He watched the nameless expression that fluttered across her features, then was gone. He’d been right in believing Contreras, even though Thompson doubted him. It hadn’t just been talk. The man knew Krista McLaren very well. Houseman was certain that they were lovers.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t correct people about what they call other people. If he doesn’t want to be called Rafe, he’ll tell you himself, I guess.”
He accepted her explanation, not pushing for more information. “Are you one of those people who dislike nicknames, Krista?” he asked with a genuinely warm smile. “I’ve always had to deal with people who want to call me Rick or Rich or, worse, Dick.”
“I’ve never had that problem.” She glanced pointedly at her watch. “I’ve got to get going. It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you, too.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he watched her drive away. Contreras was convinced that Krista was innocent, ignorant of Art’s smuggling.
Richard wasn’t.
When she was out of sight he went to a nearby phone booth and placed a call to New York City. He gave the name and address of the woman Krista’s package had gone to, with orders to find out all they could about her.
Krista’s fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel as she drove away. She’d had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Richard Houseman about Rafael. She was hungry for news of her lover—her ex-lover, she corrected herself cynically.
Sometimes she was angry with him. What could be so damned important that he had to end their affair? But she trusted Rafael as much as she loved him. She had to believe that he was doing what he had to do.
She slowed the Mustang as she approached the turnoff to her father’s house and also to Rafael’s. If she went right she would be home in twenty minutes. Home to a house that was empty except for Juana. If she went left she could be at Royce Ann Stone’s house in ten minutes. The idea of a few hours with her friend sounded very appealing, just the thing to cheer her up.
A mile off the highway she came upon two border-patrol trucks parked on the shoulder of the dirt road. The two agents, in their dark green uniforms, leaned against the front fender of the rear truck. One was Jim Stone, who raised his hand in a wave, gesturing for Krista to stop as she drew abreast. Reluctantly she did so—reluctantly because the other was Rafael.
“Are you on your way to my house?” Jim asked.
“Yes, I am. I’d like to spend a little time with Royce Ann.” Slowly, hesitantly, her gaze moved to Rafael. Jim had come to stand beside the car, but Rafael had remained where he was, mirrored sunglasses in place. Still, she felt his eyes moving slowly over her, and her cheeks colored slightly in spite of her efforts to be cool. “Hello, Rafael.”
He nodded once.
“What have you been up to, Krista?” Jim asked, unaware of the tension spreading through her.
“Just work. There’s not much else to do around here, is there?” Especially since she could no longer spend time with Rafael.
“Have you decided yet how long you’ll be staying?”
Rafael straightened then. He couldn’t trust himself to stand there and listen to them chat without doing something stupid, like dragging Krista into his arms and kissing her long and hard. “I’m going on out,” he said quickly, before Krista could answer the question. He sent another curt nod in her direction, then got in the truck and left, his wheels throwing up a cloud of dust. That would ensure him a head start. Krista couldn’t drive the Mustang with its top down until the thick dust had settled.
Jim watched her watch Rafael leave. “You lose interest?”
She gave a shake of her head. “I’ve lost hope, Jim.”
“I’ve never known you to give up on something you really wanted.”
“I’ve never wanted anything that was so totally hopeless.” Her sad sigh grew into a smile. She had memories. Whatever happened, even if “someday” never came, she would always have beautiful memories of the time she’d spent with Rafael. She counted herself lucky for that. Some people never even had that much.
“I’ll never understand Rafe. How any normal man with blood in his veins could turn his back on you…” Jim shook his head in dismay. “Royce Ann always says he’s inhuman. She just may be right.”
Krista shook her head, too. “Don’t bet on it, Jim. You’d lose. Listen, I’ll see you later, all right? You take care of yourself out here.”
“Sure will. So long, Krista.”
She found Royce Ann stretched out on the sofa in the Stones’ air-conditioned living room, the television turned to some soap opera or other. She turned the sound down and invited Krista to take a seat. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me,” she said in her heavy drawl. “How have you been?”
“Busy. I’ve been working.” She omitted the rest of what she’d been doing: moping over Rafael.
“Friday’s the Fourth, you know.” Royce Ann went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of iced tea and a plate of brownies. “The town still celebrates at the park all day and has fireworks that night. Want to go with Jim and me?”
Krista wasn’t really in the mood for a celebration of any kind, but no one skipped the Fourth of July, not in Nueva Vida. Besides, if she stayed home alone she would get lonely and feel sorry for herself, and she’d been doing enough of that as it was, so she accepted the invitation.
“We’ll be having a picnic lunch, and for dinner there’s a town barbecue that’s always really good. Juana helps with the cooking, and you know how good her food is.”
The talk turned from the Fourth to clothes and Krista’s work; then, after several hours, she got ready to leave. Her failure to mention Rafael even once all afternoon roused Royce Ann’s curiosity, and she wanted to ask if Krista had finally taken her advice and forgotten the man, but she didn’t. The last time they had discussed him, Krista had made it clear that she wanted no warnings and no advice. He was a subject, Royce Ann decided, that was better left unmentioned.
Krista left her friend, promising to see her at eleven Friday morning, and headed toward her father’s house.
“After I left you Monday I went by the shipping office to snoop around, and Krista McLaren was there, sending a package.”
Rafael turned his head slowly to look at Richard Houseman. “And?”
“It went to Tracy Lord, who happens to be Tracy Lord Smith. Steve Smith’s wife.”
Rafael knew nothing about Tracy Lord, but Steve Smith was a name that meant something. Smith was a good friend of Jack Marshall, Art McLaren’s foreman, and he’d been on McLaren’s payroll himself for about fifteen years. He’d moved to New York a few years ago to run that end of the drug business.
Rafael picked up the bottle of beer that had been sitting untouched in front of him for ten minutes and took a deep drink. He decided to stifle his defense of Krista until he heard what Houseman had to say.
“Smith couldn’t run an operation like that without his wife finding out. She’s probably as much a part of it as he is. Now, her friendship with Krista could be entirely innocent. Still…” He stopped, then said flatly, “We can’t risk her being involved, too. Someone’s got to keep an eye on her.”
If Houseman volunteered for the job himself, Rafael vowed he would punch him. He’d be damned if he’d let someone as devious as Houseman entangle Krista in the mess her father had created.
So deep in his dark thoughts was he that Rafael was certain he couldn’t have understood Houseman’s next words. He raised black eyes that showed a flicker of surprise to the blond man’s face and quietly, very quietly, asked, “You want to repeat that?”
Richard didn’t mind at all. “I want you to start seeing her again.”
“Start seeing…Krista…again?”
“Obviously you and she had something going. I want you to start it again.”
“Obviously?” It seemed all he was capable of doing was repeating the other man’s words. His brain was too stunned to put any of his own
together.
“What happened? You quit seeing her because of this investigation? Conflict of interest and all that crap?”
Rafael’s daze was beginning to wear off. His eyes hardened like black ice, and his voice chilled to match them. “My personal life is none of your business, Houseman.”
“When your personal life involves someone under investigation, it becomes my business.” Then Richard backed down a little under Rafael’s frigid glare. “All right. I don’t care what happened in the past. Just get back together with her. Get her to tell you about her business and her connection to Tracy Lord, and about her father.” He rose from his seat, aware that Rafael would probably like to break his neck, but confident that he would agree to the task. “Look at it this way: if she’s involved, you’ve got a chance to get her out of it. If she’s not, you can protect her from the fallout. When it’s all over and we’ve got McLaren and the others, we’ll take your word regarding her. It’s up to you.”
Rafael felt sick. One part of him wanted to rejoice: he was being told to renew his relationship with Krista, to spend as much time with her as he wanted, to be free to talk to her and be with her and make love with her. His heart rate accelerated at the mere thought. But his brain knew it wasn’t that simple. He was being told to use the woman who said she loved him, the woman who meant more to him than any other person in the world. He was supposed to take advantage of her love for him and use it to further their investigation, to help trap her father. Krista, who had been rejected so often that she claimed it was the one thing she was good at, would never forgive him for using her like that. She would never believe his love for her was sincere in spite of his manipulations.
He could refuse. But if he did Houseman would simply find some other way to “keep an eye on her.” How? By bringing in someone who would be willing to take advantage of her affections, someone who might not give a damn how much she was hurt in the process? At least Rafael cared. He cared too damn much.
He would have to convince them to leave her out of the whole mess. They would have to see that she had nothing to do with Art’s smuggling, that involving her would just complicate an already complicated case. They would have to understand that Rafael wouldn’t do what they were asking. He couldn’t do it.
But they would insist. Martin Thompson couldn’t care less about Krista or whether she got hurt. Richard Houseman wasn’t as cold as Thompson, but he wanted one thing: Art McLaren. If someone who was innocent got hurt in the process, well, that was too bad, but those things happened, and as long as he got McLaren, nothing else mattered.
Rafael allowed himself a bitter smile. He had often compared Krista to Rebecca Halderman. Now he was ready to concede that he’d been wrong; other than their physical resemblance, Krista was nothing like Rebecca. Richard Houseman, on the other hand…
He would have to do it. He had no choice. If he handled things right, if he was careful, if he made no mistakes, maybe, just maybe, Krista would someday forgive him.
That was a thought he would keep with him in the days to come.
Friday was a typically hot July day. Rafael sat on the tiny back porch of his house and watched the sunrise. It was the Fourth of July. Independence Day. There was going to be a celebration in town—picnics, games, contests, an evening barbecue and a fireworks display. Rafael had never been to the festivities, not once in the five years he’d lived in Nueva Vida. But today he was going. Whenever he got the courage, he would drive into town and search for Krista.
He was sure she would be there; practically everyone in town except him made it a point to show up. She would go, and she would charm everyone she got close to. She would probably be surrounded by admirers as soon as she arrived, but somehow Rafael had to get close to her. Somehow he would have to separate her from her friends and talk to her, convince her that he couldn’t continue this way any longer, that he needed and wanted her with him.
He felt ill again. What he was about to do went against everything he believed in, made a mockery of the honor and integrity that had been instilled in him at a very young age.
But he would do his job, and he’d get close to Krista again. He’d get to hold her again, to touch her and kiss her and talk to her. With any luck he’d get to make love with her that very night.
He would get to make her happy again, for a short time. Until he helped destroy her life.
Chapter 9
She was easy to find, even though it seemed as if all nine thousand of Nueva Vida’s residents had shown up for the celebration. None, though, had hair that seemed to reflect the sun’s light; none had a laugh that tinkled like chimes caught in a strong wind; none drew Rafael as surely and inescapably as she did. She had come with Jim and Royce Ann Stone, and she was surrounded by every unmarried man in the county, or so it seemed. She was having a good time.
Rafael kept his distance, staying out of sight and watching her. He felt foolish, worshiping her from afar—or was he spying on her? He knew he could approach her, knew that she would immediately leave all those fawning, adoring men if he asked her to. Still, he stayed away from her throughout the afternoon, until the sun had set and they were settling down to wait for the fireworks. That was the first time he saw her alone.
Rafael followed her at a discreet distance, drawing no attention to himself, to the long line at the concession stand near the park entrance.
Krista felt someone move into line behind her and knew it was a man from his scent—clean and strong and masculine. He stood very close, closer than was appropriate, so she took a step ahead. So did he.
The little hairs on her neck stood on end. She felt cornered, unable to step forward because of the boy in front of her, and uncomfortable with the proximity of the man behind. She hoped he would keep his distance when the line moved forward.
Again he moved too close, and Krista shivered involuntarily. “Do I make you uncomfortable, señorita?” a raspy voice murmured only inches from her ear.
She whirled around. “Rafael!” she exclaimed, delighted by his appearance. Her eyes swept over him; then her smile faded a bit. “It’s been a while.”
“Twelve days.” He didn’t count the few minutes when he’d seen her earlier that week. He held her gaze for a long moment before reaching out to touch her cheek gently. “I’ve missed you, Krista,” he murmured. “Come and walk with me. Please.”
She stepped out of line, her thirst forgotten, and walked away at Rafael’s side. “How have you been?”
He raised his shoulders in a shrug. “Lonely.” He steered her toward the end of the park, more heavily wooded than the rest. There, away from prying eyes, he leaned a shoulder against a broad tree trunk. “How have you been?”
Krista moved to lean back against the trunk beside him. With a soft laugh she gave the same answer. “Lonely.” She continued to study him in the dim light, as if looking upon a sight she had thought never to see again. “Lonely” didn’t even begin to explain how miserable she’d been in the last twelve days. It had only been Rafael’s determination to end their romance that had kept her from him, that had stopped her from begging him to give her another chance.
“You’ve had plenty of company today.”
“But they don’t matter. You know that, Rafael.” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “How long have you been here?”
“Since three o’clock.”
“I didn’t see you.”
“But I saw you. With every single man in the county.”
“Not every one. Not the one I wanted to be with.”
For a long moment they simply stared at each other, neither sure of what to say next. It was Rafael who broke the silence. “Can I kiss you?”
“I’d like that.”
Even with her consent, he didn’t kiss her right away. His hand came up to stroke her face, to learn its lines and shape and texture by touch, the way a blind person might. Her lips were soft, slightly parted, waiting for his mouth to claim them. When at last it did she gave a little
gasp. Her legs went weak, making her grateful for the support of the tree behind her.
The kiss was gentle and sweet, and she longed for more. She reached out blindly to catch Rafael’s arms and pulled him to her, her body fitting neatly against his.
Hard with a desire that he knew would never lessen, Rafael raised his head. “You have the sweetest mouth,” he whispered.
“Kiss me again, Rafael, with your tongue.”
He covered her lips again, his tongue slowly moving into the warmth of her mouth. Sensuously it explored every intimate corner, mating with her tongue, his teeth nibbling at it. His hand found her breast, rubbing over it through the thin cotton of her blouse. Her nipple responded instantly, just as she responded to his kiss.
“Rafael, I want you.”
“I need you.” He cupped her cheek in one hand, the other continuing to caress her breast. “Krista, querida, do you love me?” he asked urgently.
Damn, he hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it, but the question was out, and he couldn’t call it back without making a bigger fool of himself.
“Yes, I do,” she replied dreamily, not noticing his bluntness, or caring.
“Then I’ll be yours as long as you want me. The days we spent together were the best of my life. Without you my life is empty. As long as you want me, I’ll be here.”
Krista’s heart soared in her breast, and tears welled in her eyes. That was probably as close to a declaration of love as Rafael could give, and she would treasure it until she died. “I do love you, Rafael, and I will always, always want you.”
He embraced her tightly, his face pressed against her hair. An unpleasant twinge of guilt tried to ruin his happiness, but he refused to let it. Yes, he was using Krista, but he could make her happy. Yes, she was way out of his league, but he adored her, cherished her, loved her. Yes, he was helping to trap her father, but he was going to protect her, keep her safe, see that she was untouched by Art’s crimes. He would do his job, and he would love her, and when she learned of his duplicity, he hoped that she would trust enough in his love to forgive him. He hoped. He was betting his heart, his future and his life on that hope.
Within Reach Page 15
