Chapter Six
“Thanks, bud,” Patrick said and shut the door, holding a paper bag of Chinese food.
“Want to eat on the sofa?” I said. “Maybe there’s a movie on TV.”
“Sure, sounds good.” He sat and unpacked the cardboard food boxes one by one and put them on the coffee table. “We’ve got orange beef, stir-fry, Szechuan noodles, chicken, and here’s the steamed rice.”
“Smells amazing,” I said and watched him dig in. It seemed unbelievable how my life had changed in forty-eight hours. And it was because of him. Officer Patrick Verbeek. How had he punched holes in my walls? Could I trust him to break them down completely?
No.
Not yet.
I turned on the television and clicked through several channels. “Here. How about this?”
“Gladiators? You know what a guy likes, don’t you?”
I smiled and lowered my eyes.
Minutes into the film, blood splattered as characters fought to their gruesome deaths.
Patrick dipped a breaded chicken ball into the bright red sweet and sour sauce. “Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of film.”
I laughed. “I’m sure we can handle it.”
A memory popped into my head. “Patrick, I remember something.”
“What is it?” He turned down the volume.
“The guy that knocked me into the dumpster looked back at me before he ran away. I can’t pinpoint the exact details of his face, but I remember he had something red at the side of his eye. Like a scratch or a cut. His face may have been swollen too.” My joy was short-lived because that was all I could remember. I got a sinking feeling. My great revelation did nothing to help identify him. “Sorry, that’s all I got.”
Patrick put down his plate. “No. That’s good. We now know he took some punches. The more information we have about him, the better. We have his DNA, and hopefully he’ll be in the database.”
There were a few bites of food left on my plate, but I had had enough. I placed my dish on the table.
“June?” He didn’t continue speaking until I looked at him. “We’re going to get him.” The assured tone in his voice left no doubt in my mind. I eased back onto the couch. He put his arm around me, and I snuggled close as we watched the film. Before long, the end credits started rolling.
“I hate to say this, but I should go,” he said. “I have to stop at the station.”
I sat up and tried to ignore the ping of disappointment. But it was for the best. I couldn’t let myself get attached.
I held Patrick’s hand as we walked onto the porch and into the refreshing night air. I thought he was going to draw me into his arms for a farewell kiss, but he glared toward the road.
“Get inside, June,” he said in a stiff tone. A dark car parked behind mine, with someone sitting at the wheel. The driver pulled around my car, almost clipping it, and screeched away. Patrick dashed to the curb, and I followed. The air stunk of exhaust. He turned and gave me a disapproving shake of his head.
“Could you make out anything?” I said, pretending to ignore his scolding expression.
“No. I couldn’t get a good look at the driver through the tinted windows. I think it was a male,” he said and charged over to his pickup truck. From inside, he grabbed a flashlight and searched the road and sidewalk for any clues. Nothing. He turned to me. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Patrick insisted on looking around in the backyard, walking through my duplex apartment, and checking the locks.
“Do you want me to stay the night? I can return in a couple of hours,” he said. With furrowed brows, he looked worried.
“Patrick, do you really think the person in that car had anything to do with me? He probably pulled over to talk to a girlfriend and took off when he saw us.”
“You were at a murder scene, June. Don’t be dismissive.”
“I was at a murder scene, sure, but who saw me? The bad guy knocked me from behind and ran away. Right?”
Patrick nodded. “Perhaps. But just in case, make sure you don’t open your door for anyone.” He slid his arms around me.
He showed he cared, and I reveled in holding him close. “Yes, Officer, I can do that.”
“But will you?”
“I can. And I will.”
“Good. And keep your outdoor lights on.” He swooped in for a kiss. “I can’t get enough of you, June Harber.”
I knew what he meant.
“Call 911 if you hear or see anything. Want me to enter it into your speed dial?”
I laughed and smacked his rear before he scooted to his truck.