Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  Catching up with her in the dining room, Rafe grabbed her arm.

  She halted, looked over her shoulder and glared at him. "What is it?"

  "I answer the door," he told her. "Not you. Under­stand?"

  "Do you honestly think the killer would come up to my front door and ring the doorbell?"

  "Probably not, but stranger things have happened. Women have opened their front doors to rapists and killers, to men who've shot them, stabbed them or thrown acid in their face." When she stared at him, her eyes round and wide with shock, he had the almost overwhelming urge to caress her cheek. "I answer the door from now on."

  Nodding, she stepped aside to let him pass, then fol­lowed a few steps behind him. When they reached the small entryway, she stood back and waited while he flipped on the porch light and peered through the small, fancy-wrought-iron-covered window to see who stood on the doorstep.

  "It's a good-looking guy with black hair, about thirty-five, dressed in an expensive tan overcoat." "Harry," she said.

  Yeah, that's what Rafe figured. Not only was Colburn rich and socially prominent, but handsome, too. "Did you invite him over tonight?"

  "No, I didn't, but he mentioned something earlier today when he called about stopping by to check on me this evening."

  ''Should I let him in?" Rafe asked jokingly.

  "Yes, for goodness sakes, let him in."

  Rafe unlocked and opened the door. Harry Colburn's smile died instantly when he saw Rafe.

  "I'm here to see Elsa. Is she all right? Who are you?"

  "Come on in, Harry," Elsa called as she moved for­ward. When she reached Rafe's side, he clamped his hand down on her shoulder to halt her.

  "Yeah, Harry, come on in," Rafe said. "Elsa's just fine. And I'm Rafe Devlin, Elsa's personal bodyguard."

  "Oh, yes, she did mention that her boss was hiring se­curity for her, but I suppose I thought you'd be with her whenever she went anywhere." Harry surveyed Rafe, siz­ing him up, the way one man often does another. "I didn't expect a live-in bodyguard." He glanced past Rafe to Elsa. "Is this necessary? Do you think you're in that much dan­ger?"

  Talking to handsome Harry's back, Rafe said, "Some­one tried to kill her and could easily try again. I'd say that's about as much danger as she could possibly be in."

  Harry ignored Rafe. "Elsa—" he clasped her hands in his ''—if anything had happened to you. . ."

  Okay, Rafe thought, let the guy play it that way, delib­erately trying to put Rafe in his place as nothing more than hired help. Most people ignored the hired help, allowing them to become part of the background, like a chair or a painting on the wall. He remembered as a boy how his own parents had perfected that trait with the household servants.

  Lacing Elsa's arm through his, Harry smiled at her and followed as she led him into the living room, a large, airy room, with arched windows and doors, creamy white stucco walls and a rich, dark wooden floor.

  "Would you like a drink? I can offer you coffee or tea or some white wine." Elsa waved her hand in a gesture for Harry to take a seat.

  "Coffee would be nice. Espresso, if you have it."

  "We had just plain old coffee for supper," Rafe said. "I think there's still some in the pot. How do you take yours, Harry, black or with cream and sugar?"

  "Black." Harry's sharp tone gained an arched eyebrow from Elsa.

  "I'll make fresh coffee," she said, then turned to Rafe. "Since I have a visitor here now, feel free to go upstairs and unpack or whatever else you might need to do."

  "No hurry," Rafe replied. "Why don't I help you with that coffee?" He looked right at Elsa's guest. "Just sit down and make yourself at home. We won't be long."

  Elsa marched into the kitchen, Rafe right behind her. The minute she closed the door, she whirled around and shot visual daggers at Rafe. With her voice low and tense, she lashed out at him.

  "What do you think you're doing? Can't you take a hint? I'd like to be alone with Mr. Colburn."

  "Sorry, can't let that happen. It's a bad idea."

  "What do you mean it's a bad idea? Harry isn't going to try to kill me, if that's what you're worried about."

  Rafe busied himself emptying the coffeepot, rinsing it and putting in fresh water. Just as he reached into the re­frigerator to remove the coffee beans, Elsa grasped his arm. "I'm the employer and you're the employee. That means I give you an order and you follow it. Go upstairs and make yourself scarce until Harry leaves." She grabbed the bag of coffee beans and poured them into the grinder.

  "Are you in love with him?" Rafe asked.

  "What?"

  "Are you—"

  Elsa started the grinder and while it whirled noisily, she glowered at Rafe. The minute she removed the lid and dumped the ground coffee into the filter, she replied, "I'm interested in Harry. I'd like to explore things with him and see if we're well suited."

  "You're not."

  Elsa flipped the On switch for the coffeemaker, and it began brewing instantly. "My relationship with Harry is none of your business."

  "While I'm your bodyguard, everything is my busi­ness."

  She huffed.

  "With your lack of experience, you could easily get in over your head with a guy like that."

  Elsa retrieved two clean cups and saucers from the cup­board and placed them on the counter. "What makes you think I lack experience?"

  "Unless you've been hiding the men in your life, ac­cording to the Dundee report, you're thirty-one and have never been married, engaged or lived with a man. That sounds like inexperience to me."

  When Elsa's cheeks flushed, Rafe realized he'd un­earthed what she probably considered a deep, dark secret— the tough, aggressive, business-savvy Ms. Leone didn't know squat about men. Oddly enough, that fact appealed to him greatly. Yeah, maybe that was what attracted him to Elsa so damn much—that air of innocence was no act!

  When Rafe added a third cup beside the other two on the counter, Elsa frowned at him. And when she poured coffee into only two cups, then set the pot back on the warmer, Rafe simply removed the pot and filled the third cup. Elsa picked up two cups and went back into the living room. Rafe paused for a couple of minutes, lifted his cup and sipped on the coffee.

  The phone rang. Rafe set his cup down on the counter and rushed into the living room just as Elsa reached for the phone. He wanted to be at her side, in case this phone call wasn't from a well-wisher. Just part of his job, he told himself.

  "Sorry about this," she said to Harry. "But the phone has been ringing off the hook all evening. I never realized how many people would be concerned about my welfare."

  "You're the most popular girl in town," Harry said.

  Yeah, and that's probably the reason you're pursuing her, Rafe thought. He figured Harry was the kind of guy who liked to be seen with someone all the other guys wanted. And as he'd said, right now Elsa was the most popular girl in Maysville.

  Elsa lifted the receiver to her ear. "Hello." Her face paled instantly. "Who is this?"

  "Elsa?" Rafe rushed toward her, but Harry, who was closer, got to her first.

  "What's wrong?" Harry asked.

  Elsa gulped. "Dammit, who is this?"

  Harry grabbed the phone out of her hand and said, "Who the hell is this? If you're harassing Ms. Leone, I warn you that you'll be sorry." Harry hung up the phone and put his arm around Elsa. "No one said anything."

  "It was an odd voice. A man's voice, I think. He said if I knew what was good for me, I'd leave Maysville and never come back."

  "Oh, Elsa." Harry hugged her to his side and planted a kiss on her temple.

  Rafe knotted his hands into tight fists, then marched across the room and checked the caller ID. Pay phone. Figures. "I'll get a tap put on your home phone and your phone at the station. And from now on, I'll answer your phone."

  Elsa's gaze connected with Rafe's and for a split second he saw something oddly familiar. She looked at him the way she had last year in St. Camille when he'd rescued her from a co
uple of young thugs down at the waterfront. He swallowed hard, not liking the direction in which his thoughts were traveling. There was nothing personal be­tween Elsa and him and he intended to keep it that way.

  "I'll go upstairs and unpack," Rafe said. "If the phone rings again, I'll get it."

  "All right. Thank you."

  "No thanks needed. It's my job."

  "Yes, of course."

  Rafe made a hasty exit, but halted halfway up the stairs. Something urged him to look back into the living room, and when he did, he saw Harry put his arms around Elsa and kiss her. Damn, maybe he shouldn't have left them alone. But then he realized that Elsa's response was luke­warm. Halfhearted. Not the reaction of a woman who had the hots for a guy. Whistling softly, Rafe went upstairs and made himself right at home. His guess was that Harry Col­burn wouldn't be staying much longer.

  * * *

  Elsa had given Frank and Kate permission to use her office at WJMM, and they'd wasted no time in getting things set up and diving right into their investigation. While Kate worked on e-mailing Dundee headquarters in Atlanta with what little information they had on Elsa's case, Frank went over the police report again. His eyelids drooped as his body succumbed to the weariness from a long day. Forcing his eyes open, he lifted his arm and glanced at his wristwatch. Eleven-fifteen. He set the report aside on top of the file folder lying to his right on the sofa, then stood and stretched.

  "Are you about through?" he asked. "I'm ready to call it a night, if you are."

  "Be finished in a sec," Kate replied as she continued typing. "I want to get this list of people in tonight so Dundee's can compile reports on all of them ASAP."

  "You know the initial reports on those people won't reveal much. It's going to take some deep digging to un­earth any real suspects."

  Kate covered her mouth as she yawned. "Wonder how Rafe is settling in with Elsa?"

  "It's not like you to be so nosy." Frank grinned. He knew that Kate suspected something of a personal nature was going on between Rafe and their client. Heck, even he had felt the tension between them earlier today and as a general rule he was oblivious to things like that. "Just how well did Rafe and Ms. Leone know each other back in Louisiana last year?"

  Kate shook her head. "I don't think they saw each other more than a few times, but all of us on that assignment— Jed, Dom, J.J. and I—got the distinct impression that there was a spark of something between them. And since we're all aware of Rafe's reputation with the ladies, we were puzzled that he didn't pursue Elsa. Instead, he hightailed it out of St. Camille pronto."

  "Hmm. Maybe the lady scared him." Frank walked around and stood behind the desk where Kate sat.

  Kate hit the send button, and her e-mail report zipped off to Atlanta, then she whirled around in the swivel chair and looked up at Frank. "And how could a little thing like Elsa scare a big bad boy like Rafe?" Kate laughed.

  "There's usually only one way a woman can frighten a man into running and that's if he thinks she's got what it takes to trap him."

  "Speaking for yourself, Latimer, or just men in gen­eral?"

  "Both."

  A knock on the closed office door gained their attention, but before either could respond, the door swung open and Dr. Lurleen Patton breezed in, rolling a metal cart. ' 'When I got here a few minutes ago, I heard you two were still here, burning the midnight oil, so to speak, so I thought I'd play hostess and bring y'all some refreshments before I go on air at midnight."

  Jumping up, doing his best to act like a gentleman, Frank couldn't take his eyes off Dr. Patton. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous. Long, lean, blond and sexy as hell in her black jeans and white blouse. A couple of pairs of gold hoops dangled from her ears and a golden heart-shaped pendant hung in the hollow of her throat. She was the type of woman who made a man hard just from looking at her.

  She stared right at Frank, licked her full, pink lips and smiled. "I've got coffee, tea, colas and a variety of sand­wiches and pastries. What's your pleasure, Mr. Latimer?"

  Frank gulped. What was his pleasure? A night in bed with you, he thought. "A cola and a sandwich sounds good."

  Kate glanced back and forth from Dr. Patton to Frank and shook her head. "Just coffee for me, but don't bother, I can get it for myself."

  Dr. Patton didn't break eye contact with Frank as she said, "Help yourself, Ms. Malone." She then popped the lid on a canned cola and held it out to Frank. When their hands brushed in the exchange, Frank felt a jolt of sexual energy surge through him. "What kind of sandwich?'' she asked, all but purring the question. "I've got ham and cheese, tuna salad, roast beef, and pimento cheese."

  "Roast beef."

  Frank hadn't noticed Kate pour herself a cup of coffee from the carafe, so when she spoke, he glanced her way. "I'll take my coffee with me. I need to stretch my legs, so I think I'll walk around the station a bit."

  "Yeah, sure," Frank told her. "Take your time."

  The minute Kate left, Dr. Patton sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. Frank practically broke his neck to join her. She crossed one long leg over the other, then turned to face him as she draped her arm across the back of the couch, directly behind him.

  "Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

  "Huh?'' Was he hungry? Starving. Starving for a taste of her.

  She nodded to the sandwich he held in one hand and the cola in the other.

  He chuckled. "Oh, yeah." He took a swig from the can, then set it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. After unwrapping the sandwich, he took a huge bite. "Mmm."

  She leaned closer—close enough for him to feel her body heat, but not close enough that they actually touched. "I don't suppose you'll have time for a social life while you're here, will you? I mean, you'll be working all the time and won't be able to take a girl out for dinner or anything."

  Oh, lady, I'd like to take you—to dinner, dancing and straight home to bed. I'd like to take you all night long.

  "I'll be pretty busy," he told her. "But a guy has to eat."

  "How about dinner tomorrow evening? My place. I'm a great cook."

  "Maybe a late dinner."

  "How late? I have to be here at the studio by eleven because I go on air from midnight until two on the radio, then I'm back here to do a thirty-minute TV show at eleven-thirty every weekday morning."

  Frank grunted. "Looks like our schedules conflict, but maybe we can work something out. Maybe a long lunch after your TV show or even breakfast after your midnight show tomorrow night."

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Fire burned through him from that semi-innocent touch. He suspected that nothing Lurleen Patton did with a man was ever totally innocent.

  "I like the sound of both, but since tomorrow's your first full day on the job, let's make it breakfast after to­morrow night's show. I whip up a mean omelette." That said, she rose gracefully to her feet and walked over to the metal cart, grasped the handles and wheeled it out the door. She paused just over the threshold and blew Frank a kiss.

  He grinned. "See you tomorrow night, Slim."

  "You bet you will, sugar."

  The man sat alone in the darkness. Thinking. Contem­plating. Figuring out his next move. Elsa was such a de­lectable little creature. He would love to sample her many delights. If an escalating series of threats didn't stop her, he'd have no choice but to order her death. He'd prefer bedding her to killing her, of course, but only his personal fondness for her was keeping her alive. His associates wanted her out of the way—yesterday. She was a thorn in their sides, therefore a thorn in his side. Whatever harmed the organization, harmed him. They saw Elsa as a threat— and believed that by killing her they would put the fear of God into the Maysville Good Samaritans and without their leader, they would scatter. He knew one thing for certain— without his associates, he would be unable to maintain his lifestyle, and everything that was important to him would be lost. He hadn't intended to, as his grandmother used to say, lie down with dogs. But when
he'd needed assistance, they had been there for him, offering him whatever he needed in exchange for using him as a respectable front for their dealings in Maysville, and secretly in Honey Town. So he'd made a bargain with the devil, a profitable bargain. He had gotten used to dealing with the fleas that resulted from bedding down with dogs. Even murder no longer seemed an alien concept to him.

  "Elsa, Elsa, come to your senses." He sighed. "Don't force me to order your death."

  Chapter 5

  "Did you kiss him good-night?"

  Elsa gasped, then looked across the hall to where Rafe stood in the doorway to the guest bedroom. Her mouth fell open when she saw that he wore only his jeans, the snap undone and a hint of his dark briefs peeking above the low-riding waistband. Her gaze traveled the length of his body, from broad, bronzed chest and lean, washboard belly to a dusting of brown hair tapering to a thin line above and below his belly button. Why did he have to look so good? So totally, devastatingly masculine? And why hadn't her heart skipped a beat looking at Harry, the way it did now staring at Rafe? Harry was better looking, so. . . No, Harry was prettier, not better looking. Rafe had that rough, roguish quality that all but screamed I'm a man!

  "If it's any of your business—and it's not—yes, I kissed Harry good-night. On the cheek." Now, why had she added that last comment? If it was none of Rafe's business, then she should have simply told him so and let it drop at that. "And in case you're wondering, he left nearly an hour ago. I've been doing laundry and. . . other things downstairs." Others things? Avoiding coming upstairs, knowing Rafe was just across the hall, was the only thing she'd been doing.

  Rafe grinned. "Is your Friday-night date still on?"

  "Yes, it is. And I explained to Harry that you'd have to go along with us even if he and I think he could ade­quately protect me."

  Rafe padded barefoot across the hall toward Elsa, stop­ping a couple of feet away. "Where you go, I go. Until we apprehend whoever is behind the threats on your life."

  Garnering all her courage, she kept her gaze focused on his. "You and I are mixing like oil and water, you know. You're being a smart-ass and baiting me every chance you get. I'm overly sensitive and not in the mood for verbal repartee these days. Besides, I'm not very good at flirt­ing. . .and don't dare deny that you've been flirting with me. You've done everything but grab me and kiss me. What's wrong—did I wound your ego when I told you Troy was wrong about my having the hots for you?''