Page 10 of Her Only 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 yearsand 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 visceralreaction. 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.

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