by Tracy Wolff
But that hadn’t been the case—he knew that now. Just as he knew that he was at fault. He was the one who had placed Vivian in this situation, and he was the one who had let her get hurt, who had stood by as she was threatened again and again.
No more. He was done with it. He’d thought that watching her fall after the bullet struck her was the most painful experience of his life. Even worse than being accused of rape. Even worse than going to prison for a crime he hadn’t committed.
He’d been wrong. Watching the car drive away, getting a good look at the kid wielding the gun, had been worse. Because as he stared into Nacho’s smug, high-as-a-kite eyes, he’d realized something else. He’d had it within his power to stop this all those days ago and he hadn’t done it.
He’d been so blinded by his past—and his desire to keep innocent kids out of jail—that he’d let one who was far from innocent get away with harassment and assault, and now it appeared he had escalated to attempted murder. That Rafael had thought Nacho and his friends were harmless didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that Vivian and Diego were the ones paying the price for his stupidity.
“So, man, I know we can talk about this later.” Jose’s voice sound muffled, faraway, as Rafael looked down at the blood on his hands.
“Hey, man, are you with me?” Jose’s hand on his shoulder got firmer, as if the cop was worried he might pass out or something.
“Is she going to be okay?” He watched the paramedics as they worked on Vivian—setting up an IV, trying to stop the bleeding. His whole world had narrowed down to this one moment, and he realized, with his typical bad timing, that he loved her.
That all the feelings that had been jumping around in him for days—admiration, desire, irritation at her for putting herself at risk, fear of rejection because of his past—added up to more than lust, more than friendship. He was in love with Vivian Wentworth.
He felt his knees go weak at his mistake, but he locked them in place.
“Hey, man.” This time it was Miguel who got in his face. “Are you sure you didn’t get hit? You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine.” He pushed his brother aside so he could keep Vivian in view. The paramedics had shifted her to a stretcher and were moving her to the ambulance with an urgency that didn’t look good. He moved closer to the vehicle, angling himself to climb in when they were done getting her situated.
There was no way he was being left behind.
“I’m going with her,” he told the paramedics as they started to close the bay doors.
“I need to talk to you about what happened.” Jose’s tone was adamant.
Ignoring him—and the hand his longtime friend held out to him—Rafael climbed into back of the ambulance. Vivian still hadn’t come around.
“Pick up Nacho Soren.” Their eyes locked. “I don’t know who else was in the car, but he was the one with the gun.”
Jose looked poleaxed. “Are you sure?”
Rafael nodded. “When he leaned out of the car to shoot her, he was right under that streetlamp.” He pointed to the only one that still had a working bulb. “I saw one other kid and he looked familiar, but I don’t know why. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.”
Jose was already reaching for his radio when the ambulance doors closed. Desperate, furious, terrified, Rafael looked over at the paramedics and asked the only question that mattered. “Is she going to be all right?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
VIVIAN WOKE UP with the mother of all headaches and a stomach that was far from steady. Her leg was on fire and the rest of her body didn’t feel much better. The events of the previous night rushed by—the shooting, waking up in the back of an ambulance with two paramedics and Rafael hovering over her, the doctors talking about stitches, a bad flesh wound and an overnight stay at the hospital.
Hospital…Her eyes popped open as she realized where she was—and how much time had been wasted. “Diego?” She tried to sit up, but she’d moved too quickly and the whole room began to spin.
“Shh.” Rafael leaned over her, stroking a hand down the side of her face. “You’re fine,” he murmured. “You’re in the hospital.”
“I know where I am,” she croaked, still trying to sit up, but taking it much slower this time.
Rafael pushed her back on the pillow, but when she started to protest he pressed the button to raise the head of the bed. “Do you want some water?” he asked. “They’ve been pumping you full of fluids—” he nodded at the IV attached to her right hand “—but they told me you’d be thirsty when you woke up.”
She nodded, grateful for the chance to get the frog out of her throat, if for no other reason than being able to speak and be heard. He held a small hospital cup out with a straw and she began to drink thirstily.
“Take it easy,” he said. “They gave you morphine and you don’t want to get sick.”
She nodded, but took a couple extra pulls on the straw before she laid her head back against the bed. Then she took a little while just to look at Rafael.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
His bark of laughter was anything but amused. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.” He’d put the cup back on the table and had clasped her hand in both of his while his fingers caressed her wrist.
“You don’t look very good,” she continued, which was pretty much the understatement of the year. He looked as if he’d aged five years overnight. The lines in his face were deeper and his eyes were shadowed. Plus he looked absolutely exhausted.
“I’ve had a rough night.”
Fear clutched at her stomach, and the water she’d just drank threatened to come back up. “Diego—”
“We’re still looking for him. But I was referring to you getting shot.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, that.” His mouth was bracketed with pain when he leaned forward and rested his head on the side of her bed.
He still had a grip on her left hand, so she reached over with her right—IV and all—and stroked his hair. It felt as good as ever underneath her fingers—cool and silky and sexier than hair had a right to be.
Although she could remember parts of what happened last night, the details were hazy, as if she was looking at them from far away. She was smart enough to know it was the painkillers that were messing with her memory and gave everything an unreal quality.
Everything, that is, but Rafael. Through it all she’d felt his larger than life presence beside her, not getting in the way, but absolutely refusing to leave her alone to face the fear and pain. She remembered him holding her hand, whispering softly in her ear until the emergency room doctor kicked him out.
Rafael had saved her sanity along with her life, and she was incredibly grateful.
When he lifted his head, his eyes were damp and she felt her heart melt in her chest. “I’m fine,” she told him as she squeezed one big hand between both of hers.
His jaw clenched and he looked away. His thoughts were so heavy she could almost see him beating himself up over something that was not his fault. She’d opened her mouth to tell him that he couldn’t blame himself for what had happened when a familiar voice drifted down the hallway.
“Where is she? Where’s her room?”
Stiffening in shock, she pulled away from Rafael and smoothed an absent hand down her hair. “What is my mother doing here?”
He looked at Vivian as if she was insane. “Once we got you settled up here, I called Richard, who promised to contact your family. They—”
Whatever he was going to say was lost forever as Lillian and Stephen Wentworth swept into the room.
“Oh, my God. Look at you.”
“I’m fine, Mom. It looks worse than it is.”
“You’re patently not fine.” Her mother’s strident voice filled the room as she walked over and brushed a kiss on Vivian’s cheek. “You were shot! I told you that pro bono work was going to get you in trouble one day, didn’t I, Stephen?”
&n
bsp; She turned to her husband, but he was too busy staring at Vivian to answer.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, hoping to allay the concern she saw in his eyes. He nodded, but the look didn’t change—and he didn’t come any closer to her.
“Well, I hope now you’ll quit your work for that terrible woman’s shelter,” Lillian went on, oblivious as usual to the undercurrents in the room. As the farce continued, Vivian couldn’t help wondering if her mother had broken her own rules and already started on the day’s quota of drinks.
“This had nothing to do with the woman’s shelter, Mom. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Yes, but why were you there?” her mother demanded. “In the Tenderloin, for heaven’s sake? That place is filled with barbarians!”
Vivian stiffened and looked at Rafael, but he seemed too bemused by her mother, with her high-end suit, perfectly coiffed hair, pearls and obvious insanity, to be offended.
Lillian followed Vivian’s gaze and for the first time seemed to notice Rafael sitting next to her daughter. “Are you the doctor?” she asked as she took in the scrubs the hospital had given him so he could change out of the bloodstained clothes he’d been wearing.
“No.” He started as if surprised anyone could mistake him for a medical professional. “I’m…” He paused, obviously searching for a way to describe their relationship. He finally settled on one that was only a little bit of the truth. “I’m Rafael Cardoza, a friend of Vivian’s. She was with me when she got shot.”
“Are you telling me that you are responsible for my daughter being in that part of town?” Lillian asked, her mouth curled in a moue of distaste as her eyes lingered on the earring in his ear. Vivian couldn’t help wondering what her reaction would be if she could see the black band tattooed around Rafael’s upper biceps—it really was too bad the scrubs covered it.
“I am, yes.”
“He is not.” Her voice was still weaker than she would have liked, but Vivian worked hard to put as much force behind the statement as she could. “I was there because I wanted to be.”
Stephen shot her a quick look before interrupting in his best doctor voice, “Let’s everyone just calm down, all right?” He extended a hand to Rafael. “I’m Stephen Wentworth and this is my wife, Lillian.”
Rafael smiled warmly, but she could see the unease in his eyes, especially as he glanced at her mother, who was obviously not happy to meet him. But Stephen had already picked up her chart at the end of the bed and was going over it carefully.
“Dad, is that really necessary?”
The look he gave her was surprisingly steely. “You were just shot. As there’s no doctor around to ask at the moment—” he glanced pointedly at Rafael “—then, yes, it is necessary.”
“My father is a doctor,” Vivian explained to Rafael. “He retired three years ago, but he doesn’t seem to remember that.”
“I remember it just fine, young lady. It says here that the bullet tore away a good-size chunk of flesh, nicked an artery.” He looked at the scrubs Rafael was wearing in a whole new way, as if he had suddenly realized just how much blood Rafael must have been covered in.
“Oh, my God!” One beautifully manicured hand flew to Lillian’s mouth. “You really could have died. What will people think?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Dad. Rafael called 911 and took care of me until the paramedics could get there.”
Her mother ignored her. “So, Rafael? What were you and my daughter doing in that area of town in the middle of the night?” Lillian pinned him with a glare so intense that Vivian reconsidered her thoughts about her mother’s sobriety. “It doesn’t seem like a place friends would hang out.”
“Lillian, your daughter has just been shot. Do you think maybe this could wait until later?” Stephen’s authoritative voice cut the room like a knife, shutting her mother down instantly, and Vivian couldn’t help staring at him in surprise. She’d only heard that tone from him a couple of times in her life, and never had it been directed at her mother.
“Of course.” She turned to Vivian with a concerned smile that was so motherly Vivian had a hard time keeping herself from laughing. Or crying. “I’ve just been so worried about you.” She moved to the left side of the bed, effectively shutting Rafael out of the picture.
It must have been the last straw for Rafael because he eased to his feet. “I should probably be going.”
“No, Rafael—”
She started to protest, but he cut her off by leaning down and kissing her cheek. While he was there, he whispered, “I’ll come by later. I think I’m upsetting your mother, and she doesn’t need anything else to worry about right now.” The way he said it made it seem as if he thought Lillian was one step away from a total break with reality, and Vivian barely suppressed a grin. Rafael was a lot better at getting a person’s measure than he thought.
“Call me if you need me,” he said as he pulled away.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Mr. Cardoza,” her mother said in her frostiest tone. “I’ll be here with Vivian until the doctor says we can take her home.”
Vivian had to give Rafael credit when he only nodded sedately at her mother’s pronouncement. She could see the gleam of amusement in his eyes as he noticed the sudden panic in her own.
“It was very nice to meet you, Lillian.” He nodded to her father. “It’s good to know Vivian’s in such good hands.”
Then he ducked out of the room before she could fire the water cup her mother had just handed her at his too-smug head.
RAFAEL’S AMUSEMENT FADED as soon as he’d slipped out of Vivian’s room. Those were her parents? While it was nice to know Vivian would hold up well with age, if her mother was any indication, he found it hard to believe that a woman like that had raised someone as compassionate and good-hearted as Vivian.
He felt guilty ducking out and leaving her at her mother’s tender mercies, but he was sick of being looked at as if he were something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of her shoe. It was hard enough for him to accept the fact that he’d fallen for Vivian—a woman whose background and money made him sweat—but to have to deal with her mother, who was so much like Jacquelyn she might have been her clone, was too much.
Especially when his nerves were so rattled. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he hit Jose’s number.
“Where have you been?” Jose’s voice came across loud and clear, despite the static on the line.
“With Vivian. Did you pick up Nacho?”
“Yeah, and he’s not talking.”
“Well, that’s a big surprise. The kid’s smarter than he looks.”
“Yeah, but that’s not the weird part.”
“So what is?”
“He’s lawyered up, tight as a drum. And not your typical scumbag lawyer, but one from a firm as fancy as your girl’s.”
“How’s that possible? Where would he get that kind of money?”
“Exactly. Even stranger—I went round to pick up Danny and Ric, just to see if I could shake anything loose, and their mother hasn’t seen them in two days.”
“You know, Vivian and I think they’re involved in what happened to their sister.”
“I know. But I’ve been talking to Nacho’s friends, and none of them are willing to admit that he even knows Esme’s brothers. They say they’ve never seen them together, he’s never talked to them, nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know that, but I don’t think they’re lying. I talked to Esme’s friends, too—same story. Nacho and his crew don’t run with them.”
“They’re involved in this, Jose. I went to their house. I talked to them. Danny knows exactly what happened to his sister, though I’m not so sure about Ric.”
“Well, can you come down to the station for a lineup? The lawyer’s making noises about us not having any evidence to hold his client on, and I don’t want to let him go. With the kind of money someone’s shelling out for this lawyer, the
second Nacho hits the street—”
“He’ll be gone.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m on my way.” Rafael punched the end call button harder than necessary as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on. He knew that in tying Nacho in with Ric and Danny, he had most of the pieces to the puzzle, but he couldn’t seem to get them arranged to show the bigger picture. Maybe because the most important pieces were still missing.
It wasn’t until he got down to the street that he realized he didn’t have a ride. He stood there for a minute, shivering in the cold as he tried to decide what to do. He could call Gabriel to pick him up, but he wasn’t in the mood for more rehashing.
Looking up and down the streets, he spotted the sign of a major hotel a couple blocks away. Remembering that there was a BART station near there, he headed toward it at a fast clip. The train would probably get him home faster than a cab, anyway, and at the rate things were unraveling around him, he didn’t have time to waste.
Diego was still missing. Vivian had been shot. Nacho was in custody, with a rich lawyer who wouldn’t let him say a damn thing. And Rafael was seeing another suspect, one he was sure he’d seen before but whom he couldn’t place to save his life, in his head. Oh, and he was crazy about a woman whose family left much to be desired. Things just didn’t get much better than this.
He was half a block away from the BART station when he spotted one of Nacho’s good friends coming up the station steps. The kid paused for a second as if trying to get his bearings, and then headed east.
For a second the sight of him in this neighborhood seemed so incongruous that Rafael just stopped in his tracks and stared, trying to decide if it was really Greg or if he was so tired and stressed out and furious that he was seeing things that weren’t there. But he recognized the red backpack the kid carried as the same one he used to bring to the center. Add that to the fact that he was one of the boys who’d been hassling Vivian all those days ago when she’d tried to find her way to the community center, and Rafael wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass by.
