[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  He stared at me in silence for a second, pen forgotten between his fingers. “I don’t read much of anything. Don’t like sitting still. I don’t cook. I don’t have a wife, current or ex, and if I’ve got kids, nobody’s bothered to tell me. I’ve tried to make sure I don’t, seeing as how I know what it’s like to grow up without a daddy.”

  I nodded. Tyrell Jenkins had been shot dead before Rafe was born, and the closest thing to a father he’d had growing up, was his grandfather Jim, who was the person who had shot Tyrell. Not exactly the best situation to grow up in. I didn’t blame him at all for not wanting to inflict that same fate on another innocent. Of course, he could have avoided the problem by settling down with someone and raising whatever kids he sired with her, but he obviously didn’t consider himself the settling-down kind, either.

  He continued blandly, “As for the mechanic thing, it ain’t how I make my living, though I’ve been known to get my hands dirty on occasion.”

  “Somehow I’m not surprised to hear that.”

  He grinned and lowered his eyes to the counter. As I watched, he scribbled his name on the bottom of the guest register and put the pen down on top. I forgot myself and wandered into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

  “Ain’t that what I’m supposed to do? Sign this paper?”

  “If you’re a visitor, sure. But...”

  “I’m here, ain’t I? You want I should have a look around while you pack up your stuff? Just to make sure nobody’s hanging around?”

  I squinted at him, suspiciously. “You won’t open up a window or door so someone can come in later and rob the place, will you?”

  “Would I do that to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Would you?”

  “You’re just gonna have to trust me, darlin’.” He headed for the door, and I jumped out of his path. He arched a brow, but didn’t comment, just continued on past me. I watched him walk away, to make sure he was really leaving the room and wouldn’t suddenly turn around and hog-tie me like a recalcitrant calf if I let my guard down.

  By the time he came back, I had gathered my guest list and all my paraphernalia – pens, paper, silver-plated cookie tray, scented candles, and fancy napkins – and put it all together in a bag, which I was dragging toward the front door. Rafe grabbed it out of my hand and lifted it easily. “I got it.”

  “Thank you. Why are you being so nice to me today?”

  “I’m always nice to you,” Rafe said, holding the front door open. I rolled my eyes and stepped through, only to come face to face with Connie Fortunato, who had just ascended the steps.

  She looked rather the worse for wear, her eyes puffy and her make-up smeared, and she was brought up short when she saw us. For a second, it seemed as if she might turn and run. However, she made an effort to pull herself together and do the proper thing.

  “Oh, Savannah. I didn’t realize you’d still be here.”

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized, with a discreet glance at my wrist. “We had some late visitors, and then it took time to pack up and make sure all the doors and windows were secured.”

  She nodded, but distractedly, like my words hadn’t really registered on a conscious level. “And who is this?” Even under the circumstances, with her mind clearly on something else, she couldn’t help but respond to Rafe’s rock’em, sock’em sex-appeal by lowering her eyelashes and looking at him from below.

  “Hired muscle,” I said.

  Rafe grinned. “I’m her bodyguard.”

  “Lucky girl.” Connie glanced over at me and back to him. “Might you be available to guard my body sometime?” She managed a passable smile.

  “If you two would like to be alone,” I said, “I’d be happy to leave now.”

  Rafe grinned. “She doesn’t like to share her toys.”

  He winked at Connie and put his free arm around my shoulders. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he laughed out loud. Connie looked at me down the length of her sculpted nose. Now that I saw her again, up close, I put her age closer to forty than thirty. Of course, the downward turn of her lips and the tear-tracks on her cheeks didn’t help. It’s difficult to look one’s best after a good cry, or – as in this case – a bad one.

  “Are you OK?” I asked, my better self taking over.

  “Fine.” She pressed her lips together. After a moment she added, reluctantly, “I just received some bad news.”

  I nodded sympathetically. “I’ve had some of that lately, too. Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, thank you. I’ve just discovered that a friend of mine has passed away. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “A friend of mine passed away recently, too. I know what you’re going through.”

  Connie’s pale blue eyes filled up with tears. “Thank you. I’m going to miss her.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to miss Lila, as well.”

  “Lila?” Connie repeated. I gave her Lila’s full name and saw her eyes light with recognition. It seemed we hadn’t both lost friends this week; we’d lost the same friend.

  “How did you know Lila?” I asked.

  “We did volunteer-work together.” Connie dabbed at her own eyes with a tissue.

  “She told me she was volunteering somewhere.” And how helpful it had been to her career, because it allowed her to meet people. Rich people. People with expensive houses they might want to sell. “I suppose, now that she’s gone, you’ll be short-handed. I’d be happy to take her place, if you think I would be of help.”

  Connie sniffed. “We meet on Monday nights at 6:30, in the small drawing room at the Cheekwood Museum and Gardens. If you’re not busy tomorrow, I’m sure everyone would love to have you.”

  “In that case,” I said, “I’ll be there.”

  Connie dabbed at her eyes again and excused herself to go inside, with one last look at Rafe. We started down the steps, only to be brought up short by the appearance of Perry, coming toward us from the direction of the garage. He must have gone to stable the car. “Oh, Savannah,” he said, with considerably more enthusiasm than Connie, “you’re still here.”

  His voice changed, “And you invited a friend.” His tone indicated that I’d overstepped my rights.

  Rafe grinned. “Rafael Collier,” he said, extending a hand. Perry took it, but with the expression of a man palming a dead fish.

  “It was Tim’s idea,” I explained. “He wanted to ensure that I had somebody with me who’d be able to protect me if something went wrong. Because of the robberies and the murder, you know.”

  “Very considerate of Tim,” Perry said. I nodded. Rafe didn’t speak, but the two of them stared at each other like two dogs in an alley. I’d seen Todd do the same thing when confronted with Rafe, so it must be some innate male thing. Alpha-dog staring, or something.

  “Well,” I said finally, into the awkward silence, “I guess we should get going.”

  Perry nodded. “Thank you for coming, Savannah. It was a pleasure to meet you.” He captured my hand and lifted it to his lips. They were moist and lingered just a fraction of a second too long. Rafe didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fortunato,” I said politely, retrieving my hand. Before either of them could say anything else, I started down the stairs, leaving Rafe to follow. The door closed with a substantial thump by the time we’d descended a few steps.

  “What was that all about?” I asked in a low voice while Rafe deposited the bag he’d been carrying in the trunk of the Volvo. “Did he see the way his wife was looking at you, do you think? Is that why he was squaring off like he wanted to fight with you?”

  Rafe shrugged. “Don’t know, don’t care. Don’t like the way he looked at you.”

  “Funny,” I said lightly, “that’s exactly what Todd says about you.”

  He smiled. “Why d’you think I don’t like it?” He glanced up at the sun, hanging low over the treetops, and added, “H
ow about some dinner?”

  I hesitated, squinting up at him. “Are you asking me out?”

  He arched a brow. “You don’t want me to ask you out?”

  I shook my head. Definitely not.

  “In that case I guess I ain’t.”

  “I wouldn’t mind having dinner. Just as long as we’re not going on a date.”

  His lips quirked. “I’m sure that makes sense to you.”

  “Look,” I said. “My family will disown me if it gets back to them that I went on a date with you. Another date with you. I’m still getting backlash from the first time. But if we’re just having dinner together, as business associates or what-not...”

  He shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Where do you want to go? Fidelio’s again?”

  God, no. I shook my head. “Somewhere where no one will know who I am.”

  Rafe grinned. “I know just the place.” He threw a long leg over the seat of the black Harley-Davidson parked behind the Volvo, and revved the engine. I slithered into my car and, when he had pulled around me, followed him down the driveway. As we turned onto the main road, I glanced back at the house and caught sight of someone standing by the window in what I thought must be the music room. But before I’d had a chance to determine whether it was Connie gazing longingly after Rafe, or Perry watching both of us drive away, the person had disappeared from view.

  * * *

  Near the real estate office, there’s a neighborhood hangout called the FinBar. It’s a young, hip watering hole where young, hip professionals hang out after work and shoot the breeze and watch extreme sports and golf on big-screen TVs. The place Rafe took me also called itself a sports bar, but that was where the resemblance ended. The Shortstop was located off the beaten path, on a back road off Nolensville Pike in South Nashville, and people shot pool there, but not the breeze. From the outside, the small cinderblock building looked like a dive, and the inside was no better. There were TVs, true, but they weren’t big-screen and they didn’t show golf. There was NASCAR on one and pro wrestling on the other.

  The FinBar has mood-lighting and ceiling fans and lots of ferns and polished wood; the Shortstop’s mood was considerably darker, with Formica-topped tables and discarded kitchen chairs. I was afraid to lean back for fear of what might adhere to my dress, and when the gum-chewing waitress came to take our order, I had a hard time making out her features in the gloom. “What can I get you folks?” She was addressing both of us, but looking at Rafe. Nothing new there; every woman I’d ever met reacted the same way. Rafe opened his hand in my direction, indicating I should go first.

  “I don’t suppose you have any Sauvignon Blanc?” I inquired, without much hope.

  “Come again?”

  “Wine? White, preferably?”

  She turned to Rafe. “Where d’you find her, hon? Buckingham Palace?” She guffawed. I rolled my eyes.

  “She’ll have sweet tea,” Rafe said. He was lounging in his chair, long legs stretched out under the table and one arm hooked over the back corner of the chair. “I’ll have a beer. Thanks, darlin’.”

  “Sure thing.” The waitress stuck the pencil she’d been holding through her bouffant hairdo and popped a bubblegum bubble before she walked off. I looked around.

  “Horrible place.”

  He shrugged. “You said you wanted someplace where nobody’d recognize you. The food ain’t bad.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Although you told me once that after spending two years in prison, most food tastes good to you.”

  “Prison’ll do that. Among other things.”

  “I hope Detective Grimaldi fed you this morning. By the way, you never told me what she was questioning you about.”

  He arched a brow. “Can’t you guess? She asked me to provide an alibi for Friday night.”

  “Friday?” I blinked. I’d assumed she’d been questioning him about the robberies, not the murder. “Surely she doesn’t suspect you of killing Lila?”

  “Ain’t that long ago you suspected me of killing Brenda Puckett,” Rafe pointed out.

  “You had a good reason for killing Brenda. She had cheated your grandmother out of her house. And I changed my mind about that, anyway. I no longer think you’d kill anyone.”

  He didn’t answer, just quirked a brow. I wasn’t quite sure what that signified, but I decided I’d rather not ask. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

  I continued, “You had no reason to kill Lila. Unless Detective Grimaldi can prove otherwise, you never even met her.”

  “She can’t.”

  The waitress arrived with our drinks, and he nodded his thanks. I narrowed my eyes. Not ‘I didn’t’ but ‘she can’t’...?

  “You eating?” the waitress said.

  Rafe nodded. “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries. Medium-rare.” He turned to me. “What about you, darlin’?”

  I hesitated. If I asked for something I liked, they probably wouldn’t have it. “Why don’t you order me something you think I’ll enjoy? You seem to know the menu by heart.”

  Rafe grinned. “She’ll have what I’m having.”

  The waitress nodded and sauntered off. I turned to Rafe, incredulously. “Do you know how many calories are in a cheeseburger and fries?”

  His voice was easy. “I ain’t worried about gaining weight.”

  “I know you’re not,” I said, eyeing his flat stomach and hard biceps straining against the sleeves of the white T-shirt, “but I could stand to lose a few pounds.” The viper he had tattooed around his left arm was looking at me. I tore my eyes away from it and added, “I’ve already had my share of red meat and French fries for this week. Couldn’t you have ordered me a salad or something?”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with the way you look, darlin’.” He lifted the beer bottle and toasted me before he drank.

  “Easy for you to say,” I said. “You haven’t seen me without clothes on.”

  I nearly bit my tongue in half when I realized what I was saying, but it was too late. He smiled. “Not yet.”

  “Not ever,” I corrected firmly.

  The smile widened. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You just think you do.”

  “No, I really...” I realized I sounded like a petulant five-year-old, and stopped. “We were talking about Lila. What makes Detective Grimaldi think you had something to do with her death?”

  “I assumed I had you to thank for that.”

  “And you’re still talking to me?” I shook my head and took a sip of tea. It was passable, if a little too sweet. “Sorry. So could you give her an alibi for Friday night?”

  Rafe shook his head. “After about ten o’clock or so, ain’t nobody who can prove where I was.”

  “And was Lila killed after ten?”

  He shrugged. “Tammy didn’t say. But why else would she ask?”

  The burgers arrived shortly thereafter, and to my surprise, they really weren’t bad. Not quite as good as Rotier’s, but better than I’d feared. Not too greasy, and with a bun that didn’t disintegrate between my hands. I even ate a few fries, which were salty and just crispy enough. At the same time, Rafe polished off his burger, his fries, and what was left of mine. Plus an order of onion rings he decided he needed. After dinner, he insisted on having apple pie, a thick slab of which he ate with every sign of enjoyment while I watched surreptitiously, nursing my cup of black coffee and feeling as if the lard in the pie crust was applying itself directly to my thighs just from watching.

  A hand landed on Rafe’s shoulder, and we both looked up. I saw a tall, black man with a shaved head and eyes of a melting brown. The two of them spoke softly, and the noise level was too high for me to hear what they were saying, but they exchanged a complicated handshake, and then the other man indicated the pool tables. Rafe shook his head, saying something, and the man glanced over at me. His eyes may have been pretty, with long lashes and rich color, but the expre
ssion in them was too bold for my taste. I looked away and he said something else to Rafe, accompanied by what I interpreted as a congratulatory fist to the shoulder. All in good fun, although it didn’t appear that Rafe found the joke quite as humorous as did his friend. His reply was short and succinct, and stopped the conversation dead. A beat followed, until the man lifted his hands and stepped back fractionally. He said something else, and Rafe turned to me and raised his voice. “Excuse me a second, darlin’? Something I gotta do.”

  “Of course,” I said politely, not at all sure I meant it.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, with all sincerity, and was rewarded by one of his rare, genuine smiles.

  “No problem. Ain’t no hardship looking at you.” He winked and got up. I watched him follow the other man across the floor, over to the pool tables, where yet two more men were occupying themselves playing a game. They all exchanged the same complicated handshake, and got into a conversation. From the looks on the men’s faces, it concerned something serious. Rafe took part, but as he’d promised, he kept his eyes on me. And not in the protective, brotherly way I had hoped for, either.

  A few weeks earlier, during that date-that-wasn’t-a-date at Fidelio’s, one of Rafe’s looks had flustered me to such a degree that I’d had to ask the waiter for ice water to cool down. He had been sitting across the table from me at the time – Rafe, not the waiter – and I had convinced myself that the proximity was part of the reason for my overblown reaction. Now I discovered I’d been wrong. He could still pack a punch from all the way across the room. I squirmed uncomfortably as those dark eyes snagged on my lips, my throat, the top button of my blouse, and then followed my legs from hem to floor and back. Twice.

  By the time he returned to the table, I’d had time to pull myself together (with the help of what was left in the iced tea glass), and it was a good thing, because his greeting wasn’t designed to help my mental peace. “Nice legs.”

  “Thanks,” I managed. “I hope you weren’t planning to ask when they’re open.”