* * *
Despite the tablets he'd bullied into her, Daniela's fever climbed steadily, terrifying him more every time he checked. Her skin was frighteningly pale, except for the feverish flush dotting her cheeks. Terrified that she would go into convulsions—or worse—he'd checked her temperature every few minutes, vowing each time that Jarrod was getting a call the instant it hit 102. Instead, in some kind of perverse cosmic joke designed to drive him into a cold sweat, it had stayed at 101.9.
Hell had to be like this, he decided as he bathed her hot face with a damp cloth. Her lips parted on a sigh, and he pressed the back of his hand against her cheek. "You'll feel better soon," he promised in a voice he tried to make gentle.
She opened her eyes, then licked her lips. "Rafe? You're not a dream, are you? You're really here?"
"Seem to be, yeah." He slipped an arm around her hot shoulders and lifted her so that she could drink from the glass he held to her lips. She took it all, but refused more. As he eased her back to the pillows, her fever-bright eyes searched his.
"Luke said the baby was fine, didn't he? I didn't just imagine that, did I?"
"He said the little one's doing great." He found a smile. "According to Jarrod, the little dickens has a strong heartbeat. Probably come out fighting, if he's anything like his mom."
"She," she murmured, her lashes drooping. "Lyssa wants a sister, so it has to be a girl."
The determination in her voice surprised him. "Do you always give her what she wants?"
"When I can, yes. I know it goes counter to every theory of child rearing but Lys is special." Her voice wobbled. "She's … she's been through so much. She deserves to be spoiled a little."
"What about Danni?" he asked quietly. "What does she deserve?"
She made a face. "A swift kick in my rapidly expanding posterior for being such a gullible ninny."
He kept his smile tucked safely inside. "Gullible, maybe, but not a ninny."
She puckered her forehead. "What would you call a reasonably intelligent, well-respected professional woman who falls for a con man?"
"Human."
"Oh I'm human, all right," she muttered. "Embarrassingly so."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Daniela. You wanted someone to love. Folsom sensed that, and moved in. If there's any blame in this, it's his." Because he could no longer resist, he brushed those downy wisps away from her hot temples. Her lashes fluttered, and a sad smile curved her lips.
"I'm doing it again, aren't I? Running to you with my troubles."
"Is that so bad?"
"It was unfair. I didn't realize that until it was too late, and I'm sorry." She touched his hand, a tentative brush of her slender fingers against his. He told himself it was only common compassion that had him entwining his fingers with hers. "Big tough Rafe, you always made it better," she murmured, her lips curving.
He took a breath. "Some troubles are tougher to handle than others," he said carefully.
She understood, as he knew she would. "Who makes your troubles better?" she asked, her voice very soft.
"Us tough government types don't have troubles. Like they tell you when you sign up, if Uncle Sam wanted you to have a personal life, he would have issued you one along with the badge."
"And such a cute little badge it is, too."
He snorted. "Good Lord."
Her lips curved. "I really did love you, you know," she murmured as her lashes fluttered down.
His chest was suddenly filled with jagged rocks. Grieving a little for what might have been, he leaned forward to brush a kiss across her hot forehead. And then he settled down to watch over his star witness.
* * *
Luke was running late, although he consoled himself that it wasn't really his fault. Not completely, anyway. He'd been curled up next to his Maddy girl's soft warm body, waiting for the alarm to buzz, when she'd suddenly started rubbing her round little bottom against him. It had been an offer he couldn't refuse under the best of circumstances. After a really long week of enforced abstinence, he'd been more than eager to accept. Almost embarrassingly so, he recalled with something that felt a lot like a blush.
Consequently, he didn't make it to Danni's place until a few minutes before seven. As he waited for Cardoza to answer the bell, he unwrapped the granola bar he'd grabbed on his way out the door and thought longingly of the steak-and-egg breakfast he'd promised himself after rounds.
He was fixing to mash the bell again when the door suddenly swung inward. Looking right at home, Cardoza wore only sweatpants and a scowl. Shaving cream covered his jaw, with the exception of a wide swath next to his Adam's apple where his razor had scraped away the thick stubble.
Apparently fresh from the shower, he'd scooped his still damp hair away from his forehead and looped a towel around his neck. Beneath the towel his chest was heavily layered with muscle, his biceps bulging, even at rest Knowing it was damned immature, Luke couldn't resist measuring him against his own six-one, two-ten frame. He sulked a little when he realized the guy had him by a couple of inches and forty or fifty pounds.
Exercising his two quarter horses a couple of times a week as well as bucking more hay bales than he wanted to count over the years kept him fit, but he wasn't all that sure he could take the guy down in a fair fight.
"Rough night?" Luke asked as Cardoza stepped back to let him enter.
"I've had worse."
But not many, Luke suspected, taking in the telltale signs of a sleepless night stamped on the man's face.
"How's our patient this morning?" he asked, automatically looking around, even though he didn't expect to see Danni on her feet for another eight hours minimum.
"Still sleeping when I checked on her about fifteen minutes ago. Fever broke around four."
Luke noted the dark smudges below sharply intelligent eyes that gave away damn little, even now. "How about you? Did you get any shut-eye?"
"Some." Soap dripped onto Cardoza's chest, drawing Luke's gaze to the surgical scar running from sternum to navel.
Cardoza's face tightened, and his eyes took on a hard sheen. "Took a couple of bullets a while back," he said by way of explanation.
Not more than six months, by the look of the degree of healing, Luke estimated silently before glancing toward the stairs. "Sounds pretty peaceful up there. I hate to wake her."
Cardoza followed his gaze, his mouth slanting. "Way she was sleeping when I used her shower, not much less than a full-on explosion could do that."
"Healing sleep," Luke said aloud. "It's a good sign."
Cardoza narrowed his gaze. "Wish I'd known that a few hours ago. Damn near gave myself a heart attack, worrying 'cause I couldn't wake her up to get more pills down her."
"Hell, man, you should have called me. I'm used to middle-of-the-night emergencies."
"Guess I should have figured that, but I have to admit I wasn't thinking all that clearly." He plowed his fingers through his hair, the first indication Luke had seen that he wasn't as detached as he'd first appeared. "Kept thinking maybe our showing up unexpectedly had been the last straw."
"Maybe, but Danni's been running on grit and vitamins for weeks now. Even though I've been keeping a close eye on her, I had a hunch some kind of crash was inevitable." Luke frowned. "That bastard she married should be hung up by his privates."
"Government frowns on vigilantism." His mouth turned hard. "Damn shame sometimes, though."
Luke chuckled. "I didn't hear that."
The sudden glint of humor in Cardoza's eyes went a long way toward humanizing him. "Coffee's only a few minutes stale, if you're so inclined. I'll be in the head if you need me," he said before turning away.
As he did Luke noticed the forty-five tucked into the small of his broad back just above the left kidney. Even though he told himself it was nothing more than habit, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this routine interrogation than Cardoza was prepared to admit.
* * *
So far so g
ood, Danni thought as she clutched the sink for support.
Between bouts of light-headedness, she'd managed to wash her face and brush her teeth. The next challenge was her hair which had dried in little tangled ropes all over her head, like Rastafarian dreadlocks.
Gritting her teeth, she took her brush from the drawer and set to work. Ten minutes later her brush was full of rats, her scalp hurt where the brush had torn the hair out by the roots, and she had worked her way through her admittedly sparse collection of expletives. Her hair still looked like a wind-tortured mess. Nothing short of a shampoo would help. Since her legs were beginning to go wobbly again, she decided to live with the windblown look a little longer.
Halfway to the bathroom door, a wave of weakness nearly sent her to the floor before a desperate grab for the towel bar saved her. Taking deep breaths she waited for it to pass, then using first the wall and then pieces of furniture for support, she managed to make it back to bed before her knees gave up completely. She was just pulling up the sheet when someone knocked on the door Luke had left ajar when he'd left.
"Come in," she called, her heart already speeding.
Rafe walked in carrying a tray. Dressed in faded jeans and a pale yellow polo shirt, with his hair haphazardly brushed he looked far too much like the Rafe she remembered.
Despite her weakened condition, her response was instantaneous—and annoyingly visceral, slowly unfurling ribbons of pure lust in her stomach and heat under the skin. It was still there, she discovered to her dismay. That powerful desire to be in his arms, skin against skin, with his mouth plundering hers.
Of course, she was experienced enough now to recognize the dynamic that had come into play. It was simply old tapes, set on auto play. It was a common enough occurrence, certainly. A simple matter to erase the tape.
"Good morning," she said brightly, determined to regain the upper hand in this unsettling reunion scenario.
"Morning." His mouth slanted briefly. He looked tired, she realized. And a little tense. "I brought you some tea and toast, doctor's orders."
She sighed. "What's that green stuff in the glass?"
"Sports drink with ginger ale," he said, holding the tray in one hand while making a place on the cluttered nightstand with the other. "Jarrod said it would balance your electrolytes."
"Not unless I can swallow it, which I doubt."
"I tried it. It's not bad."
Danni eyed the sickening liquid warily "It's the color of … well, something not discussed in polite company."
"Then by all means, let's not."
She laughed, then felt a rush of dizziness. "Oops, laughing is obviously not a good idea at the moment," she muttered, holding her head perfectly still.
His big hands splayed on his hips and eyes narrowed, he studied her thoughtfully. It was a stance she'd seen countless times before. "Still feeling rocky, are you?"
She pushed back a rebel lock of hair, only to have it flop forward again. "Remember that rag doll I used to haul around in that old red wagon? The one you rescued from Eddie's puppy?"
"As I recall, you got hysterical because the pup ate Raggedy's arm."
She'd forgotten that. Deliberately, she suspected. "You mopped up my tears and told me that if I wished on a star, then left her outside in the moonlight overnight, she would grow a new arm."
He handed her a napkin, careful, she noticed, to keep his hand from brushing hers. "Worked, didn't it?"
"With a little help from your mom." Her lips curved as she let herself remember it all. "It seems inconceivable now, but I honestly believed that tale you spun about why her new arm was a different color."
His sandy brows drew together. "What tale was that?"
"The one about how the fairies that made her new arm had baked it too long in their special oven."
His mouth slanted. "Good thing I didn't lay that one out for the priest in Confession. Probably would have gotten me a whole wagonload of Hail Mary's."
"As I recall you had the valley record at one time."
"And you had the record for the fewest. Saint Daniela in her prissy white gloves and little red purse." His gaze met hers. There was humor there and something else, something that made her insides soften and a lump come to her throat.
Sooty lashes dipped as she glanced down. "I didn't realize until you left that you'd been my best friend," she said softly. "I missed you for a long time."
The humor left his eyes, taking all the warmth in the room with it. "You hung up on me when I called you on your birthday."
"I was still hurt." She smiled. "It was my fault, what happened that night at the pond. I never got a chance to tell you how sorry I was. I know now Papa and Eddie were wrong to try to force you, but at the time my pride was hurt."
"They forced me, all right. Forced me to leave."
Her head came up too fast and she fought dizziness. "What do you mean, forced you to leave?" she demanded when the room stopped spinning.
"I mean, Princess, that your brothers and your fiancé beat the crap out of me after you went back into the house, then offered me an ultimatum. Leave on the first bus out of Ashland the next morning or watch while Eddie tossed my parents and the little ones off Mancini land without a reference."
Shock stuttered through her. "Eddie said he broke his hand out riding early that morning," she said, remembering aloud.
He shrugged. "I can't be sure, but I have a strong hunch he busted his hand the same time he busted my nose."
She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the enormity of what he'd just told her. It was simply too horrible to contemplate. Still, why would he lie now, after so many years? "But if Eddie forced you, why did you let Enrique think you ran away?"
His jaw flexed. "I tried to tell him the truth, but every time I called, he hung up on me. I sent letters and they came back." He shrugged. "I finally gave up."
And tried so hard not to care, she realized as tears filled her eyes. "Oh Rafe, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"You weren't supposed to."
"Is that why you've never gone home in all these years?"
He nodded, his expression carefully blank. "Never saw the point in pushing in where I wasn't welcome."
He'd buried it deep, she realized. The bitterness. But it was there. And pain. So much pain.
She felt her own pain returning. Such a tangled web, she thought. All because the pampered princess saw something she wanted and went after it. She had spent months nursing a broken heart before time had helped her heal. He'd spent years in exile because of her.
Her mouth took on a stubborn line. "As soon as I feel better I'm going to give my brother a piece of my mind, and then he's going to confess what he did to Enrique and Rosaria."
"No Danni. It's too late."
"Of course it isn't. They'll be so happy to find out the truth."
"Think, Danni. My dad is a proud man. He's never taken anything from anyone without giving something back. It would break him to find out I left to save him being humiliated."
"But it's not fair!"
His mouth took on a cynical hardness. "One thing you learn in law enforcement, Danni. Life is very rarely fair." He handed her a mug, the one with daisies. "Chamomile," he said with a brief smile. "According to the bag it's supposed to be relaxing."
She would let it go for now, but not forever, she decided, drawing in the pungent steam. Eddie had a lot to answer for, and she intended to see that he made things right. There had to be a way to reconcile Rafe with his parents without hurting Enrique's pride. She just had to figure out what it was.
Because he was watching she took a sip. The bitter taste stung her tongue, sending her into a flurry of coughing.
"Too strong?" he asked with a frown.
"It needs sugar."
"Sorry, I'll make a note." As though the words jogged his memory, he reached into his back pocket for a small notebook that looked well used and flipped several pages until he found the one he wanted. "There were a few messages on
your machine this morning. I—"
He was interrupted by the buzzing of the beeper clipped to his belt. He glanced at the readout, his face giving away nothing. "My boss," he said when he caught her gaze. "Probably wants to hassle me about my overdue paperwork. If I don't call him back, he'll just keep bugging me." He tore the page from his notebook and handed it to her. "Want me to send Seth up with some sugar?"
She shook her head. "No, but thanks for the offer."
"No problem." He smiled, and for the first time his smile touched his eyes. "And Danni, drink your juice."
* * *
Rafe heard the underlying excitement in Linc's normally laconic voice and went on instant alert. "Finally got the results on that search you ordered on marriage license records. Turns out one Jacob Peter Folsom and Arlene Mary Clark applied for a license in Bellingham, Washington, on March 25, 1985. The social security number on his tax returns matches the one on the license."
Keeping a tight rein on his emotions, Rafe noted the information in his personal shorthand. "Did the search turn up an address for the wife?"
"Yeah. Got a pencil?"
* * *
Jake Folsom was a cautious man as well as a charming one. The charm had been innate, a gift from his whore mother, though he was honest enough to admit it had been rough and unpredictable in his early years. The caution had been burned into him in his late twenties after he'd nearly been busted for the murder of a hooker who'd been his partner in a crude stock option scam in Atlantic City. He'd played it too fast and too awkward and the mark had called the cops. Jake had stayed frosty, but the bitch had showed signs of turning. Killing her before she could squeal had been both a necessity and a pleasure. Killing mousy little Alice had been unavoidable. It hadn't brought him any pleasure, however. Just the opposite.
The Feds didn't take kindly to the attempted murder of one of their own. The fact that the bastard with the cold green eyes had survived was one of the reasons he'd gone looking for a place where he could hide out permanently, if it became necessary.
He was entirely certain that his success was due in part to careful planning and a ruthless attention to detail. Consequently, he made it a point to have several bolt-holes where he could lay low until the dust settled. One of his favorite spots was San Diego where he could slip into Mexico on a moment's notice. Since he was also a prudent man, he had money stashed in banks in both Tijuana and Juarez.
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