[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  So I clenched my fists and bit my tongue and sank my heels into the soft ground while I waited for Dix and Cletus to finish their conversation.

  It seemed to take forever. Long enough that Rafe and Yvonne finished talking before Dix and Cletus did. She came back down the hillside and walked past us with a wink and a grin. I managed a smile in return, as I thought about that phone number she’d given me a few days ago, that I’d never passed along to Rafe. Looked like he had her number now, without my help.

  Cletus and Dix kept yapping. They’d moved into discussing business; Cletus was talking to my brother the lawyer about drawing up some sort of document to provide for his kids in case something happened to Cletus. Given Cletus’s job, the possibility wasn’t as remote as one might think. Most cops and other law enforcement types die of natural causes in their own beds, but enough die on the job, too. Or as a result of the job, like when some wacko comes after them with a gun. Some wacko like Jorge Pena.

  I turned to the grove of trees.

  Rafe was still there.

  I looked around. Nobody else was left. Just Dix and Cletus, and they’d started moving slowly away from the grave, in the direction of the parking lot, still talking. Rafe watched them for a few seconds, to make sure they weren’t coming back, and then he left the trees and came toward me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I stood where I was and waited. Not because I didn’t want to go meet him, but because I didn’t want anyone, including Rafe, to know I did.

  He stopped in front of me. At a safe distance. If I wanted to touch him, or wanted him to touch me, I’d have to step forward.

  He didn’t speak, just looked at me.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said, not quite believing just how much I wanted to take that last step.

  He glanced at the still open grave. “She was a friend. And she worked for me.”

  While I watched, he took a sideways step, scooped up a handful of dirt, and threw it into the hole. And didn’t speak or turn back to me for a second, just stood there, looking down.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, clenching my hands so I wouldn’t reach out.

  He glanced over. “I feel responsible.”

  “You’re not.”

  “If someone did it to get to me, then I am.”

  Unfortunately, there was nothing I could say to that. Whoever killed Marquita was ultimately responsible, but if it was done to get to Rafe, then of course he’d feel that some of the onus was on him. “Detective Grimaldi told you about Jorge Pena.”

  He nodded.

  “The sheriff’s department is canvassing Sweetwater to see if anyone has seen him.”

  “They ain’t gonna find anyone.” He must have read the question on my face, because he answered before I could ask. “Guy like Jorge moves like the wind. In and out, without nobody seeing.”

  “I saw him.”

  “That’s ‘cause he wanted you to see him.”

  “Why would he want me to see him?”

  He shrugged, muscles moving smoothly under the thin, white shirt. I could see the dark outline of the viper tattoo through the fabric. “Guess he figured you’d give me the message that he’s coming for me. Or maybe he just got off on the look on your face.”

  “It sounds like you know him.”

  He shook his head. “Never met him. Figure I prob’ly will soon, though.”

  And one of them probably wouldn’t walk away from the meeting.

  My voice caught. “You’re being careful, aren’t you?”

  He flashed a grin. “Didn’t realize you cared, darlin’.”

  I cared. More than I wanted to admit. “Just because I don’t want to sleep with you again, doesn’t mean I want you to die.”

  “Glad to hear it. I can take care of myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But apparently this guy is very good at what he does, and...”

  “I’m very good at what he does, too.”

  I felt myself go pale. “Have you ever... I mean...”

  His eyes were steady. “You watched me kill Perry Fortunato. You know I have.”

  Right. And because I’d been there, I knew he hadn’t had a choice. Between the gun and the insanity, Perry wasn’t a good candidate for mercy. Not that Rafe had been inclined to show him any.

  But there’s a big difference between killing in self defense, in the heat of the moment, and cold-blooded assassination. Jorge Pena was a hit-man. I wanted to know if Rafe was too, or ever had been. But there were limits to what I thought I could get away with asking. I may have shared his bed, but he wasn’t the type to confuse physical intimacy with emotional closeness, and this was clearly over the line. Plus, I was a little afraid of the answer. I changed the subject.

  “I saw Yvonne McCoy found you.”

  He smiled. “She’s between husbands, she said.”

  “That’s what she told me. Last week, when she asked me to give you her number.”

  “The one you left in your pocket. Right.”

  “I told you,” I said. “It was an accident.”

  “Sure,” Rafe answered. “No worries, darlin’. I got her number now.”

  That’s what I thought. “So are you going to stop by while you’re in town?”

  He looked at me for a second. “You think I’d go from screwing you two nights ago to screwing her tonight?”

  I couldn’t help the kneejerk reaction. “You’re a man, aren’t you?”

  “You should know.”

  Damn him. I took a deep breath. And let it out slowly. “For the record, you can sleep with anyone you want. If you want to stop by Yvonne’s tonight, be my guest. I couldn’t care less.”

  “Funny,” Rafe drawled, “for a second or two, seemed a lot like you did.”

  Right.

  “You spending the night in Sweetwater?” he added.

  I nodded. “My mother will be hurt if I don’t.”

  “Hot date with Satterfield tonight?” He scanned the cemetery as he asked.

  I shook my head. “God, no. Not after... I mean...”

  He grinned, meeting my eyes again. “Afraid he’s gonna read it on your face, darlin’?”

  The fact that I’d slept with Rafe. “He won’t have to. He asks about you. Always. And when he does—”

  “You ain’t gonna lie?”

  “Oh, I’ll lie. He just won’t believe me. He never does.” And under the circumstance, who could blame him? I’m a poor liar, and the guilt—not to mention the memories—would make me blush as red as a beet. And Todd never needed much encouragement to jump to conclusions.

  I shot him a glance under my lashes. “So... um... are you staying in Sweetwater overnight?”

  “I thought I might.”

  “Where?”

  “You thinking you might wanna stop by for round two, darlin’?”

  “In your dreams,” I said.

  His grin widened. “Better believe it.”

  Right.

  I looked over my shoulder. “I should go.” Before I said anything stupid. More stupid. Or before I fell into temptation and told him that yes, I wanted to do it again. Because I didn’t. Much. At all.

  Rafe nodded solicitously. “That’s prob’ly a good idea. Your brother’s been watching us for a while. I’ve been waiting for him to come over here and drag you off.”

  Oops. I’d forgotten all about Dix, at least for the past few minutes.

  “Then I should definitely go.”

  “You do that, darlin’. I figure I’ll prob’ly spend the night in the Bog. Just in case you change your mind about that second round once you’ve had some time to think about it.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I said.

  He grinned. “No worries, I won’t. There’s always Yvonne, if I get desperate.”

  And wouldn’t that thought wreak havoc with the rest of my day?

  I turned on my heel. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Rafe said behind me.


  * * *

  “That’s Collier,” Dix said when I reached him, “isn’t it?”

  I nodded, throwing a glance over my shoulder. Rafe had struck up a conversation with the grave diggers, two men who had loitered nearby until everyone else left, and who were now preparing to shovel all the dirt back into the hole on top of Marquita’s coffin. As we watched, Rafe grabbed one of the shovels and began working.

  “What’s he doing?” Dix said.

  Penance, I thought. What I said was, “Marquita worked for him. He feels bad.”

  “And so he’s helping to bury her?”

  “I guess maybe he feels it’s all he can do. Too little too late, but something.”

  Dix didn’t answer. “You ready to leave, sis?”

  “Sure,” I said, and turned away from Rafe, and from Marquita’s grave, toward the Range Rover.

  We drove out of the lot in silence. It was empty now, except for a couple of cars parked at the far end. Two of the women from the funeral were clustered near them, chattering, while their kids played hide and seek or tag, zooming around the cars and the adults. One little imp almost careened right into the Range Rover so Dix had to stand on the brakes. A few spaces farther over, I recognized Yvonne McCoy’s tight skirt and red hair leaning into the passenger window of a small white foreign car. Maybe she was biding her time, waiting for Rafe to leave.

  “I guess that’s where Yvonne went, too,” Dix said as he maneuvered the Range Rover out of the lot and onto the road. “Up the hill to talk to Collier.”

  “Maybe.”

  “They had a thing, you know. In high school.”

  I nodded. “I know. She told me. He did, too.”

  My brother glanced at me. “You talk to him about stuff like that?”

  I glanced back. “I talk to him about all sorts of things. He’s easy to talk to. I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think of me.”

  Dix didn’t answer for a second. “That must be nice,” he said eventually.

  “You have no idea. You’re a man; it’s not the same. No one expects you to be perfect.”

  “Except Sheila.”

  “Well... maybe so. But I always have to worry about looking the right way, acting the right way, saying the right things, not saying the wrong things... it’s exhausting.”

  “I thought you liked all the fuss. You know, the finishing school, the debut, the dresses...”

  “I don’t mind any of that. I mind not being able to say what I think, and that I’m not allowed to have dessert when I go out to dinner. I like cheesecake, dammit, and it’s not fair that Todd gets to scarf it down while I have to settle for black coffee!”

  Dix looked at me. “Is that why Sheila won’t eat dessert when we go out?”

  “Probably. Or maybe not. You two are already married. Sheila’s probably allowed to eat dessert. I’m not. Don’t want a prospective husband to think I’ll be expensive to keep. Or that I don’t care about my figure.”

  “Right,” Dix said. “Does Collier let you eat dessert?”

  “I’m sure he would. He made me take a piece of cheesecake home once, when I wouldn’t eat it then and there. It’s been too ingrained in me that I have to eat like a bird when I sit across the table from a man.”

  “But you can talk to him?”

  “Most of the time. About most things. Like everyone else, there are some things that are off-limits. It’s just not the things that most people don’t like to talk about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well... most men like to talk about themselves. Their jobs, their hobbies. Rafe doesn’t. He won’t tell me anything about himself. But I can ask him about almost anything else, and he’ll answer.”

  “Like?” Dix said, and then thought better of it. “Never mind.”

  “That’s probably safer.” Considering that the topics Rafe and I had tackled ranged from frigidity to bondage to murder to breaking and entering. And in the process, he had told me a fair amount about himself; he just hadn’t realized he was doing it.

  Of course, I’d told him a whole lot more about me, fully cognizant of what I was doing. Sometimes the words just fell out of my mouth, but it wasn’t like I didn’t know that he had that effect on me. If I really cared what he learned, I’d stay away from him, or at the very least keep my mouth shut.

  “By the way,” I added, since I wanted very much to steer the conversation away from Rafe, “Yvonne likes you, you know.”

  Dix looked at me, incredulous, and for a second the car drifted across the median, before he pulled the wheel back. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She likes you. Or she used to, in school. She knows you’re married, so it’s not like you have to worry about her making a pass at you, but she told me she’s always liked you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I shook my head. “Please don’t tell her I said so.”

  He gave me an exasperated look. “When am I going to talk to Yvonne McCoy again, sis?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but if you happen to go into Beulah’s for lunch or something, please don’t mention it. She probably wouldn’t mind, and it wasn’t like she told me to keep it a secret, but just don’t say anything, please. To anyone. Not even Sheila, the next time you two get into a knock-down, drag-out fight and you want to say something to upset her.”

  Yeah, right. Like my perfect brother and my equally perfect sister-in-law would ever get into a screaming and hair-pulling argument.

  “Don’t worry,” Dix said, “I won’t.”

  He dropped me off outside the office, and I got into the Volvo and headed for the Martin mansion. With, I admit, some trepidation. This would be the first time I’d seen Mother since I’d declined—or didn’t accept—Todd’s marriage proposal, and I wasn’t looking forward to the show-down.

  Talk about knock-down, drag-out. Not that mother is ever anything but unfailingly polite and absolutely ladylike, of course. She doesn’t raise her voice, she doesn’t use bad language, and she isn’t mean or rude. She was just very disappointed, and let me know it.

  “I’m sure you know best, Savannah.” Delivered with a sigh. “Of course it is important that you feel ready to get married again. I wouldn’t want you to go against your conscience, darling.”

  “But...?”

  “No buts. Just... I fail to understand how you cannot feel ready to marry Todd. You have known him your entire life. He adores you.”

  “I know he does,” I said. The problem was that I didn’t adore him. Not the way I should if I planned to spend the rest of my life with him.

  “Are you afraid that he will—” Her voice dropped, “be unfaithful?”

  I stared at her. “Todd? Of course not!”

  “Oh.” Mom raised her voice out of the delicate range again. “I just thought, since I know how devastating it was for you to discover Bradley’s adultery...”

  It had been. I’d been beside myself. An absolute basket case. Once the dust settled, though, I had realized that I was upset not so much because my husband had slept with someone else as because he’d found me wanting. It was the failure that was galling to me, not the loss of Bradley’s love, of which there had been very little to begin with. It was my pride that was hurt, not my heart.

  “I’m over that,” I said. “It was his loss. And I’m not worried that Todd’s going to cheat. He’s not the type.”

  “What are you worried about, darling?”

  At this point it was after dinner, and we were sitting in the formal parlor, on Great-Aunt Ida’s uncomfortable turn-of-the-(last)-century sofa upholstered in peach velvet, sharing a post-dinner drink. Mother was having sherry, to my white wine.

  I twirled the stem of my glass between my fingers, watching the pale wine swirl, wondering how Mother would react if I told her the truth. If for once in my life I didn’t beat around the bush or use pretty, inoffensive euphemisms, but instead spoke plainly. Like I did the other night. I spent two years faking orgasms for Bradley. I don�
�t want to do it for the rest of my life.

  Mother would likely faint.

  I sighed. “Our marriage had problems before Bradley was unfaithful. It didn’t come out of nowhere.”

  Mother sipped her drink. “What do you mean, darling?”

  “He was dissatisfied with me. So he went and found someone else.”

  “What could possibly dissatisfy him?” Mother sniffed. “You were a wonderful wife, Savannah. Beautiful, polished, gracious, a good hostess...”

  “He was dissatisfied with our sex-life,” I said.

  For a second, Mother gaped like a goldfish out of water, her cheeks flushed. She closed her mouth, then opened it again. Took a breath. “That’s... I mean... Really, Savannah! That’s rather personal, isn’t it?”

  “You asked,” I said, taking a sip of wine. I wanted to gulp a mouthful, or better yet, toss back what was left in the glass, but if I did that, Mother would have a reason to be shocked. “By the way, Todd told me that you and Bob Satterfield have been dating.”

  It was Mother’s turn to take a fortifying swig of her sherry.

  “Dix said he’s known for a while,” I added. “I guess I’m the only one who didn’t know. When did I stop being part of the family?”

  “It’s not that we didn’t want you to know, darling,” Mother demurred. “We didn’t make an announcement. It’s just that the others are around more. If you had moved back here after the divorce...”

  Instead of striking out on my own in Nashville. Yes, I knew the drill. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it.

  “If you’re dating Bob Satterfield, wouldn’t me marrying Todd be sort of incestuous?”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say, Savannah,” Mother chided.