Chapter Thirty-Nine

Patrick’s eyes were shut tightly, his mouth uncomfortably dry again. Kim paced at the foot of the bed, checking her phone repeatedly and muttering to herself.

Fuck was the only word he could muster. How long had he been there now? Would Anita even be looking for him after this morning? His chest clenched at the memory of her words. How had last night meant so little to her, that she could just write it off as a mistake? Patrick had fallen asleep last night, breathing in her shampoo on his hands, feeling for one of the few times in his life completely content. Whole.

Then she shattered his heart.

Not to mention he was then drugged, kidnapped, and tied to a bed by a woman who had been stalking him since college. So, yeah, fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

“Oh, baby, you poor, poor baby,” she cooed. She moved to the side of bed, knelt beside him, and a cool drip of water touched his lips. He drank as greedily as he could from the paper hotel cup, sick at his delight of the water coursing down his chin. His stomach growled at the influx. He wondered if maybe she could order him a cheeseburger. All she had allowed him to eat was half of a protein bar.

Kim didn’t seem to notice his audible hunger and ran a finger down his cheek. “Sweet Patrick.” She bent forward to kiss his eyebrow, and he caught another whiff of tuberose and something that smelled musky, like mushrooms or aged ham. Yup, he was officially starving.

“What are you going to do to me?” Hopefully it did not involve disembowelment or breaking of his appendages, but after what he had seen in her suitcase, he could not rule anything out.

She looked at him, nonplussed, as if she had not even contemplated how he would not understand her wishes.

His was to eat.

“Patrick, I think you know the answer. Now that you know how I feel, I’m sure you feel it, too. We have such a history together. We can be happy.” She clapped her hands together, like a toddler getting a chocolate cupcake.

Patrick pushed thoughts of dessert from his mind and did his best to sit up, but it was impossible with his arms pulled out to his sides. He slid back down the sheets. “Kim, I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” A storm clouded her features, her voice thickened with ice. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing! Nothing! You’re a wonderful person. It’s just, I-I’m in love with someone else.”

Kim lunged toward him, wrapping her hands around his throat. The shock hurt almost more than the choking, but no, no, being choked was definitely the worst thing that had ever happened to him. The pressure on his throat was a vise, clamping and gripping, and the light at the edges of his vision dimmed.

“Please—” he attempted, but all that came out was a gawk.

“You have to love me!” Kim tightened her grip.

He was passing out. Shit, he was passing out, and everything was going dark, and it all hurt so fucking much—

And then there was a firm and rapid series of knocks at the door.

****

Anita tapped her foot impatiently and knocked again. And again. Patrick was in there. He was definitely in there. She could smell him.

At last she heard footsteps inside the room approaching the door. She posed and pasted on her “ditsy blonde needs a favor” smile.

She could do this.

Kim opened the door a mere inch, and Anita resisted the urge to shove the door into the other woman’s face. Patrick was in there. She couldn’t make the wrong move, or Kim might kill him. She should have seen it earlier.

“Hi, Kim!” She kept her voice bright. “I’m Anita, from the studio?”

“What do you want?” Kim’s loam-colored eyes were rimmed with red, and she had a trickle of spittle in one corner of her mouth. One of the straps of her sundress hung off one shoulder.

What had they been up to?

She pushed it from her mind.

“I’m such an idiot.” Anita moved closer to the door. “I completely ran out of hairspray. I saw you last night at the showcase, and I thought maybe you had some?”

“No.” Kim tried to close the door. Anita put out a hand to stop it closing completely and smiled wider.

“Please, Kim.” Her smile was probably too brittle, but she could do this. She had to do this. “Let me in.”

Kim’s eyes narrowed, and she tried again to shut the door, but Anita was prepared. She thrust the toe of her sneaker into the jamb and pushed back against the door with both of her hands. It popped open.

Kim fell backward into the room and stumbled but tried to regain her footing.

No. The bitch had kidnapped the man she loved, and she was not going to let this go any further.

Anita sprang forward and planted a firm uppercut into the other woman’s chin. Kim’s head popped backward, blood flying from her nose and lip. She gasped, her hands going to her face and tears falling from her eyes.

“You bitch!” Kim screamed. She flailed a wild fist toward Anita, but Anita dodged it easily.

She planted her feet in a solid fighting stance, grateful for the give of a dance skirt. When Kim rushed her again, she stepped to the side and planted an elbow in her sternum and a side kick in her stomach. A satisfying whump and thwack as muscle hit flesh.

Kim collapsed to the ground, gasping, sobbing. Anita whipped off the belt looped around her waist and quickly tied the woman’s wrists together.

“No!” Kim sobbed, but her voice was more distraught than angry. It dulled to a whisper. “You don’t deserve him.”

Anita sniffed, and the adrenaline rush faded from her muscles. “I know.”

“Holy shit!” Anita heard a tight gasp from the bed.

Patrick. Patrick was alive.

She stood up and went immediately to his handcuffs, blinking the tears out of her eyes. He was strapped to the bed, shirtless and bruised, tired, dehydrated, and his breathing was rough and fragile. But he was alive. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and suck all the pain from his body and absorb it into her own. Not that anything would be possible while he was still handcuffed.

“Where’s the key?” Anita wheeled on his kidnapper, fists clenched at her sides.

Kim sniffed, then gestured with her bound hands toward her suitcase.

Anita dug through the clutter until she found the handcuff key in a pile of ominous-looking black rubber tubing. She unlocked the cuffs and helped him gently pull his arms back toward his center. She rubbed at his stiff, swollen shoulders. He was okay. Patrick was okay.

And she loved him.

His eyes met hers. His gaze stopped the breath in her throat, so bare and desperate it was. She had never seen Patrick so vulnerable.

She couldn’t say it. This wasn’t the time. He didn’t need her adding to his drama.

“I—I need to call the police.”

He nodded and sat up tentatively, casting a quick glance at Kim, who was still sobbing in a ball on the floor.

“I don’t suppose there’s any ice for her face?” he asked.

Anita went to the ice bucket in the bathroom, wrapped a few half-melted cubes in a washcloth, and handed the bundle to Kim. The woman inspected it like it was napalm.

Whatever, she had things to do and not enough time. She called the police and hotel security.

“They’ll be up here in just a minute.” She turned back to Patrick. He was still staring at her as if she were a demon or a goddess. Great, good start. Great way to tell someone how you feel, go ninja on their stalker. She did not think this was how the movies had ended.

His gaze was still on her, even as he massaged the muscles of his shoulders. His hands. Those wonderful hands.

A flush swept through her. “I’ll get you some water.”

She grabbed the cup on the bedside table. As she filled it from the bathroom sink, she heard him ask, “How did you find me?”

“The GPS locator app.” She handed him the cup. He tossed it down in one go, and she went to refill it. “Remember Tokyo?”

Patrick groaned, and she wasn’t sure if it was the memory of the hangover or his recent physical trials. “How could I forget? A cat café? I never could touch sake again.”

“That’s a shame. You told several Tokyo citizens how much you enjoyed it.” Patrick looked like he would smile but winced instead. “After that, you were so worried you were going to leave your phone somewhere, or it would get stolen. So I added it to my GPS phone tracking app. I didn’t know how to take it off afterward.” She shrugged. “Must be fate.”

On cue, Patrick’s phone buzzed across the room. All three of them glanced over at it, but she could not move to find it. Every nerve and muscle in her body wanted only to be beside him, never leave him.

“Well, I have never been so grateful for your inattention to technology,” Patrick said quietly, reaching out a hand and covering hers. Anita’s heart pulsed loudly in her ears.

“As I’ve said before, I’ve chosen to focus on other pursuits.” Her mouth felt dry, her eyes unable to break away from the sight of his smooth, bruised hand covering hers. Form the words. I. Love. You. I’m sorry.

Nope. Wasn’t happening.

“Like kung fu lessons?” His mouth curved coyly in a smile.

Her own laugh surprised her. “It’s not kung fu. It’s kickboxing.”

“When did you ever have time to learn kickboxing?”

“I’m a single businesswoman who often travels alone. I have to protect myself.”

“My knight in shining armor. Well, sneakers and a black dress.” The broad smile restored his features to themselves. He was okay. Bruised and hoarse and tired, but he was still Patrick. Her Patrick.

He reached his hand toward her face and ran his thumb along her jaw, then opened his mouth to say something.

From the hallway: “Hotel security!”