Out of the Shadows (6 page)

Patrice locked up her car and headed for the elevator. But thinking maybe the walk would clear her head, she took the stairs, instead. On the first landing, head down and deep in thought, she plowed into a white-haired man and nearly sent him headfirst into the iron railing.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, one hand on his arm, “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

He jerked free of her grasp. “No thanks to you!” he bellowed. “Are you crazy?”

Patrice hadn’t expected a pat on the back for her blunder, but she hadn’t expected this, either. “I—I—”

“Don’t you watch where you’re going, you stuttering idiot?”

Heart pounding and cheeks burning, she repeated, “I’m sorry, sir, really. I didn’t see y—”

He eyed her warily. “Let me guess—you’ve done this before, haven’t you. And one of your victims hauled off and clobbered you, right?”

She had no idea what he was talking about.

He pointed. “Is
that
where you got that ugly scar?”

She tried to escape his verbal abuse but couldn’t seem to make her legs move.

“Young people today,” he continued, forefinger inches from her nose. “You think you own the entire universe and everything in it, don’t you? Well, I’m here to tell you—”

“What’s going on here?”

Wade. She’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Great,
she thought, bowing her head,
all I need is for
him
to witness my humiliation.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “I wasn’t paying attention where I was going, and I ran into this—” it pained her to say it “—gentleman.”

“I’m so-o-o-o glad to hear you’re fine!” The old man adjusted the collar of his jacket. “I’m lucky you didn’t send me smack into that iron bar, there, or worse,
over
it!”

Frowning, Wade looked from Patrice to the man and back again, then stepped between them. “Hey,” he began in a friendly voice, “it was just an accident, so if you’re not hurt, then I suggest we cut this short, because folks want to use—”

Until Wade brought it to his attention, the man didn’t seem to notice that several people were staring. “Mind your own bee’s wax,” he growled at the lot of them, then stomped down the steps.

Wade slid an arm around Patrice’s waist and guided her nearer the rail. “You okay?” he asked, searching her face as the small crowd passed by.

She took a deep breath, exhaled it. “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m fine.”

“What was that all about, anyway?”

“I already told you—I wasn’t looking where I was going and I walked into him. I said I was sorry, but he didn’t want an apology. The old grouch just wanted to argue.”

She followed Wade’s gaze to the entrance, one floor down, saw him watch the old man huffing his way toward the enormous revolving door. “Hard to tell what brought him here this early on a Saturday morning….”

As the fellow shuffled into the lobby, she realized that Wade was right. For all she knew, the poor man had
come to Ellicott to visit a dying friend or relative, or to have an emergency consultation with a doctor for a serious condition of his own. A surge of guilt further reddened her cheeks. What an awful, mean-spirited person she was!

If she’d had a decent night’s sleep, or had taken time to eat a proper breakfast, or hadn’t run into a huge traffic snarl on the way to work… And if Wade wasn’t looking at her with a “poor little thing” expression—as if she were a lost puppy and he the guy who’d found her—she might have dismissed the incident as an unpleasant experience for both her
and
the old man.

As things stood, she had more than a little trouble keeping the tears at bay.

“What’re you doing here at this hour on a Saturday?” he asked.

She sighed. “There’s this…this
thing,
” she said, waving a hand beside her head. “Children’s Health Week starts today, and three of the children’s wards are having parties. I have to—”

“When do the parties start?” he asked, his voice calm and reassuring, his smile warm.

“Not till this afternoon, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted, taking her elbow. “You have time for a cup of coffee.” He led her toward the steps. “What did you have for breakfast?”

“Didn’t.”

“What?” He shook his head. “Surely you’ve heard that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Cut it out,” he scolded. “You have time for a bite to eat.”

Patrice stopped on the next landing. “What’re
you
doing here at this hour on a Saturday?”

“It’s nearly nine-thirty, and I have rounds to—”

Slump-shouldered, she groaned. “Well, Wade, I feel bad enough already, getting into brawls with old men and all, without making you late for your hospital rounds.”

He chuckled and started walking again. “It isn’t a requirement. I do it because…”

When Wade stopped talking all of a sudden, she looked up into his face. “Because what?”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

They’d reached the ground floor by now, and Wade held the door that led from the parking garage to the hospital’s main entrance. “So what’re you in the mood for?” he asked. “Scrambled eggs? Bacon? Bagel and cream cheese?”

Her own problems were quickly forgotten, replaced by concern for him. “Haven’t said I’d eat breakfast…yet,” she teased.

Wade slowed his pace. “You’d really let a hardworkin’ doc eat alone?” A silent whistle passed his lips. “I gotta tell ya, Patrice, that’s cold. Real cold.”

Pleased at the smile that replaced his worried frown, she laughed softly. “You didn’t by any chance sell used cars to pay your way through school, did you?”

“No….”

“Sell encyclopedias door to door?”

He looked puzzled.

“Work on the set of a Mafia movie?”

He shook his head. “Why?”

“’Cause you give a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘make ’em an offer they can’t refuse.”’

His laughter echoed in the marble-floored lobby, drawing the attention of the security guard and a taxi driver who waited for his fare to arrive. But Wade didn’t
seem to notice the curious stares following them as they entered the cafeteria.

Patrice slid into a booth, put her briefcase and purse on the bench beside her. “Maybe we ought to get in line.”

“You stay here and guard our table. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay. I’ll have an egg sandwich and coffee.”

She watched him slide his red plastic tray along the polished chrome rails, pointing to toast and eggs and bacon as he passed the food stations. When he disappeared behind other cafeteria patrons, she craned her neck to find him in the crowd, and when at last she spotted him at the coffee urn, her heart pounded.

She couldn’t very well let him catch her staring after him like some schoolgirl in the throes of a mad crush. Patrice rooted around in her purse and withdrew her compact to make sure the wind hadn’t blown the hair from her face, exposing the scar. What she saw in the tiny, oval mirror surprised her; in place of the expected “you’re sinking fast” symptoms, was a relaxed, friendly smile.

“You don’t need that thing,” Wade said, startling her. “You’re gorgeous, exactly the way you are.”

Snapping the compact shut, she dropped it back into her purse. He’d meant every word, as evidenced by the set of his jaw, the sincerity in his eyes. Pulse pounding, Patrice blinked. What was a girl supposed to say in response to a thing like that?

Three soft gongs pealed from the overhead speaker.
“Housekeeping to the cafeteria,”
said the practiced announcer’s voice.
“Housekeeping to the cafeteria.”

Whew,
she thought, grinning as he doled out the food,
saved by the bell.

He bit the corner from a slice of toast. “So where’s Mort?”

Pointing at her briefcase, Patrice sipped her coffee.

“Interesting animal,” he said. “Where’d you buy him?”

“I made him.”

His brows rose slightly and he stopped chewing. “You
made
him? But how?”

She shrugged. “Couple yards of fuzzy material, foam filling, couple of chopsticks, and—”

“Chopsticks?”

“For his arms and legs.” She bent her own arm. “I connected them with some stainless steel swivel-y things I found at the hardware store.”

“Fascinating.”

And he meant it. She could tell by the admiring gleam in his eyes.

“How’d you learn to operate all those hairy limbs?”

Another shrug. “Trial and error, mostly. The good Lord was watching over those first few kids who met Mort.”

His brows rose again. “Why?”

“Did your mother ever say to you ‘You could poke an eye out with one of those!’?”

Wade nodded. “Yeah.” He grinned.

“Well, let me tell you,” she said, hiding a giggle behind one hand, “that warning echoed in my head those first few performances!”

He laughed.

Already, she loved the sound. Her father’s warning leapt to her mind, and Patrice sat up straighter. Forefinger peeling back her cuff, she glanced at her watch. “Wow,” she said, “I’d better get a move on.”

He used a white plastic fork as a pointer. “But you haven’t finished your egg sandwich.”

The disappointment in his voice was evident. “I’ll just take it with me,” she said, wrapping it in a paper napkin. “There’s a fridge in the hall, right outside my office door—”

“Patrice,” he said softly, taking her hand, “relax.”

Oh, right,
she thought. Relax, with his big palm covering her fingers like a warm blanket.

“You keep up this pace, you’re gonna end up in my waiting room.”

Maybe his friendliness was just that. Maybe those “longing looks” he’d been giving her were just her imagination.

But what about that kiss?

Oh, grow up, Patrice,
she scolded herself.
Look at him!
He was gorgeous, successful, intelligent, witty…and single. Everything, enjoyable as it was, could very well be part of an elaborate act. Practiced scenes he’d played out with dozens of women over the years.

Patrice eased her hand from beneath his and used it to snatch a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “Well,” she said, standing, “thanks for breakfast. It was great.”

He tucked in one corner of his mouth and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “Don’t mention it,” he said in cool, even tones.

“Better get going,” she said, gathering up her purse and briefcase. “Have to make sure there are enough—”

“What?” he asked in response to her gasp.

“Cookies.” She plopped onto a corner of the bench seat and rested her forehead on a palm. “I baked
dozens
of cookies for the kids. They’re on the kitchen table!”

“Hmm.” Wade pursed his lips. “Is there time to go home and get them?”

She shook her head. “I have to set up the tables, make sure the volunteers are in place, hang posters….”

He took her hand again. “Easy, kiddo. My mom always used to say, ‘For every problem, there’s a solution.”’

Oh, really?
she asked silently. For the life of her, she didn’t see a solution to this one.

“I’ve got an hour or so to kill. How ’bout if I pick ’em up for you?”

Slowly, she lifted her gaze. Surely she was hearing things.

No, the expression on his face told her that he’d fetch the treats if she asked him to. But
why,
when she was likely one in an endless parade of ladies in his life? “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered,” he said matter-of-factly.

She opened her purse, riffled through her wallet. “Good,” she said, snapping it shut. “I have more than enough cash to buy some junk food, right here.”

He should have looked relieved to hear he wouldn’t have to make the trip to her house and back. She didn’t know him well, but if she had to guess, Patrice would say he looked…
disappointed
that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer.

She held out her briefcase and her jacket. “Will you watch my stuff while I see what’s on the menu?”

He took it, then gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll wait out there.” And with a wink, he headed for the cafeteria’s outdoor picnic area.

Ten minutes later, as she hurried from the cafeteria, Patrice caught sight of him, straddling the wide white wall that cordoned the grass from the concrete walk
ways. Her jacket, slung over one of his broad shoulders, flapped in the crisp autumn breeze like a cape.
My white knight?
she wondered, smiling despite herself.

When Wade saw her, he raised a hand. “Find everything you need?” he asked, heading her way.

She held out the brown bag, filled to overflowing with doughnuts and cookies and tiny fruit tarts. “This oughta hold ’em over.”

Wade relieved her of the bag.

“But—”

He held up a hand to stanch her protest. “Humor me, will you?”

She returned his smile. “Okay, but it’s quite a hike to my office, especially carrying that.” She nodded toward her briefcase.

“If you can do it, I can do it.” He paused. “But what’ve you got in this thing? Rocks?”

“Bricks, actually,” she teased.

They walked a few minutes in silence before Wade said, “So what’re your plans for tonight?”

“Candy.”

“Candy?”

“It’s Halloween, remember?”

“Now that you mention it, I do.”

“I’ll be helping my dad and Molly hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters.”

“Who’s Molly?”

“Dad’s nurse.” After a moment, she added, “What’re
you
doing tonight?”

“Before or after I go trick-or-treating?”

Patrice laughed. “Before.”

“Same thing I’m doing after—nothing.”

“Then, why not come over? We could put you in charge of keeping the pumpkins lit.”

“Would I have to wear a costume?”

“Depends.”

“Uh-oh, I’m almost afraid to ask. Depends on what?”

“On what kind of mood Dad is in. He’s a bigger kid than anybody who’ll show up tonight. It’s entirely possible he’ll insist you wear a mask, at least.”

They were standing outside her office door when he said, “Well, okay, but I get to choose the mask.”