Stiffening, he eyed the swarm of people clustered around Allie. Then he tucked his hands in the pockets of his sheepskin-lined vest and strolled toward the processing center. With the shoot just reaching its full frenzy, no one noticed him slipping inside.
The portable phone nested in its own black leather case. Powered by a rechargeable battery pack, it emitted a low hum when Rafe lifted the receiver. For a mobile phone to operate, it had to be keyed to a local service. Or to a nationwide service that charged a “roaming” fee for use outside the home area. If someone had made a call from this phone to Allie’s room at approximately two-twenty this morning, there’d be a record of it.
His jaw tightening, Rafe wrote the number on a slip of paper. A phone tap required a court order. A check of telephone call records required only a few friends or a contact in the police department.
Tucking the phone number into his vest pocket, Rafe made a quick survey of the processing center. Nothing had changed from his first visit to the unit, except…
He opened the left panel of a wall-mounted display board and felt the breath leave his lungs. Photographs of Allie filled the surface. Hundreds of photographs, large and cropped, color and black-and-white.
Allie laughing into the camera.
Allie staring dreamily into the distance.
Allie with her chin tucked and her lips curved and her eyes telegraphing with a sensual allure that kicked every hormone in Rafe’s body into immediate overdrive.
He stared at the display, stunned. Fascinated. Awed by the artistry of light and shadow, tint and texture.
Then he opened the right panel, and awe accelerated into fury. More photographs filled this half of the board. All had been defaced. Some bore slashing Xs across the subject. Others had expletives scrawled across the entire print. One in particular drew Rafe’s eyes. According to the inscription that obliterated Allie’s impish grin, only a fool would love this face—or buy the cosmetics she was peddling to the masses.
Rafe was still staring at the photograph when he heard the door to the processing unit open. Turning, he saw one of Avendez’s assistants step inside.
Philips, Rafe recalled instantly. Jerry Philips. A student at the University of Texas, doing a summer photography internship with Avendez. The kid seemed to go out of his way to add to his image of a geek, Rafe thought. Thin, stoop-shouldered and nervous, he invariably dressed in baggy knee-length shorts, a burnt-orange UT sweatshirt several sizes too large and a ball cap. He jumped like a scalded cat whenever the Zebra shouted at him, which occurred frequently, and stammered almost incoherently every time Allie tried to put him at his ease.
When he saw Rafe in the center, he almost stopped short. “Wh-what are you doing in here?”
“Looking around.”
“Uh, Mr. Avendez doesn’t like people in here without his permission.”
“I don’t need his permission,” Rafe returned easily.
“Oh.” Philips stared at him for a few moments before belatedly remembering his mission. “I have to get some film.”
Rafe stood aside while the assistant hurried past and fumbled a key into one of the locked, climate-controlled supply cabinets. He pulled out a tray of sealed foil packages and was heading for the door when Rafe nodded toward the montage of photos.
“This is quite a display. Did you help put it together?”
The kid’s eyes skimmed over the array. “No, Mr. Avendez did it. He mounts the shots he particularly likes or dislikes, then studies them. When he’s in the mood, he’ll tell us what’s right or wrong in the composition.”
Rafe tapped a knuckle against the shot with the impish grin. “Did he tell you what was wrong with this one?”
“He didn’t have to,” the intern replied with a shrug. “Any first-year photography student would know we held the reflector at the wrong angle. The sunlight’s too harsh on her face.”
Shifting the tray to one hand, he swiped the back of his hand across his runny nose and studied the shot with critical eyes. “If I’d been setting up the shot, I would’ve used a polarizer to soften the background a little. Focus more on her mouth. God, what a mouth.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed at the husky, reverent quality of the last few words. It appeared he could add the intern to the ever-expanding collection of males in love, or at least in lust, with Allie. The Viking, the Zebra, the Cigar, and now the Geek.
Turning over the possible implications in his mind, Rafe surveyed the kid. Correction, the man. For all his baggy shorts and stooped shoulders, Philips had to be in his mid-twenties. What was more, he had access to the processing unit…and to the mobile phone.
“Well, I gotta get this film to Mr. Avendez. Later, man.”
“Later,” Rafe replied.
He let himself out a few moments later and detoured to his casita to make a quick call. He’d already advised the NYPD detective handling Allie’s case of the early-morning call. Now he’d put him to work on a specific phone number.
The detective promised to track down the mobile phone service and check its records for this particular number. It might take a few days, he warned. The explosion of cellular phones and the deregulation of the telephone companies had complicated the process considerably.
His mouth grim, Rafe rejoined the shoot. The spectacular sunrise, now more blue-and-gold than purple-and-red, didn’t even warrant a passing glance. His total focus was on the woman draped in black and on the man with the half head of flowing black hair who crouched before her, his face obscured by a camera.
Last night’s call could have come from anywhere—or from just a few yards away. It could have been made by anyone—or by Avendez, or his intern, or any one of the two dozen people who swarmed in and out of the processing center all day. Until he heard back from the police, Rafe was just speculating. Yet he knew he had to tell Allie about his suspicions. He also knew she wasn’t going to like them.
Not wanting to disturb her during the shoot, he waited until the crew returned, dusty and tired from a long, exhausting day. Rafe grabbed a quick shower, then walked the short distance to her casita, only to discover that she wasn’t there.
None of the crew members he questioned, Avendez included, knew where she was.
Eight
Using the low-frequency signals emitted by the beeper, Rafe located Allie in less than fifteen minutes.
Afterward, when he could view that quarter hour with some degree of calm and objectivity, he’d admit that his reaction when he found her might have been a bit extreme. At the time, however, he was driven only by a gut-wrenching fear.
The tenuous emotional distance he’d managed to keep between himself and his client vanished during the search. Mouth grim, stomach coiled in a tight knot, heart pounding a staccato, rapid-fire beat, he followed the signals to the resort’s main building.
He found Allie in a small alcove just off the lobby. In the arms of a tall, dark-haired executive type with a wolfish grin on his too-handsome face that made Rafe want to take him out. Immediately. Painfully.
Blithely unaware of the hell she’d just put him through, Allie turned at the sound of his approach. Sliding an arm around the Executive’s waist, she smiled a welcome.
“Rafe! You got my message.”
“No, Miss Fortune, I didn’t.”
Her smile slipped at his low, fury-laced reply.
“But—but I called you,” she protested. “When you didn’t answer your phone, I left a voice mail.”
“Try again. There wasn’t any message on my phone.”
She stiffened at his sneer. After a quick glance at the man beside her, she answered in a cool voice that only served to fan Rafe’s anger.
“We’ll talk about the mix-up later. Right now, I want to—”
“We’ll talk about it now. In your casita. If your friend will excuse us.”
“I don’t think so,” the man drawled.
The lazy smile and striped silk tie didn’t fool Rafe for a second. He recognized another pr
edator when he saw one. Holding the stranger’s eyes with his own, he issued Allie a low warning.
“You’d better be careful. This one’s not going to be as easy to handle as your other collectibles.”
She stepped out of the man’s hold, frowning. “What collectibles?”
“The Viking and the Zebra, not to mention El Tampico and the poor Geek.”
“El Who? What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about this habit you have of conveniently dispensing with our agreement whenever you decide to take another stroll.”
Anger flared in her brown eyes. “I see,” she said tightly. “You know, Stone, I’m beginning to think this little talk you’re insisting on is overdue.”
“Way overdue,” he concurred. “We’ll finish this conversation at your casita.”
“Oh, we’ll finish it,” she promised. “We’ll finish a number of things. Before we go, though, I’d like to introduce you to Michael. Michael Fortune. My cousin,” she added with false, dripping sweetness. “He stopped by on his way to L.A. to bring me some…paperwork.”
In a more civilized mood, Rafe might have acknowledged his mistake with some semblance of grace. His ear might have registered Allie’s brief hesitation, and wondered about this paperwork the Executive had delivered. At that moment, however, the fear that had gripped him when he found her missing was still too potent, too raw.
The best he could manage was a curt nod. “Fortune.”
“Excuse me, Michael,” Allie said, her voice low and taut. “I want to have a chat with my bodyguard. I’ll call you later.”
Much later, Rafe thought grimly as he escorted her across the tiled vestibule. There were a few things he and Allison Fortune had to get straight between them once and for all.
Much later, Allie thought as they stepped through the doors and the high desert twilight wrapped around them. They had a few things to sort out between them first, like the reasons behind Rafe’s barely leashed anger. Her mind raced with a dozen explanations for his fury and rejected all but two.
He was upset, to put it mildly, over what he saw as a breech of his precious rules.
And he was jealous. Of Michael and this El Something and an unknown person otherwise known as the Geek. The idea stunned her, and angered her, and secretly thrilled her just a little. Having recently suffered a bout of the same malady herself, Allie recognized the symptoms. She slanted him a quick upward glance, taking in the tight line of his jaw and the glitter of suppressed fury in his eyes.
Her pulse raced. He was close, so close, to losing his iron-willed control. The thought sent little tingles of excitement racing through her blood. According to the background brief Michael had hand-delivered, Rafe Stone wasn’t the kind of man to lose control very often. Her heart hammering, Allie wished she’d had time to do more than just skim the report. The little she’d read had provided a tantalizing glimpse into his background.
Rafael Alexander Stone. Born thirty years ago in Miami. Father a dock worker. Mother a Cuban immigrant. “Encouraged” to join the army as a teenager by an irate judge. One hitch, Special Forces, then started free-lancing. Specialty hostage extraction. Severely injured in a bomb blast several years ago. Parents now deceased. Subject divorced.
Allie wanted to know more about the man who’d taken such possession of her mind. A lot more. She intended to, before this night was over. First, though, they had to settle this business of the missing message.
Deciding to take the offensive, she swept into the casita and went right to the phone. She had the operator on the line before Rafe had slammed the door behind him.
“This is Allison Fortune. I left a voice mail for Mr. Rafe Stone earlier. I understand he didn’t receive it. Would you tell me why, please?”
She listened for a moment, then nodded. “I see. Mr. Stone’s here with me now. Would you repeat that to him, please.”
She held out the phone, a challenge in her eyes. Rafe took it without a word, identified himself, and listened to the operator’s apologetic explanation. The computerized voice mail system had gone down for an hour, but was back up now, and yes, Mr. Stone had a message from Miss Fortune waiting in the queue for him.
“This doesn’t change a damn thing,” he said shortly, hanging up. “The fact remains that I didn’t get it.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” Allie retorted, refusing to back down. Her eyes flicked over his still-damp hair. “You must have been in the shower when I called. Or maybe you had stepped out. Was that it, Rafe? Were you taking a little stroll, enjoying the sunset with someone? As you’re so fond of accusing me of doing?”
He acknowledged her hit with an angry glare. For a moment, Allie thought he would deny his earlier, unflattering accusation. Then he expelled a harsh breath and shoved a hand through his hair.
“I guess I was wrong about that.”
“Yes, you were,” she replied, not yielding an inch. Her belligerence brought an apology of sorts.
“All right,” he conceded with obvious reluctance. “Maybe I’ve been wrong about a number of things where you’re concerned.”
Allie had never considered herself the kind of person to make someone grovel, but she wasn’t ready to let Rafe off the hook yet. Not when he was looking at her with that combination of irritation and frustration and something she couldn’t quite define. It might have been grudging respect. Or admiration.
She didn’t want admiration. Not from him. She wanted what her body had ached for ever since he’d cushioned her fall and held her in his arms and kissed her. What she’d wanted desperately last night, when he soothed her fears and ignited a need in her that had flared into liquid heat whenever she caught sight of him today.
His need was as great as her own. She knew it, wanted him to acknowledge it. Stepping closer, she pressed for more.
“What else were you wrong about? What do you think you know about me?”
His eyes skimmed her face, so close now to his own.
“What, Rafe?”
“I know you’re a professional in the true sense of the word,” he admitted. “You organize your time and yourself so you never keep the team waiting.”
That was a start, but not exactly what Allie was looking for. “What else?”
“I’ve learned not to mistake your patience for passivity,” he said slowly. “You keep your temper when Avendez tears everyone else’s to shreds, and manage to direct him far more than he directs you. You’re the one who drives the shoot, Allie. You make things happen without seeming to.”
That surprised her a bit. Only Rocky and Kate had ever really grasped how often the quiet, seemingly docile Allie instigated events. To this day, Rocky blamed her twin for ninety-nine percent of the hours they’d spent in their room as punishment for some prank or another. The idea that Rafe had seen past Allie’s outer shell and glimpsed the person within stirred an aching hope in her.
“And?” she asked, a little breathless now.
His mouth twisted. He lifted his hand, so slowly that Allie thought it would never reach its goal, and cupped her chin. “And, Miss Fortune, you’ve been driving me, as well. To near distraction.”
Her heart gave a funny little lurch, displacing the last of her anger and indignation. This was better, she thought. Much better.
“I’ve been a little…distracted myself,” she confessed, her fingers coming up to cup his. His hand felt so warm, so solid, layered as it was between her palm and her chin.
Rafe knew he should cut this discussion off. Every instinct in his body told him to put some distance between them, to drop his hand and step back.
He might have managed it, if her skin hadn’t felt as smooth and soft as he remembered from last night. If her eyes hadn’t cajoled and mesmerized and seduced him.
“What else Rafe?” she asked softly. “What else have you seen?”
“I’ve seen a woman of strength and generosity and humor, who can also be stubborn as hell and a real pain at times.”
Rafe had to put this conversation in perspective before it spiraled completely out of control and took them both with it. “You’re my client, Allie. It’s my job to observe you. To understand what makes you tick.”
“Oh, no,” she breathed, trapping his fingers with her own when he tried to tug them away. “You’re not getting away with that one. What’s between us now has nothing to do with clients or bodyguards or any business arrangements.”
“A business arrangement is all that’s between us.”
“Is that so? What about this?” Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his palm.
“Allie…”
“Or this?” Her tongue stroked his skin.
Rafe yanked his hand away and stepped back. “This isn’t smart.”
“You know,” she said on a little puff of exasperation, “I’m not the only one around here who can be stubborn as hell and a real pain at times.”
Closing the small space between them, she wrapped both arms around his neck and dragged his mouth down to hers.
Rafe held himself rigid under her determined attack. He kept his hands at his side. He didn’t allow his mouth to mold to hers. He thought of all the reasons this was wrong. All the reasons this violated his own unwritten professional code of conduct, not to mention the hard, painful lessons of his past. Then she opened her mouth under his, and he stopped thinking of anything but Allie.
At the touch of her tongue, the hunger he’d held in check since the night he’d met her exploded. One arm banded her waist, dragging her up against his chest while he took what she offered. Her breasts pressed against him urgently as she strained to give more, and more. Rafe took it all. Her kisses. Her fevered explorations with her mouth and hands and hips against his. Her breathless moan when he tugged her blouse loose with one hand and brought her nipple to turgid, pebbled hardness.
Beauty and the Bodyguard Page 10
