There was an awkward silence as the waitress waited for the predictable reaction from Rafe. When his attention remained laser-focused on Annie, she grudgingly turned to sashay away.
Annie’s heart missed a beat as she met the dark gaze that held blatant male interest.
He was good. Dangerously good.
“I don’t remember inviting you to join me,” she said.
“That’s okay.” He reached across the table to snag a french fry from her plate. “I forgive your lack of manners.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’d say we’re both in luck.”
For a scalding second she allowed herself to become lost in the dark, inviting gaze. A part of her desperately wanted to indulge in a lighthearted flirtation with this drop-dead, sexy hunk.
When was the last time a handsome man tried to seduce her?
Yeah, that would be never.
But she’d be worse than a fool to let down her guard.
She absently wiped a bead of condensation from her glass of diet soda. “Won’t your grandfather be expecting you?”
“I doubt it. He died last year.”
She grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I barely knew him.” His tone hardened. “He wasn’t pleased when my father left Newton to join the army.”
“Why not?” The words were out before she could halt them. Dammit. She didn’t want to know any more about Rafe Vargas. Not when she sensed he was already going to feature prominently in her fantasies tonight. “Forget that. It’s none of my business.”
Rafe plucked another french fry from her plate, naturally ignoring her request. “My grandfather believed my father should stay and contribute to the household income, but my father didn’t want to be a farmhand for the rest of his life. The day he walked out the door my grandfather said he would never forgive him.” He ate the fry in two bites. “He didn’t.”
Annie glanced toward the crowded dining room and then the door.
She should leave.
Not just because this man was too charming for his own good, but because she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Dammit. She wasn’t here for her own pleasure.
But she couldn’t make herself move.
She didn’t want to go back to the cramped motel room and pace the floors. Not yet.
Instead she took a sip of her soda and studied his lean face.
“You never met him?” she abruptly asked.
“Twice. At my grandmother’s funeral. And then six years ago when my father was diagnosed with cancer.” She didn’t miss the edge of bitterness in his voice. “I had some idiotic thought that I could convince the stubborn old jackass to bury the hatchet.”
She asked the obvious question. “You couldn’t?”
His lips twisted. “He wouldn’t even let me through the door.”
“What about your father?”
“He died a year later.”
Annie sensed that Rafe’s sheer lack of emotion was an indication of how deeply he still mourned his father’s loss. And how angry he remained toward the grandfather who cared more about his pride than his own son.
“Families are . . .” Her lips twisted as she searched for a suitable word. “Difficult.”
He snorted at her eventual choice. “Some are a complete pain in the ass.”
She nodded, waiting for the waitress to set down Rafe’s beer. The simple task seemed to require an enormous amount of effort as the woman fussed over the napkin she placed beneath the frosty glass and brushed her hip against Rafe’s shoulder.
Once again Rafe’s gaze never wavered from Annie’s face, the intensity of his single-minded focus sending the waitress away with a loud huff and making Annie shift uneasily against the plastic-covered seat.
What the hell did he want from her?
“I won’t talk about it, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
He arched a brow, as if genuinely puzzled by her abrupt words. “About what?”
“The Newton Slayer.”
“Good,” he said, reaching for his beer to take a deep drink. “I’ve been drowning in the past all day. Tell me what you do.”
She narrowed her gaze. “What I do?”
“For a living.”
“Oh.” She gave a lift of her shoulder. “I’m a CPA.”
“A CPA. That’s . . .”
“Boring,” she said with a wry smile.
“Highly respectable,” he corrected. “Do you like it?”
Annie lowered her gaze. She suspected Rafe’s dark eyes could see far too much.
She wasn’t ready to confront her sense of dissatisfaction with her career. Not with herself. Not with her foster parents. And certainly not with a stranger. “It’s a stable career with growth potential.” She mouthed the words she’d heard since she was ten years old.
“Did that come on the brochure?” he teased, holding out a hand as she jerked her head up to send him a warning glare. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just guessing that it’s more functional than the job of your deepest fantasy.”
She continued to glare, her hand clenching in her lap as her heart gave a renegade leap.
At the moment, her deepest fantasy included this man, a sturdy bed, and a hot fudge sundae.
A wicked desire she had no intention of confessing.
“What do you do?” she instead demanded.
“I’ve recently left the military,” he said, something that reminded her of the dark, howling emptiness deep in her heart flaring through his eyes. Then he forced a smile to his lips. “Now that I’m back in the States, I’ve started a security firm with a few of my friends.”
“You’re a rent-a-cop?”
He gave a sudden laugh. “We’re a little more specialized than that.”
The underlying edge in his voice made her stiffen in warning. She studied the starkly beautiful face, allowing herself to accept what her unconscious mind had known all along.
Beneath the casual charm was a man who could kill without mercy.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “How long have you been in town?”
He stilled, seeming to catch her sudden tension. “Four days.” Slowly he lowered his hand to reach into his back pocket. “And if you’re curious, I had to make a quick trip to Paris to help an old friend.”
With a casual gesture he tossed a passport on the table, his dark gaze monitoring the blush that stained her cheeks.
Busted.
She cleared the lump from her throat. “Why would I be curious?”
He reached to flick open the passport, revealing the date and official stamp of his return to the country.
“Because you’re an intelligent woman and you have to wonder if I had anything to do with Jenny Brown’s disappearance.”
She hid a wry smile. The dates certainly proved he had been out of the country, but the truth was that didn’t ease her wariness.
Okay, she didn’t believe this man was a crazed serial killer. Especially now he’d offered her proof he’d been in France.
But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.
Like clockwork, the hovering waitress swooped forward, placing another beer in front of Rafe despite the fact he hadn’t ordered it.
She also managed to drop a folded piece of paper in his lap.
No doubt it was her name and number.
Annie shook her head. Smooth. Real smooth.
“Just call if you need anything,” the woman cooed. “Anything.”
A portion of Annie’s tension eased at Rafe’s resigned expression as he swept the note off his lap and onto the floor.
Clearly the waitress wasn’t the first woman to pester him when he was trying to have a private conversation.
“Maybe you should show her your passport,” Annie murmured.
He reached to grab the passport and pushed it back into his pocket. “I don’t spread it around,” he assured her. “Strictly one woman at a time.”
“Hmm.”
&nbs
p; He pushed aside the beer and leaned his arms on the table. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
She instinctively pressed back against the rigid cushion, afraid of getting sucked into the raw male vortex that swirled around him. “In this restaurant?”
“In Newton.”
“No.”
His lips twitched at her blunt refusal. “Fair enough. Then tell me what you like to do when you’re not crunching numbers.”
He was tenacious. She’d give him that.
“I read. Jog. Kickbox.”
A genuine surprise rippled over his face. “Amazing.”
She frowned. Was he mocking her? “What’s amazing?”
“I jog every morning at five a.m. on the dot. A routine that started when my father began hauling my ass out of bed when I was ten years old,” he said. “On the weekends I kickbox with my friends, and I have several old fractured bones and a few scars to prove they’re all better than me. And when I have a quiet evening, there’s nothing I like more than a bottle of wine and a good book.”
Her eyes narrowed. “No doubt you also have a devoted wife and children tucked away.”
“No wife. No children.” He smiled, as if he knew she’d been fishing for info without coming out and asking. “I do, however, have two golden Labs who live with me at my ranch, and they’re extremely jealous. But I promise I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“You have a ranch?” Her breath caught, a pang of longing tugging at her heart.
She acutely missed her foster parents’ home. Her animals. The wide-open spaces. The silence.
Katherine had pushed her to move to Denver out of the belief that Annie was becoming too isolated. She assumed it was fear that kept Annie from leaving the nest and spreading her wings.
And that could be a part of it.
Her past would never truly leave her in peace.
But most of her desire to remain had quite simply been because she loved the ranch.
“Right now it’s just empty land with a house I’ve refurbished, a stable, and some run-down buildings.” His expression revealed how much the property meant to him. “Someday—”
His words were interrupted as the waitress made yet another attempt to gain his attention. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked, the perfume she’d recently doused on herself making Annie’s nose wrinkle in disgust. “Dessert? Another beer?”
Annie loudly cleared her throat.
She couldn’t play this game with Rafe.
Not only was it dangerous to let herself be distracted, but she didn’t do relationships.
“I’ll take my bill, thanks,” she told the waitress.
Rafe at last gave the woman the thrill she’d been seeking when he tilted back his head to smile. “Put it on mine,” he commanded.
The woman heaved a sigh and Annie slid out of the booth.
She didn’t want to be there when the waitress stripped off her uniform and crawled in Rafe’s lap.
“Knock yourself out,” she muttered, heading toward the door.
Sensing that Rafe was watching from the window, Annie crossed the parking lot to her Jeep. Then, climbing in, she started the engine and headed toward the highway without looking back.
It took several miles for her tension to ease and her sense of humor to return. Relaxing in her seat, she allowed her lips to twitch at the thought of Rafe trying to wrestle his way past the waitress to get to the door.
Rafe was a trained soldier, but the waitress had persistence on her side.
Then her amusement faded at the realization that now she was gone, he might have decided to accept the woman’s blatant invitations.
Not that it was any of her business, she grimly reminded herself.
Hopefully by tomorrow Jenny would return home, and she could be on her way back to Denver, where Rafe Vargas would become nothing more than a pleasant memory.
In less than a quarter of an hour, Annie pulled to a halt in front of her motel room.
Crawling out of the Jeep, she locked it and headed toward the door, only to come to a wary halt.
Someone was watching her.
It wasn’t the same as when she sensed Rafe’s lingering gaze.
That’d felt . . . exciting.
This made her skin crawl.
“Hello?” She slid her hand into her purse, wrapping her fingers around the pepper spray she always carried. “Is there anyone there?” She cautiously backed toward her motel door. “Look, I know you’re out there,” she called out.
Her gaze scanned the gravel lot shrouded in shadows.
On the corner was a small coffee shop that was closed for the night, and across the road was an empty gas station that looked on the point of collapse.
The only light came from the windows of a nearby home that doubled as the motel office.
“I’m not going crazy,” she breathed, her back pressed against the door.
She couldn’t see the watcher, but he was out there. Stalking. Waiting. Savoring.
Her throat closed shut, but even as she was frantically digging in her purse for the key, a back porch light flicked on and the owner stepped out of his house.
“Is there anything wrong, Ms. White?” he called out.
Locating the key, she pulled it out of her bag and shoved it into the doorknob.
“No. Thank you.” The lock clicked and she paused long enough to give a small wave before darting into the room and slamming the door behind her.
Oh . . . God.
She pressed a hand to her thundering heart.
It was happening again.
Hidden in the shadows of the alley, he clenched his hands and watched the woman enter the motel room.
He could hear the sound of her ragged breathing and sense the way her body trembled as she’d slammed the door behind her.
God forgive him. He hadn’t meant to scare her. That was the last thing he would ever want.
His sweet Annabelle was special. So kind and gentle. Like an angel.
She was meant to be treasured. Protected.
Last time he’d failed in his duty. But now he had a second chance. He wasn’t going to blow it.
But first he had work to do.
The bad woman had to be punished.
Only then would Annabelle be safe . . .
Chapter Four
Rafe forced himself to wait ten minutes before he left the restaurant and returned to Newton so he could drive by the motel and make sure the yellow Jeep was safely parked in the gravel lot.
The last thing he wanted was for Annie to think he was some psycho stalker, but he had to make sure she’d made it back to her room safely.
He told himself it was his natural protective instincts. Any man would be worried about a young female out at night when there was a potential killer on the loose.
Especially if the killer was connected to her father.
But in his gut he knew that his driving compulsion was something more.
He just didn’t know what that more was.
Refusing to give in to the impulse to park across the street and keep an eye on her like some creeper, he turned the truck around and headed back to LaClede to pick up a few groceries. It was a chore that could easily have waited until the next day, but he wasn’t anxious to return to his grandfather’s house.
He’d managed to clear the boxes out of the living room, bathroom, and one bedroom, but it still felt cramped. Claustrophobic. As if his grandfather’s ghost was standing at his shoulder, urging him to leave.
The bastard.
At last he returned to Newton, pulling to a halt in front of the small house built on the very edge of town.
He grimaced at the sagging roof and the wraparound porch that listed to the side. The white paint had peeled away and the hedges grown to overtake the small front yard. Long ago his grandfather had kept the property in pristine condition, but it’d been years since his health had been good enough to do the work¸ and he’d been too damned proud to ask for
help.
Behind the house the yard stretched to the edge of an empty field, with two large sheds overfilled with boxes. So far he hadn’t done more than glance inside and slam the doors shut.
The mere thought of having to dig through all the crap was enough to make Rafe wish he could toss a match and be done with the problem.
Easy peasy.
Stepping on the porch, he froze as he heard the creak of a floorboard.
Shit. Someone was inside.
Cautiously, Rafe set the bag of groceries on the porch swing and pulled out the gun holstered beneath his sweatshirt. Then, with the silence that came from years of rigid training, he was moving to press himself flat against the front door he hadn’t bothered to lock. Why would he? Not only was the small town the sort of place you left your door open, but he’d be happy as hell if someone wanted to come in and haul off the shit inside.
Now he cursed his lax security.
The last thing he wanted was to have to shoot some yokel who decided to snoop around.
Easing the door open, he had the gun pointed toward the center of the room when a familiar male voice echoed through the darkness.
“You shoot me and I’m going to be pissed,” Teagan drawled. “And my mother will kick your ass.”
“What the hell?”
Shoving the gun back in its holster, Rafe closed the door and flipped the switch on the wall. Instantly the room was filled with a dull yellow glow from the overhead light, revealing the large man dressed in camo pants and a black T-shirt that was stretched across the impressive width of his chest.
Rafe frowned. The last person he expected to be leaning against the crumbling fireplace was Teagan.
“How did you get here?” he demanded.
The computer genius shrugged. “Hauk flew me to Des Moines and I rented a car.”
Rafe glanced out the nearby window. He’d been distracted when he’d pulled up to the house, but there was no way he’d missed a car. “Where is it?”
“I parked at the gas station on the corner.” Teagan gave a dramatic shudder. The man was a freak when it came to cars, devoting his spare time to refurbishing old automobiles and selling them at an enormous profit. “I didn’t want anyone to see me driving the POS.”
Kill Without Mercy Page 4
