Page 12 of Her Only Hero

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.”

Chapter Six

“Thanks, bud,” Patrick said and shut the door, holding a paper bag of Chinese food.

“Want to eat on the sofa?” I said. “Maybe there’s a movie on TV.”

“Sure, sounds good.” He sat and unpacked the cardboard food boxes one by one and put them on the coffee table. “We’ve got orange beef, stir-fry, Szechuan noodles, chicken, and here’s the steamed rice.”

“Smells amazing,” I said and watched him dig in. It seemed unbelievable how my life had changed in forty-eight hours. And it was because of him. Officer Patrick Verbeek. How had he punched holes in my walls? Could I trust him to break them down completely?

No.

Not yet.

I turned on the television and clicked through several channels. “Here. How about this?”

“Gladiators? You know what a guy likes, don’t you?”

I smiled and lowered my eyes.

Minutes into the film, blood splattered as characters fought to their gruesome deaths.

Patrick dipped a breaded chicken ball into the bright red sweet and sour sauce. “Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of film.”

I laughed. “I’m sure we can handle it.”

A memory popped into my head. “Patrick, I remember something.”

“What is it?” He turned down the volume.

“The guy that knocked me into the dumpster looked back at me before he ran away. I can’t pinpoint the exact details of his face, but I remember he had something red at the side of his eye.Like a scratch or a cut. His face may have been swollen too.” My joy was short-lived because that was all I could remember. I got a sinking feeling. My great revelation did nothing to help identify him. “Sorry, that’s all I got.”

Patrick put down his plate. “No. That’s good. We now know he took some punches. The more information we have about him, the better. We have his DNA, and hopefully he’ll be in the database.”

There were a few bites of food left on my plate, but I had had enough. I placed my dish on the table.

“June?” He didn’t continue speaking until I looked at him. “We’re going to get him.” The assured tone in his voice left no doubt in my mind. I eased back onto the couch. He put his arm around me, and I snuggled close as we watched the film. Before long, the end credits started rolling.

“I hate to say this, but I should go,” he said. “I have to stop at the station.”

I sat up and tried to ignore the ping of disappointment. But it was for the best. I couldn’t let myself get attached.

I held Patrick’s hand as we walked onto the porch and into the refreshing night air. I thought he was going to draw me into his arms for a farewell kiss, but he glared toward the road.

“Get inside, June,” he said in a stiff tone. A dark car parked behind mine, with someone sitting at the wheel. The driver pulled around my car, almost clipping it, and screeched away. Patrick dashed to the curb, and I followed. The air stunk of exhaust. He turned and gave me a disapproving shake of his head.

“Could you make out anything?” I said, pretending to ignore his scolding expression.

“No. I couldn’t get a good look at the driver through the tinted windows. I think it was a male,” he said and charged over to his pickup truck. From inside, he grabbed a flashlightand searched the road and sidewalk for any clues. Nothing. He turned to me. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Patrick insisted on looking around in the backyard, walking through my duplex apartment, and checking the locks.

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