Page 26 of Bringing Chelsea Home

“Can’t tell you that.” BP’s security guard’s expression on the screen was somber. “All I know is Mr. Danton left the building a little after midnight and he looked like he was in a hurry. Since it’s seven o’clock, and he’s not returned, I thought you needed to know.”

Griff muttered an oath but thanked the man and shut off the office computer. “Crap,” he said. “What the hell was he thinking going off like that?”

“If Hank needed him, he would have called you too,” Elaine pointed out. “So, it couldn’t have been something regarding another BP mission, would it?”

“Unlikely,” Griff agreed. “Only the biggest freakin’ emergency in the world would have Hank pull Patrick out to go somewhere else. We’ve got enough brothers to handle whatever Hank needs.”

“Do you think we should call Hank-”

A siren’s howl stopped Elaine’s question. It grew closer and closer until its howl vibrated through the floors with a painful, ear-splitting frequency as if it had lodged under the building. They dashed to the window to peer outside, but there was nothing but still the wailing continued.

“What’s down there?” Elaine shouted.

“Parking garage,” Griff answered, his shout equally loud. “Under the building, behind the gym, with an entrance to the back street.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” Elaine scolded. “I thought you said, ‘no secrets.’”

And then there was silence. They waited, gazes locked and then came the click of the suite’s front door opening and Patrick entered, a plaid shirt draped around his shoulders and carrying his heavy jacket. Seeing them in the office doorway, he said, “I hope there’s coffee made, even if it’s warmed up Blue Mountain from last night. ‘Cause let me tell you, it would be better than that swill they serve at the ER.”

“Holy shit,” Griff breathed out as he stared at Patrick’s bruised face and the bandage wrapped around his upper left arm. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Let’s say coming to a lady’s rescue is not always the best of ideas.” Patrick limped to the sofa, tossed the flannel shirt he carried aside and lowered himself as Elaine headed for the kitchen. “So much for my being a Southern gentleman. But if you think I look bad, you should see the other two guys.”

Elaine returned with his oversize mug, gave it to him and put the coffee press on the side table. “We only made it a half hour ago,” she said. “Splash of milk, no sugar, right?”

“Yes, thank you.” He took a long sip, closed his eyes and sat back. “I don’t care how much this stuff costs, it’s worth every single penny,” he said reverently. “You can transfuse me with it any time.”

“Well, when you come out of your caffeine induced Nirvana, will you tell us what the hell happened?” Griff demanded.

Patrick squinted at them while he took another sip. “Deidre–”

“The hostess atSapphire’s?” Elaine interrupted.

“That’s the one,” Patrick agreed. “I gave her my card with the burner number yesterday, just in case. She looked a bit nervous after Big Daddy arrived, but I didn’t have time to ask her anything more than what she’d already told me. My phone goes off at 11:45 and it’s her, saying her bartender boyfriend had beat her and she needed help. So, like a tame fool, I went.”

“You’re an idiot,” Griff accused.

“Guilty as charged,” Patrick agreed. “But I’ve always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. Found her waiting at Krutch Park, looking like a mess. But before we could head back to the car, the boyfriend and a pal joined us. Deidre got spooked and ran off, but the boys and I had a little not so friendly discussion about me flirting with her.”

“And they attacked you?” Elaine asked, then hastily added, “Sorry. Dumb question.”

“They did,” Patrick said ruefully. “Though I would claim the pal cheated as he had a knife with him. What’s happened to the gentlemanly art of fisticuffs?”

“Gentlemanly?” Elaine broke in again. “Sounds like a good old-fashioned brawl to me.”

“Hush, Elaine,” Griff scolded and blushing, she nodded.

“And before you ask, no, I didn’t have my revolver,” Patrick continued. “Found a cab up at the corner and went ‘cause I didn’t want to stop and park. As you can see, they got in a couple of good blows, including some knife work to my non-dominant arm. But then all those years of martial arts training kicked in and I took them both out. I guess Deidre had the sense to call the police after she left because they showed up within minutes.”

“Last dumb question,” Elaine said. “They took you to the ER, right?”

Patrick huffed out a laugh, and then groaned. “Damn, that hurts,” he groaned. “Please don’t be funny again, Elaine. I wouldn’t let them give me any painkillers.”

“But how the hell did you get in and out of the ER so fast?” Griff demanded. “Normally on Friday nights, they’re so backed up with people who’ve been in fights-unless it’s life threatening-have to wait for twelve or more hours just to be seen.”

“We can thank Grant Miller for that,” Patrick gasped. “He was there with one of his men who was wounded in that drug bust, and I think he might have fibbed to the attending doctor and told him I was part of the operation. Ten stitches to my arm, but my two new besties will have trouble shaving or eating for a while. ER doc said I should rest for twenty-four hours but still move slowly-which won’t be a problem-after that. Bruised ribs can make it hard to breathe easily.”

Griff stared at his colleague. “Did an ambulance bring you here?” At Patrick’s nod, he asked, “How did you manage that?”

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