Using Protection

"That's the worst. I can't sleep. I can barely eat."

"You've gone to the police." It wasn't a question.

"Twice. They've tried to convince me that I was imagining things." Her lips thinned. "By the second time, I was sure they were dragging their feet. You know how much money counts for around here, if you know how to use it.

"That's when I thought of some of the things you and Greg used to talk about. About some of the..."

Pat's lips quirked. "Some of the less savory sides of the construction business?" Nicole nodded.

He remembered those conversations. And even if he had forgotten, Marco and Lars would have drilled the information into his head. Bribes and payoffs. Who would stay bought, and who would turn on you. The difference between honest graft and extortion. When it might be appropriate to pay city hall or the chief of police a visit, and how large the envelope you left behind should be.

"Yeah. I can help you out there." He pulled his laptop out of his shoulder bag and powered it up. He opened a new document and looked at her expectantly. "I need all the information you can give me."

Nicole was a gold mine. The razor-sharp memory which had made her indispensable to his father served her well here.

"Evan Fratelli. Twenty-eight years old. Personal injury lawyer. Partner in Fratelli, Fratelli, and Cheatham. Drives a Porsche, lives on the south side. Let's see...phone number, work and cell. Age, physical description, work address, home address..."

He gave Nicole a grim smile. "We've got enough here to make a good start. By this time next week, our buddy Evan will be wishing he never met you."

He stood and stretched, closing his laptop. "Well, I better be going. I've got a long day tomorrow, and it won't be any shorter when I have to deal with this douchebag."

He was reaching for his jacket when Nicole's soft voice interrupted him.

"Pat, I would really appreciate it if you didn't leave."

"What?"

She looked up at him, eyes haunted. "He's threatened my child, Pat. That sweet little boy who you played catch with in the back yard this evening. Called up and told me how he would beat him unless I spread my legs for him.

"He might think it's a joke, but I don't," she continued, as Pat's face grew cold and hard. "I haven't had a good night's rest in weeks. Knowing you were here...I think I could sleep."

He nodded. "I didn't really plan on spending the night," he protested weakly, knowing already he would if she asked it of him.

"Only until this is settled," Nicole said. "I wouldn't think it would take more than a week, would it?" In one corner of his mind, Pat was amused to see how one night had already extended to a week. "I have some of your father's old clothes. You can wear those tonight and tomorrow, and then you can bring your things over here. Your bedroom still has your old bed.

"Please, Pat? I need this. I need to feel safe."

He walked over and hugged her. When he let go, he was startled to see tears on her face. She had not cried in front of him, not since that day when his father had given up and asked to be taken home. Home to live out the last few days of his life with his wife and children, in the house he had built.

His hand came up and cradled her cheek, thumb wiping away her tears. His voice was unsteady.

"I'll take care of you, Nicole. As long as you and Danny need me."

*****

When he got out of the shower later that evening, he saw that she had left clothes for him on his bed, both for that night and for the next day. Smiling, he put on the boxers, flannel sleep shorts and t-shirt, musty from having been closed away in a bureau for the last year. As she predicted, they fit well. What else is still there? How much of Dad has she been unable to let go of?

He wandered downstairs and into the family room, thinking to pick a book out of the bookcase to read before going to bed. Instead, he found himself in front of the long wall opposite the door that led onto the deck, looking at family pictures.

Unlike many other women, Nicole had never tried to pretend that her husband's first marriage had never occurred. Portraits of Greg and Amy and Pat were hung next to pictures of Greg, Nicole, Pat, and Danny. He stood in front of one, eyes misty.

He jumped as a pair of arms wrapped around him. "Do you remember her?" Nicole asked, her head poking out from under his arm as she wormed in beside him.

He shook his head as he regarded his mother across a gap of twenty years. Blond-haired and plump, she smiled out of the photo as if 1995 would never end. "Just glimpses, really," he said. "My best memory is when I was just a little boy, younger than Danny. I had the worst tummy-ache one night. Dad was working on a job, and Mom sat beside me in bed, and rubbed my belly, and told me stories from when I was a baby. And when my stomach stopped hurting, she kissed me good night and turned off the light.

He blinked hard. "She was killed just a few weeks later."

Nicole nodded. Greg had told her the story. About how Amy had been driving Pat home at night during a heavy rain. The car had hit a slick patch and spun out of control, the driver's side hitting a utility pole nearly head-on. Pat had a scar above his left eyebrow. Amy had died instantly.

He drifted a few steps to his right. "How about this one?" he said.

"Oh, God," she giggled.

Thirteen years ago...

Nicole's belly fluttered nervously as she walked with Greg up the walk to meet his son. She was still unsure whether or not it was a good idea to date her boss, no matter how great the sex had been so far.

She glanced at Greg, tall, black-haired, poised, and confident, and her worries melted away. She loved the way he made her feel; safe, beautiful, and loved. His tanned skin contrasted beautifully with his dark hair, threaded with silver, and his strong hands and clever fingers made her wet and eager with longing.

He opened the front door, and they both stopped, eyes widening with surprise.

The child in front of them had obviously spared no effort to try to impress his father's date. He was dressed in black slacks and a white, button-down shirt. A striped gray and blue tie was knotted around his neck, almost correctly. The dark hair, a match for his father's, was slicked down by approximately a pound and a half of gel, gleaming wetly in the light. His smell was a combination of young boy, Right Guard, and Old Spice.

"Nicole," Greg said, as proud of his son as if he were president of the United States, "This is my son, Patrick."

Swallowing her urge to laugh, she regarded the small, slim boy with a smile. Green eyes looked back solemnly. She extended a hand. "Patrick, I am very happy to meet you."

He took her hand in his, shaking it. "You're beautiful," he blurted, then flushed scarlet.

Greg laughed deeply, his eyes folding into the happy crow's feet that she adored. "She is, isn't she, Pat? Come on," he continued. "Let's fix that tie and go out for some pizza."

The picture had been taken at the restaurant later that night. Pat stood between Nicole and Greg, all three beaming at the camera.

****

"Well, what do you think of the boy?" Greg asked. It was later that night, and they were relaxing on the couch.

She took a sip of wine and eased into the cradle of his arms, her back against his chest. "He's darling," she said. "No question who he takes after. The Adams family," she said, smiling at her pun, "seems to have a weakness for dark-haired women."

"Maybe it's just you," Greg replied, his stroking hands making her shiver. "He's a bright one, though. Interested in construction, too. He likes building things. If it continues, I plan on asking him to join me in the business once he's out of school. Make it "Adams and Son"."

"I'm glad you two get along, though," he continued. "Because I think you two are going to be seeing a lot more of each other in the future." He kissed her on the lips as she turned in his grasp.

"To hell with the future," she growled, fingers busy at the buttons of his shirt. "Right now I want to see a lot more of you."

He laughed, and gasped, and suddenly there was no time for talking at all.

****

The next day was a busy one for Pat. After checking his e-mail and answering any urgent messages, he concentrated on the problem of Evan Fratelli.

"Clout", as it was sometimes called, was a tricky thing to define, but Pat's family had a lot of it.

"Think of it as a combination of financial and political power," his father's tired voice said. They were in the family room at home. Greg was leaning back in his armchair, trying to find a position that would not cause his body pain. He shifted and winced.

"Do you want a pill, Dad?" Pat asked.

"Not yet. You need to understand how this works." He sighed.

"Clout basically means that you could make people's lives very rough for them if you wanted to. How many people do we employ? How much is that worth to the city? Who could we make sure didn't get re-elected, if we chose to throw our weight behind another candidate? Who could we make sure lost their jobs, if we went to the papers about bribes and kickbacks?

"But it is never explicitly stated. People know what we can do. So when we need a favor, we ask for it. And mostly, they are happy to oblige."

"And if they aren't?" he asked. His father smiled grimly.

"Oh, there are all sorts of things you can do to get someone's attention. Slow down a construction project. Make sure that you are a stickler as far as contracts and permits are concerned. See to it those nice fat envelopes start to disappear."

He closed his eyes wearily. "If you need advice, see Marco, Lars, and Sheila. They have been with me since the start. They'll let you know if they think you need to lean on someone."

He picked up his phone.

"Sheila? Get me the chief of police, please."

****

Later that day, he walked into a gym not far from the downtown offices of Fratelli, Fratelli, & Cheatham. Twenty bucks got him a pass into the locker room, and twenty more to a personal trainer the location of Evan Fratelli, working out on the weight machines.

"You a friend of his?" the attractive young woman asked, her lips pinched in disapproval.

"No," he replied, and watched her face clear into a more friendly expression. "In fact, I'm here to give him a warning."

"I wish I could do the same," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "Let me guess. He wants a little hands-on training?"

"Right. But it's his hands on me." She gave him a courteous nod and walked back to the front desk, her hips swaying inside her tight workout uniform. Inside his loose shorts, his cock gave a twitch and he muttered a curse. He hadn't been with a woman in weeks, and the sight of so many sexy women in one place was reminding him of the fact.

Well, this guy will certainly cure that, he thought, as he made his way to the weight machines. The gym was nearly empty. The noon rush was over, the evening rush not due to begin for a few hours yet.

Evan Fratelli was good looking, in a beefy sort of way. But all the body spray in the world couldn't hide the stink of old sweat, and his nose wrinkled in distaste. He nodded at him as he took his place beside him.

"Evan Fratelli?" he asked.

"Who wants to know?"

"Pat Adams," he said. He gave Evan a cold stare. "I think you and my stepmother know each other."

He laughed. "Not as well as I'd like," he grunted. "Did Mommy send you over to ask me to leave her alone? Because it's not going to happen. If she knows what's good for her, she'll spread her legs for me. And if I like how she does it, maybe I'll let her be. Or maybe I won't. Either way, there's not a fucking thing you can do about it.

"So unless you're ready to throw down right now, get the hell out of my face." He stepped forward, his beady eyes gleaming, hoping for a fight.

"Whoa, there, big fella!" Pat smiled, holding his hands up, but it didn't reach his eyes. Evan backed up, confused, his tank top matted to his hairy chest. Shave a bear and you would have a hard time telling the difference between the two, Pat thought.

On the other hand, the bear might be smarter.

"Nicole has no idea I'm here," he said, a small smile playing around his mouth. "I'm just here to deliver a friendly warning."

"I don't like threats," Evan growled.

Pat kept the smile on his face. "No, this isn't a threat. I don't want to confuse you." His eyes grew hard. "My family doesn't make threats. This is a promise. This is me telling you how things are around here.

"If you keep harassing Nicole, you and your entire family are in for a world of hurt. You might think you're hot stuff because your grand-daddy was a rich corporate lawyer. But my family has been in this town for a hundred and sixty years.

"I made some calls this morning. If you don't back off, you won't be able to drive that pretty little toy of yours three blocks without getting pulled over. The work your firm does for the city? Gone. Your other clients? They'll all find different lawyers to deal with. You'll find the bar association looking into your past. What actually happened at that frat party back when you were in college, Evan? How much hush money did daddy have to pay to keep that girl from going to the cops?"

Evan's face paled with fear and fury. "You can't do this!"

Pat shook his head. "Don't you get it, you meathead? I've already done it. This is how it is.

"Make one more phone call. Show up at her house one more time. Make one move toward her or my brother and you will think a mountain of pain just fell on you.

"I have all the dominoes lined up. All I have to do is knock the first one over." He placed his index finger against his thumb and made a flicking motion.

He grinned in honest amusement at the look on Evan's face. "One call, Evan. That's all it will take."

He paused as he walked away. "By the way, be sure to check your mail when you get back to the office. Turns out my family pays bigger bribes to the police than yours does. The restraining order will be waiting for you. Just to make sure you realize that we're serious about this."

*****

"You didn't!" Nicole giggled at her office at the bank.

"I sure did," came Pat's smug voice over the phone. "By the time I was done, he was so pale he looked like a pile of hairy milk."

"Ewwww," she said, still laughing.

"Listen, I've got to go. I'm going to pick up a few things over at my place before I come back home. I'll see you around six, OK?"

"Sure," she said. "And Pat?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," she said, her voice tight. "Thank you so much."

"Who was that?" a voice asked as she hung up the phone. She turned to see her boss, Evelyn Imahara, standing behind her. A small, handsome woman of middle years, she ran the bank's mortgage department.

"My stepson," she smiled. "Pat's staying with us for a few days while..." She floundered momentarily, not wanting to reveal the reason why Pat was at her house. "...While we take care of a few things," she finished lamely. She picked up her phone and opened up her photo album, showing Evelyn the pictures she had taken the previous evening. "Here he is, reading to Danny," she said.

Evelyn hummed her approval. "That's not a stepson, Nicky. That's a step-man! If you get tired of him around your place, send him my way," she continued, eye dropping in a lewd wink as she leered suggestively.

"You dirty old woman. You're old enough to be his mother," she laughed.

"That has nothing to do with anything. Haven't you ever had a younger lover, Nicky? Mmmm. They are very...vigorous." She sighed dreamily.

"Maybe next time," she replied. She wanted to keep her disastrous foray into dating a secret for now. "I'm going to take a quick break," she said. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Do you need me to get you anything?"

"Only if your stepson is involved," Evelyn replied, and she left the bank on a tide of happy laughter.

*****

God, it feels good to relax, she thought as she walked down the sidewalk. With Pat in the house, she had had her first night of decent sleep in weeks the night before, and with the savage edge of her exhaustion blunted, she looked around with cheerful eyes, drinking in the crisp fall air and the bright colors of the trees on the streets.

A bell rang as she opened the door to the small shop and stepped into an atmosphere redolent of fragrant herbs and used books. Chamberlain's Antiques had been a favorite of hers since she had first moved into town, and she drifted through the cluttered aisles as easily as she did her own house. She let her nose lead her to the section where the Chamberlains sold their own products, pausing at a selection of gaily painted tins. She had just picked one up when a low, smoky voice spoke at her elbow.

"Hello, Nicole."

"Hilda!" she exclaimed, turning to meet her friend. "Are you working here now?"

Hilda Chamberlain was a tan, fit woman with flaming red hair, several years younger than Nicole. Today she was wearing a light, sleeveless dress, which did not hide the fact that she was at least three months pregnant. A personal trainer by trade, an aura of smoldering sexuality clung to her like a cloak.

"Part time," she shrugged, the movements making her large breasts bounce distractingly. "The family thought it would be a good idea to get me out of the gym until this bundle of joy is born," she continued, stroking her stomach possessively. "I told them they were worrying too much. Little Maureen doesn't mind when Mommy is exercising, does she?" she said to her belly.

"So it's a girl, then?" Nicole asked. Hilda nodded.

"I had an ultrasound last week. It confirmed what I already knew. The Goddess told me I would have a girl," she said proudly.

"And how is the rest of the family?" she asked, avoiding the awkward subject of Hilda's earth-mother religion.

"Good. The Wonder Twins are freshmen at the University of Illinois over in Champaign," she said. "They were home with my sister Agatha last weekend. We all went over to Iowa City to watch the football game. Iowa won, of course. John was not happy about that. Did I tell you that Aggie transferred to the U of I too?" Nicole nodded. "Smart move on her part. That school has a first-rate engineering program. Eleanor is still teaching here in town. My Mom and my Aunt Claire still run the store most of the time. They are both dating again, trying to find themselves husbands to take care of them," she smiled.

And your baby's father? Nicole did not ask. She bit her tongue. Hilda had made no secret that she had several lovers over the years. She wondered which of them was the father of her child.

Mind your own business, Nosie.

Hilda stepped closer to Nicole now, her eyes smoldering. "But I am being a bad host. Can I do anything for you?" she asked, her voice sultry.

Nicole swallowed through a throat gone suddenly dry. Hilda was a good friend, but her blatant sensuality was intimidating at times. She had hinted several times in the past that she was more than willing to take her to bed, or in the absence of a bed, to the back room. It was strange, dealing with a person who always seemed to be restraining herself, with some difficulty, from ravishing you.

Then again, she thought, when you haven't been laid for over a year, and when your lover's name is Duracell...