Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  An hour later, as they approached her driveway around seven that evening, Elsa noted a sleek, black Mercedes parked in front of her house. Harry Colburn! Oh Lord, she'd forgotten all about her date with him tonight.

  "Looks like your date is here," Rafe said. "Want me to tell him to go home and—''

  "I don't want you to say anything to Harry." Elsa whipped her Honda into the driveway. "I'm perfectly ca­pable of explaining to Harry why I'll have to postpone our date."

  The minute she emerged from the car, Harry met her. "I'm so sorry that I forgot to call you, but—"

  "Leenie Patton telephoned me," Harry said. "She ex­plained what happened. You must have had a simply hor­rible day. Is your sister all right?"

  "Yes, she's fine. She has her own personal bodyguard now," Elsa said. Harry put his arm around Elsa. She glanced across the car's hood at Rafe, who glared at her. "I hate that I have to cancel our date tonight."

  "No need for that," Harry told her. "I simply altered our plans. I've had dinner catered. One phone call and our meal will arrive within minutes." With his left arm around her waist, he threw out his right hand to gesture toward her house. "Shall we go in and officially begin our first date?"

  "Harry, are you sure? I'm a total wreck and—"

  "Elsa's tired and emotionally drained," Rafe said. "What she needs is to relax and get a good night's sleep."

  "I think a nice meal and some good wine will do won­ders to relax her." Harry cast Rafe a challenging glare. "But naturally I'll leave the decision up to Elsa."

  Taking a deep breath and suddenly feeling like a prize bone being fought over by two pit bulls, Elsa said, "I'd love to share dinner with you, Harry. You're wonderful to have arranged everything. Please, come inside and give me a few minutes to freshen up."

  As she and Harry entered the house, Rafe stayed on the porch. She thought she heard him mutter a few choice curse words and something derogatory about Harry.

  Chapter 10

  The finest restaurant in Maysville, The Continental, ca­tered dinner. From the linen tablecloth to the silver can­delabra, not one item of importance was overlooked. Harry had chosen some romantic CDs from Elsa's collection, and while they dined, music filled the house. The wine was delicious and although she was far from a connoisseur, she knew Harry's selection was something expensive. She'd already finished off one glass, so she sipped sparingly on the second, knowing full well that two glasses was her limit.

  Right this minute Harry was looking at her, talking, smiling, saying something about how lovely she was and how worried about her he was. Funny how her mind kept drifting and her gaze occasionally checked out the closed kitchen door. Rafe had excused himself and holed up in the kitchen, saying he'd fix himself a bologna sandwich. Every once in a while she heard a noise, as if he were pounding his fist on the table or banging pots and pans

  together. Harry simply ignored the sounds, so Elsa did the same. Or at least she tried to. But Rafe Devlin wasn't a man easily ignored, whether or not he was trying to tear her kitchen apart, board by board. "Dessert?" Harry asked.

  "Hmm?'' Dessert, you idiot, Elsa told herself. He asked if you want dessert. Stop thinking about Rafe and concen­trate on Harry. Your date. The man who went to great lengths tonight to impress you and please you.

  "Tiramisu," he told her. "Shall I serve you?"

  Elsa sighed dreamily. Harry had acted as their waiter, after dismissing the catering staff, and she found it most appealing having him wait on her hand and foot. But truth be told, her lingering sigh came more from thoughts of the delicious espresso and rum-soaked delight than from Harry's charm.

  "Yes, thank you. I adore tiramisu."

  Harry grinned, as if she had awarded him some special prize. He might have a reputation as a lady killer, but she didn't care. Tonight she needed a little pampering, and who better than Harry? As first dates go, this one was turning out quite nicely. If only today hadn't been so dif­ficult. And if only Rafe wasn't sulking in the kitchen. Ac­tually, she would enjoy her evening with Harry far more if Rafe Devlin wasn't even in the state of Mississippi, let alone in her house.

  "Do you know what tiramisu means?" Harry asked as he rose from his chair.

  "I have no idea."

  He opened the white box containing their dessert and brought out two individual servings. As he placed one in front of Elsa, he said, "It's Italian, of course. It means pick-me-up. Italian courtesans indulged directly before performing their special services. The liquor and strong coffee gave them that extra pick-me-up."

  Blushing profusely, Elsa laughed. "What a charming story." But then, Harry was all charm. Handsome, rich, successful. A true Prince Charming?

  A loud bang came from the kitchen. Just as she turned her head, Harry reached out and gently grasped her chin. "Your bodyguard is extremely noisy. He acts more like a jealous lover than a security agent."

  "Oh, don't be ridiculous. He's not personally interested in me." Elsa wasn't very good at lying, so she hoped she sounded convincing. "It's just that Rafe takes his job se­riously, that's all. He thinks he needs to guard me all the time."

  "You're too modest or very naive. Don't you know that you're the type of lady that could bring a man to his knees without even trying."

  Oh, my! Harry was good at this. A bit too good. He had a way of knowing just what to say. Comes from a great deal of practice, she reminded herself.

  Before she realized what he was doing, Harry urged her to stand and once she was on her feet, he pulled her into his arms. Her mouth opened on a startled gasp, uncertain what his intentions were.

  "I've wanted to take you in my arms all evening," Harry told her. "Dance with me, Elsa, and satisfy my de­sire to hold you."

  Mercy to goodness, Elsa thought. This guy was smooth. Maybe a little too smooth. She could certainly see how he'd gained his reputation. "One dance," she said. "Then dessert." Half a second after she spoke, she wished the words back. Then dessert could be misconstrued. Harry could have thought she meant—

  The telephone rang. Elsa tensed in Harry's arms.

  "Do you need to get that?" he asked.

  "Rafe will get it. He screens all my calls."

  "Yes, of course."

  The kitchen door flew open. Elsa jumped away from Harry as if Rafe had caught them in a compromising sit­uation. Without even looking at Elsa or Harry, Rafe stormed through the dining room, into the living room and over to the coat closet in the small foyer. He retrieved his leather jacket, put it on and then yanked Elsa's black wool coat off a hanger. He tromped back into the dining room and threw her coat at her.

  "Put it on." Glaring at her, Rafe completely ignored Harry. "We're going to the hospital."

  "What's happened?" Her heartbeat accelerated. "Who—"

  Rafe grabbed her coat out of her hands and helped her into it. "It's Troy. He and Alyssa have been in a bad car wreck."

  "Oh, God! Oh, God!"

  "Elsa, I'm so sorry. What can I do?" Harry followed behind as Rafe practically dragged Elsa toward the front door. "I'll be glad to drive you—"

  Rafe skidded to an abrupt halt, turned and glowered at Harry. "I'm taking Elsa to the hospital. If she needs any­thing else from you tonight, she'll call you."

  Elsa didn't bother to contradict Rafe or make apologies to Harry. All she could think about was getting to Troy as quickly as possible. Once Rafe had locked and secured the house, he had her inside her Honda and was pulling out of the driveway in no time flat, leaving Harry standing out on the porch. On the drive to Maysville Memorial, Elsa kept wondering how the accident had happened. Had an­other vehicle been involved? Had the wreck actually been an accident?

  * * *

  "Your brother will be just fine," Dr. Kenneth Maples assured Elsa. "He's got some scrapes and bruises and a fractured left arm. We'll keep him here overnight for ob­servation."

  Barely holding back her tears, Elsa nodded. "Thank you. Are there any special instructions for when I take him home?"

 
; "I'll have the nurse explain everything to you tomorrow when you pick Troy up. Come back some-time around ten or so in the morning and he'll be ready to go."

  Rafe glanced away from Troy, who sat on the edge of the examining table in the emergency room cubicle, to check on Elsa as she spoke to the doctor in charge.

  "Hey, there's something I need to tell you," Troy said to Rafe. "While Elsa's talking to the doctor. I don't want to upset her."

  "What is it?"

  "The accident—" Troy gulped "—it wasn't an accident at all. Some guy ran us off the road. He kept tailgating us and finally when we were going around a sharp turn, he rammed right into us and shoved us off the road. I tried to get control of the truck, but before I could, Alyssa's side of the truck slammed into the tree." Troy swatted at the tears leaking from his eyes. "Man, I gotta get upstairs and see about her. They took her straight up to the oper­ating room."

  "Can you identify the car or the driver?"

  Troy hopped off the padded table and if Rafe hadn't been there to catch him, he would have fallen flat on his face. "I've got to find out how Alyssa is. She's pregnant."

  Rafe lifted Troy under his arms and set him down in a nearby chair. "Take it easy. As soon as the doctor says it's okay, we'll all go upstairs and check on Alyssa."

  "Hey, Doc, I need to find out about my girlfriend, Alyssa Alden," Troy called.

  Dr. Maples turned to Troy. "If you'll use a wheelchair, your sister can take you up to the surgical ICU to check on Miss Alden's condition. But once you've done that, I want you in your own room, in bed for the night." The doctor looked to Elsa. "He's been given some mild pain medication, so he'll be unsteady on his feet until it wears off."

  "Please, sis, get me a damn wheelchair and take me up to see Alyssa."

  "You stay right here," Rafe told him. "I'll get the wheelchair."

  He rounded up a wheelchair, helped Troy into it and turned him over to his sister. While they made their way to the nearest elevator, Rafe mulled over what Troy had told him.

  Someone had deliberately caused Troy to crash his truck, endangering his life and Alyssa's. Undoubtedly the couple hadn't had a chance to go through with either mar­riage or an abortion. Had the accident occurred on the way to their destination? Probably. And had whoever was driv­ing the other vehicle been sent by Elsa's tormentor? An­other threat? Another deadly warning? More than likely.

  The minute they entered the SICU waiting room, a mid­dle-aged man with graying reddish blond hair came bar­reling toward Troy.

  "Damn you!" the man yelled. "I forbid Alyssa ever to see you. I knew you'd be nothing but trouble for her."

  "Dr. Alden, this wasn't Troy's fault," Elsa said.

  "Tell me how Alyssa is?" Troy pleaded.

  When Dr. Alden reached down to grab Troy, Rafe in­tervened and jerked the man backward and up against the wall. Tears streamed down the man's face. He gulped down sobs. Rafe felt sorry for the poor guy, but he couldn't let him take his anger and frustration out on Troy.

  "She's badly hurt. Internal bleeding," Dr. Alden looked Rafe right in the eye. "My daughter—my eighteen-year-old daughter—just suffered a miscarriage and she could be in the operating room dying right now."

  Rafe clutched Alden's shoulders and squeezed. "I'm sorry about Alyssa. But Troy is not responsible for the wreck. Someone ran them off the road."

  Elsa gasped.

  Dr. Alden took several deep breaths. "You can release me now. I'm all right."

  Rafe removed his tight grip on the man's shoulders and stepped away from him.

  "I want y'all to leave," Dr. Alden said.

  "I have a right to be here." Troy looked up at Elsa. "Tell him, sis. Tell him that. . . No, dammit, don't tell him anything. I'll tell him." Troy wheeled himself across the room and stopped in front of Dr. Alden. "1 love Alyssa and she loves me. We were on our way to get married tonight when the wreck happened. If I could, I'd change places with her right now."

  Tears glimmered in Troy's eyes. "You. . .you said Alyssa had a miscarriage?"

  "I can't even look at you." Dr. Alden turned, walked out of the waiting room and disappeared down the hall.

  Troy tried to stand. Elsa rushed to him and put her arms around him, urging him to sit.

  "It'll be all right," she told him. "What happened to­night was partly my fault. This was another warning, an­other threat against me."

  "No, it's my fault. I should have listened to you when you told me to get in touch with Frank Latimer." Troy broke down, trembling, crying. Kneeling before him, Elsa wrapped him in her arms.

  Rafe inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. It had been a long time since he'd allowed his emotions to surface and affect him in any way. He'd learned long ago that life wasn't fair. That God or fate or whatever higher power there was gave with one hand and took away with two. And no one was immune to pain and suffering. No one. Not even a couple of teenage lovers who'd wanted nothing more than to get married and do what they believed was the right thing.

  Two hours later, while they sat quietly in the waiting room, Dr. Alden returned, a somber expression on his face. He didn't focus on anyone, just glanced into the room and said, "Alyssa is going to be all right. She did lose the baby, which was probably a blessing, but. . .but she can have other children one day."

  With that said, he turned around and walked away.

  Troy smiled. A bittersweet expression. "I'm glad she's okay. I prayed. God, how I prayed."

  "I'm sorry about the baby," Elsa said. "But someday Alyssa can have another child."

  "Yeah. That's good." Troy heaved a deep sigh. "But it won't be my baby."

  Shortly after one, Rafe unlocked the front door, dis­armed the security alarm and ushered Elsa into her house. She was bone weary. Her entire day had been something out of a horrendous nightmare, from the threat against Milly to Troy's nearly fatal wreck. She'd been reluctant to leave Troy, but Rafe had called in Frank Latimer to keep watch until Dundee's sent in another bodyguard tomorrow.

  "Why don't you go on up and take a shower and get ready for bed," Rafe said. "I'll close up down here and be up shortly."

  She shook her head. "I'll shower in the morning. I just want to sit down and rest. I don't think I can sleep. I'm too keyed up."

  "Whatever you want."

  "I'll change into my pajamas and—oh, goodness, I need to clean up the dining room from where Harry and I had dinner."

  "No need to do that," Rafe replied. "I'm sure good old Harry will have the caterers come back and clean every­thing away in the morning."

  "How do you know—"

  "One of those phone calls that came in on your cell phone while we were at the hospital was Harry Colburn."

  "And you didn't— No, of course you didn't allow me to talk to him."

  "What's that supposed to mean? You didn't need to be bothered by anyone or anything. I took care of it for you."

  Elsa huffed loudly. "Yeah, sure." She turned and headed up the stairs.

  She paused halfway up, wondering why Rafe hadn't re­sponded, but she didn't dare look back. Instead she hurried upstairs, rushed through her bedroom and went straight into the bathroom. She turned on the vanity lights. After she stripped out of her clothes, she washed her face and took a quick sponge bath, then yanked her pajamas off the door hook and put them on.

  Back in her bedroom, she flipped on the nightstand lamp, turned down the bedspread, fluffed her pillows and stacked one on top of the other. After crawling into bed, she scooted up and rested her back against the pillows. If only she could sleep. But there was no way she could switch off her mind. Too much had happened today and too many decisions needed to be made. What was she go­ing to do? When it was only her life in danger, she could deal with the threats, but now that Milly and Troy had been threatened—and possibly Sherrie next—could she continue putting their lives at risk? "Hot chocolate anyone?"

  Gasping, Elsa looked up to see Rafe standing in the doorway, two mugs in his hands.

  "I thoug
ht we could both use something warm and sweet. Hot milk is supposed to help you sleep," he said. "But I prefer hot cocoa, don't you?"

  Go away, she wanted to scream. Please, don't be nice to me. Don't come into my bedroom offering me hot cocoa and sympathy. I need to keep on being upset with you— otherwise I might turn into a needy, clinging female and wrap myself around you.

  He walked over to the bed, handed her one of the mugs, then set the other atop a magazine on the nightstand. She cupped the warm mug in her hands, lifted it to her mouth and sipped. Delicious. There was nothing in the world quite like chocolate.

  Rafe sat down on the side of the bed, removed his boots and stretched out beside her, his back against the head­board. What did he think he was doing? He hadn't asked if he could get in bed with her, had he? If she had the energy, she'd show him how outraged she was by his ac­tions.

  Who was she kidding? She wasn't outraged; she was scared. If he stayed there beside her for very long, she'd need more than hot cocoa to calm her ragged nerves.

  "Cocoa okay?" he asked.

  "Mm-m." That one utterance was about all she could manage.

  He reached over and lifted his mug off the nightstand, then took several sips. "Want to know my secret ingre­dient?"

  "What?" Don't look at him, she told herself. If you can manage to avoid making direct eye contact, he won't figure out how flustered you are by having him in bed with you.

  "My sister, Sandy, taught me how to make great hot chocolate. You add vanilla to the milk. It gives it a little extra zing."

  Nodding, smiling, then sipping the cocoa, she kept her gaze directed anywhere and everywhere except Rafe's face. He couldn't know how badly she wanted to ask him to hold her, to put his big, strong arms around her and just hold her. All her life, deep down inside, she had longed for the comfort and assurance that she'd never received. Not from her parents, not from friends and certainly not from a lover. She had pretended she didn't need anyone, even lied to herself time and again. But damn it all, she was human, just like everybody else. And even the stron­gest, most self-sufficient woman in the world needed someone to lean on when her life was falling apart.