Graveyard Shifts: A Pat Wyatt Novel (6 page)

“I’m fine, Charlie,” I said after a long pause and deep breaths. “No need to worry.” The only thing I could do was pat his forearm in order to calm his now troubled expression.

“Should I go now?” he asked, looking as though I’d smacked him.

I dropped my hand away from my mouth, tilting the corners up into a semi-smile. “No, don’t leave. I have more questions.”

“I’ll try to answer them as best I can.” He stroked my hand, giving me a wink. I know he was trying to make me laugh, but I wasn’t in the mood.

I sat back on the sofa, letting my hand fall from his arm. He did the same, but folded his hands in his lap. This was business, no time for jokes or laughter. “Where was he born?” I asked, knowing that I on the verge of a mental breakdown. But Samuel intrigued me too much for my own good. “He speaks rather proper. Was he born in England or Scotland?”

Charlie shook his head. “No, he was born in France.”

That baffled me. “But…”

“He has no accent?” he provided, and I nodded. “That’s because he has been in America for a
long
time.”

I narrowed my eyes, asking, “How long?” The way he said the word long made it seem like he was trying to tell me something, but I was too stupid to understand.

“Long enough,” he answered.

A sane person would have run at this point. “Does he have a family?” Clearly I was not a sane person. “Brothers, sisters, father? I know he has a mother.”

Charlie frowned. “He has no one but you.” That made me feel bad for him.

“So his mother’s dead?”
What do you think he meant, Patricia?
I asked myself sarcastically. Sometimes I swear my brain is somewhere else.

“Not
exactly
.” There was the emphasis again.

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. My investigative journalist was showing. Once I get on the scent of something big, there is no possible way that I will ever quit. Even if it does seem insane.

“His mother left him a long time ago,” he answered, “and hasn’t been heard from since.”

He doesn’t have a mother, just like me. Except technically, his mother’s alive, Pat.
“How old is he?” I asked again, hoping he would answer this time.

“
Considerably
older than you are.”

“You lost me.” I grimaced against the huge headache that was forming deep in my brain.

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you how old he is, for I don’t know the exact age. But I do know he is older than you.”

I laughed at him. “He looks about twenty-six, and I’m almost twenty-seven. How much older can he be?”

“A
lot
older.” He was serious. “Next question, please.”

I huffed, folding my arms. I didn’t like it when people deflected. “Where does he work?” I thought that was a safe question, but Charlie looked confused.

“Work?” he asked, shaking his head trying to make sense of the word. “I don’t think Mr. Satané has worked a day in his life.” There was just a hint of envy in his voice, but I ignored it. All I could think of was Samuel’s letter. “Went to work,” it said, and I wondered why he would’ve lied over something so silly.

My brows furrowed as I bit down on my thumbnail. “But that’s what he told me.”

“Oh,” something must have clicked in his head, and my hand dropped. “He goes to Mr. Wolf’s office and helps with the pro-bono work. That’s probably what he meant.”

Pro-bono? This man was too good to be true. “He seems generous.” It wasn’t a question, but Charlie nodded anyway.

“Oh, he is, Pat.” He glowed from the inside out. “Very generous. Almost to a fault,” he sighed.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Charlie had a thing for his boss. But I could read that his love wasn’t like that.

I studied his face very intently. “Charlie, you really love him, don’t you?”

He stared down at his hands and sniffed. For a moment I wondered if he was crying. Then a tear rolled down his rosy cheek, and that answered my question. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

I smiled to make him more comfortable and leaned forward, touching his knee. “You can tell me.”

“Yes,” he admitted, looking me in the eye. “I do. I love him like the son I’ve never had.”

I shook my head. “Charlie, that’s so sad. Have you told him?”

“No.” When he spoke his lower lip quivered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” I asked, all concerns for Samuel gone.

His face was becoming redder by the minute. “Because he’d fire me.”

I was walking on eggshells at this point, and I didn’t want to upset him further. But I just had to know why he was so attached to Samuel. “How long have you been with him?”

He sighed. “Over twenty years.”

That explained it. When you’re with someone for that long, they become family to you. However, one thing did bother me a little. “So why don’t you call him Samuel instead of Mr. Satané?”

He smiled. “He likes it, and I don’t wish to disturb what he likes.”

I got up off the sofa and hugged him, I just couldn’t help it. “Oh, Charlie. You are the sweetest man in the world.” My lips found his cheek, and I gave him a quick peck.

He hugged me back, saying, “I really like you.”

“I like you too,” I said, sitting back down on the sofa.

“Is there anything else you wish to ask me?” He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, and I nodded. “Anything, my dear.” He smiled. “You name it.”

I grimaced. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked, and he laughed.

.

chapter

FIVE

The rest of the day went quickly.

I had gotten an e-mail from my editor telling me that my article was the best thing ever written. Of course he said that. Editors always say things are good when they want your name in their magazines.

After I had checked my e-mail and shut my computer down, I found myself looking around the study at all the book titles. I searched them carefully and found a first edition
Jane Eyre
just waiting to be read. It looked, like most of the books, as though it had never been opened, which was good for me but didn’t say much for my husband.

I sat myself down in the reading chair and found it comfortable enough, so I propped my feet up onto the pile of books in front of me and settled in for a good long read.

It must have been three hours or so (I had gotten a little more than halfway through) when there was a knock at the door. “Come in, Charlie,” I said, still distracted by the book. But when the door opened, it wasn’t him. It was that Michael person.

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear.

I couldn’t help that gut reaction to make a fool out of myself by flirting. My spine straightened, and I placed the book down on the pile where my feet once were. “Did you forget something?” When I asked, my mind screamed at me to get out of the study before it got too personal. So I jumped out of the chair and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me.

He rubbed the back of his neck. We were so close I swear I could hear his heart skip a beat. “No,” he said. “I just came by to have dinner. I always have dinner here.”

“Oh. No one said anything to me.” It seemed I would have to get used to him being here a lot.

“That’s probably because I’m lyin’.” He grimaced. I’d been giving him my mother’s “look.” It worked every time. “Sam sent me a note sayin’ that he would be late and that he wanted me to have dinner with you.”

Something he said bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe I was just overreacting to what Charlie had told me earlier about Samuel and his women. “Did he say what time he’d be here?” I asked, and he smiled at me.

He shook his head. “No.”

We walked together, our elbows brushing, into the sitting room. Then we sat on the sofa, and he stared at me. I couldn’t help staring back. Suddenly the thing that bothered me hit me like a bull’s horns. “Wait.” I blinked away from his green eyes. “I thought he was working with you today. Why would he send you a note if he saw you?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. He leaned forward, hanging his head and taking a deep breath. “You’re awfully quick on the uptake.”

“He doesn’t work with you, does he?” I know I should’ve been afraid when he shook his head without looking up. “Then what does he do all day?” Again, I should’ve screamed when he shrugged. “And you’re not going to tell me, are you?” I asked, and he glanced up shaking his head again. “And I shouldn’t ask Samuel, should I?”

“No,” he blurted, placing his hand over mine (which was on my lap). Then he sat up, pushing back a piece of hair that fell into my face. My heart skipped a beat when his finger accidentally brushed my bottom lip. Then he leaned in, and I leaned in…

“What are you doing?” Charlie had walked into the room without either of us noticing, and his eyes widened when he saw us on the sofa together.

I stood as if someone had electrocuted me, and I pointed down at Mike. “Samuel sent him.”

“Oh,” Charlie said warily, narrowing his eyes at Mike. “Dinner is served.”

We all walked into the dining room. Mike and I sat in the same chairs, and after some reassurance from me, Charlie turned, leaving us with a mountain of food. Again.

We ate in silence for a while, and I began to wonder why Mike was really here. That is, until he ran his fingers through his hair. “Talk to me, please,” he blurted. “The silence is killin’ me.”

I turned in my chair, so I could get a better look at him. “Why doesn’t Charlie like you?”

He shrugged, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Are you lying to me again?” I asked. And when he nodded, I laughed. “Then I’ll ask it again. Why doesn’t he like you?”

He stared into my eyes for a moment, I guess contemplating whether he should tell me, and then he sighed. “Okay. I’m the one who deals with Sam’s women.”

“What is that supposed mean?” I asked, distracted by how darling he was. Then I blinked back to reality.

His green eyes filled with trouble. “I pay them off, tellin’ most of them to get lost…and…well, I guess Charlie’s afraid I’ll do the same to you.”

“That still doesn’t explain why he doesn’t like you,” I pointed out. “After all, you’re just following orders.”

Mike took a sip of water. “That’s because he
really
likes you.” Something in his voice told me that he liked me too. “I’ve never seen him take to anyone as fast as he’s taken to you,” he said with a smile.

“I like him too.” I smiled, remembering the conversation this afternoon. “Charlie’s a good man.”

Mike cleared his throat, taking some more food into his mouth. “I’m glad,” he said, and he took another sip of water.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. Something told me Mike wasn’t telling me the whole story.

He sighed and looked away from me. “You’re completely different from Sam’s usual type.”
Type?
I was so lucky not to have a type.

“What does he usually go for?” I was interested because it seemed the mere mention of Samuel’s name was enough to excite me, and not always in a good way.

“Women who are more…” he paused, taking a breath. “Blonde. Both physically and mentally, if you catch my drift.” That I did not understand. In spite of everything, Samuel didn’t seem that shallow. “You’re definitely
not
blonde.” Mike laughed at his own joke.

I nodded, smiling slightly. “Most definitely not.” When I said that, it reminded me of Samuel’s “most definitely not boring” comment, and my smile widened.

“You’re really beautiful,” Mike interrupted my thought. “Do you know that?” The only thing I could do was roll my eyes. “No.” He placed his hand on my forearm, making shivers come over me. “I’m serious. You’re somethin’ else, and you’re smart to boot. Unlike all those other women who only had outer beauty. You’ve got somethin’ special on the inside too. You are so much more than a pretty face.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. “Thank you? I’ve never had a compliment quite so…” I considered. “Interesting.”

He dropped his hand, and it made me tingle. “Sorry. Sometimes I get carried away.”

“No problem,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and realizing how muscular he was. “I get carried away all the time.” After that, we turned back to our meals and ate in comfortable silence.

When we finished, I noticed that it was dark outside, and it made me wonder when my husband would be home. So as I walked Mike to the front door, he wasn’t far from my mind, even though we were laughing at a rather dirty lawyer joke Mike told.

Then Samuel just appeared in the doorway, scaring us both to death.

We stopped dead, the smiles gone from our faces, as we stood there in a deafening silence. That is, until Samuel broke it. “Mike.” Samuel held out his hand, shaking Mike’s extremely hard. “So nice to see you again.”

“Y-yes,” Mike stammered, pointing to the front door. “I was just leavin’.”

“Oh,” he said, not in the least bit devastated. “So soon?”

“Yes,” I interrupted before Mike had a heart attack. “He has to wake up early. Don’t you, Mr. Wolf?”

Mike looked at me in shock, but he quickly regained himself. “Yes, Mrs. Satané, I do.” He turned, his back toward Samuel, winking at me as he kissed my hand. “Thank you,” he paused, letting the double meaning sink in. “For having me.”

I nodded, patting his cheek. “You’re quite welcome. And I hope you come again soon.”

“Most certainly,” Samuel chimed in as Mike turned to hurry out of the house before there were any more complications.

When he was gone, Samuel threw his jacket, along with my purse, which confirmed that I had left it in the car, in the corner. Then he held out his arms for a hug. “Miss me?” he asked, doing that hurting smile thing.

“No.” That might have gotten me killed for all I knew. “I didn’t.”

His eyes connected with mine, and I was compelled to move toward him. “Aren’t you going to give your husband a hug?” he asked, but I blinked and stood my ground.

“No.” My voice was filled with defiance. “I’m not. Did you have your dinner?” I asked, and he dropped his arms at his sides. He looked defeated as I turned my back on him. I didn’t know why I was acting like this. But at that point, even his voice made my skin crawl with anger.

“Yes,” he said sternly. “I have.”

I could feel his temper rise behind me. “Good,” I said through my teeth, “I’m glad. Now I don’t have to sit with you while you eat.” In my opinion, he deserved a lot more attitude than I was giving him. And I stomped up the stairs like a spoiled teenage girl, having no idea what was in store.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice was deep and edgy as he followed me like a puppy.

I walked into our bedroom, taking off my shoes in the process. But I didn’t turn around. And even though I couldn’t see his face, I could tell he was upset. “Nothing,” I managed to say without looking at him.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, and I could tell he was clenching his jaw.

“No.” It was a short, abrupt answer. He needed to realize the truth hurt as much as the lies. But at least its sting didn’t last forever.

“Is that all you are going to say?” he asked, and my hands became fists at my sides. I wanted to punch the creeper out.

“Yes,” I said with a nod, walking further into the room.

He stepped behind me, grabbing my shoulders, turning me around in order to face him. Then he pulled me to him, forcing a kiss on me. I pulled back and slapped him across the face.

Shocked, he held my arms tight to my sides while his eyes seemed furious. I started to struggle against him, and I realized he was stronger than he looked, which looked strong to begin with. He towered over me, and I saw something inside him click. Then he threw me down onto the wooden floor, taking his hands off my arms, so he could rip my shirt down the middle.

I thrashed against him when he kissed my chest. “Get off me!” I screamed, and my fist found its way to his stomach. “Get off!”

He chuckled at my attempt as he roughly pulled off my jeans. I kneed him in the chest, but the more I struggled the more excited he became.

He pinned me with his entire body as I pounded on him, and he grabbed hold of my wrists. I could hardly move, but I still fought him with all my might. When his eyes came to rest upon my mother’s cross, the growl that came from him scared me. He grabbed hold of both my wrists in one massive hand and pulled the chain from my neck. He threw it aside, and all I saw was red.

I huffed and puffed while he just looked amused by my anger. And with the same hand (the one he’d ripped the chain off with), he pulled my panties off and then undid the zipper on his pants. I screamed against his lips, and as he kissed me, he entered me forcefully, that “thing” ripping me from the inside out.

I unlocked one of my wrists from his one-handed grasp, but he just pinned it down with his other hand. With his mouth still on mine, he began to pummel me into the floor. But when he broke the kiss, my breath quickened. Finally, he let go of my wrists, and I placed my hands on his back. It began to hurt less and less as he penetrated me. And that’s when I realized that he was still fully clothed.

I yanked off his shirt, digging my nails into his flesh. As I arched my back, he went deeper inside me. Then he bit my neck, and I bit into his shoulder.

He whimpered in pleasure, and I wrapped my legs around him forcing him to make smaller thrusts. He kissed me again, and I grabbed his bottom lip with my teeth. That made him grunt, and then I just laid back and let him become a monster.

When it was “time,” it was an explosion of emotion and screams. Then he picked me up, slamming me against the door full force. My back stung like mad, but he let me down long enough so I could take off his shoes and pants. I took his direction, taking off my torn shirt and intact bra. He lifted me again, and this time he pummeled me into the door instead of the floor. The pain was a lot less than before.

We had sex against the door three more times before making our way to the bed to do it again. The man was a machine, so was it any wonder that I passed out? The next thing I knew he was kissing me on the cheek to arouse me. In more than one way.

He looked grim as he kissed my forehead. “I am truly sorry for my behavior,” he said softly like he might hurt me if he spoke any louder.

I sighed, not looking into his eyes. “There’s no need to be,” I finally said, but that wasn’t entirely true. “I behaved badly myself.” Every muscle in my body hurt, even ones I didn’t know I had. “Besides,” I whispered, “a man shows his true colors when he’s angry.” That was the truth. And this one had showed them vibrantly.

He chuckled darkly. “So what are mine?” He was too amused for my liking.

“It’s difficult to say.” I told him carefully as I traced my long nails around his lips. “I have to think about it.” I tried not to look him in the eyes, and when I ran the back of my hand against his cheek, I noticed it was colder than ever, which made me shiver.

He smirked. “You take all the time you need.”

“Where’s my mother’s necklace?” I asked off topic, because I was worried about it. However, when he pointed to my neck, I sighed with relief. I lifted my hand, running my fingers along the cross. The silver chain was cool under my hot touch. “It’s not broken?” It should’ve been, considering that he tore it from my neck and threw it across the floor.

He shook his head. “No, I would never break it. I know how much it means to you.”

“I think the next time you go on one of your tirades I’d better take it off.”
Here’s hoping he doesn’t have another tantrum.