She blinked the tears from her eyes. “I love you, Rafael,” she told the sleeping man. “Oh, God, I love you.” She drew the covers up over them, tucking the sheet around his shoulders; then she lay down again, snuggling close to his warmth for the first time in two weeks.
Finding Rafael still sleeping soundly when she awoke, she slipped from the bed, pulled on one of his shirts and left the room.
She had planned to be back in New York before the end of May, and here it was the beginning of August, and she didn’t want to go. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in this small house in Nueva Vida—or at least as long as Rafael remained there. She would be like Constancia if he didn’t marry her—she would follow him from town to town. But she wouldn’t go back to New York, not without him.
She went to the desk to write to her landlord and to Tracy. Tracy Lord would tell the various people involved with her work who would need to know. She didn’t even consider whether the move might affect her career. If she couldn’t continue with her line of clothes from Nueva Vida, she would find a new job, she decided—like mother and wife. That sounded like more fun anyway.
The letters were brief. She told her landlord that she would be in the city before the end of the month to gather up her things. That would leave plenty of time for Rafael to be completely healed, she thought. She began looking for envelopes—he must have some somewhere. The first two drawers in the desk turned up nothing, so she closed them and pulled open the third one.
The third drawer was usually locked, though she didn’t know that; she reached down to pick up a thick file, to see if there might be any envelopes underneath it. There weren’t. The file was heavy, and filled with papers and clippings. She wondered what it was, then decided it must have something to do with his job. She could feel a label on the underside, and she started to turn it over to see what it said.
Rafael rose slowly from the bed. Ignoring his clothes, he walked down the hall, his right hand lightly covering his wound, his left rubbing his eyes. He moved silently, giving Krista no warning of his approach. When he saw her sitting at his desk with the file that was unmistakably hers, he uttered a sharp curse. “Krista!”
She turned, the file still upside down in her hand, and gave him a smile. He felt relief wash over him. If she could still smile like that, then she didn’t know what she was holding. She hadn’t read any of it.
“I didn’t know you were awake.”
“Of course I’m awake,” he said petulantly. “You said you’d stay with me, but when I woke up you were gone.”
She placed the file back in the drawer and shut it. “I’ll come back if you want. I was just looking for some envelopes. I wrote a couple of letters while you were asleep, and I thought I’d get them ready to mail.”
“I don’t have any envelopes. I don’t write to many people,” he said, a sardonic tone in his voice. Then he sounded just tired again. “Please come back in the bedroom.”
When they were comfortably settled in the bed again, he moved Krista into the circle of his arms. “You didn’t know what you were getting into when you offered to stay here with me, did you?”
“Oh, yes, I did. I’ve been watching you snap at the nurses and doctors for the last week.”
“I’m sorry I’m in a rotten mood. If I could make love to you, I wouldn’t mind staying in bed all the time, but since I can’t…”
“It won’t be long till you get all the loving you can stand, I promise,” she assured him. And the sly way she smiled at him left no doubt that she fully intended to keep that promise.
Krista was a patient, charming and cheerful nurse, and Rafael grew stronger each day. It wasn’t long before he was well enough for Krista to keep part of her promise. By the time he had been okayed to return to work she had done a most thorough job of easing his frustration and satisfying her own hunger, too.
She’d told him about the fight with her father, and he’d immediately suggested that she live with him. He wanted to keep her close; he wanted her in his bed every night and every morning.
Her living there didn’t sit well with Thompson and Houseman. On Rafael’s first day back at work they raged at him for the problems he’d created.
“You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You removed her from McLaren’s house so we couldn’t get any information from her, didn’t you?” Houseman accused.
“Yes.”
Rafael’s straightforwardness threw Houseman off a bit. He had expected evasion, not a terse admission. “Why?”
Rafael refused to answer that question in front of Thompson, but once he was alone with Houseman, he said darkly, “I’m already going to be in enough trouble with Krista over this. I won’t use her. I won’t let you involve her in this mess.”
“She might already be involved!”
But Rafael couldn’t be swayed. “She isn’t. She knows nothing about it.”
Richard Houseman rubbed his neck wearily. He seemed to remember having this conversation before. He hadn’t been able to change Rafael’s mind then, and he wasn’t going to change it now. He wasn’t even so sure any longer that he should try. Nothing they’d found pointed to her involvement. “Did you know she gave notice on her apartment? She isn’t planning to return to New York.”
Rafael didn’t know, but it was just as well, since he had no intention of letting her return. According to Houseman’s information McLaren’s business should be shut down by the beginning of September. As soon as Rafael could convince Krista that she had to forgive him because of their love, he was going to marry her. He didn’t even let himself think of the possibility that she might not forgive him, might not marry him. It had to happen. If there was a God in heaven, it had to happen.
“The shipment’s due tomorrow. He’s going to be making two more; then he’s retiring. There will be one last shipment around the end of the month—supposedly over five hundred kilos of high-quality cocaine—and that’s when we’ll get him. That’s over a thousand pounds. Not a bad haul.”
No, not bad at all. That would bring Art enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, even with his expensive tastes. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much use for that kind of money in prison.
Rafael wondered where Houseman got his information. He must have one of McLaren’s employees on his own payroll to keep him informed. Just like Ruben Gonzales kept Rafael informed.
The shipment didn’t arrive.
For the first time in months there was no shipment, and this close to the end of the case, it made Houseman nervous. “Let’s go to New York,” he suggested the next Monday. “See what’s going on.”
Rafael looked wary. “When?”
“Tomorrow. Don’t worry, Thompson will approve your travel.”
Who cared about approval? “Krista’s going to New York tomorrow.”
The blond man was silent for a moment; then he said, “Get her flight numbers. We’ll make sure we get there either earlier or later. Tell her you’re going to El Paso—something to do with the kid who shot you—and you have to stay a few days. We should be back by Wednesday or Thursday. Is she going on business?”
“Yes.” That had been all—no explanation. Just “business.”
Rafael was troubled. He didn’t like lying to Krista. If he lied to her now, how was he going to convince her that he wasn’t lying when he told her that he loved her?
“Look, if it bothers you that much, tell her the truth. Tell her her dad’s a big drug dealer, that you’ve been using her to find out information about him,” Houseman said sarcastically. The look Rafael gave him was one of pure hatred. He rose from the chair and left the small office.
Thompson entered the office minutes later. “Is Contreras giving you trouble?”
“Not really.” Houseman was beginning to wonder if Rafael should be dropped from the case, but he said nothing to Martin Thompson. He was starting to understand Rafael’s dislike of the man.
A half hour later Rafael returned to work. He dropped a p
iece of paper on Houseman’s desk and walked out without a word. Richard picked it up, smiling slowly. It was Krista’s flight schedule—airlines, flight numbers and departure and arrival times. No, Contreras wasn’t giving him trouble. He would keep him on.
It was a bad dream—just a nightmare. Like the day she’d been told that Rafael had been shot. A nightmare too awful to be true. But it was true. It had been true with Rafael, and now it was true with her.
“Decided yet who to call?”
Krista lifted her gaze to the man seated across from her at the desk. Tyler McKenzie. Detective Tyler McKenzie. “I—I don’t know. If Rafael were home I could call him, but he had to go out of town on business. I don’t know….”
She felt numb—and had for the past hour. The trip had gone smoothly until she had gone to retrieve her suitcases from the luggage carousel. There had been no sign of her second bag, so she prepared to wait, but suddenly two men in suits had flanked her. One took her suitcase from her, while the other flashed an ID and a badge. Tyler McKenzie, NYPD. Amid stares and curious whispers they had hustled her through the crowd to a waiting car.
They had arrested her, Krista McLaren, who had never taken any drug stronger than aspirin, for possession of cocaine with intent to distribute.
“I know some attorneys here,” she continued in that breathy, not-quite-sure-this-is-real voice. “I guess I could call one of them…. Wait! I know that man.”
McKenzie glanced over his shoulder at the tall blond man across the room. “Houseman?”
“Yes. He’s with the border patrol.” What was he doing here? He was supposed to be with Rafael; they were going out of town, the two of them, to check out a lead on one of their cases.
“Nah. DEA.”
She looked back at McKenzie. “What?”
He realized he shouldn’t have told her, but the mistake had been made, so he continued. “Richard Houseman is with the DEA. He’s in and out of here all the time.” He watched Krista and saw her stiffen. The response interested him. “You know, drug enforcement. Now the smaller guy with him—he’s border patrol. Out of New Mexico.”
Krista found “the smaller guy,” half-hidden behind Houseman and a cop the size of a linebacker. He wore a well-tailored, plain black suit. The stark black of the suit and the soft white of the shirt emphasized his dark skin, his black hair.
Ten minutes ago Tyler McKenzie hadn’t believed his prisoner was guilty of the charges, but her response to seeing a drug-enforcement agent made him rethink her innocence. She certainly was shaken up by the man.
She sank back in her chair. “I don’t understand,” she murmured. “Why didn’t he tell me he was coming to New York?”
“Houseman, could you come here a minute?” McKenzie called.
Houseman left the others at the desk and sauntered toward Detective McKenzie. When he saw Krista the color drained from his face. Any appearance of relaxation disappeared, and he became as tense as she was. “What are you doing here?” he demanded harshly.
McKenzie filled him in on her arrest. Houseman ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, my God,” was all he said.
Krista stared at Rafael, willing him to notice her, and he did. With that uncanny sense that told him when she was near, he turned, his eyes going directly to her. He walked away from the giant of a cop in midsentence, went straight to her and knelt in front of her.
“Krista.” He reached for her hands and found them cold and trembling. His eyes searched her quickly, thoroughly, for any sign of injury. “Are you all right, querida?” He could think of no reason for her to be there unless she had been the victim of some crime—a robbery, or perhaps an assault. Again his eyes sought confirmation that she was unhurt, and she supported it verbally.
“I’m okay. Why are you here, Rafael? You told me—”
He laid his fingers over her lips. “Later. Why are you here?”
“I’ve been arrested.”
He almost smiled. Good, upright Krista, who had never broken any laws in her life other than the speed limit, arrested? The idea was laughable. But no one was laughing. They didn’t even smile. Rafael rose to his feet, keeping one of her hands in his. “For what?”
McKenzie told him, and Rafael’s fingers tightened around hers. That bastard! he cursed silently. Damn Art McLaren to hell! No wonder Houseman had missed the last shipment. McLaren had used his own daughter as the courier.
Krista stood up, too. “Rafael, I didn’t know it was in my suitcase,” she said tensely. “I swear to you, I don’t know where it came from.”
He raised one hand to her hair and smiled. “I know, pequeña.” He knew her—he loved her. He knew Krista would never get involved in her father’s schemes. He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, encouraging her to lean on him, both physically and emotionally.
Krista remembered that she should be angry with him for being in New York and not telling her, but she was too frightened and too grateful for his support. Whatever the problem, she was sure that he would handle it for her; he would take care of it. His lie would wait until later.
“Can we talk to you, Tyler?” Houseman asked. “In private?”
The man agreed and led the way to an interrogation room. Krista was left alone at the desk. The conversation took only a few minutes; then the three men returned. “All right, Miss McLaren, you can go,” McKenzie said, ripping up the report he’d been working on.
She rose to her feet. “That’s it?” she asked weakly. He smiled. “Be thankful that you have such good friends. And the next time you visit the city, be careful what you carry in your bags.”
Rafael took her arm and led her from the building. Richard Houseman accompanied them to the car, asked for the address of her apartment and drove them there. He wanted to question her a little more about the drugs. Tyler McKenzie was a good cop, and he felt Krista was innocent. Contreras was convinced of her innocence, and Richard was leaning more in that direction himself, but he needed more information.
“Who knew you were coming to New York, Krista?” Richard asked as soon as they were seated in the living room.
She lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. “Rafael, Royce Ann, Juana.”
“Who is she?”
“My father’s housekeeper.” She went on with her list. “My father, Tracy Lord, Jack Marshall.”
There was no need to ask who the last two were; Houseman was very familiar with the names. “Was anyone supposed to meet you at the airport?”
“Tracy.” Krista’s forehead wrinkled into a frown. “I wonder why she didn’t show up. I just assumed she was late; then McKenzie and his partner came and said I had to go with them. I’d better call Tracy and tell her I’m home.”
“Later,” Rafael said. He tugged at his tie, loosening it. “How did everyone at la casa grande find out about your trip?”
“Tracy called this morning after you left and asked me to bring some stuff from Dad’s house, so I called to ask Juana to pack it in a small bag for me.”
“What did she say?” Richard asked.
“Oh, I didn’t talk to her, not then. Dad answered. He said he’d have her do it. When I stopped by I just took the suitcase. I didn’t look in it. I talked to Juana for a minute, but I didn’t stay very long, because Jack Marshall was there with my father, and I don’t like him. Besides, Dad and I aren’t on the best of terms these days. Where do you think it came from—the cocaine, I mean?”
“South America,” Richard said with a wry grin. “Maybe Colombia.”
“That’s not what I meant. How did it get in my suitcase?”
Houseman shrugged her question off. “Look, I know you’ve been out of town for a long time, but do you by any chance have some coffee? I sure could use a cup.”
“I think there’s some in the freezer. I’ll see.”
As soon as she left the room Houseman said in a low voice, “You think McLaren and Marshall put the cocaine in her bag?”
Rafael nodded. His eyes, focused on th
e hallway, were cold and angry, watching for Krista to reappear.
Houseman was grim. “I don’t think the thought’s occurred to her yet. McKenzie said that a couple of seams in the suitcase had been intentionally cut. They wanted her to get caught.”
Rafael had already reached that conclusion. “They’re suspicious.”
“Why? Why would McLaren set his own daughter up?”
“Because he knows he’s being investigated. He may not know by whom or how close we are to getting him, but he knows something’s going on.”
It fit; it was the only explanation. The bag had been locked when it was checked onto the plane, and it had still been locked when it was unloaded in New York. Thanks to the baggage handlers’ roughness and the weak seams, though, the suitcase had broken open when they were unloading it, and a few packets of white, powdery substance had fallen out. They had called airport security, who in turn called the police, and they found three kilos of quality cocaine in the suitcase.
“If she didn’t get caught, then Lord was supposed to remove the cocaine before Krista saw it. So Art’s sending a warning: back off, or Krista will get hurt. To you?”
Rafael agreed with his guess. “Lord must have stayed out of sight to see what happened. When she saw McKenzie, she left.”
“McLaren’s a real bastard. It’s going to be a pleasure to get rid of him.”
A slow smile crossed Rafael’s lips, and the other man took it as a sign that Krista was coming down the hall behind him. “We’re going to have to tell her something soon,” Rafael said quickly, quietly.
Krista set a tray on the coffee table, then handed a cup of strong, black coffee to Houseman. “Once you taste this you’ll probably regret asking. Rafael makes much better coffee than I do,” she said apologetically. “So…what are you guys doing in New York? Why did you tell me that you worked for the border patrol? And why did you let me believe him, Rafael?”
Within Reach Page 21
