Girl Gear 6: Indiscreet (18 page)

“I should hope so,” Annabel said, trying to keep a straight face. “What with all the work I’ve done on you.”

Patrick gave her a look that lost its harshness when his eyes twinkled. “My lot in life. Always have women working on me.”

“Did it hurt?”

He glanced over to Sydney. “Annabel making me talk?”

Sydney shook her head, giving Annabel an eye-rolling glance. “I can’t get used to hearing Poe called Annabel. She’s always been Poe. And, no. I meant the tattoo.”

He gave a shake of his head, grimaced, then nodded quickly. “Like hell. Or parts of it did.”

“It must’ve taken forever.”

“A good while, yeah.”

“And you had no idea what she was doing.”

“Not a clue.” He continued his conversation with Sydney. “I knew she was proud of her work, and her timing makes me think the FBI will find a lot of information on Dega’s activities once they decipher it all.”

“What do you mean, her timing?” Ray asked.

“Just that Dega had this thing about showing off the goods. He’d have Soledad come out to the dock and watch the boat being unloaded. Proving himself, I guess. Strutting his feathers. And that gave her the firsthand particulars on which boats he’d boarded and the cargo he’d taken.”

“Too bad he wasn’t familiar with pride going before a fall, and all that,” Ray said, reaching for his beer bottle. “Guess he was disappointed we didn’t have crap worth ripping off. Then again, the way you kicked his ass, he
was probably more about getting his pound of flesh than anything.”

Annabel lifted a brow, pulling her hand from Patrick’s. “You kicked his ass?”

He rolled his eyes before grabbing another handful of fries from the serving platter and turning to Sydney as she asked, “Why did he board your schooner in the first place, do you know?”

Ray shook his head. “Wrong place, wrong time. That’s about all I can figure.”

“He was looking for a yacht that was supposed to be in the area,” Patrick said, squirting a new pool of ketchup onto his plate.

Ray snorted at that. “And he couldn’t tell the difference between our schooner and a yacht?”

Patrick’s first response to his brother’s question was a quick shrug. “It wasn’t there and that pissed him off.”

Annabel glanced from one man to the other. “He couldn’t get what he wanted so he took what he could, right?”

“He’d take anything he could get a good buck for. But he’d also take a souvenir. Notching his bedpost or whatever. I have a feeling that’s what Soledad recorded somehow. Either the dates of the heists or the names of the boats, and then the accounts and storage locations where the money went.”

“If they weren’t together, what was the point of his showing off?” Sydney asked, frowning. “Or was he trying to win her back?”

“Nope. It was more like he wanted her to see what she’d given up when she’d given up on him.”

“That would make her revenge make sense.” Ray pushed away from the table, grabbed another beer from the fridge, offering one to Patrick, who nodded.

“I don’t think anything about this makes sense,” Sydney said with a sigh.

Patrick took the beer from his brother. “It would if you’d known Soledad. Dega guaranteed she wouldn’t leave him, at least not alive. So she did what she could to take him down.” He stared at his bottle. “For so long I thought she’d failed, that we’d both failed, but knowing she may win in the end makes her death a lot easier to deal with.”

Sydney started gathering up the dirty dishes, as if putting an end to the subject of death and the long silence that followed. “It’s hard to believe that amazing snake holds so many secrets.”

Patrick chuckled softly. “It looks like an average snake to me.”

“There is nothing average about that snake, Patrick,” Annabel said.

He wiggled both brows. “Glad you think so.”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “We’re trying to be serious here.”

“And you’re doing an excellent job.”

“I hate it when you do that.”

“No, you don’t. You love it when I don’t take things too seriously. In fact,” he added, his expression wickedly bright as he sat back in his chair as if surveying his harem, “I’ll bet
you
love
me.
”

Sydney, having moved from the table to the sink, gasped, then turned her attention to Annabel. “Well?”

“Well what?” Annabel answered. She was going to kill him right where he sat. Right in front of witnesses.

“Do you love him?”

No way was she going to get into this here and now and with an audience. She narrowed her eyes in Patrick’s
direction, hoping her voice wouldn’t break, and said, “Only in his dreams.”

T
HE DRIVE HOME
from Ray and Sydney’s passed in silence for the most part. Patrick slumped back in the passenger seat of Annabel’s Jag and dozed. Or pretended to doze.

He was wiped out, exhausted beyond belief. But he also felt better about his life, his future, his relationships, than he had for approximately fifty-four months.

There were times, thinking about his life of five years ago, that he might as well have been watching a bad B-movie or reading dishwater-dull fiction. He’d been so lacking in ambition that the kid he’d been then now bored him silly.

Given a choice, he wouldn’t have picked growing up tied to a tree as the way to go, but he’d made it through. The only thing left to do was rid society of Russell Dega.

And convince Annabel how miserable she’d be if they didn’t spend the next fifty years together.

He rolled his head to the side and took in her profile, which was sharp and stunning and punched him in the gut every time. “Forty or fifty? You pick.”

Her brows came down in a small frown, and she kept her eyes on the road. “Forty or fifty what?”

“Years. With me. I figure if we decide on a time frame now,” he hurried to add, sensing her stiffening in her seat, “we won’t run into any of those awkward arguments later about you being too old or me being unstable.”

“I see.” That was all she said.

“Do you?” As tired as he was, he was more aware of the ticking clock than he was of his need to sleep. “What do you see? Tell me.”

“I see that you’re not going to be easy to get rid of.”

He watched her try to hide a grin, yet he wasn’t quite confident that they were on the same wavelength. Her grin was a bit too tight, her fingers too rigid on the wheel. “The age thing and the Dega thing aside—”

“As if we can push either one of them aside…”

“The age and the Dega thing aside—” he growled the words again, shifting in the seat to better face her “—I’ve never figured what the big deal is. I’m not going to get in the way of your career, and I’m not going to sit back and let you support me.”

“That’s good to know,” she said with a huff he didn’t take seriously.

“We’re outstanding together in bed, and we even get along when we’re not.” He gestured with one finger. “Yes. I distinctly remember you telling me that you liked me.”

“I do like you. In fact,” she confessed, pulling in a deep breath, “I…like you a lot.”

“Well, hell,” he said after a jaw-grinding moment of recovery. “I was hoping to hear that other
L
word just then.”

She shook her head as if love was beyond her capacity to consider. “You frighten me, Patrick.”

“We’re going to get Dega, sweetheart. I’m not going to let him touch you, I promise you that.”

“No.
You
frighten me.”

Hearing those words spoken so softly…Damn. He looked at her, seeing the little girl she’d once been, the one who’d grown up too soon because she’d had to. “I’m not going to walk out on you, Annabel. I’ve walked out on a lot of situations, a lot of people the last few years. But I love you. And I’m going to be here for you.”

She turned into the loft’s parking garage and shut off
the Jag’s engine before she said another word. Even then he wasn’t sure she was going to speak, or that he was going to like what she had to say.

“I want to believe you. I want to trust you. And, yes. I want to love you.” She looked at him briefly, glanced away just as quickly. “But right now I can’t think straight, and I don’t want to make any decisions without a clear head.”

“What’s to be clear about?” he asked gruffly. “Either you do or you don’t.”

“You’re right. It should be that simple.”

“But it’s not.” When she shook her head, he reached for the door handle and pushed his way out of the car. He didn’t think he’d ever known a more infuriating woman in his life. But she was who she was, and he loved her because of—not in spite of—her nature.

They made their way down to the first floor of the garage in silence. The silence continued as they entered the loft’s main hallway. If not for the rhythm of his crutches and his awkward step, he would’ve had nothing to listen to but the battling voices in his head.

Stay with her. Run the hell away. She’s not worth the grief or aggravation. She sure the hell is.

They stood on opposite sides of the elevator on the ride up, still didn’t speak as they reached the fourth floor. He reached for the handle and rolled the big door up on its tracks. Annabel pulled open the grate…and gasped.

“Patrick?”

He glanced toward her. She’d stopped in front of the elevator and was looking down at the floor. He followed the direction of her gaze. Fury rose in an enveloping cloud as he took in the splintered memento box and the jade pendant of her grandmother’s, now crushed to dust.

In the middle of it all lay a box of Dega’s sweet Ja
maican cigarettes. Patrick reached for the box and read aloud the note carefully printed on the cardboard. “‘New Year’s Day, Mr. Coffey. I’ll be in touch.”’

Annabel sobbed at his side. He took her in his arms and held her while she cried. The stakes had just doubled. This was beyond personal now. This was about a threat made on the woman he loved.

Russell Dega had just provided the final nail for his own coffin, and Patrick couldn’t wait to swing the hammer.

C
HLOE RAN DOWN THE BACK
stairs of the house she shared with Eric, heading from the bedroom to the kitchen. Poe was going to kill her for being late, especially after swearing she’d arrive at the gallery in time to help with the setup and prep. But all the world’s good intentions wouldn’t have done her a bit of good when she couldn’t find her tie or the cuff links that went with her tuxedo shirt.

She remembered having them in the kitchen earlier, but could’ve sworn she’d taken them up to the bedroom with the cummerbund and shoes. Hopping off the bottom step in her trouser socks, her tuxedo shirt hanging to midthigh, she rounded the corner, sliding across the floor a` la Tom Cruise in
Risky Business
and stopped.

Eric stood in the middle of the room, the stainless steel refrigerator to his right, the matching stove to his left. He was dressed similarly to her, but he was dressed completely, from bow tie to cummerbund to black patent dress shoes. He was so beautiful, his blue eyes twinkling, that it took her forever to find the breath to speak.

And then what she said wasn’t at all what she wanted to say. “Have you seen my tie and my cuff links?”

Eric shook his head, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “Poe’s going to have your hide for being late.”

Chloe huffed. “And whose fault is that?”

“I’m pretty sure you were the one who insisted on an afternoon nap to rest up for tonight,” he answered, his cocky expression tempting her to blow off the showing and take him back to bed.

“Well, I meant to go to sleep a lot earlier than I did. Plus I was pretty exhausted by the time I did fall asleep.”

“And you were just plain pretty while you slept.”

Her heart began racing in response to the tenderness in his tone. She rubbed the bottom of one foot over the top of the other as prickly cactus nerves began tickling in her stomach. “You watched me while I was sleeping?”

He nodded. “Not for the first time, either. I like seeing you relaxed.”

“Why?” she asked as calmly as possible, taking everything too personally these days. “You think my stress level is contagious or something, sugar?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, hunched his shoulders and smiled. “It’s not good for you, but I don’t think it’s contagious. Watching you sleep, though, is more about how beautiful you are. And about how much I love you.”

God, but she was a hormonal basket case, getting weepy at everything these days. Her eyes welled and burned and she had to sniff back the burst of emotion. “Oh, Eric. I love you, too.”

“I know you do, princess.” His face grew solemn. “But I’ve been afraid lately that you don’t love yourself.”

Love herself? What was he saying? She shook her head, took a step farther into the kitchen and gripped the edge of the black marble countertop. “I don’t understand.”

Eric blew out a heavy breath. “I fell in love with you,
with the good, the bad, the ugly, all of it. You going back to school, doing that for yourself and for work…I’m in awe of all you manage to juggle.”

“But I’m not devoting enough time to us, right?” Her pulse had reached maximum velocity. “That’s what you’re going to say.”

He shook his head vehemently, his eyes losing their sparkle. “Oh, Chloe, no. If you haven’t devoted enough time to us, I’m doubly guilty.”

“But the bar—”

“That’s no excuse. I should’ve been home more. I should’ve been here for you, in bed with you.”

“This isn’t about sex, Eric. Yes, I’ve bitched about you not coming to bed, but that’s because I’ve missed having you to hold close.” Her voice broke. “Just having you close, holding you—hell, we don’t even have to talk. But when you’re with me, life seems to fall into place so much easier.”

“I know.” His voice was raw. “That’s why it’s so hard for me to see you miserable and not be able to do a damn thing to make it better. I don’t think I can make it better, princess. I think whatever it is you’re looking for you’re going to have to find on your own.”

“And you’re cutting me loose to do that, right?” she asked, moving her fingertips to her temples. She was so dizzy…
so dizzy….

“God, no.” Eric moved two steps toward her and reached out with one hand. “How the hell could you even think that?”

He looked so miserable, his face pinched, his eyes weary, that for a moment she wondered the very same thing—until his words “on your own” came back to pound in her head.

“Then what are you saying, Eric?” she asked, and braced herself for the blow.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes, then caught and held her gaze. “I’m saying that I want to take the journey with you, that I want to be by your side whether you need me there or not.”

His gentle explanation was so far from what she’d expected that she lowered her hands to her sides and remained silent. She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Eric appeared to swallow hard as if pulling himself together.

And then he reached back into his pocket and dropped down to one knee, a black velvet jewelry box in one hand.

Chloe gasped, feeling as if her heart would burst through the walls of her chest. Her knees threatened to give out, but she stood where she was, afraid to do anything to ruin the moment. The thought of his proposal…How many times had she woken from this dream?

This had to be real. She would die if this wasn’t real.

“Falling in love with you has been the best part of my life. Living with you, learning about you and from you, sharing the ups and downs of our lives…all of it has made me a better man.”

She hugged herself tightly, holding on to the fluttery sensation evoked by his words. “Oh, Eric.”

“Let me finish,” he said, shaking his head to cut her off. He opened the jewelry box to reveal a stunning rose topaz with a diamond on either side set in an antique gold band.

Taking the ring from the box, he looked up into her eyes. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Chloe. I want to be your husband. I want you to be my
wife. One day I want that Little League team of babies we’ve talked about.”

She couldn’t help but giggle—with joy, yes, but also with nervousness. There was more that he hadn’t yet said.

He cleared his throat. “Thing is, I don’t want you to marry me because Lauren and Anton got hitched, or because Sydney and Ray are going to, or because Macy and Leo are populating the world with little wild child attorneys.”

He took a breath and rushed on. “I want you to marry me because I’m the one you want. Because you think of me the way I think of you, at the strangest times of the day and for no other reason than that I love you. I want you to marry me because I’m the first one you want to share your good news with, or tell the bad. I want you to marry me because you can’t imagine coming home to anyone else, the way I can’t imagine this house without you in it. I want—”

“Shh, shh.” Chloe dropped to her knees in front of him, wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her nose to his. “You talk too much, sugar. You don’t let a girl get a word in edgewise.”

He grinned with his lips only inches from hers. She wanted to kiss him, but instead she took his face in her hands and caressed his cheeks, loving the rough feel of his late-in-the-day beard. “I’ve been a pain, I know. And lately I’ve been more of a trial than any man should have to deal with. I’m working hard to get my act together, but I’ve been so afraid that I’m going to lose you in the process.”

“Chloe—”

“Shh.” She moved her fingertips to his lips. “Let me say this while I’ve got the balls. You signed on for a lot
when you fell in love with me, and a day hasn’t passed that I haven’t wondered if I was being fair to you. I love you, Eric. I love you with all that I am, more than I thought it possible to love a man.” She pulled in a painful breath. “But I’ve always thought you deserved someone better.”

“Better?” He looked at her as if she couldn’t have said anything to confuse him more. “There is no one better than you, Chloe.”

And then he kissed her, tenderly yet with a restrained hunger and need that told her the truth. He loved her.
He loved her.
She pulled back and looked into his eyes, wishing this moment would never end.

“I want to marry you, Eric. I want to be with you forever because you’re the only man I trust with my heart.”

He took her left hand from his face then and slid the ring onto her finger before bringing her wrist to his mouth for a kiss. “I want to laugh, I’m so happy.”

She stared at the ring, amazed by the sense of all being right with the world for the first time in her life. That feeling bloomed fully when she looked back into his eyes. “I want to cry, my knees hurt so bad.”

He did laugh then as he helped her to her feet, helped her find her tie and cuff links, and helped her realize that she’d found the one man in the world with whom she was meant to spend the rest of her life.

A
NNABEL PACED
the gallery’s main showroom, her steps slow, her smile ready, her hands laced together at her waist, threatening to cut off her circulation. She did her best to appear serene, to let the soft classical music soothe her, to enjoy the guests’ laughter, the clink of ice
and crystal, the aroma of rich perfumes and even richer food.

None of it was happening.

Chloe was late. Sydney, Macy, Kinsey and Lauren were already circulating among the guests with trays of drinks and food items from the buffet. Patrick was downstairs in the Three Mings’ kitchen, no doubt instilling righteous fear into Devon’s staff. Devon was mingling like the master of ceremonies he was, commanding both respect and attention and remaining quietly humble through it all.

She supposed she was the only one who knew she was pacing rather than simply walking through the crowd, seeing to the food and the drink, exchanging pleasantries and pointing out various artists’ works and discussing the creative politics of the day. But her stomach burned, her chest ached and she swore she was on her way to a full-blown panic attack. All she could think about was Patrick downstairs on crutches with no more than a knife—granted, a hell of a knife—and Dega’s promise to seek him out tomorrow.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Annie.”

Annabel started, then smiled sweetly at her brother. “Don’t call me Annie, and I can only take partial credit.”

“That’s right.” His face deserving of the big screen, his body an Armani vision, Devon glanced from one end of the room to the other. “Where is Miss Zuniga?”

“I don’t know. I’m assuming wherever it is she’s there with Mr. Haydon. Eric. Her significant other.”

Devon laughed, causing heads to turn toward the deep lyrical sound. “You’re a good friend. Almost as good as you are as a sister.”

The look she gave him called him on his bullshit.
“The credit I was referring to belongs to Patrick. I just hope he’s not…” She let the sentence go unfinished, not even certain what it was she hoped. What she did know was that she wished she was downstairs instead of feeling like a useless piece of the decor up here.

Devon glanced from her face to her hands, the knuckles of which were as pale as the winter-white sheath she wore. “You hope what? That he hasn’t used his crutches on the skulls of my kitchen help?”

Annabel couldn’t deny herself a grin at how easily she drew that mental picture. It was Patrick Coffey in the kitchen with the crutches. “Funny, what a first impression he can make.”

“He made a good one,” Devon said, leaning closer to add, “You have my blessing.”

“You’re assuming I require it,” she said huffily, though she had to admit the pleasure at having her brother approve of her choice in a man.

“I don’t assume anything when it comes to you.” Devon’s expression grew intently serious. “Especially that you have enough sense to ask for help when
you
need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Her frown relaxed as she raised a hand in greeting to one of Devon’s patrons. “I asked both Chloe and Patrick for help, not to mention the rest of the girls.”

“Annie, my dear sister,” he said, reaching for her hand. “You have taken on the world for so long on your own that it will be nice for you to have someone to lean on.”

Annabel looked into her brother’s eyes, searching for a hint that he was teasing her about Patrick’s suitability, or trying to get a rise out of her for involving herself with a much younger man.

She found nothing in his expression but care and concern. “I’ve always had you.”

“And you always will.”

“I’m frightened, Devon.”

“Of Patrick?”

She shook her head. “Of making a mistake.”

He laughed softly. “All this time and you haven’t learned that life is all about mistakes.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing if there wasn’t the issue of what happens after.”

“So, you mess up. You live with it. You move on. You survive. It’s called life, Annabel.” He stroked his thumb over the center of her palm, then looked up into her eyes. “Does he make you happy?”

She nodded. “Yes. He does.”

“And there you have your answer.” Releasing her hand after kissing the backs of her fingers, he moved away. “Now, let me go be happy as the man responsible for all you see before you.”

“And what an arrogant man he is.” She loved him to death, but meant every word.

“Yeah, he is,” Devon agreed with a grin, glancing over her head. His eyes sharpened. “Ah, and there is your Miss Zuniga, looking extremely content with her man at her side. Excuse me while I give them both my regards,” he said, his grin widening as he walked away.

Annabel watched him go, wanting more than anything for Devon to find love, to know what she’d discovered with Patrick—minus the fear, of course, that he might lose his life. Swallowing hard, she turned back to the room and caught Sydney Ford’s eye as the other woman wove her way through the crowd. Sydney looked Annabel up and down. “You look amazing.”

“Thankfully, outward appearances can be deceiving. I’m a wreck like even I can’t believe.”

“Why?” Tucking her empty serving tray beneath one arm, Sydney glanced around the room. “You’ve pulled off an awesome feat without a single hitch.”