Rafael was staring into the coffee she’d given him, pretending not to notice her questions, so Houseman answered. “I believe I told you I was temporarily with them, which I sort of am. As for being in New York—I’m just following up on something, and I needed some help. Since Rafe is still on desk duty, Thompson decided it would be best to let him come instead of one of the other guys. He’s already shorthanded, with Rafe still under the doctor’s care.”
The explanation made so much sense that Krista didn’t even consider that it could be a lie. And it was true that he had said the job with the border patrol was temporary. She directed the next question to Rafael, who was sitting silently beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”
“I told you I had to go out of town on business. I don’t know much about what Richard’s doing, and I didn’t know if it was all right to tell anyone about it, even you.”
She tilted her head to one side to look at him, and he met her eyes, though with some difficulty. Then she grinned impishly. “All right, I’ll accept that. Whatever the reason, I’m very grateful that you two are here. I didn’t know who to call or what to do.”
“Glad to have been of some help,” Houseman responded. “Rafe, I’m going home. Why don’t I pick you up in the morning at nine?”
Rafael nodded once. Houseman swallowed the rest of his coffee, said good-night and left. Rafael turned to see Krista. “Is it okay if I stay here?”
“Do you really think I’d let you stay anywhere else? There are too many beautiful women in New York for me to turn you loose without protection.”
“I’ve got the only woman I want right here.” He leaned over to kiss her, then pulled her to her feet. “Show me your bedroom, Krista,” he challenged, “and we’ll see who needs protection.”
She was more than happy to comply.
“Rafael?”
He grunted in response, too tired to speak.
“If Richard works for the DEA, then he’s investigating someone in Nueva Vida, isn’t he?”
“Probably.”
“I wonder who it is.”
He pretended not to hear her.
“Rafael?”
“What?”
“Do you think Jack Marshall’s involved? I never have liked him—he gives me the creeps.”
“I don’t know, Krista. Go to sleep. It’s been a long day.”
Another few minutes passed; then she asked, “If it is Marshall, do you think he’s going to get my dad in trouble?”
Frustrated with the topic of conversation, Rafael reached for her and yanked her across the bed and beneath his body. “Your bed is too damned big,” he growled before his mouth covered hers.
Krista gave up her questions and turned her mind to the man who was filling her with his need, taking from her and giving in return. By the time their sudden, fierce lovemaking ended she had completely forgotten what she had been talking about.
“Rafael?”
He grimaced in the darkness, pressing his face against her hair. “What?”
“I’m very glad you’re here. Good night.”
“Good night, cariña.”
The care that Houseman had taken in booking their flights so that his and Rafael’s didn’t overlap Krista’s was wasted; the three shared a row of seats on the flight home, from New York to Atlanta, then on to Dallas and El Paso, before finally taking a short commuter hop to Nueva Vida.
It was Houseman’s first chance to really watch Krista and Rafael together, and it was the first time he truly began to regret getting Rafael involved with the case. It was plain to see that the two were in love, and it was also plain to see that Rafael was worried about the effect of his part in the investigation would have on Krista. Personally, Houseman couldn’t see that there would be much of a problem; she loved the man so much she could probably forgive him anything. They would soon find out what her reaction would be, though. She’d gone on asking questions about Marshall and the cocaine, and Rafael and Houseman had agreed, however reluctantly on Rafael’s part, that she was going to have to be told something. Otherwise they feared she might go to Art, and tell him her suspicions about his employee and reveal Houseman’s true job to him. They couldn’t afford to have him tipped off this close to the end.
“Have her come in to the office tomorrow,” Houseman told Rafael outside his small apartment. “We’ll talk to her then. And for God’s sake, keep her away from the old man and a telephone. Don’t let her blow this for us.”
Rafael somberly agreed. He knew how to keep her busy. He was going to make love to her all night, make her think of no one but him. It might be the last chance he had.
Rafael was nowhere to be seen when Krista arrived at the office the next day for lunch, but Darren Carter, seated at his desk, told her to go into the small conference room at the end of the hall. It was a dreary room, barely large enough for the scarred wooden table and the chairs that circled it. Three of those chairs were occupied by Rafael, Houseman and Thompson. A fourth chair, on the opposite side of the table from the men, was pulled out for Krista.
She looked puzzled. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked.
“No. Please sit down.” Houseman gestured to the empty chair, and she slowly circled the table to take it. Her eyes moved quickly to Rafael, but he was staring at the tabletop, and he refused to meet her gaze. He looked colder and harder than she’d ever seen him, and she knew something was wrong. She was about to hear something that she didn’t want to hear, but her legs were too weak to follow her brain’s command to take her out of the room.
Houseman glanced at Rafael. He had offered him the opportunity to talk to her first, to explain everything, but the man had refused. That left Richard stuck for a way to tell her. He decided to be blunt.
“Krista, we know who put the cocaine in your suitcase. The DEA’s been after him for about eighteen months now. We brought the border patrol in about five months ago, because in addition to smuggling cocaine and various other drugs, the man also smuggles illegals. Rafe and Thompson and I have been working this end, and we’ve got people in New York and Miami, too. It’s a pretty big operation, and we’re about ready to shut it down.”
He paused to see if she had any questions, but she remained silent. She wasn’t sure her voice would work; she wasn’t even sure if she understood what he was saying.
“After what happened to you in New York, we decided it would be best to bring you in—to tell you everything we know. You got too curious about what was going on, and we can’t risk letting these people know that we’re about ready to move on them. We’re trusting that you won’t warn them.”
“It’s Jack Marshall, isn’t it?”
“He’s involved, but he’s not the boss.”
The boss. She knew with a sinking heart what he was going to say, and she didn’t want to hear it. It couldn’t be true. It didn’t make sense. “He doesn’t need the money from something like that,” she whispered. “And why else would he do it, if not for money?”
“Who, Krista?”
“My father. That’s who you’re talking about, isn’t it?”
Hearing the anguish in her voice, Rafael tensed, a muscle in his jaw jerking. She hadn’t realized the worst of it yet, and she already sounded heartbroken.
“Your father doesn’t have nearly as much money as you think. Those oil wells in Texas were sold years ago, and it takes huge sums of money to work the desert. And Art McLaren likes to live well. He’s used to the luxuries of life, and when he found out he couldn’t afford them anymore, he found a new source of revenue. He started smuggling illegal aliens. It was a short step from there to drugs. There’s no mistake, Krista. I promise you that.”
She looked at Thompson, who was fiddling with an unlit cigarette, then to Houseman, who was openly sympathetic, and finally to Rafael. He was still staring downward, the lines of his face hard and unyielding. There was no emotion there, nothing. And then she realized what Houseman had said. The border patr
ol had been involved in the investigation for the last five months. Rafael had been working on it for the last five months. It had been four months ago that she had come to Nueva Vida. Four months since she had gotten involved with him.
She looked so shocked that Houseman knew immediately she had made the connection. He wanted to kick Rafael, to jerk him out of the chair and make him face her, convince her that she was wrong, but instead Contreras just sat there, avoiding her eyes and looking guilty as hell.
She thought she was going to be ill. She was going to break into tears and fall apart in front of the three men. What a wonderful day—to find out that her father was a drug dealer and a smuggler and that her lover was a dedicated federal agent, willing to make any sacrifices for the sake of his job. Willing to make love to her, to pretend to love her, to tell her all those lovely lies—just so he and his partners could send her father to prison!
The silence in the room was deafening. Finally, when Krista thought she could stand it no longer, Rafael spoke. “Leave us.”
Houseman and Thompson exchanged glances at Rafael’s sharp command, then left the room. The door closed with a click.
“I always knew you were dedicated to your job,” she said in a pain-filled voice so low that Rafael had to strain to hear. “But sleeping with the person you’re investigating—that’s cutting it close. Don’t you have a code of ethics? Or don’t ethics matter when you’re trying to arrest a criminal?”
Rafael moved his chair around the table next to hers. “Look at me, Krista.”
Slowly she pulled her gaze from the table to his face. The cold blank mask had disappeared, and his eyes were alive with emotion: anger, sorrow, heartache—and love. “You weren’t part of the investigation to me, Krista. You know that.”
Did she? All she knew was that he had never wanted an affair with her, had never come right out and said he loved her. Her lower lip trembled, and she made an effort to hold back her tears. “I thought I knew you, but I was wrong. I thought you were good, and honest. I thought I could trust you. Oh, God, I was so wrong. You used me. You made love—had sex—with me to find out what you could about my father.” The tears were coming, and there was no way she could stop them. “What have you done to me, Rafael?” she whispered sadly.
“I made love with you, cariña. It wasn’t sex, not ever,” he insisted, his voice raspy, vibrating with intensity. “I never wanted to hurt you, Krista, but I needed you so much. I needed you so I could live.”
Krista closed her eyes and gave a nearly hysterical laugh. “Stop it,” she sobbed. “No more lies. I can’t bear anymore lies.”
She was hurting badly, Rafael realized, and right now he couldn’t help her. He moved away from her sadly. “Go ahead and hate me, Krista,” he said, hating himself far more than she ever could. “When the hate’s gone, you’ll still love me, and I’ll be waiting.”
She didn’t reply until she reached the door on the other side of the room. Then she turned to look at him through her tears. “I wish I did hate you,” she whispered. “Then it wouldn’t hurt so much.”
Chapter 13
There was no pleasure in being right when it threatened to destroy you, and Rafael definitely felt shattered. He’d known all along that it wouldn’t be easy for Krista to find out what he’d done, but he had expected anger, not that heart-wrenching pain he’d seen in her face. She doubted the truth of everything he’d ever said and done; she doubted that he’d ever cared at all for her. The irony of the whole thing was that he’d never gotten one bit of information from her that could be used against Art. The only thing he’d ever found out was that she was innocent, ignorant of Art’s business.
Krista packed her clothes and drove back into Nueva Vida. Though she knew she would be welcome at Royce Ann’s house, she checked into one of Nueva Vida’s few motels. She’d been there for several hours, stretched out on the bed and staring dry-eyed at the ceiling, when the phone calls started.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone, so she ignored the ringing. The caller was persistent, though, calling every fifteen minutes like clockwork.
Half an hour after the last call someone knocked at the door. The knocking turned to pounding, and she pulled the pillow over her head. She stayed like that until she heard her name bellowed in a furious voice. With a sigh she got to her feet and went to open the door for Richard Houseman.
“Why the hell didn’t you answer the phone?” he demanded, running his fingers through his blond hair.
“I think I made it rather obvious that I didn’t want to talk to anyone. What do you want?”
“Can I come in?”
“Might as well, unless you want an audience.” She gestured, and he looked around to see curious guests at the nearby pool staring at them. She walked to the bed and sat down, drawing her knees to her chest. Houseman closed the door and paced the length of the room.
Krista was determined not to make it easy for him. She watched him, her eyes wide and clear and empty, offering no easy way for him to start. As he’d done earlier that afternoon, he decided to be blunt.
“Contreras is miserable as hell,” he blurted out.
Krista had expected something about her father, not Rafael. For an instant she looked surprised; then her expression closed, becoming cold and hard. As he watched the transformation Houseman wondered briefly if she’d learned that from Rafe. It was so much like his response to things that it was uncanny.
“Krista, he didn’t do this to hurt you. Can’t you see that?”
“You surprise me, Richard. I never figured you and Rafael for friends.”
“Funny, I never figured you for stupid. The man doesn’t need friends. He needs you.”
Krista’s temper flared, and she started to rise from the bed. She stopped herself in time, though, and sank down again. “I never thought I was stupid, either. Now I know just how stupid I can be. I know men like you and Rafael can’t be trusted…ever.”
“He’s in love with you,” he insisted.
“Oh, please, Richard. He never told me that, and I find it difficult to believe he told you.” She managed to sound incredibly bored, without even a hint of the tears that were building inside her.
“He didn’t. He didn’t have to. Any more than you had to tell me that you love him.”
“I made a mistake, and it’s costing more than it was worth,” she replied. “Don’t make it worse, Richard.” She changed the subject, asking in a pleasantly pitched voice, “When are you going to arrest my father?”
Houseman was immediately on guard. “I don’t know.”
Krista could see that he was trying to decide if she could be trusted with any more information about the case, and she smiled sardonically. “Don’t worry, Richard. I owe my father less than I owe Rafael. I don’t plan to tell him anything. Let him pay for what he’s done.”
“You’re not that cold.” Whether or not she approved of what Art had done, family loyalty would demand that she help him.
“I’ve been in Nueva Vida four months. You know what I had to do to make him notice I was here? I had to go to bed with a Mexican—a Mexican who was getting a lot of attention for killing a sixteen-year-old boy. He didn’t care where I was all those nights before, who I saw, what I did. But he cared about the Mexican.”
She shrugged. “We’re not a normal family, Richard. I hardly know Art. To you he’s my father. To me he’s someone who never wanted anything to do with me. I have no father, not in the real meaning of the word. My family consisted of other kids whose parents didn’t want them, kids who were dumped in boarding schools, like me. It’s funny—he was afraid the great McLaren name would be shamed by my affair with Rafael, and the whole time he was smuggling drugs into the country, getting rich off other people’s weaknesses. What the hell did he think that would do to the family honor?”
“I’m sorry, Krista.”
She smiled faintly. “Four months ago the biggest problem in my life was boredom. I was tired of New York. Now…I’ve
been arrested. I’ve spent hours at the hospital worrying over a man who betrayed me from the very beginning. I’ve been kicked out of my home. I’ve found out that my father’s a drug dealer and that the man I thought I loved is every bit as dishonest and unethical as my father…. I’d take boredom any day.”
Houseman sat down on the edge of the built-in dresser. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Right now I’m going to feel sorry for myself a little longer. Then…I don’t know.” She looked up, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why are you here?”
“Because I don’t like the way things turned out today. I’ll be honest, Krista. I’m still not sure I trust you. I’m not sure you’re as innocent as you appear to be. In my business, though, you learn not to trust people, and fortunately for you, no one else shares my suspicions. Especially Rafe. I gave him a chance today to tell you about your father himself, alone, but he wouldn’t. I think he was afraid to.”
“He had good reason to be afraid. If we’d been alone he probably wouldn’t have walked out of that room alive. Do you want something else from me?”
“Maybe a chance to let him explain what he did, how he feels.”
“Why should you care? You just admitted that you two aren’t friends. What difference does it make to you?”
“We’re not friends,” he agreed. “Except for you, I don’t think he’s ever let anyone get close enough for that, has he? But I respect the man, and I don’t think you’re being fair to him.”
The laugh that came from her sounded wild. “Fair?” she echoed. “I’m not being fair? You don’t know what you’re talking about, and you don’t have any right to be here at all, so go away and leave me alone! Just leave me alone!”
Houseman got to his feet. Before he left, though, he laid a card on the dresser where he’d been sitting. “My local number is on this card,” he said quietly. “Let me know when you’ve made your decision. Goodbye, Krista.”
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