Chapter 3 #2
The word alone made her chest tighten with apprehension. She’d already lived that nightmare with a man who claimed he knew her better than she knew herself. Conrad hadn’t just broken her heart—he’d nearly broken her mind. So, no. She couldn’t hand that kind of power to anyone again. And yet...
The way Logan had commanded her attention, the steel in his voice—it hadn’t felt like suffocating manipulation. It had been physical, protective, almost grounding. Physical wasn’t the same as mental, right? Was it a game of sensation and trust...instead of a prison of cognitive control?
Darcy buried her face in her pillow, groaning at herself. She was not going down that road. Better to let sleeping dogs—and sleeping fantasies—lie.
***
SUNDAY MORNING DAWNED.
Darcy DeAngelo invaded Logan’s thoughts immediately. It was the first time in a long time that he felt eager to see a girl again. He yawned, stretched, and then practically jumped out of bed. Lucky for him, she was just across the hall. He headed for the bathroom.
The lonely feeling he was used to waking up with lately wasn’t there this morning. Okay, so he was a licensed therapist, successful, he supposed, not too hard on the female eye, judging from the admiring glances women gave him, but just the same, he felt lonely much of the time.
Being a therapist had its disadvantages.
He usually knew what women were thinking just by recognizing the human emotional patterns with little effort.
He knew which ones came to see him because of their interest in him, and which ones sincerely wanted his help.
He quickly discouraged the fakes and tried to help the others.
He would be thirty next year, and he had yet to find anyone who inspired that crazy, lusty, mad-for-you passion he wanted to feel. He wanted someone who needed him to take care of them and protect them, yet not be clinging and dependent.
Someone like Darcy.
Jumping into a hot shower, he ran his mind’s eye up and down her figure from her beautiful, clear skin, dark eyes, and long wavy hair to her lovely bottom globes peeking up at him through the underwear.
Attraction reared its hot head, his male member saluted the faucets, and he rushed through his shower so he could prepare breakfast for her.
A frown creased his smooth brow as he toweled off and considered her reaction last night when she realized he was a therapist. What in the world was that all about?
There was some serious hurt behind her actions and words.
The sooner he could find out what happened, the quicker he could help her deal with it.
Dressing quickly in his jeans and a Chiefs sweatshirt, he headed for the kitchen and rummaged around in the refrigerator for some bacon and eggs. Or should he prepare pancakes? Did Darcy like pancakes better than bacon and eggs?
Girls were so worried about their figures and how much they ate these days that it was impossible to tell.
Was she someone who ate what she liked and had a lean metabolism?
Or did she put on weight easily? These were very real concerns of some of his female patients, and he stood there with the fridge door open, analyzing the problem.
Finally realizing he was being completely indecisive, he muttered to himself. “I’ll just make both.”
“You know, they say talking to yourself is a sign of old age, Uncle Logan.”
He turned around to see Holly standing there with a smirky grin on her face.
“I’m not too old to turn you over my knee, young lady.” He grinned back when she flushed and her chin shot up.
“You’re as bad as dad, I swear,” Holly avowed, tossing her bright red curls. “I don’t even know why I like you.” She walked over beside him and peered in the refrigerator. “What are you cooking this morning?”
“You like me because I’m your favorite uncle, brat,” he replied affectionally.
“You’re my only uncle,” she sassed back.”
“I rest my case.”
“You’re impossible.” She grabbed the milk and reached into the cupboard for a glass.
“I’m fixing pancakes with bacon and eggs, so leave the Pop-Tarts alone,” he ordered.
Holly wrinkled her nose. “You know I don’t eat a big breakfast. Just pancakes with chocolate chips and powdered sugar will be fine.”
He shot her a wry glance. “Those are just Pop-Tarts in a different form, brat.”
Holly shrugged.
“You are forgetting that we have a guest. Since I’m not sure what Darcy likes, I’m fixing a couple of choices,” he explained.
“She’s not here, though.”
Logan caught her in a frosty glare. “What do you mean she’s not here?”
Holly poured her milk into the glass she’d set on the cabinet. “When I went into the bathroom this morning, the door was open on her side, but she wasn’t there. Since she’s not in here either, that means she must have left.”
Logan’s pulse picked up. “How could she leave? She had no money and no way to get anywhere.”
Holly took a drink of her milk and licked her top lip. “Maybe her mother picked her up. She used my phone to call her and tell her she was okay.”
“Let me see your phone, please.” He held out his hand, his stomach churning.
Why would Darcy leave in the middle of the night?
She hadn’t said anything about her mother, but if she was close enough to pick her up, why hadn’t she called her in the first place?
With a sinking feeling, he knew the answer to his own question.
Desperation.
Discovering that he was a therapist held more significance than he’d realized.
Enough to call her mother, whom she wouldn’t have bothered before, as a last-ditch, desperate act.
His heart sank. He should have stayed with her last night instead of giving her space, but she’d been so adamant that he not touch her.
He hadn’t handled it right, though, or she wouldn’t have run off.
“She deleted the call, if that’s what you’re looking for.” Holly gave him her phone and sat at the table.
Quickly, Logan located the trash on the Samsung phone. The only call out last night was right after they’d both gone up to bed—around midnight. It was to 911 emergency services, though. Handing Holly back her phone, he turned to leave the kitchen.
“Hey, what about breakfast?” she called.
“Grab some Pop-Tarts,” he said, pulling his jacket out of the closet by the front door and racing back to the kitchen.
Feeling slightly guilty about leaving his niece to eat an unhealthy breakfast, he opened the garage door and went to his car.
Holly wouldn’t care; she loved Pop-Tarts.
“I’ll be back in a little bit, don’t go anywhere,” he added.
His niece just rolled her eyes and grabbed the Pop-Tarts box.
Outside, the city streets were virtually deserted in the crisp autumn air.
Majestic elms, oaks, and maples were shedding their leaves, leaving a carpet of swirling color on the lawns and in the streets.
Little gusts of wind blew them about in delicate, windy spirals that at any other time would lift his spirits.
Pulling up in front of the Birmingham Police Station, he bounded to the sidewalk and into the lobby. The dispatcher, a young blonde woman with her hair in a messy bun and an ink smear on her cheek, came to the window.
“Can I help you?” she asked curiously.
Logan nodded eagerly. “Yes. I would like to know if a young woman named Darcy DeAngelo came in last night. She disappeared from my home over on Walnut Street, and I’m worried about her.”
The dispatcher's blue eyes immediately became guarded. “I’ll get an officer for you.”
In a few minutes, a police officer resembling Telly Savalas, with his bald head and wide, knowing shark-like smile, stepped into the foyer and motioned him to follow him to a room.
“Have a seat, please,” he instructed in a deadpan voice. They both sat down. “Are you Miss DeAngelo’s boyfriend?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not her boyfriend, but she was staying with me and my niece last night, and she disappeared. According to my niece’s phone, she made a 911 call. I want to make sure she’s okay, since I didn’t know she was gone until this morning.”
The officer, whose name badge read Bentley, nodded. “And did you fight with her?”
“No, we didn’t fight.”
“She said you were her abusive boyfriend. Did you assault her?” He pinned Logan in a fierce stare as if he were dissecting his character and finding him unworthy.
“Of course not,” Logan protested, frowning. “What’s this all about?”
“Miss DeAngelo called for help because she said her boyfriend wouldn’t let her leave the home. Why wouldn’t you let her leave?”
Logan shifted uneasily. “Look, Officer Bentley, Darcy isn’t my girlfriend, no matter what she told you.
I picked her up last night when her car broke down and.
..” He trailed off when he realized how that must sound to the suspicious cop.
He tried again. “She was stranded, and I offered her a place to stay because she didn’t have money to get home after her car was vandalized and her purse stolen,” he explained.
The suspicious stare only deepened.
Logan tried another tactic. “Her boyfriend refused to come pick her up because he was two hours away, so I offered her a place to stay. I would have taken her home myself, but I’m taking care of my niece for the weekend.
As it was, I told her I’d take her home this morning.
Why she chose to tell you that story, I don’t know,” he added impatiently.
“All I wanted to do in coming here was to make sure she was all right.” He stood up to end the conversation.
Darcy had some explaining to do.
Officer Bentley also stood up, disbelief warring with irritation. Logan was sure it was because he couldn’t pin him into something nefarious.
“Since there’s never been a domestic dispute at that address and Miss DeAngelo is safely home, I’ll let this go. She said she didn’t want to press charges in any case, so you are free to leave.”
Logan nodded, his lips tightening. Indignation rushed up his throat, threatening to spill out, but he’d save that for Darcy.
As he left the police station, he glanced back over his shoulder.
Bentley had followed him out. He pointed two fingers towards his eyeballs and then at Logan, indicating he would be watching him.
Great.
Thank God he didn’t live in this neighborhood. Having a wannabe Telly Savalas following him around wouldn’t be good.
Feeling like he’d had a narrow escape, he wished he had Darcy’s conniving little butt under his hand. As he got into his car and drove away, the surge of loneliness returned. He wanted to get to know Darcy. Clearly, she did not want to get to know him.
Rejection sucked.
He realized it for what it was and tamped down his disappointment. He’d tried to do right by her, and she’d slunk away like a thief in the night. He should be glad to be rid of her.
Except he wasn’t.
As he drove back to Holly’s place, he realized that despite her lying about him, he still wanted to see her again. If nothing else, he owed her a spanking.
Maybe she thought she’d gotten away, but he could find her if he wanted to.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, indecision marching back and forth in his mind like a little tin soldier.
Then he remembered he still had her witch costume.
Surprisingly, it decided for him. He’d wash it and return it today, after he ran down her address. She might need it next year, right?
It was as good an excuse as any.