Saving Pat

By Annie Campbell

Saving Pat is the third in the Doolan Family Series. The series is best read in order, each is a standalone HEA but follow a progression so there may be spoilers if later books are read first.
Patrick Doolan came back from service in Afghanistan with secrets and a changed personality. Since his medical discharge from the Army, he has worked for his brother at Doolan Security and attempted to convince himself he has a life. Recently, his high school crush Sarah Gordon has become his new boss and he begins to wonder whether he is free to live again.
Sara Gordon, a widow of three years is starting to see that she can’t only focus on her job and being a mother. She is ready to look for someone new. Is Pat going to be the man for her?
A night of grief-driven drinking leads to tragic consequences and suddenly Pat finds himself on the wrong side of the law in the - albeit enticing - shape of Uber-Bitch Sergeant Alegra Fazio.
Alegra Fazio is determined to make Captain, and sees stripes when she arrests Patrick Doolan for murder. She believes he has a shady past and is determined to make the indictment stick. As she begins to find flaws in the witness statements, and discrepancies between what she believes to be true and what she discovers about her prisoner, Alegra needs to determine if her judgement is conflicted by her desire to prosecute a past crime and her drive for promotion.
Meanwhile, Sara refuses to sit passively by and allow Pat to go to jail for a crime she doesn’t believe him guilty of.
Pat finds himself between two strong minded, driven women, each committed to their goal.
As ever with the Doolans, this story is dialogue led, with all the characters we know and love from earlier books making appearances – with a few shocks. Will Shannon continue her Bridezilla rampage? Will Aiden and Cass ever find the nerve to tell their family that they are married- and pregnant? Will Ma ever return from her cruise? How exactly did Sunny and Colm get together? Is there anything that doesn’t cause George to be the most flatulent Bulldog in Boston? These and other questions may or may not be answered in this installment.
Advised 18 or older for the gratuitous and flagrant use of cussing, and for scenes of a sexual nature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annie Campbell
• Release date: Sep 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370855445

Annie Campbell

Annie Campbell is a pen name, I am not sure why I felt unable to put my own name to my work, part of it goes back to old personal issues. Now that I have completed my fifth book, I have greater belief in my work and my worth, but back when I first began the publishing process for Tomorrow Begins Today, I felt a little insecure. Also, because the main character I had created, Lou, was semi autobiographical, I wasn't at that time ready to own certain aspects of our similarities. Now, not only can I publicly own my historic over reliance on alcohol, but I am proud of my recovery and achievements in sobriety. I shy from calling myself an alcoholic, not because I am concerned about any stigma, but because having spent 3.5 years with others in recovery, I genuinely do not believe I fall into that category. Regardless of title, I had an unhealthy relationship with the bottle for 30 odd years and am happily, healthily sober nowadays. I live on the East Coast of Scotland with my tolerant husband and my impatient Labradoodle Molly. I work part time, which is necessary as I have an insular personality and writing is an isolating profession. If I didn't have to go to work, I would probably rarely leave the house or speak to others.

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

For those of you who have followed my books, you will remember that at the end of Layers Beneath, Aiden received a call to say that Pat had been arrested for murder. I blame this entirely on my husband who, in his best impression of Mark McManus in the Scottish television series Taggart, told me the should be a ‘murrrder’ in my next book. So, I blithely condemned Patrick Doolan to becoming a murder suspect in the following novel.

Of course, then I was left with the problem of how, where, when and why. Not to mention who! Life was going to become somewhat complicated. I had a rough idea of the crime I intended for Patrick to be thought guilty of, though needless to say, as soon as I sat down with him, and began writing, that particular scenario didn’t gel. What did we know of Patrick Doolan? He had served in Afghanistan and returned home - like many real life enlisted men who have seen combat - troubled and distant. We know that he rescued Sara from an unpleasant situation in High School, and that they both had crushed on each other unknowingly at the time. I had decided, in my lofty arrogance that Patrick and Sara deserved their romance.

Unfortunately, as I began writing, it wasn’t Sara who Pat began to feel attracted to. Never fear, Sara and her gifted little boy Nicu will find their happy ever after I am sure. For now, I trust that you will enjoy finding out much more about Patrick Doolan, and the woman who will turn his life around…

… Saving Pat is the third in the Doolan Family Series. The series is best read in order, each is a standalone HEA but follow a progression so there may be spoilers if later books are read first.

Patrick Doolan came back from service in Afghanistan with secrets and an altered personality. Since his medical discharge from the Army, he has worked for his brother Aiden at Doolan Security, and attempted to convince himself he has a life. Recently, his high school crush Sarah Gordon has become his new boss and he begins to wonder whether he is free to live again.

Sara Gordon, a widow of three years is starting to see that she can’t only focus on her job and being a mother. She is ready to look for someone new. Is Pat going to be the man for her?

A night of grief-driven drinking leads to tragic consequences and suddenly Pat finds himself on the wrong side of the law in the - albeit enticing - shape of Uber-Bitch Sergeant Alegra Fazio.

Alegra Fazio is determined to make Captain, and sees stripes when she arrests Patrick Doolan for murder. She believes he has a shady past and is determined to make the indictment stick. As she begins to find flaws in the witness statements, and discrepancies between what she believes to be true and what she discovers about her prisoner, Alegra needs to determine if her judgement is conflicted by her desire to prosecute a past crime and her drive for promotion.

Meanwhile, Sara refuses to sit passively by and allow Pat to go to jail for a crime she doesn’t believe him guilty of.

Pat finds himself between two strong minded, driven women, each committed to their goal.

As ever with the Doolans, this story is dialogue led, with all the characters we know and love from earlier books making appearances - with a few shocks. Will Shannon continue her Bridezilla rampage? Will Aiden and Cass ever find the nerve to tell their family that they are married- and pregnant? Will Ma ever return from her cruise? How exactly did Sunny and Colm get together? Is there anything that doesn’t cause George to be the most flatulent Bulldog in Boston? These and other questions may or may not be answered in this installment.

Advised 18 or older for the gratuitous and flagrant use of cussing, and for scenes of a sexual nature.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Epilogue

About the Author

Books by the Author

PROLOGUE

What the fuck do you mean he’s been arrested for murder? Aiden swayed slightly. Cass, small as she was, tucked herself tighter into his body to lend her support, her eyes widening in response to his shouted reaction to the callers’ comment. Aiden gave her a quick shake of his head as he continued listening to his cell.

Sorry boss, I just received a call from your Auntie Shirley, seems Pat just got marched out your ma’s house in shackles. I’m going to see what I can find out, and then get Ethan’s lawyer down the police station. I am hoping Pat is sane enough to keep his mouth shut until she gets there.

Aiden sighed and dropped a weary kiss onto Cass’s head.

Okay Clay, do what you have to. We will get there as soon as we can. Thanks. Oh, fuck! Does Sara know?

CHAPTER ONE

At the first loud bang Pat shot upright, his heart pounding. He relaxed slightly, when a repeat of the sound told him someone was merely demanding entry and not firing mortars overhead. His brain had flinched at the unwelcome noise; the hypersensitivity a result of his rare overindulgence the previous night. His heart flipped and his stomach threatened to disgorge its stale contents as Pat recalled the reason for his drinking. It had been the second anniversary of Ameena’s and Jawar’s deaths, and guilt still gnawed at his insides with every memory of what happened that day and what followed.

Deeply immersed in his self-torture, Pat was barely aware of the voices that accompanied the banging, coming back to the present only when the final noise, far louder and more destructive, allowed the voices to become more pronounced.

Clear.

Clear.

Clear.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted Pat to the imminent arrival of whichever cop had the joy of searching the top floor. He lay back in bed and waited, hands open and raised, not in any hurry to hear why his Ma’s home had been invaded by Boston's Finest.

Found him. The voice surprised him in its husky femininity, and he looked up in anticipation. Nondescript brown hair was scraped back in a tight bun under a cap pulled low over her brow. Lips formed a thin angry crease over a stubborn jaw. Her eye color was indeterminable, due to them currently being narrowed at Pat under the peak. Overall her appearance screamed ‘hard-faced bitch’.

She stood tall, around 5’10" Pat would guess, long legs led up to curvy hips which cinched into a surprisingly slender waist, made bulkier by her utility belt. Her tits fought against the confines of her uniform as she reached back to holster the gun she had recently been aiming at him. Pat was a tit man, and from what he could see, she was sporting a couple of beauties. Shame about the attitude.

Patrick Liam Doolan? Her voice, slick with distaste, redirected his eyes and roused him from his momentary distraction.

I've answered to that. Pat replied coolly. His mind churned sluggishly as he met her glare, he was still trying and failing to focus his thoughts. Drinking to excess was such a rare occurrence, that the after effects were dulling Pat’s senses far beyond the norm.

You are under arrest for the murder of Gerald Parker on the night of 29th May 2016. The Officer proceeded to read him the Miranda - managing to curl her lip in distaste at the same time. Some achievement Pat thought, as he lay there watching her. He heard the words, he even knew what each one meant. He just had real difficulty with the way they strung themselves together. Add to that the lack of sleep, and it was understandable why he was fixated on the cop in front of him rather than on what she was saying.

Get up. She ordered, as her fellow officers finally arrived.

Are you sure you want me to do that Officer? Pat goaded with one raised brow.

Sergeant Fazio to you Doolan. Fazio growled contemptuously. She hated these arrogant self-absorbed types. Just because he was good looking, he thought he could get any woman he wanted without effort. Well not her. She had standards. And murderers never made it onto her to-do list.

Yes, get out of that bed now. Slowly, and keep those hands where I can see them.

So he did. Slowly and with a smirk.

Pat wasn’t ashamed of the myriad of scars that marred his body. His guilt was in his survival at the expense of the innocent. Nor was he insecure about the size of his dick, which was currently sporting its usual morning wood.

Fazio’s eyes widened momentarily until she raised them from his groin and noticed Pat’s smug grin. She angrily snatched some pants from the chair and flung them at him, snarling; Put these on before I add indecent exposure to the charge.

Pat mischievously swayed his hips, his cock swinging heavily from side to side. What about my Weapon of Mass Seduction, Officer? Want to charge me for that too?

Fazio had been turning to leave at that point but his words spun her round and she stormed up to Pat and stopped - her face near enough for his lips to reach out and meet hers. Had he wanted. Which he totally fucking didn't.

You think this is a joke, Doolan? She spat, her distaste obvious.

Pat did, but wisely chose not to say so.

"You think killing an innocent man is a joke? You're not in the army now Doolan, no one to excuse your temper this time. No one here is going to sweep this under the carpet. You are going down for what you did, and I will be there, front and center when you do."

Blue. Her eyes were blue. Sapphire blue ice, sending shards of loathing directly into his soul. Her words brought Pat back to earth with the resonating impact of a mortar. Fuck. Murder? It hit him. Hard. This wasn't a joke, a bad dream or a case of mistaken identity. His Ma's door had been kicked in; and this hard-faced bitch wanted blood. His.

As she pulled her cuffs from her belt, Pat woodenly lifted his arms. Simultaneously, they noticed the grazed and swollen knuckles of his right hand.

Johnson. Fazio snarled at one of the two male cops who still stood just inside the bedroom door. Bring me an evidence bag, now. She also grabbed the pants back from Pat’s unresisting grip as he stared at his knuckles and struggled with his stupid, slow, cotton ball brain.

Fazio lifted her chin to another officer, and passed the pants. Bag his clothes, get some clean ones on him and take him down to the station. Get CSI down to scrape for samples. Don't take your eyes off him, you’re chain of evidence. I need to formally interview the girlfriend.

Girlfriend? Pat was baffled. He was relatively sure he hadn’t procured one since the previous day.

Johnson returned, and Fazio slid the plastic baggie carefully over Pat’s hand, securing it before cinching the cuffs tightly around his wrists. Pat stood silently as his mind groped to recall the night before. He remembered being in Molly's Bar, where he had nursed several pints. He also recollected the inside of at least two different watering holes, but his memories were vague, elusive.

Yes girlfriend, or I should say fiancée. Fazio continued as she threw another hate-filled look Pat’s way. He guessed she had no urge to friend him on Facebook any time soon.

"The poor woman who is grieving the death of her partner at your hands Doolan. The woman who, in the early hours of this morning lost the love of her life who also happened to be the father of her two young children."

Pat shook his head, still trying clear it as he struggled to remember the sequence of events from the previous night.

Misinterpreting his shake as denial, Fazio sneered at him. Don't even bother Doolan, you were seen arguing with the victim inside the bar and when he went out for a smoke you followed him. When he didn't return, his girlfriend came looking, only to find him lying unconscious and you disappearing around the corner. He died before the ambulance arrived. Giving Pat one last look of disgust she turned away leaving him with her minions.

So, she always so cheery? Pat grunted at one of them, the one not called Johnson.

Nah, not-Johnson grinned back humorlessly, you caught her on a good day. Usually she is a real…

Watch it Coulson, you are already on a charge courtesy of 3B. Coulson reddened at Johnsons warning. Snatching some sweats from a drawer, Coulson removed his prisoners left cuff long enough for Pat to dress himself; his bagged hand fumbling awkwardly with his clothing.

With his prisoner finally garbed, and cuffs firmly back in place, Coulson steered Pat down the stairs and out of the splintered front door.

Pat’s neighbors were out in force, - it had been a long time since the Doolans had provided such entertainment. A woman in her early sixties flung her front door open and ran down her path towards them. Patrick love, whatever are they doing to you? Who should I call? She reached for him, but Coulson blocked her arm.

Ma'am step back from the prisoner.

Prisoner? ’Sakes, it’s Patrick! He's not got a bad bone in his body. Not what she was shrieking 25 years ago, Pat thought, when he and his older brother Colm had been tearing up the street on their pushbikes and generally terrorizing the neighborhood. Then she called the two young Doolan boys the Devils Spawn.

Ring Sunshine at Doolan Security, Aunt Shirley, Pat called to her as he was being led towards the patrol car. Get her to send someone to fix Ma's door. And tell her to let Clay know what's happened.

What about Aiden and Colm? Pat’s older brother Aiden ran Doolan Security which provided employment for Pat and his siblings.

Aiden’s in San Diego just now. Goddammit! Sunshine and Colm are headed out there for a visit. You better tell whoever answers that you need to speak to Sara Gordon then. Pat groaned inwardly at the thought of Sara’s face at the news of his arrest. Not, he knew, that she wouldn't have eventually heard, but it would have been nice to have this misunderstanding cleared up before then. Dammit, so much for impressing her.

Don't blaspheme Patrick, the Good Lord is always listening. Shirley automatically admonished as she crossed herself.

Sorry Aunt Shirley. Pat looked at his feet and felt about six again. Shirley and Ma could always guilt him with a mention of the Big Man. One of the many constants of a Catholic upbringing.

Shirley lifted a hand as if to reach for Pat’s face, but dropped it again after a stern look from Coulson. We'll get you out Patrick. She smiled and nodded, as if it were a done deal.

Pat was bending to enter the back of the squad car when a thought spun him back around.

For fuck sake Aunt Shirley, don't tell Ma if she calls. I don't want her coming home early. Hopefully this will be history by the time she gets back.

Don’t worry Patrick, my lips are sealed. Right. He loved her to bits, but Pat knew Shirley could gossip for the Olympics. Coulson steered him back around and pressed down on his head as he none too gently pushed Pat into the back seat.

CHAPTER TWO

As Southie passed by in a blur of buildings, Pat stared at his bagged hand and a memory of the night before began its lugubrious journey to the forefront of his mind… A bar he rarely visited - a slight built guy in a hissed argument with his lass…

The man’s shoulder bangs Pat’s arm, and spills his pint. Pat growls at him but moves away to the end of the bar. Huddled in his world of pain, misery and guilt, he doesn't seek external distractions. A pint slides into his line of sight curtesy of the relieved barman; a thank you for not making trouble. Pat nods his acknowledgement before returning to his pity party.

It’s later. That pint is drained and Pat is still sitting, morose, at the end of the bar. He knows he’s drunk; the floor tilts as he stands to go take a leak… At that memory, another recollection nudged Pats brain and an immediate flash of clarity brought everything tumbling back.

…Pat is coming back out the bathroom. They are standing there; the guys narrow rat face is right up in hers, spittle landing on her flinching cheek with the force of his harshly whispered curses. He snarls with quiet menace and the fist he grips her with is eating into her arm. Pat knows all too well the exact pattern of bruising it will leave.

He can't just walk past even though this is old style Southie and the only recognized response to seeing a domestic is to become blind, deaf and dumb. It goes against every cell in Pat’s body to just ignore what is happening.

Drunk as he is, Pat tries to appear conciliatory. He relaxes his body so that he doesn’t tower over the shorter man, and forces a smile he doesn’t feel. Hey dude, how about you ease up on your old lady?

Ratface spins, his dark eyes filled with alcohol fueled rage. Pat’s stomach flips at the instant recall of his Da’s eyes holding the exact look, but he meets the glare and widens his stance.

"This is fuck all to do with you. I suggest you walk away." Ratface spits out.

"Maybe you could just let go her arm then eh? Pat stands unmoving, hoping his more imposing physique is enough of a message to the hostile drunk. Ratface glares at him, assessing what threat Pat might represent, before turning back to his woman. Pat sees Ratface’s knuckles whiten slightly - his grip on the girl’s arm has tightened. He shakes her and she pales, trembling under his aggressive focus. Bitch, we are not finished." Ratface finally flings her from him and marches away; A stiff-legged, barely controlled, pile of drunken menace.

She turns to Pat, hollow eyed and shaking. You don't know what you've done. Her voice cracks and he hears the tremor in it. Pat’s shoulders sag and his stomach flips as her words fill him with memories and their incumbent terrors. He knows that he needs to try to talk to her.

"You don't have to stick around honey, he shouldn't treat you like that. No one - hear me? - No one, deserves to be treated that way." He walks away with the knowledge that all he has bought her is a reprieve… and possibly a bigger beating to come.

Returning to the bar, Pat notices Ratface instantly - hunched over his pint, an aura of menace surrounding him like a toxic fog. Knowing it’s time to leave before he can do even more damage, Pat catches the bartender’s eye and drops a twenty. It easily covers his drinks.

He straightens his jacket as he exits the bar. He’d prefer to carry it in the late-night warmth, but Pat’s spidey senses tell him he might need his hands free. He never ignores those tingles… not any more. He is unsurprised but disappointed to hear the bar door open almost immediately behind him.

Momentarily Pat closes his eyes and send a prayer to his Ma's God. Not that you’ve found time to do me any favors before, he murmurs skywards, but tonight, please Big Man, just tonight let me get home to grieve in peace?

A tight grip on his shoulder tells Pat that's not gonna happen. They are passing the narrow alley running along the back of the bar and the hand shoves him. Pat, inebriated, staggers off balance into the dingy murkiness. He sighs in defeat as he turns. Ratface is fizzing with drunken hostility. Pat knows the look all too well - he cowered from it too many times to ever forget.

"Come on then you bastard, let's see what you got." Ratface leers as he pushes an unsteady Pat further into the litter strewn gloom. Spotting a piece of two by two, Ratface lifts and hefts it like a baseball bat before turning towards Pat.

Seeing Ratface armed and cockier than ever- and knowing it’s useless- Pat still gives it one more try. He holds his hands up, palms out, hoping to appeal to the guy’s drunken ass. I don't want to fight you man, I'm already having a crap day. I don’t want to hurt you, but I promise you, if you force it, I will. And even though you are obviously a cowardly, wife beating piece of shit, I really don't want to get into it with you. Okay, so when drunk, his diplomacy lacks tact.

Almost before Pat finishes speaking, Ratface swings the wooden weapon in a deadly arc, but drunk as he is, Pats reactions are such that Ratface might as well be moving in slow motion. Pat easily ducks back out of reach.

"I mean it. Pat tries again. Just go. You can tell your girl you flattened me, no one will know any different. Just walk away." Pat turns and manages two strides before his senses tell him to duck. The air swiffling past his face tells him it was a close call. Pat turns holding his hands out and open, though he is struggling against a rising tide of anger at the asshole.

"Fuckin’ coward. Ratface grins. He wrongly assumes Pat is intimidated, and he feels brave behind his makeshift bat. You big fuckers are all the same." He swings, and again Pat easily evades the clumsy attempt. This was getting old fast and Pat needed it to end. Suddenly, he is filled with an intense rage at Ratface who, with his white trash attitude, was defiling Pat’s grief. Ratface’s missed lunge brings him near enough for Pat to throw a quick right uppercut, swung from the stomach. He holds back on the full force, knowing he only need to deck the drunken shithead.

Pat watches as Ratface falls in slow motion, legs buckling, weapon dropping, back bowing, as shoulders and then head make jarring contact with the ground. It seems to take minutes, yet is over in a millisecond.

Ratface’s eyes widen in stunned pain and he shakes his head - possibly trying to remember what decade it is - as he struggles to sit up.

"Stay. The fuck. Down. Or I will just put you back down as many times as it takes. I told you I didn't want to do this. I told you I didn't want to hurt you. Just let me walk away and I won't have to do it again." Looking into his eyes, Pat can see the moment Ratface accepts he is beaten. He won't try again.

The blaze of fury that had swept through Pat, returns as he stumbles away fists clenched, knowing that future anniversaries would be tainted with this sour memory. He lifted my head skywards, tears filling his eyes. Meen, I am sorry sweetheart, so, so sorry.

Pat staggers blearily along lamp-lit streets until he recognizes his own, and wearily trudges up the path. Once through the door he sits staring into the darkness, allowing memories to torture him until each tired blink scratches his eyeballs and the sky begins to lighten. Only then does Pat release himself from his vigil and sink into blissful oblivion…

Shattered when Fazio and crew had broken down Ma’s door.

Now, sitting in an interview room watching the tech run a swab across his skinned knuckles, the memories of the previous night have left Pat shaken.

Had he pulled his punch as he believed? Or had he allowed rage and grief to overcome him?

CHAPTER THREE

What do you mean he’s been arrested for murder? Sara glared at Clay waiting for the punchline that never appeared. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to make sense of what Clayton was telling her. Pat? When? How? I mean we had a meeting yesterday, he was… Sara’s voice faded as she recalled the previous day. Pat had been quieter than usual, his recent flirtatious friendliness absent. Sara had noticed, but hadn’t considered anything particularly wrong with him at the time.

When Aiden had offered the position of Vice President of Doolan Security, it had taken Sara but a moment to accept. Once she knew that Nicolai would still see plenty of his mommy, she knew it was too good an opportunity to miss.

She had wondered how Patrick - her knight in shining armor at high school - would take to her being his boss, but she needn’t have worried. Sara’s seniority; in age or position did not seem to daunt him. He had changed hugely since school days - was quieter, sad. He was no longer the cocky, happy go lucky lad he had been. But in the weeks since she had taken over running the Boston office, Sara had seen changes. Pat had begun to laugh more and he smiled easier. He had initiated a gentle flirtation with her, which Sara had cautiously responded to.

If Pat had changed since high school, so too had Sara. She had met Mihail in college and fallen quickly, his soft voice and sexy Romanian accent sending shivers fluttering down her back the moment he spoke. Their romance