Chapter Five
Bed sheets rustled and brushed over my nakedness as I rolled onto my back. I opened my eyes after a night of minimal sleep and realized I was alone in bed. I had, after all, “mercifully” uncuffed Patrick before we crashed. I grabbed a pillow and put it over my face.
Patrick seemed agreeable last night, but in the next-morning perspective, what did he really think of the kinky bondage? It had been a first for me. How had I become so insatiable? Had my dry spell lasted too long, or had Patrick become too irresistible?
There was a thump at the front door. I tossed the pillow aside and sat up to listen. Floorboards creaked, and I scurried to the closet to grab a robe. I padded barefoot toward sounds in the kitchen.
Dressed in a white T-shirt, and black sweatpants, Patrick took two plates from the cupboard. No matter what he wore, or didn’t wear, he affected my sinus rhythm. I tightened my sash, self-conscious in the daylight because of my behavior in the night.
“Good morning,” I said and smoothed back some of my tousled hair.
“Yes, it is. I hope I didn’t wake you.” His face brightened with a smile, and he swooped in for a kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Really well,” I said, elated his apparent happiness perhaps had something to do with me. “I’m fantastic, actually.”
“I took your apartment keys and stepped out to pick up breakfast. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“Juice?” he asked and handed me a cup with a straw.
“Thanks.” I took a sip. “Mm, good. I must be dehydrated.”
His mouth turned up.
“The apartment was a sauna last night.” My voice trailed off.
The Saturday newspaper sat on the kitchen table, along with a brown paper bag and a cardboard drink tray holding two cups. “Whatcha get?”
“I didn’t know your preference, so I got a couple of breakfast sandwiches—one sausage and one bacon. Take your pick.”
“Both sound delicious,” I said and reached into the bag and placed the hot bagel sandwiches onto plates. Traces of awkwardness and modesty dissipated. Time spent with Patrick was effortless. No games. Just him and me being ourselves. We had, after all, been friends for about two years.
“And I got tea for you. Milk only, bag out.”
I stopped and glanced at him. How did he know that? I must have mentioned it at some point. “That’s perfect, Patrick, thank you.” I sat at the table and took a bite of the succulent bacon sandwich. “This is fantastic.”
“Glad you like it,” he said and sat beside me. His gaze dropped to where my housecoat gaped open. For someone highly articulate, he seemed to be grasping for words. “Last night, I, had no idea you were into that sort of stuff.”
Heat rose to my cheeks.
“Usually I can read people, make accurate predictions about behaviors, but I have to say, you surprised me.”
I fidgeted with the corner edge of the newspaper. I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t want to start explaining. Why I did what I did with the handcuffs would probably make no sense to him. If he knew about my emotional struggle, he’d bolt for the door.
“I hope you enjoyed the surprise.”
He smiled. “I rarely like surprises, but yours was most welcome. And appreciated.”
“I’m glad,” I said, relieved, and lowered my gaze.
Bold black letters of a headline caught my attention, and I pulled the newspaper closer. “Oh my God?” I dropped my sandwich onto the plate.
“What is it?”
“This article.”
He picked up the paper and started reading out loud.
Woman Sues Hospital for Malpractice
Eight patients were treated incorrectly for breast cancer, one of whom has stepped forward to press charges against St. Eugene’s Hospital and the lab technologist allegedly responsible for the incorrect result.
The hospital CEO wants to assure the public that standard procedure is being strictly followed and lab results can be trusted with confidence. However, he would not comment about the alleged errors. No names are being released at this time.
Patrick put the paper down. “Wow. Were you involved in this when you worked there?”
“You can say that. I was the whistleblower.”
“Babe, this is huge.” He rubbed his chin. “No wonder you didn’t want to go to St. Eugene’s last night. I’m really sorry.”
But that was only half of the reason I didn’t want to go to St. Eugene’s last night. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“How are you coping?”
“Fine. Now. But—”
“But what?”
“Last night, at St. Eugene’s, do you remember the woman we saw on our way out?”
“Yes, Victoria? Wait, did she have anything to do with it?” he asked.
My chest tightened. I stared transfixed at the newsprint as memories resurfaced.
“It’s her, the one you blew the whistle on, isn’t it?” Patrick said. “Damn.”
“After reporting her, they bullied me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I was in constant fear, always watching my back.”
Patrick placed a hand on mine.
“But do you know what the worst part was? Friends who didn’t speak up. I know I had done the right thing, but I’d become ostracized.”
“Hey, I know you had a tough go of things back then but if it wasn’t for you, more people would have been hurt. You saved lives. You, June Harber, are a hero.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’ve been called a lot of names, but never that.” I inhaled his fresh citrus scent. “Thanks for the kind words.”
Kind words were still just words.
I’d heard kind words before from someone I had loved and trusted. I’d believed his words. But in the end, those words had strung me along to the blindside.
I straightened. “I should get dressed. Thanks again for the food. When you’re done, could you see yourself out, please?” I could only guess what Patrick thought. Not that it mattered. The sooner he discovered I was a mess, the better.
Patrick followed me into the bedroom. He wouldn’t let me evade him.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine.” I added a reaffirming nod.
“I’m glad,” he said. “I’m going to head to the station to access the database for mug shots. The sooner you scan through them, the better. And I’ll see if there is an autopsy date set for our victim.”
“It’s unlikely,” I said. “There’s a huge backlog in the morgue. And in the lab.”
“They’re overworking you, aren’t they? Utilizing your diligent work ethic.” He spoke with concern and reached for my waistband. He pulled me forward, and I couldn’t resist.
“Last night was amazing,” he whispered. He kissed me and undid my sash. The knot had seemed to melt away. His hands slipped to my waist and then to the small of my back. He pulled me closer.
“Patrick,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry I took advantage of you last night. After what you’ve been through, I should have let you to rest.”
“As I recall, you had no choice in the matter, not unless your name is Harry Houdini.”
He chuckled. “May I come by later with those mug shots? Sorry about the rush, but the forgetting-curve timeline is steep. Meanwhile, would you be able to jot down the sequence of yesterday’s events and any details you remember, even if you don’t think they’re significant?”
“Yes, I’ll try.”
He kissed me on the forehead, too tenderly. I didn’t deserve it.
“Try to get some rest. Keep hydrated. I can bring you an aloe drink, or would you like some Gatorade?”
“I’m fine.” He showed endearing qualities, and I couldn’t help but smile. “Officer Patrick, I never knew you were the doting type.”
He stopped, and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Neither did I.”
****
After Patrick left, I stepped in the shower. Absorbed in thought, I closed my eyes. The sound of rushing water filled my ears, and I stood in disbelief about everything that had happened in the last twelve hours. Crime scene. Murder. Patrick. I had lived a safe, quiet, celibate existence for two years and BAM, complete upheaval. Shit. But this was all so damn exhilarating. Something sparked to life within me. I had been dulled inside for so long.
I decided to fully commit to help find the murderer. At times like this, I wished I had a superpower. I hated people hurting other people. As for my escapade with Patrick, on his part, I suspect this whole thing could have been ultimately about the chase, not the catch. But if Patrick and I continued our relationship, it would have to be on my “unique” terms.
The water cooled, and I finished rinsing. After drying off, I slipped on a navy boat-neck cotton dress. In line with my Saturday routine, I tidied the place, dusted, and vacuumed. Way past lunch hour, I finished left-over quinoa salad and then made myself another tea. I grabbed a spiral bound notepad and pen and sat on the couch.
As per Patrick’s instructions, I wrote yesterday’s sequence of events as I remembered them. Everything had happened so quickly, and the scant parts of my memory already had too many holes. I thought, and I thought. I had seen the crook’s profile, but nothing stood out. No remarkable nose. No tattoos or beard that I could remember. Just a Caucasian guy in his twenties or early thirties. I dropped the pen and paper onto the coffee table and sipped my now lukewarm tea. Disgusted with both the tea, and myself, I put the mug down. I would not be much help.
A loud knock cut through the quiet. I looked through the sheer curtain and saw Patrick with a black satchel hanging over his shoulder. He held a tray with two beverages. I cracked a smile, hurried to the door, and swung it open.
Patrick had changed into a red plaid shirt, black jeans, and rustic brown boots. His eyes were as blue as a deep ocean. I tried to act unaffected and professional while thoughts of the night before intruded. As observant as he was, I hoped he wouldn’t see the pulse beating wildly at my jugular. I had to stop this visceral reaction. I reasoned this was simply an evolutionary response—like a cave woman wanting to breed with the strongest male to ensure the survival of the species. I had to focus. We had work to do.
We both said, “Hi.” He seemed at a loss for words as well, like a shy schoolboy. He stepped onto the entrance mat, and I shut the door behind him. He started removing his boots, and I reached for the drink tray. “Here, let me take that.”
“Oh, thanks.” He placed his boots beside the bench.
“I thought we could sit in here,” I said and motioned to the living room. The wood floor creaked under our socked feet as we shuffled into the next room. I couldn’t lie. Things felt a little awkward right now. After having unleashed the beast, so to speak, the night before, once again I felt a little self-conscious.
Patrick sat on the couch at the front window and removed a laptop from his satchel. I put the drinks on the coffee table and picked up my mug of cold tea. “I’m just going to get rid of this.”
“Yes, sure,” he said and started typing.
I hurried into the kitchen and dumped the old tea into the sink. I glanced around and opened a cupboard while looking for some food to nibble on. I grabbed a half-eaten jar of peanuts and put it down. No nuts.
I rejoined Patrick and sat beside him. The inhalation of his fresh scent seemed to increase my mental clarity, ease the tension, and warm my insides. If there was a thermal image scan of my body, I knew what areas would glow redder by the second. I inwardly groaned and pulled the fabric of the front of my dress up to cover my nose.
“Are you all right?” He stopped working as he waited for my answer.
I let the fabric go, and the neck of my dress line slipped back into place. “I’m fine, well better than fine. I’m good. Really good.” I hoped Patrick knew me well enough to know I wasn’t as dumb as I just sounded.
He grinned. “I’m glad.” He put the laptop on the coffee table. “So, I’ve set this up for you. I adjusted the demographics to white males, ages eighteen to fifty. Scroll through them. Take your time. If you see any guy that looks familiar, just click on it, and we can come back to it.”
“All right. I think I can handle that.” I started scrolling on the touchpad, and he handed me a nice warm cup. “Oh, thank you,” I said and sipped tea as I looked at one solemn face after another. After examining several more, I shook my head. “No luck yet.”
“Take your time,” he said and slipped a hand to the nape of my neck and massaged gently. Goose bumps tingled and rippled from the focal point of his touch. My thoughts drifted to last night when Patrick and I were in bed. And then I realized I wasn’t paying adequate attention to the faces scrolling across the display. I moved forward and perched on the edge of the couch and pretended to concentrate more intently on the screen. Patrick’s hand dropped away, but my desire remained ignited.
I scrolled back to revisit the faces I hadn’t paid complete attention to.
Patrick took the plastic lid off his paper cup and took a drink. “Someone look familiar?”
“Maybe,” I fibbed. I started chewing on the side of my thumbnail. His closeness made it impossible for me to focus.
Patrick leaned forward. “Is this too difficult for you? We can take a break.”
I coughed, choking for a second, and then almost laughed. “No, I’m fine. I can absolutely keep going. We have to find this guy no matter what.” I kept looking. I searched through the long list once, and then again. Nothing registered familiar, nothing emerged from the recesses of my memory. “God dammit,” I said under my breath. “I really suck at this.”
His arms reached around me and cradled me against his chest. His cheek brushed mine. I fully inhaled his scent. His possessive arms held me firm.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re an excellent witness. Thanks to you we have a lead in the case.” In circular motions, he swirled his fingers on the fabric of my dress at my midsection. He had touched no intimate areas, yet they heated nonetheless. The embers were getting hotter. If his hand moved any higher or lower, there’d be combustion. My breathing became irregular, even more so as he kissed my neck.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. I quivered. His lips covered mine perfectly. How was that even possible? His hand wandered out of the circle and moved upward.
Ignition.
With great effort, I pushed away. “Patrick,” I said and adjusted my dress and hair. Not really caring how I looked, it was merely an attempt to regain self-control.
Passion glistened in his eyes, and his lips remained parted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to take advant—”
“You didn’t. There’s just work to be done.”
He nodded. “There is.”
The problem was that I couldn’t convince my body and mind to focus on anything other than Patrick. It was futile. Cutting off reason, I turned and practically leapt into his lap. I straddled Patrick’s thighs, wrapped my arms around his neck, and locked his lips to mine. His hands cupped my rear and held me close. I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my hands along his firm torso.
“I love your fingers,” he whispered. “But you touched me, inside, long before you used your hands.” He leaned forward to reclaim my lips with his, but I didn’t engage. I wouldn’t let his tantalizing poetic words toy with my mind. They were said in the heat of this moment, and that’s all they’d be. Words. I had to remember that.
I moved off his lap, stood, and took a few steps back. The look in his eyes appeared distressed and confused. He stood to follow, but I lifted my index finger.
“Just a second. Wait there.”
Obediently, he waited in place. His expression relaxed, and he raised a brow. I scurried into the hallway, opened the closet door, and, from a hanger, grabbed a thin yellow fringed scarf. I held one end and let the other end drag on the floor behind me. With slow, fluid steps, I returned to Patrick. He slipped an arm around my waist and leaned in to kiss me, but his lips missed the mark when I turned my head. I eased his arm from my waist and looped the scarf around his wrist. The corner of his mouth curled, and he let me continue. I stepped behind him and tied both of his wrists together with a firm tug. I moved in front of him. He stood there, statuesque and bound like a felon. But his only crime was trying to steal my heart.
He looked at me more seriously, probably anticipating my next move. Funny, I hadn’t planned one yet. His pecs flinched, and I drew in a quick shallow breath. His physicality affected me so acutely I could barely contain myself. Warm magma flowed to my lower region, engulfing, engorging. I undid the top button of Patrick’s jeans and slipped them down to his thighs. The fabric of his white briefs strained. I pushed at his firm midsection, and he sat on the sofa with his hands secured behind him.
I lifted my dress enough to resume a straddled position on his lap. He kissed my shoulder, then my collarbone, where the neckline of my dress gaped open. My focus went lower. I fumbled to free him, and he raised his hips to assist. The anticipation alone surged even more neuropeptides through my veins. I kissed Patrick and then pulled away a mere millimeter.
“Are you cool with this?” I whispered.
He leaned forward to continue the dancing of our mouths. I got my answer.
Bound and with no recourse, Patrick nuzzled his face into my clothed chest. Even through the fabric, my chest tingled. I moved aside the narrow panel of my panties and positioned myself. I eased down, and the intense sensations rippled. With my eyes closed, I was oblivious to everything but Patrick. I braced my hands on his shoulders, and, like an equestrian, I posted in rhythm. Spasms exploded, and I let out a small cry. My breathing remained erratic as I continued on the crashing swell. Patrick’s chest and shoulders flexed, followed by a sharp tear of fabric.
I slumped onto Patrick and rested my cheek on his shoulder, lulled by the rise and fall of his chest. I lingered in our calm intimacy. Like the sun at dusk, the afterglow gradually set. The pulsing at his carotid slowed, and I moved to look at him. A grin widened across his lips, and he brought his once-bound hands forward. He held the ripped scarf in one hand, and I laughed.
“Sorry about this.” He chuckled. “I guess you should have used the handcuffs.”