Chapter 3 #2
I quickly take off my boots and coat, pausing by the mirror beside the door to give my face another swipe to clean it. Satisfied that the last remnants of blood are gone, I head off in the direction of the kitchen. She’s probably in there, brewing fresh coffee and plating the cookies.
But she’s not there, either.
Irrational fear tugs at me, making my heart race.
There’s no reason to be worried. Darcy’s probably in the bathroom. Or in the bedroom, changing out of her wet clothes—
My mind stalls for a moment on an image of Darcy naked. Her body more mature, but just as sexy as I remember it. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes dark and hooded with desire. Her slender fingers wrapping around me, stroking me just the way I always liked.
No. We’re nowhere close to that.
We’re just starting out. Holding hands—
A scream breaks the silence.
A terrified scream. Filled with panic.
My heart flies into my throat.
My hand twitches towards the holster hidden beneath my sweater. Towards the gun I never leave home without.
Another scream bursts out. It sounds like it’s coming from upstairs.
From where all the bedrooms are.
Fuck.
Though instinct demands I race up there heedless of stealth or caution, I know that’s not how it’s done. If there’s someone up there—ah, fuck, if someone is in Darcy’s bedroom—I don’t want them to know I’m here until the last second.
Pulling my Sig from the holster, I move on silent feet back through the living room and to the stairs. Halfway up, I hear a loud slap, followed by a pained feminine cry.
Darcy!
Barely tamped panic urges me faster. As I draw closer to the room Darcy used to use as her bedroom, I quickly pull together a plan.
Whoever’s up there will be focused on Darcy, and most likely not looking at the doorway. If he’s unarmed, it’ll be easy to take him down. If he has a weapon, it’s more difficult, but nothing I haven’t trained for. Nothing I haven’t dealt with dozens of times.
But who’s in there?
It seems unlikely a random stranger would choose tonight for a break in. Or an assault—
Shit.
Don’t think about his hands on Darcy.
It has to be her ex. Alex, she said. The piece of shit who convinced her she didn’t deserve better. That she wasn’t normal. That she’s not the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.
Now in the hallway, I creep closer towards Darcy’s old bedroom; the last in a row of three on the right. It’s possible she could be in the master, but knowing Darcy, I don’t see it. She wouldn’t want to sleep—
Another slap. Another cry.
FUCK.
I lift my gun, keeping it at low ready. My finger cocks the trigger. Tightens on it.
And then.
I move.
Past the first two doors and to the last, the only one partially open.
At the doorway, I pause. Take a deep breath. Prepare myself for anything, just as I was trained.
“Please,” Darcy says quietly, “just leave. I don’t even know your name. I can’t report you. We can pretend this never happened.”
“That’s not possible,” a male voice responds. It’s solemn. Matter of fact. “I was going to give you time to come around. To see me. But then I saw you talking to that guy in the bar. And I knew I couldn’t want any longer.”
My jaw sets. With another deep breath, I try to tamp down my anger.
I peer around the corner of the doorjamb, spotting Darcy standing by the bed in just her jeans and a T-shirt. A strangely familiar man is no more than six feet from her, holding a knife by his side.
“Wait for what?” Darcy asks. “I don’t understand.”
“To come with me,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I knew it was supposed to be you from the first time I saw you in town. You’re going to be my wife.” He chuckles. “Not legally. But in everything else.”
“No,” she replies. “I won’t.”
“Yes! You—”
“PUT THE KNIFE DOWN!”
I step into the bedroom with my gun aimed at the man. My voice is loud. Echoing in the small room. “Put it down,” I repeat. “Now. Or I’ll shoot you.”
He turns to me, surprise all over his face. “What—”
“Drop the knife! And get on the ground!”
As his startled eyes meet mine, recognition slams into me.
Not Darcy’s piece of garbage ex. But the man who bumped into me at the bar.
A man who’s apparently been obsessed with Darcy. And when he saw her talking to me, it tipped him over the edge.
Darcy flashes a relieved look at me. “Mike!”
The man’s head jerks between me and Darcy. Instinct tells me he’s right on the fence, torn between reaching for her or dropping the knife.
In a low, commanding tone, I say, “If you drop it now, the charges will be less. But if you try using that knife… I’ll make damn sure you get the maximum time. And you know who I am. I can make it happen.”
My trigger finger tightens further, a hairsbreadth from firing.
I catch Darcy’s eye, silently signaling for her to run.
But.
He drops the knife. It hits the hardwood floor with a clatter, and Darcy, my brave, smart Darcy, immediately kicks it across the room.
Then I launch myself at the man, taking him to the floor. He puts up a token struggle, but my hours of training have kept me in pretty damn good shape, even at forty. So it’s not difficult to flip him onto his stomach and wrench his hands behind his back.
I’m just about to ask Darcy to find some rope when she rushes over to me, a handful scarves and belts in her outstretched hand. “If these won’t work,” she says, “I can get some rope from the garage. Or bungee cords.”
Pride fills my chest. “These will work. Can you just—”
“Call 911?” She gives me a weak smile. “Yes.”
As soon as I have the man securely restrained, his wrists and ankles hogtied together with two scarves and a leather belt, rush over to Darcy, framing her face to inspect it.
I have to swallow back a howl of fury when I see the red mark blossoming on her cheek, the spot where this asshole hit her. And when I notice her shaking, it’s all I can do not to lunge at the asshole and punish him in a very un-cop-like way.
But Darcy is more important than my impotent rage.
Grazing my thumb across her cheek, I ask, “Are you hurt anywhere else? Did he”—my molars nearly shatter—“touch you?”
“No. He just slapped me a couple of—” Her eyes go wide in alarm, clearly seeing something dangerous in my expression. “I’m okay,” she amends. “You got here in time.”
“How did he—”
“He must have snuck in the back. Waited for you to leave.”
Shit. The car on the road. It must have been his.
“Shit, Darce.” I wrap my arms around her trembling body, drawing her to me. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.”
And surprisingly—or maybe not, when I think about everything Darcy’s been through—she really does seem okay.
She holds it together while we wait for the police arrive, ignoring the asshole’s petulant whining about how she’s the one for him and how they’re supposed to be together.
She remains calm through all the questions from my colleagues—since I was a part of the actual crime, I can’t be a part of the investigation.
At least, not officially. Unofficially, I’m going to make sure this guy is punished. That he never gets close to Darcy again.
And when the police finally leave, and it’s just me and Darcy alone in the living room again, she doesn’t burst into tears or anything you’d expect someone who was held at knife-point to do.
No. She takes my hand and brings me back to the couch, sitting close enough for our legs to press against each other. With the fire fading, there’s a slight chill in the room, and she grabs a knit throw from the back of the couch and tucks it over both our laps.
Then she looks at me with a steady gaze. Takes a breath and lets it out slowly.
“Mike.”
“Darce.”
She reaches for my hand. Threads her fingers between mine. “I don’t want to lose you again. Maybe I don’t deserve it—I probably don’t—but…”
Hope ignites. “What?”
“Will you give me another chance? Since we’re both in Sleepy Hollow. And we’re both single. And you know everything… Could we try again? Or is it too late?”
Emotion swells up so quickly I’m breathless from it.
“I understand if you can’t,” she continues in my silence. “It’s okay.”
“I can. We can.” Meeting her gaze, I add, “Yes, Darce. I want to try again.”
Tears shine in her eyes. “You do?”
“Yes.” I cup her cheek, stroking my thumb across her satiny skin. “And you do deserve it. We both made mistakes. But everyone does. And tonight… I think it’s a pretty damn good sign that we should give us another chance.”
“Mike.” She blinks. “I would really, really love that.”
Maybe it’s too soon. But after nearly losing Darcy again, I’m not wasting another second.
So I lean closer. My heart thuds hard.
Suddenly, I feel like my sixteen-year-old self, kissing Darcy for the very first time.
A whisper away, I look into her eyes. There’s something in them—affection? love?—that’s so achingly familiar, it makes me want to cry.
It’s the same emotion I know that’s in mine. All my feelings for her, the ones I never lost even after all these years, right there, on full display.
And then.
We kiss.
Our lips come together, at first in an unspoken question.
Is this okay?
Then Darcy’s hand comes to the back of my neck, her nails lightly scratching my skin the way she always knew drove me crazy.
Still drives me crazy.
Our kiss shifts from slow and tender to a more desperate exploration. Small nips are followed by soft caresses. My tongue traces the seam of Darcy’s lips, teasing them open before dipping inside. And then we really kiss, throwing everything into it.
All the years of longing. And the sheer joy of finding each other again.
My heart swells to three times its size, feeling like it’s about to explode out of my body.
I’m hard, painfully so, and there’s nothing I’d like more than to peel off Darcy’s clothes and make love to her. To kiss every inch of her body. To tell her over and over how beautiful she is. How she’s better than normal. That’s she’s absolutely incredible.
But that’s for another day.
And in my heart, I know there’ll be plenty of them.
When we finally break apart, breathing heavy, Darcy looks at me with kiss-swollen lips and a flush high on her cheeks. “Mike,” she breathes. “I missed you. So much.”
“Darce.” I hug her to me again, fitting her against me like the piece I’ve been longing for even after so many years. “I missed you, too.”