearly didn't make it out. That's when I decided I was done. I still loved law enforcement but I couldn’t stay there. I'd forever be that girl and I needed to move on."
She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.
"Did someone hurt you?" he asked, already angry at the person who could do such a thing.
"I got caught up in a human trafficking scheme. Someone put me up for auction and I was sold to a foreign national looking for a sex slave. Literally. Thank the Lord my people got me out of there. But they were almost too late. He took me on a boat and had almost crossed into international waters."
He turned on the bed so that they faced each other. "Oh, Sylvia. He didn't—hurt you—did he?"
"Let's just say he came too close for comfort. I still dream about it. Doesn't help that some of the guys at the department found it humorous I'd been sold on the black market. They had no idea how close I'd come—" That distant look returned to her eyes. Patrick sat quietly, waiting for her to work through her demons. He certainly understood what that felt like.
Patrick reached for her hand. "I'm so sorry that happened to you. I wish I could take the memories away."
She laughed. "The whole experience is part of me. It has shaped me as a person and a law enforcement officer. I'm not saying I'm glad it happened but I have accepted it. And you will learn to do the same. Eventually. It's hard being faced with your own mortality."
"I think we are both a hot mess." He leaned back on his pillow and patted the bed next to him. "You can stay here if you want to. Maybe we will both sleep better."
Even when she frowned at him, Sylvia still looked beautiful. "What if—I mean, I'm really concerned you might be married or something."
"I was thinking about that." He held out his hand. "Look. No ring tan."
"No what?" Sylvia sounded confused.
"No ring tan. If I'd been wearing a wedding band, there would be a tan line or an impression or something. But, there isn't. Plus, I just don't feel like there is someone in my life, if that makes any kind of sense at all."
"It makes perfect sense, even if it shouldn't. I still have my job to worry about though."
He held up his good hand. "I've only got one functioning arm and the other one hurts like a son of a bitch. I promise, I'm just going to sleep."
The thought of her next to him all night had a calming effect he couldn't put into words. He strongly suspected that even before the accident he hadn’t slept next to another person for a very long time.
She looked conflicted. Finally, though, she smiled and nodded. "I like the way you think."
Sylvia fluffed a pillow then stretch out on the bed beside him. They lay that way for a long time, facing each other before she spoke. "I'm probably breaking a hundred different policies right now."
A couple of random waves fell across Sylvia's forehead. He reached up and pushed the silky hair back behind her ear, marveling at the softness of her skin. "I promise not to tell." The blush that colored her cheeks made her practically glow in the moonlight that passed through the break in the drapes. "We aren't doing anything to talk about anyway. Just sleeping."
She raised an eyebrow. "Not much sleeping happening at the moment."
"I'm afraid I will never remember who I am."
Sylvia shifted gears quickly at his sudden change of topic. "You heard the doctors. It's temporary. All you need is one thing to jog your memory."
"What if that one thing never happens?"
The feel of her touch as Sylvia reached over and pressed her palm lightly to his cheek kicked his pulse rate up several notches. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and held it there for a few long moments, enjoying the closeness as much as the sensations it caused within him. "Well, I've got your back until it does."
"I appreciate that. You know, if my back survives this mattress."
Sylvia laughed. "What is it with you and mattresses? You have complained about every bed you've been in, including the ambulance stretcher."
Patrick shrugged. "I have no idea. Did I really complain about the stretcher?"
"Yeah. And the gurney in the E.R."
He lifted his head to look at her. "Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Maybe it's the head injury." He lay back down against the pillow. "The constant ache is annoying. I have to focus on something else."
Sylvia pressed her fingertips lightly to his forehead. "I'm sorry it's still hurts." She began a gentle massage to one of his temples before trailing her fingers lightly across his forehead and rubbing the other one."
Patrick stifled a moan and pulled the blanket over him to hide the obvious effects of her touch. "That feels amazing. It almost makes the hurt go away."
"I was pretty angry about being stuck babysitting you."
He frowned. "Gee, thanks."
"Not you personally, just being stuck here. Not going home. Not that I have all that much to go home to. I mean, Larry might be dead when I get back, but that's not a huge deal."
"Someone could die and it’s not a big deal?" Patrick couldn’t believe she'd been so nonchalant about a death.
Sylvia smiled, pressing a fingertip to his lips. "Larry is a goldfish."
"Ah! Okay. You had me worried for a minute. Wondered if I should stay awake all night."
She winked at him. "I've never been known to sleep shoot anyone but I suppose there is a first for everything."
He pulled the covers the rest of the way across the bed so that they covered Sylvia too. "'ll wrap you in this burrito of polyester and you won't be able to."
She pulled the blankets up to her chest. "I suppose we ought to get some sleep. Who knows what excitement tomorrow will bring."
"With any luck, I'll wake up in the morning and remember everything. My name, who the killer was, and how the heck I ended up with a name tag calling me Prince Patrick."
"I don't know, it's kind of fun being able to say I'm sleeping with a man of royalty."
Patrick chuckled. "It suits you, m'lady."
"Good night, Prince Patrick of the Sunset Motel."
"Good night, U.S. Marshal Sylvia Fairfax."
He watched as Sylvia's eyelids slowly closed, marveling at the way her long lashes fanned across her cheeks. Her breathing settled in a regular pattern as Sylvia slipped off in to her dreams. Patrick lay there a very long time watching the peace that sleep brought to Sylvia and envying her ability to relax so completely. Every inch of his body had been tense since the moment he woke up in that alley.
Chapter 6
Patrick had been right. The mattress left an awful lot to be desired but she felt warm and cozy and comfortable snuggled under the blankets. As she lay there, contemplating how badly she needed the facilities, a loud banging sounded on the motel room door.
Sylvia jumped out of bed, grabbing her gun from the nightstand.
"What's going on?" Patrick sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Shhh…We've got company," Sylvia whispered, moving quietly to the door.
Someone pounded again. "Fairfax! Open the damn door!"
"Mack?" she yelled through the door. "That you?"
"No! it's the damned tooth fairy. Of course, it's me! Who else would it
be?"
Sylvia pulled the door open and motioned her partner inside. "What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at the Waffle House near Research Triangle by now."
"I was. I came back. Boss thought you might need some back up." He looked from her mostly unused bed to the one Patrick still lay in. "I can see you don't need me at all."
Sylvia lowered her gun and punched Mack on the arm. "You don't see anything. Nothing to see. Now, why are you really here?"
He shrugged. "I had to make a delivery in New York and the boss asked me to see if you needed anything on my way home. I have less than a week until retirement and the agency is determined to work me to death."
"Do I know you?" Patrick asked from the bed. "You seem familiar."
Mack looked over at the other man and raised an eyebrow. "I was there in the alley when they found you. How's the brain?"
"Mack—" Sylvia's voice held a note of warning.
"It's fine." Patrick pushed back the covers and stood up. "I'm going to get a shower."
Sylvia watched as he walked in to the bathroom and closed the door.
"He needs some clean clothes. All he has is the outfit I grabbed at the hospital."
"I figured as much." Mack held up a duffle bag. "I had my wife grab a few things for both of you and pack them in here. You're about the same size as Susan. I didn't know about him, so I grabbed some track pants and long sleeve shirts from my closet."
"You're the best. Thanks, Mack."
Her partner set the bag on the little table. "I know. How about I go hustle up some breakfast while you two get showered and dressed. The FBI guy wants to talk to the witness again, in his office this time. See if he can help him remember more details about that night."
"How do you know that and I don't?" Sylvia asked.
"Check your messages. I bet you got a text."
Sylvia grabbed her phone and sure enough, she had a message from Agent Wright asking her to come to the office with Patrick.
"Did he text you too?" Sylvia held her phone up for Mack to see.
Mack nodded, fiddling with his keys in the pocket of his coat. "Um, yeah. I talked to him earlier. I'm going to get that food now."
"Okay, thanks. And really thank you for the clean clothes."
He stopped, his hand on the door knob. "Just doing my job. After I feed you two, I'm heading back to Raleigh. Is there anything else you need while I'm out?"
Sylvia shook her head. "I don't think so."
Mack gave a little salute. "Okay then, be back in a jiffy."
Every now and then Mack showed the generational gap between them, reminding of her own father, who had been about the same age as Mack when he died.
The door closed. Sylvia opened the duffle and found two sets of clothes for each of them. Mack had been right; his wife wore her exact size in jeans and tops. Laying out her clothes on her bed and Patrick's on his, she went over and knocked on the bathroom door.
The water in the shower turned off. "Be out in a minute," Patrick called from inside.
"Mack's wife sent you some clothes. Nothing fancy but they are clean. I put them on your bed."
The door opened. Patrick stood in front of her, towel slung low on his hips. Little droplets of water glistened on the hard planes of his chest and wet waves fell over his forehead. Sylvia fought back the desire to push those damp locks away from his face. Her hand twitched as she gave herself a mental talking to.
The water proof bandage on his shoulder reminded her of why they were there and dialed her thoughts back in to where they should be.
Patrick smiled. The kind of smile that could bring a weaker woman to her knees. "Please tell Mrs. Mack I said thank you. I had no interest in putting my other clothes back on."
Sylvia laughed. "Her name is Susan McCoy. I'll be sure to pass the message on to her."
"Thank you." An incredibly sexy flush filled in over his features, making her want to kiss him on every place that had turned that beautiful blush.
She shook her head to clear the images and motioned to the bathroom. "If you're done, I'll shower too."
Patrick smiled and stepped into the room. "Of course."
"Thank you." Before closing the door, Sylvia stuck her head back out. "Mack went out to find us some food. He will be back soon."
"Excellent. I'm starved." He pressed his hand to his abdomen, bringing her gaze where she knew it shouldn't be.
Without saying anything, Sylvia stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, collapsing against it and taking several deep breaths.
Since she'd left the police department, she hadn't had any interest in a single man. The whole incident there had left a horrible taste in her mouth concerning romance. "So, why now?" she whispered. "Why this man? He has no idea who is or what has happened to him."
Stepping over to the shower, she turned the water on and undressed. As she stepped in to the hot spray, she closed her eyes, focusing only on the water pelting her skin. A clear head is what she needed. Sleeping in the same bed with Patrick after confessing what had happened to her had blurred the lines of professionalism. She really just needed to refocus and get her head back in the game.
It felt so much harder than it ought to be.
Once Sylvia closed the bathroom door, Patrick let his towel drop to the floor. The clothes Susan McCoy sent didn't include underwear. He'd just have to make do. The clean shirt and pants felt so good, he didn't even care that he had to go all natural underneath. He pulled on the pants first, then grabbed the towel and used it to dry his hair and upper body a bit better.
The full-length mirror on the back of the closet door told a story that he didn't like. His shoulder still ached but at least pain no longer sliced straight through him like the bullet had. The bandages needed changing. Patrick walked over to the corner where he'd stowed the hospital bag and grabbed the supplies the nurse had sent with him. Laying everything out on the table, he sat down and pulled first the front bandage off, then the back one. Using the closet mirror, he could see the angry redness of the exit wound. It had been larger and more tore up than the entrance wound. With a small gauze pad, he smeared some of the anti-bacterial ointment on the front wound then opened one of the self-stick square bandages the nurse had told him to use and pressed it over the injury.
The back would be a bit tougher. Reaching over his shoulder, and using the mirror for assistance, he smeared the ointment on his back. Opening the self-stick bandage next, he tried to figure the best way to do that himself.
"It always looks so easy on television." Picking up the bandage, Patrick moved over to where the mirror hung and turned sideways. Using the reflection as his guide, he stretched his good arm as much as he could to reach over his shoulder and get the bandage in the right place. It ended up being easier than he thought.
"Nice work, if I do say so myself." As he picked up his shirt and stuck his arms in the holes, someone knocked on the door. Patrick dropped the shirt on the bed, walked over and peered through the tiny peep hole.
"Come on, man. Let me in. It's Sylvia's partner, Mack."
Water still ran in the bathroom, meaning Sylvia was still showering. He hated to disturb her over this so he didn't try to call to her, instead he positioned himself behind the door and turned the knob. As soon as he opened the door, Mack shoved his way in to the room. Patrick pushed the door closed.
Patrick glared at Mack. There was something about the other man he just didn't like. "What the heck? You in some kinda hurry?"
Mack set a couple of bags on one of the beds. "You left me standing out there, exposed. I coulda been shot."
"No one knows we're here."
"You can never be sure of that." Mack walked over to the bathroom and rapped on the door. "Let's go, Fairfax! Grub's here!"
"Be out in a minute!" Sylvia called as the water turned off.
Mack looked over at him, his forehead creased deep with disapproval. "You gonna put a damn shirt on or what?"
"Does my bandage offend yo
u?" Patrick asked, eyes narrowed as he watched Mack pull food out of the bags.
"I've seen plenty of gunshot wounds without bandages. But I'm a southern boy and my Mama never let anyone sit at her table without all their clothes on."
Patrick grabbed his shirt off the bed and pulled it on, stifling a groan when he had to lift his arm to slip it into a sleeve.
"Still hurtin', huh?" Mack didn't sound the least bit concerned for Patrick's pain.
"I'm fine."
The bathroom door opened and Sylvia stepped into the room. "Something smells so good. What'd you get, Mack?"
"Flapjacks, sausage gravy with biscuits, eggs, waffles, bacon and sausage." Mack motioned to the several Styrofoam containers he placed on the bed.
"You feeding an army?" Sylvia opened the first container and moaned. "Belgian waffles are my favorite."
"I know." He tossed Sylvia a plastic fork and knife then turned to Patrick. "The sausage gravy is mine. You can have what you want from what's left."
Patrick picked up a tray of eggs, bacon and toast. "This is great, thanks."
Mack took a big forkful of his biscuit and gravy. "Had to feed my girl."
He winked at Sylvia who waved her fork at him. "Thanks, partner."
Sylvia's phone played a little tune indicating a text message had just come in. She set her food down and picked it up off the nightstand. Patrick watched as she read the message.
"What's up, Fairfax? You look worried?" Mack nodded in her direction.
She put the phone in the pocket of her jeans. "I have to take Patrick to the FBI field office in a little bit for a second interview."
"You already knew that," Patrick said.
"I know." Sylvia took another bite of waffle. "Something just doesn't feel right though, and I don't know why."
Mack shoveled some more food into his mouth. "It'll be fine," Mack said, around a mouthful of biscuit.
Sylvia nodded. "Yeah, I know. I guess I'm just anxious to settle this case."
They finished eating in silence. Patrick watched both Sylvia, who was lost in her own thoughts and Mack, who still didn't sit right with him. He ate the last of his eggs and tossed the foam box back in the bag it had come from.
