by Mari Manning
Rafe shifted. “Maybe I will take a drink. Do you have a Coke?”
“Come on.” Rafe followed Jamey into the kitchen and settled on a stool while Jamey pulled two cans from the fridge.
Rafe flipped the top back on his Coke. “When you say your intentions are honorable, what do you mean exactly?”
“The traditional meaning.”
“The traditional meaning is marriage. You’ve barely talked to her in eight years. People change.”
“I know I still have strong feelings for her. If she reciprocates those feelings, then yes, I’ve a mind to ask her to marry me.”
Rafe combed his fingers through his hair. “She’s been hurt pretty bad, Jamey. Maybe beyond redemption.”
A fierce determination rose in him. “We’ve all been wounded. I’ve been wounded, you’ve been wounded, Dinah’s been wounded, but we don’t lock ourselves away and give up on life, do we? Why should Esme?”
“I don’t know if Esme can take another wound. Her first one was nearly mortal.”
“I’m not going to hurt her. Quite frankly, the only person whose heart is on the block, so to speak, is mine.” The sharp crack of a hammer pounding a nail echoed in the half-dark kitchen. He pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket and checked the caller I.D. His heart almost stuck in his throat. It was Esme.
He pressed the phone to his ear. “Hi, there.” Was that too breezy?
A slight hesitation on the other end, then a soft “Hi,” found its way to his ear.
“Just a sec.”
Rafe was studying the countertop. “Hey, bro. I got to take this call. Can we talk another time?”
Rafe rose. “Sure. I’ll show myself out.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dinah had been dreading this moment for the past two days.
“I’m ready to see my future,” said Rafe. He slouched in his chair and stretched his long legs beneath the tarot table. His calf brushed Dinah’s. She inched her feet over a little.
A dark eyebrow rose slightly. “Sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry. He looked relaxed and well rested and amused. Scratch that. He looked sizzling hot. Dark bristle hid his dimples, but his black eyes studied her beneath thick lashes and his perfect mouth was shaped into a sexy smile. A dark T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and hung over a pair of wrinkled cargo shorts. He’d traded his Stetson for a Rangers cap he’d twisted around so the bill hung over his tanned neck.
He obviously had no intention of taking this seriously. Fine. Neither would she. “You’re supposed to pick up the cards and shuffle them, but we can skip that part since you are probably an enigma to the universe anyway.” She made a grab for the deck, but he got there first. His fingers brushed hers, and she snatched them away.
“I want the full treatment.”
Shit. If he followed all the rules and an ominous card turned over like The Hanged Man or Death, the reading could get serious. But what could she do? Meeting his gaze, she shrugged. “Whatever.”
He began to shuffle the deck—expertly.
“You play a lot of cards?” she asked.
“Did a little poker playing in college.” He shuffled them again and offered her the deck.
She held the cards in her hand, hesitating. Maybe she should do a modified reading just to get it over with. But she was curious, too. What would Rafe’s life look like? She flipped over the first card. The Chariot.
Rafe straightened up. “Ben Hur, huh?”
“The Chariot.”
“What does it mean?”
“It stands for you and your present circumstances. It represents self-confidence and using your will to succeed.”
“I think I like this game.”
“Not so fast. Let’s see what standing in your way.” She flipped the next card and laid it across The Chariot. An irritated celestial body glowered down at two braying dogs. It was The Moon—deception, loss of direction, anxiety.
“What’s it mean?”
This was getting too personal. “This is ridiculous. I’m willing to accept help with my cell phone so let’s just forget the reading.”
He frowned at her. “I thought this was your career. Famous Los Angeles medium. Isn’t that what your flyers said? Is this how you treat your other clients?”
“It is not my career. I just needed to make some cash.”
“What’s your career?”
She forced her eyes back to the table. “This card is called The Moon.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I—” He stopped.
She raised her eyes. His head was tilted, and he was studying her. His lips curled into a sweet smile when he met her gaze. “I’m just interested is all. I consider us friends.” His voice was husky and soft and touched a place inside her she was trying her best to keep away from him.
“I got a degree in psychology so I could help people. But it didn’t work out, and I’m still trying to figure out what to do with my life. Not very interesting, is it?”
He grinned. “Interesting as far as it goes. Why didn’t it work out?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, you can tell me. Besides, you have something on me.”
“And you want to even the score?”
“You know me better than that.”
He was making her nervous. She twirled a strand of her hair. “It’s not a big deal, really. After I graduated, I was hired by a family clinic. Sort of an internship thing while I got my masters. But it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
She stared out the window at the newly trimmed Indian Hawthorn. He rose from his chair. A warm hand slid over her shoulder. A deep voice vibrated near her ear.
“You couldn’t handle it, right?”
She nodded. “All that misery and trouble. I’d go home and think about it at night. I couldn’t sleep. Then one day, it all came crashing down on me. I started bawling at my desk. After I got myself together, my boss handed me a card with the name of his colleague on it and told me to come back when I got myself straightened out.”
“But you didn’t go see anyone.”
“No. I packed up my stuff, moved to L.A., and got a gig doing readings for Hollywood parties. Why go poking around in my psyche? What’s done is done. Talking about it won’t change what my daddy did or bring my momma back.”
“Strange things for a psychologist to say.”
“I guess I realized some things can’t be fixed.”
“A shrink tried to get into my head once. I hated it. Like picking at scabs best as I can tell.”
He was getting way too intimate, which is exactly why she preferred dating losers. They didn’t care about her problems. “Wasn’t I supposed to be reading your tarot cards?”
He returned to his chair. “From the expression on your face when you flipped the second card over, I suspect this reading isn’t going to do anything for my ego. I think I’ll stick with The Chariot and have me a nice day.”
“You are unbelievable!”
He leaned back in his chair and grinned at her. His leg brushed hers again. “How do you figure?”
“You insisted on the reading, then you-you drag that story out of me, now you want to call it quits so you’ll be happy.”
A blood-curdling scream shook the peaceful neighborhood.
Dinah jumped out of her chair. “That was Hollyn.”
A volley of barks and howls nearly drowned out the screams.
“Dang it all,” said Rafe, sprinting for the door.
Dinah was on his heels. “What is it?”
“Nearly forgot I brought Daisy Mae along with me.”
The greyhound crouched on Dinah’s front porch, her body tense, her legs half-bent, ready to pounce on a terror-stricken Hollyn, who cowered near the steps.
With a high, thin whelp, Daisy pounced, sailing over three stairs, and landing in front of the hysterical girl. She b
ared her teeth at Hollyn and growled menacingly.
“God almighty, I’m going to get bit!” Hollyn started to run.
Outrunning a greyhound was not going to be easy. Especially for a pregnant girl. “Stay still, Hollyn. If you run, she’ll chase you,” said Dinah.
But it was too late. The dog lunged at Hollyn and her teeth sank into Hollyn’s calf. “She’s trying to kill me. Shoot her, Mr. Rafe!”
“Don’t have it on me,” Rafe muttered. He trotted down the steps and grabbed Daisy’s collar, heaving until Daisy reluctantly allowed him to pull her away.
Hollyn’s terror ignited into anger. “What’s that dog doing here?” She rubbed at the bright red teeth marks on her leg. “Took a bite right out of me.”
Rafe hunkered down and inspected her leg. “You’re fine. Didn’t even break the skin.”
Hollyn wasn’t having it. She rubbed her belly. “I don’t know what I’d have done if something happened to my baby.”
The dog yipped at her.
Hollyn backed up a few paces. “How did she get here? Why was she on Miss Dinah’s porch?”
“I brought her,” said Rafe. “Thought maybe she could stay with Miss Dinah until we find her a new home. Her owner died last night.”
“Can’t she go to the shelter?”
“Like to keep my witnesses where I can get to them easy,” said Rafe.
Hollyn looked horrified. “Well, keep her away from me!” Giving the dog wide berth, she sidled up the porch steps, past Dinah and into the house.
“We better talk about this, Rafe.” Dinah plopped herself down on the porch steps. As much as she liked the protection Daisy offered, she couldn’t jeopardize Hollyn’s health. “Seems like Daisy’s going to eat my housekeeper if I let her stay here.”
Rafe sat next to Dinah. The heat of his body warmed her skin and his arm rubbed against hers when he bent to tighten his shoelace. The dog curled up on Dinah’s other side and laid its snout on her lap. She gazed up at Dinah with sad brown eyes. Dinah scratched behind one dark ear. “What is wrong with you, going off biting pregnant girls?”
The dog whimpered.
She scratched Daisy’s other ear. “Don’t you worry about it. You’ve had a bad week, and Hollyn is going to be fit as a fiddle.”
Daisy’s whimper turned into a growl.
Hollyn called from the front hall. “There are two glasses of sweet tea in the dining room, Miss Dinah. But you’re going to have to fetch them yourself.”
Dinah slid out from under Daisy’s muzzle and retrieved the drinks. When she emerged, Rafe was rubbing Daisy’s back.
“Odd,” he said.
“What?”
“Well, I’ve had this dog out to the hacienda and over to Jamey’s, and even the station. She was as friendly as all get out. Even to Swope.”
“Dogs are funny. If they sense fear, they can turn on you.”
“Yeah.”
“Know what’s puzzling me?” she asked.
“What?”
“When my daddy was on the force, he always carried. It was a rule, unless an officer was going out drinking or something.”
“Still is.”
“You know what would happen if you got into a situation and weren’t packing?”
“I can take care of myself.”
She shrugged. “I can see. Still, seems like there’s something going on with you.”
“It’s nothing.”
“The Moon card stands for deception and loss of direction.”
“Do you really believe that crap?”
“Not really. But now and again a card turns up that hits me right between the eyes, and I know what it’s telling me is the truth.”
He stared out at the street without seeing.
He’s tired. Whatever it is, it’s wearing him out.
“Are you sure you really want to hear this?”
No. If his story was sad, she was going to feel sorry for him, and if she felt sorry for him…well, in her case, sympathy was a weakness not a blessing. But he needed to talk. “I’m sure.”
Daisy lifted her head and growled.
“What is it, girl?” Dinah followed the dog’s gaze. Hollyn was watching them from the side of the house.
“Sorry to bother you, Miss Dinah. I want to go out for a walk, but I’m afraid the dog will bite me again.”
“It’s okay. We got her. Go on, then.”
Hollyn skittered off in the direction of town.
Rafe’s hand closed around Dinah’s and pulled it close. “When I was at the police academy in Dallas, I met someone. Sam was her name. She was fearless and tough. You remind me of her a little.”
Except I’m not Sam, and I am not sleeping with you. Ever. “Rafe—”
“You said you wanted to hear my story, and I’m in the mood to tell it, so let me finish.”
She watched two girls skip past the house, holding hands and giggling, and wished she was little again. “Sorry. Go on.”
“After the police academy, I was assigned to a beat. Most of us were. But Sam went right to narcotics. They needed someone young and hot with attitude, and she fit the bill. By then, we were living together. I hated that she was doing undercover work.”
“Were you jealous?”
“No!”
Daisy stirred. He lowered his voice.
“That’s what Sam would say when I tried to talk to her about requesting a transfer to a regular squad. But I wasn’t. It was freaking me out. She was hanging out with the baddest of the bad. Living with them, eating with them, playing with them.” He stopped. “Who knows what else. She told me a crackhead who hung around the gang tried to rape her once.”
“You must have been scared to death.”
“She didn’t come home for weeks at a time. She was deep undercover, and the department had set up an apartment for her. If she got made, the dealers would kill her, and if that happened, no one—not even me—would have missed her for days.”
How had he stayed sane?
“This went on for about three years. She’d solve a case, bring in the bad guys, then a few months later go and do it again. She loved the danger. It excited her, and I have to confess a part of me was addicted to her recklessness.
“But it began to wear thin. Big time. I packed my bags and walked out twice during the last six months we were together. I’d just leave the apartment key in the front hall with a note and shove off. But I-I couldn’t make the break. I always came back. Of course, she never knew because my lowest points were always when she was undercover.
“One evening, she came home unexpectedly. She looked like hell, and I think, deep down, I knew. Her luck had run out. Our luck had run out. ‘The case is going well,’ she said, ‘and it’s my birthday. Let’s celebrate.’ I should have been more alarmed. She’d broken cover, and if the detective managing her case knew it, he’d go nuts on her. It was the most dangerous thing she could do.”
“Why?”
“In the drug world, no one trusts anyone so everyone has everyone else watched. If she had been watched when she came home, the bad guys would figure out pretty quickly what was going on with her.”
“So what did you do?”
He shrugged. “I took her out for her birthday. Fanciest restaurant in town, champagne, lobster, some kind of French dessert I’d never heard of. Sam barely touched a thing except for the champagne. After a few glasses, she told me she was tired of being undercover, and she wanted to transfer to a beat with regular hours.”
“I was walking on air. I’d begged her for so long to quit narcotics, and now she was doing it on her own.” Rafe squeezed Dinah’s hand. “I was feeling so good, I broached the subject of our future together, and Sam didn’t shut me down like she usually did. As we walked out the door, she said something I can’t get out of my mind.”
“What?”
His hand tightened. “She said, ‘When we get married, I am not changing my name. Samantha Greene I was born, and Samantha Greene I will die.’�
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In her head, Dinah saw the birthday dinner unfold. Sam would be athletic, but not boyish, confident, but at the end of her rope. Rafe, over-protective Rafe, would usher her into the restaurant, looking proud, his hand resting possessively at her waist. He’d try to make Sam laugh, pull her out of her funk, and when he asked her to marry him, he’d lean across the table so no one close by could hear.
Dinah wanted to ask him why, when he’d had a fearless heroine like Sam to love, he was bothering with a penniless psychic, a chicken shit who ran away when things got tough. But she had a feeling it wouldn’t involve anything deeper than fun and games in the bedroom, so she swallowed the question.
Rafe stopped talking.
“How does this evening end?” she asked softly.
He released her hand. “We’d parked down the block from the restaurant, so we started walking to the car. It was late, and the street was almost deserted. I heard a car door slam behind us and footsteps coming in our direction, but I didn’t think anything of it. We were both a little fuzzy from the champagne. Then a man said, ‘Die, narc,’ and a gun went off close to me. Sam had been holding my arm, and her hand sort of fell away and slid down my side. When I looked down, she was lying on the sidewalk with a bullet hole—”
Rafe turned away as his voice broke. “—a bullet hole in the back of her head.”
“Oh, Rafe.” She wanted to put her arms around him.
“Don’t.” His voice was rough and hard. “I’m almost finished.”
Dinah stared out from the porch. Sometime between the beginning of Rafe’s story and now, clouds had gathered. The sun-drenched yard had turned gray.
“I turned Sam over. Her eyes stared into mine, but I knew she was already dead. The guy was still standing there, and his gun was pointed at me. He was skinny and sweaty, and his eyes were bugging out of his head. They’d sent a freaking addict to execute her. Probably paid him with a few grams of meth.
“I pulled out my weapon and aimed it right at his head. I was so pissed. I said to him, ‘You got the nerve to kill me, too, or do you only shoot defenseless women in the back?’ It was like the whole inside of me had exploded into a thousand pieces. There was nothing left to grab onto. I wanted to die, but I wanted to do some damage on my way out.
