Free Internal Affair by Marie Ferrarella Page B

A definite contrast to her soft skin. He frowned. The beer was making him lax, leading his thoughts around in circles.
    “Patience, you know I work better alone.”
    “No,” she contradicted firmly, “you don’t. You only think you do.” A note of concern entered her voice. “You’ve got to stop thinking of yourself as a loner, Patrick.”
    “I am a loner.”
    They’d gone around about this before. It seemed to him that Patience refused to accept the fact that outside the family, he had no desire to meet anyone halfway.
    “You’re only a loner until the right woman comes along.”
    The conversation had taken a sharp turn. “Hey, hold it a second, how did this jump from being about work to my private life?”
    Patience sighed softly. “Patrick, you don’t have a life.”
    “That’s what makes it private.” He finished off his beer and thought about making dinner into a two-course meal by getting a second bottle. “Look, Patience, I’m dog tired and I feel like I’ve been chasing my own tail for a week—”
    “Wouldn’t have to do that if there was someone else to chase.”
    She was like an iron butterfly, soft but strong and determined. He wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. “Enough.”
    “Okay then. Uncle Andrew says to say hi.”
    “Hi,” he mumbled back, knowing there was more to come. With Andrew, there always was, but then, that was his way, and though words hadn’t been said to the effect, he loved his uncle, both his uncles, far more than he ever had his own father.
    “He also wants to know if you plan on showing up at his table ever again.”
    Well, that didn’t take long, Patrick thought. He eyed the distance between the sofa and the kitchen, wondering if the trip was really worth it. For two cents, he could just sack out here on the sofa and forget about the second beer—he was that tired.
    “I’ll be there when I’ll be there.”
    “That’s what I told him.”
    He smiled to himself. “Good girl.” He paused. Maybe he was just tired, but he thought there’d been something in her voice, something he couldn’t place, ever since she’d called. “Everything okay with you?”
    “Same as always,” she told him cheerfully. “Up to my hips in dogs and cats and the occasional reptile.”
    His eyes battled to stay open, but he wasn’t completely convinced. She sounded a tad too cheerful. “But you’re okay.”
    “Couldn’t be better.”
    Like a small stiletto, guilt slid through him, making tiny slits. “I could drop by tonight.”
    “What, and have your death on my conscience? No thank you. You sound like you’re half-asleep already. Everything’s fine, Patrick. Get your rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
    He let out a long sigh. He was damn tired, but that didn’t negate his responsibility. His sister had been the recipient of some very unwanted attention by a man whose African Gray Parrot she’d successfully treated. When this admirer sent a dozen long-stemmed roses to her, she thought he was just grateful that she’d cured the bird, but other gifts followed even after she’d politely but firmly refused them. Was the man bothering her again?
    “As long as you’re sure everything’s okay.”
    “Patrick, it was a harmless incident. I made too much of it. Fifteen years ago, Steven Jessen would have been called a persistent admirer, nothing more. These days people immediately assume someone with more than a mild interest in another person is a stalker. Forget it,” she insisted. “I have.”
    He wasn’t sure if she was just saying that to put him at ease. “Then he hasn’t—”
    “Nope, he hasn’t,” she countered quickly, “and I’m sure he won’t. Any interest he had in me evaporated when he realized that I came with my own personal section of the Aurora police department.” The last time he’d paid a visit to her pet clinic, she’d prominently displayed the group family photograph she had of her brother, cousins and uncles, all in police dress