Elle’s bedside clock, it had been four.
He went downstairs and peered through the security peephole. White male, mid-thirties. Looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. Patrick pressed the speaker. “Who is it?”
There was a pause. “Dwight Bishop.”
Dwight. Elle’s ex-husband.
Patrick opened the door. Immediately, Dwight took in Patrick—both that he was shirtless and that he was carrying a gun.
Patrick assessed the guy. He didn’t look like a threat—in fact, he looked like he was worried and hadn’t slept all night.
“I need to talk to Elle,” he said.
Patrick motioned for Dwight to go to the living room in front of him.
Elle was at the top of the stairs in a long shirt and nothing else. Her dark hair was messy from sleep and she was just as gorgeous as she’d been the night before. She caught Patrick’s eye and smiled, just enough to have Patrick remembering every moment of last night. And wanting to repeat it.
Patrick was going to have to put Elle and sex out of his head. It had been a bad idea to go to bed with her, but he didn’t regret it. How could he? It was like she’d given him a much-needed jolt to feel again, to enjoy a physical connection. Sex had become rote, a function of dating; he hadn’t felt connected to any of his girlfriends ever since he recovered from his coma.
Sex with Elle was anything but ordinary.
Elle turned her gaze to her ex, and Patrick slowly released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
She said, “Dwight, what are you doing here?”
“Freaking out. I heard you were lurking outside Christopher Lee’s garment factory. What the hell? That restraining order means something.”
“What?” Patrick said.
Dwight looked at him. “Who are you?”
Patrick put his gun on the kitchen counter and extended his hand. “Patrick Kincaid.”
“Kincaid—Kincaid—why is that name familiar?”
Elle said, “My mom’s best friend is Patrick’s mom. We were neighbors half my childhood.” She walked into the kitchen and started making coffee.
“Elle, what restraining order?” Patrick asked. Jaye hadn’t told Patrick she’d found anything on Elle, and he’d asked. She had a sealed juvenile record from San Diego, but Patrick suspected that was about the rave she’d organized when she was seventeen.
“There’s no restraining order.” She glared at Dwight.
Dwight said, “No, but there is an agreement that you stay away from Lee.”
“Back up,” Patrick said. “Is this a legal agreement?”
“Private. Maddie Starr, Elle’s boss, arranged it with Lee that Elle would stay away from Lee’s businesses, other than the teen center.”
“Why?”
“Because Elle doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut!”
Elle slammed a coffee mug on the counter. “He’s not who everyone thinks he is!”
“But there’s no proof, and he’s going to destroy you and your career. He knows you were there. He came out of TK after you left, and asked about why the police were there.”
“And they told him?”
“You were trespassing.”
“No, Patrick was trespassing. I was waiting next to the car. And Patrick thinks Lee’s not only running drugs, but people.”
Dwight looked like he’d been slapped. He stood there stunned, unable to speak.
Patrick winced. He wished Elle hadn’t said anything. Dwight was a prosecutor. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said.
Dwight ignored Patrick and said to Elle, “You’ve been trying to get proof on Lee for running drugs and have nothing. Now you’re saying he’s smuggling people?” He shook his head.
“Kami is missing.”
“The girl you got out of juvie on Friday?”
“Yes. She disappeared yesterday afternoon, and Patrick and I tracked her down to TK but lost her trail there. Lorenzo’s people are looking for her, and that means Lee is looking for her. She’s hiding, and they’ll kill her if they know she has evidence on Lee.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your office
He went downstairs and peered through the security peephole. White male, mid-thirties. Looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. Patrick pressed the speaker. “Who is it?”
There was a pause. “Dwight Bishop.”
Dwight. Elle’s ex-husband.
Patrick opened the door. Immediately, Dwight took in Patrick—both that he was shirtless and that he was carrying a gun.
Patrick assessed the guy. He didn’t look like a threat—in fact, he looked like he was worried and hadn’t slept all night.
“I need to talk to Elle,” he said.
Patrick motioned for Dwight to go to the living room in front of him.
Elle was at the top of the stairs in a long shirt and nothing else. Her dark hair was messy from sleep and she was just as gorgeous as she’d been the night before. She caught Patrick’s eye and smiled, just enough to have Patrick remembering every moment of last night. And wanting to repeat it.
Patrick was going to have to put Elle and sex out of his head. It had been a bad idea to go to bed with her, but he didn’t regret it. How could he? It was like she’d given him a much-needed jolt to feel again, to enjoy a physical connection. Sex had become rote, a function of dating; he hadn’t felt connected to any of his girlfriends ever since he recovered from his coma.
Sex with Elle was anything but ordinary.
Elle turned her gaze to her ex, and Patrick slowly released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
She said, “Dwight, what are you doing here?”
“Freaking out. I heard you were lurking outside Christopher Lee’s garment factory. What the hell? That restraining order means something.”
“What?” Patrick said.
Dwight looked at him. “Who are you?”
Patrick put his gun on the kitchen counter and extended his hand. “Patrick Kincaid.”
“Kincaid—Kincaid—why is that name familiar?”
Elle said, “My mom’s best friend is Patrick’s mom. We were neighbors half my childhood.” She walked into the kitchen and started making coffee.
“Elle, what restraining order?” Patrick asked. Jaye hadn’t told Patrick she’d found anything on Elle, and he’d asked. She had a sealed juvenile record from San Diego, but Patrick suspected that was about the rave she’d organized when she was seventeen.
“There’s no restraining order.” She glared at Dwight.
Dwight said, “No, but there is an agreement that you stay away from Lee.”
“Back up,” Patrick said. “Is this a legal agreement?”
“Private. Maddie Starr, Elle’s boss, arranged it with Lee that Elle would stay away from Lee’s businesses, other than the teen center.”
“Why?”
“Because Elle doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut!”
Elle slammed a coffee mug on the counter. “He’s not who everyone thinks he is!”
“But there’s no proof, and he’s going to destroy you and your career. He knows you were there. He came out of TK after you left, and asked about why the police were there.”
“And they told him?”
“You were trespassing.”
“No, Patrick was trespassing. I was waiting next to the car. And Patrick thinks Lee’s not only running drugs, but people.”
Dwight looked like he’d been slapped. He stood there stunned, unable to speak.
Patrick winced. He wished Elle hadn’t said anything. Dwight was a prosecutor. “It’s better if you don’t know,” he said.
Dwight ignored Patrick and said to Elle, “You’ve been trying to get proof on Lee for running drugs and have nothing. Now you’re saying he’s smuggling people?” He shook his head.
“Kami is missing.”
“The girl you got out of juvie on Friday?”
“Yes. She disappeared yesterday afternoon, and Patrick and I tracked her down to TK but lost her trail there. Lorenzo’s people are looking for her, and that means Lee is looking for her. She’s hiding, and they’ll kill her if they know she has evidence on Lee.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because your office
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