Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  "That's a very generous offer," Elsa said, "but I feel quite safe at home, with my own personal bodyguard."

  As Portia served the coffee, the conversation continued, with Ellison shifting the topic from Elsa's safety to the Dundee investigation. Mr. Mays seemed very interested, Rafe thought, which of course didn't mean he was guilty of anything. It could be nothing more than his fear of being found out. Rafe doubted that Miss Nella would give a hoot that her nephew was a slumlord, but she would be appalled that he'd been having an ongoing affair with a prostitute for years now.

  Rafe realized that just because he'd narrowed down his own suspects list to two men, didn't mean either was the person behind the threats against Elsa. Ellison Mays was the obvious choice, maybe too obvious. Within a few days the Dundee Agency would probably have proof that Mays had indirect ties to the Dixie Mafia, and if that proved to be the case, he'd move to the head of everyone's list.

  Realizing that his suspicions of Harry Colburn were tainted by jealousy, Rafe admitted to himself why he'd like to see the smooth-talking, charming Mr. Colburn turn out to be the bad guy. Although Elsa had chosen him over Colburn, at least for the time being, it didn't mean Colburn would stop pursuing Elsa, or that, in the end, she wouldn't wind up marrying the town's poor-boy-made-good. If it turned out that the mob hadn't backed Colburn's initial business dealings, then the guy would pretty much be cleared of suspicion. But if the investigation proved oth­erwise?

  Colburn had called Elsa half a dozen times yesterday and today, and except for the two times she had overheard Rafe answer the phone, he had deliberately screened Col­burn's calls, telling him that Elsa was not available. Not very professional of him, but then again, his relationship with Elsa had become a great deal more than just an as­signment to him. Becoming her lover—her first lover!— had changed all the rules. She wasn't simply another client now. She was his. His woman. Protecting her had become personal. Very personal.

  By the time Rafe and Elsa left the Southwell mansion on Highland Avenue, it was nearly four-thirty. He couldn't remember when he'd been so glad for an afternoon to end. He stood on the porch, directly behind Elsa while she said her goodbyes. Miss Nella actually kissed Elsa's cheek with a delicate brush of her pursed lips. Ellison, following his aunt's example, also kissed Elsa's cheek, but he added to the act by placing his hand on her shoulder.

  As Rafe followed Elsa down the herringbone brick side­walk, he felt Ellison Mays watching them. The man was still on the front porch, as if he was waiting for something. Did he expect Rafe to put his arm around Elsa? What was it with this guy? Rafe wondered, as Elsa and he neared her Honda parked in the driveway. Getting an eerie feeling in his gut, mostly because he couldn't figure out exactly what was up with Mays, Rafe allowed his instincts to take over. A red warning signal went off in his brain. Danger!

  But not from Ellison Mays.

  Rafe saw the dark sedan heading down Highland Ave­nue less than a minute before he caught a glimpse of the late-afternoon sunlight reflected off something metal pro­jecting from the vehicle's window. At the exact moment the rat-a-tat-tat of a submachine gun exploded, Rafe knocked Elsa to the ground, rolled her beneath the Honda and out on the other side, staying one step ahead of the barrage of bullets. While the gunfire peppered the drive­way, the car and the yard all around them, Rafe and Elsa managed to take refuge behind a massive magnolia tree. With his 357 Magnum drawn, Rafe got off several shots before the dark sedan accelerated, flashed up the street and disappeared.

  "What—what just happened?" Elsa gasped for breath as she hunkered on her knees behind the bullet-riddled old tree.

  "We just came damn near close to being killed." Rafe jerked his cell phone from his belt clip and dialed 911, then he called Frank Latimer and told him quite succinctly what had just occurred. "The warnings are over. They're playing for keeps now."

  Fifteen minutes later half the Maysville police force wandered around in Miss Nella's yard and Chief Fleming barked out orders. Miss Nella's physician had been called to attend to her since the recent events had unsettled her nerves something awful, according to her nephew, who appeared to be shell-shocked. Rafe couldn't figure out if Mays was acting or if the panic in his eyes was the real thing.

  "I don't see how the guy missed y'all," Van Fleming said as he stepped up on the front porch where Elsa sat in one of the white wicker rockers, Rafe standing at her side.

  "It was Rafe," Elsa said, her voice slightly shaky, but calmer than she'd been only minutes ago. "He keep us moving. Somehow we were able to stay only inches ahead of—" She swallowed hard as the memories of what had happened washed over her. "If Rafe hadn't been with me, I'd be dead right now."

  Chief Fleming leaned down on his haunches in front of Elsa. When he reached out to take her hands in his, Rafe grunted. Fleming glanced up at him and let his hands fall away.

  "Elsa, I think you should leave town," Fleming said. "Today. There is no way I can guarantee your safety."

  She shook her head. "If I leave, then he wins. And the people of Maysville lose."

  "Van's right." Ellison added his opinion. "Your life is more important than the MGS or your fight to clean up Honey Town. That area has been hopeless for years now, a real lost cause."

  "Honey Town is not a lost cause." Elsa glared at El­lison.

  Rafe held his breath, waiting to see if Elsa's anger would override her common sense enough to blurt out the fact they knew Ellison owned half the rat-infested build­ings in Honey Town. Don't do it, Rafe thought. Don't give him any warning that we might be on to him.

  Instead of saying anything else to Mays, Elsa lifted her head and looked up at Rafe. "I want to go home now, please. I have to decide what to do next."

  Rafe helped her to her feet. She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin defiantly, then looked at Chief Fleming. "If you need us for anything else, you can find us at my house."

  "Elsa, I wish you'd reconsider," Fleming said. "You can't be a one-woman army."

  She offered him a fragile smile. "I'm not alone. I have the backing of the MGS. And I'm under the protection of the Dundee Agency. With Rafe Devlin at my side, I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in and fight to the bitter end."

  "We just don't want it to be the end of you," Van said, sincerity in his voice.

  Just as Elsa started to reply, two vehicles screeched to a halt in front of the Southwell Mansion. Harry Colburn jumped out of his Mercedes and ran up the sidewalk. Troy and Geoff Monday bounded out of Troy's truck, and her brother galloped across the neatly manicured lawn, Mon­day one step behind him.

  Troy reached her first, grabbed her and hugged her. "God, sis, are you all right?"

  "I'm not hurt," she assured him. "Scared half to death, but not hurt."

  "Elsa. . .Elsa. . ." Harry practically shoved Troy aside when he reached Elsa, but Troy stood his ground so that Harry wasn't able to pull Elsa into his arms, though he did manage to grasp one of her hands. "You can't stay in Maysville any longer." He glanced at Rafe. "You must get her out of town as soon as possible. I have a beach house on the Gulf where she can stay."

  Elsa jerked her hand free. "I'm not going anywhere."

  "But you must!" Harry cried. "After what just hap­pened, you aren't safe here any longer. I must insist you—''

  "How did you happen to find out about the shooting so quickly?" Rafe asked.

  Bewilderment in his eyes, Harry looked at Rafe. "What?"

  "Do you listen to a police scanner or are you psychic?" Rafe asked. "You weren't ten minutes behind the police."

  "I called Mr. Colburn," Van Fleming said. Rafe lifted his eyebrows.

  "I knew he and Elsa were special friends and—"

  "And Chief Fleming hoped that I could help him per­suade Elsa to leave town in order to save her life," Harry said. "Everyone admires Elsa greatly and we all want her to be safe."

  "I appreciate your concern." She glanced from Harry to Ellison to Van Fleming. "I know y'all mean well, but . . .if I
run away now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I'll know that if I'd stood my ground, I could have helped bring down a vicious criminal and freed Honey Town from the mob."

  The three men stared at her, each apparently disturbed by her determination. As Rafe studied each man, he tried to put aside any personal opinions and allow his gut in­stincts to take over as he assessed the chief of police, the slumlord and the entrepreneur. Fleming might be in ca­hoots with someone, but it was highly unlikely he was "the man." No, that distinct honor would go to either Mays or Colburn. Unless there was another candidate for bad-guy-of-the-year flying somewhere below Dundee's ra­dar.

  Elsa couldn't sleep, couldn't rest. Although the Dundee agents had sat around in her living room tonight and plot­ted strategy and assured her that they were on the verge of unearthing more information on their leading suspects, they hadn't been able to guarantee her they could nail the bastard behind the death treats before his hit man struck again. Long after everyone had cleared out and left her alone with Rafe, after she'd forced down a few bites of supper, showered and gotten ready for bed, she was still unable to shut off her mind. Her thoughts were a jumbled mass, her emotions all over the place, but nothing—not even the overwhelming fear that gripped her—could sway her resolve to stay the course. And not once had Rafe suggested she turn tail and run. That alone made her realize how well he understood, in a way that perhaps no one else did. Not Van Fleming or Ellison Mays. Not even Harry Colburn.

  As the mantel clock in the living room struck eleven times, Troy hugged her and said goodbye. "You'll be all right without me, won't you, sis?"

  "I'll be fine. I've got Rafe." She shot her bodyguard a sidelong glance. He lifted his root-beer bottle and saluted her from where he stood on the other side of the liv­ing room.

  "I'll bring him home safe and sound before breakfast in the morning," Geoff Monday said as he brought his big, broad hand down on Troy's back.

  "Since Dr. Alden isn't staying with Alyssa at the hos­pital at night, this is the only time I can visit without run­ning into him. And Geoff—" Troy grinned at his body­guard ''—sweet-talked one of the night nurses into letting me stay in Alyssa's room tonight. All night."

  "This particular Florence Nightingale is a romantic at heart," Monday explained. "When I told her the particu­lars of Troy and Alyssa's love story, she was more than happy to run interference for us."

  "If you'd rather I stay here with you, after what hap­pened this afternoon. . ." Troy said.

  "Go. Go." Elsa shooed him away. "You're probably safer away from me than you are with me, since it's only a matter of time before this guy tries again."

  "Damn, sis, maybe I should stay."

  "No!" She shoved him toward the door. "Go see Alyssa."

  Not two minutes after Troy and Monday left, the phone rang. Rafe had taken at least a dozen calls since they came home this evening, and he'd allowed the answering ma­chine to handle a dozen more. Word had gotten out around town about Elsa's near-death experience, thanks to her giv­ing a brief interview to WJMM's news reporter and okay­ing the nightly news to broadcast her saying in no uncer­tain terms that she was staying in Maysville to continue fighting the good fight.

  The answering machine took this latest call. An obvi­ously disguised voice, deep and rumbling issued a warn­ing. "You're going to die, bitch." Short and to the point.

  Elsa shuddered. Her gaze met Rafe's across the room. He walked toward her. She held her breath, instinctively knowing what was going to happen. The excitement of danger, the adrenaline rush created by fear, pumped through Rafe as surely as it did her. Silently he spoke to her with every step he took. Tonight is all we have. Neither of us knows what will happen tomorrow. I want you. You want me. We need to feel alive. Breathtakingly alive.

  She waited. Accepting. Needing.

  "Rafe?"

  "Don't think about it," he told her as he stood in front of her, not touching her, just looking deep into her eyes.

  His aura surrounded her. His power enveloped her. Rafe was her shield against the outside world. Protective. Car­ing.

  "Promise that you'll make sure Milly and Troy and Sherrie are taken care of," she said, her gaze locked with Rafe's, "if anything happens to me."

  He cupped her face with his hands, his touch tender beyond belief. "Do you think I'd let anything happen to you, honey? I'd die first."

  A combination of fear, joy and love rose up inside her and all that emotion became trapped in her throat, render­ing her speechless. A lone tear escaped her right eye. Rafe leaned down and captured that tear with the tip of his tongue. Elsa closed her eyes and sighed.

  Hold me. Kiss me. Make the whole world disappear. Just for a few brief hours.

  As if he'd read her mind, he lowered his mouth to hers and, still holding her face captive, he kissed her. Tenderly. Softly. Again and again. When he finally lifted his head and released her, she swayed toward him, breathless and needy.

  He walked her backward toward the sofa and toppled her over. Dropping into the plush cushions, she held open her arms for him. He grasped her hands, turned them over and kissed the center of each palm.

  "Stay right here," he told her. "I'm going to secure the house and then I'll be right back to pick up where we're leaving off."

  Nodding her understanding, she lowered her welcoming arms and rested her head against the sofa cushion as Rafe turned away from her. Even with her life in imminent dan­ger, realizing that it was only a matter of time before the assassin attempted to kill her again, the fear inside her began to subside. As long as Rafe was with her, ready to fight alongside her against all odds, she would be all right.

  In only a few minutes Rafe returned to the living room, came back to the sofa and leaned down over her. Posi­tioning himself above her, his knees on either side of her thighs, he gazed down at her. Her lips parted. Her body zinged with anticipation. He lowered his head and took her mouth, the urgency he felt evident in his hungry kiss. She melted into him, her arms going around him, her hands stroking, her fingers seeking the buttons on his shirt. He ravaged her mouth as he slipped his hands beneath her to cup her buttocks and lift her up and against his erection.

  "Make love to me." She ran her hands over his chest, loving the feel of his hard body.

  "You make love to me, Elsa."

  She smiled. "Yes, yes. . ."

  They ripped at each other's clothes, unbuttoning, unzip­ping, pulling, jerking, ridding themselves of all barriers until they lay naked, flesh to flesh, masculine hardness to feminine softness. Before she even realized what he was doing, Rafe sheathed himself, then pulled her from beneath him and flipped her over on top of him.

  He positioned his hands on her hips and lifted her. She spread her legs until she straddled him, then eased herself down and onto his erection. When she'd taken him inside her, he cupped her hips, readjusted her and then lunged upward to bury himself to the hilt within her body. She cried out from the sensation of having him inside her, stretched and filled completely.

  "Ride me, honey." When she hesitated, he urged her into movement and within seconds she fell into a steady, pulsating rhythm. "That's it. Set the pace. See what feels good for you."

  "What about you?" she asked.

  "It all feels good to me," he told her. "You don't worry about me. Take your own pleasure. Mine's a given."

  As she maneuvered herself until the undulating move­ments of their bodies created an almost unbearable plea­sure for her, Rafe suckled her breasts, heightening each sensation coursing through her body. The intensity in­creased quickly, tightening, strengthening until every nerve in her body seemed centered in her feminine core. And when she climaxed, wave after wave of released energy radiated outward from that core to every fiber of her being. She felt on fire. Electrified.

  "Rafe, oh, Rafe!" She cried his name over and over again, loving him, loving the way he made her feel.

  While the fragmented aftershocks of her fulfillment rip­pled through her body, he clut
ched her hips and shoved her up and down frantically. A couple of seconds later, he groaned deep in his throat and shuddered as his own re­lease hit him. While he trembled beneath her, he kissed her repeatedly, as if he couldn't get enough of her. She responded with equal passion, wanting to hold on to this moment, to make it last forever.

  Rafe woke suddenly, not certain at first what had brought him out of a restful sleep. Elsa lay on top of him, naked beneath the afghan he'd pulled over them after they'd made love. He eased her off him and onto the sofa, making sure to cover her. Luckily they'd left the lamps on in the living room, so he was able to find his discarded clothes quickly and dress while he made his way around the outer walls, listening, thinking. What the hell had awakened him? What had he heard? Nothing. Not a sound.

  That's when he breathed in the scent of smoke. That's what had roused him. The smell of kerosene! He rushed over to Elsa, shook her until she opened her eyes. Then he gathered up her blouse and jeans, dumped them on top of the afghan and picked her up, clothes, afghan and all.

  "What's wrong?" she asked. "What are you doing?"

  He didn't bother answering her as he rushed toward the front door. Smoke oozed under the door. Damn! He turned and backtracked, then hurried through the kitchen to the back door. Through the door window he saw flames shoot­ing a good six feet up from the porch.

  "The house is on fire!" Elsa squirmed in Rafe's arms. "Put me down and—"

  Rafe ignored her demand as he reached out and acti­vated the fire alarm on the security system, then he hurried into the hallway, yanked open the basement door and flipped on the light. He set her on her feet.

  "Run downstairs," he told her. "Maybe we can get out through the basement."

  Following his instructions, she held up the hem of the afghan and ran down the wooden steps, Rafe one step be­hind her all the way.

  "Wait here," he said. "I'll try the door."

  Like many old houses built in the earlier part of the twentieth century, Elsa's home possessed an outside, ground-level entrance to the basement. While Rafe made his way over to the rickety, long-unused steps leading up to the door that lay horizontally overhead, Elsa shucked off the afghan and hurriedly dressed in her blouse and jeans. No shoes. No socks. No jacket. What did that matter at a time like this? Rafe, too, was barefoot.