Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  “I thought this was movie night. How long are we going to spend talking about your boyfriend?” Jesse complained.

  He had a point. Even though Rafe was not her boyfriend. Even though he wasn’t not her boyfriend. Oh boy. “You’re right.” She handed him an ice cream scoop. “While you ball these up and put them on the cookie sheet, you can start explaining the wonders of the Transformers franchise to us.”

  Sipping his wine, Lucien leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles. “Some of us haven’t been living under a rock and are already well versed.”

  “Good. Then you can make the pizza.”

  Lucien looked pained. “I would’ve brought pizza from the resort if you’d told me.”

  “I know. But then I wouldn’t have the fun of watching you work so hard not to get a speck of food on your snazzy duds.”

  Norah stroked her hand down Mollie’s back. “It sounds like you know everything that matters about Rafe.”

  Did she, though? Did she truly?

  Chapter 17

  Wick’s Garage, 3:30 p.m.

  Mood in the bay—not half-bad

  Rafe stood in the open doorway to the garage, watching Jesse run a chamois over Mick’s now shiny paint job. “Have you ever applied wax before?”

  “Gross. No. What do you take me for? Girls do that to their legs. And eyebrows. And other parts, if we’re lucky.”

  Rafe didn’t bother to hide his laugh. Because while teenagers were a pain in the ass, they were also fun. “Got me there. But I hear surfers put it on their boards. And we put a thin layer of wax on a car after washing it to make the water bead off.”

  “Is this a real thing or just more of my punishment?”

  “It’s real. And this isn’t punishment. You’re learning how to take care of a car. You never know when that’ll come in handy.” Rafe, for example, had never expected to turn it into a career one day. Not that he hoped Jesse would fall into a life of semi-crime and join WITSEC. But if the kid stayed in school—without skipping—and made it to college, mechanic was a great part-time gig. Everybody needed beer money.

  He pulled the tin of wax out of his back pocket and tossed it to Jesse. “You dab the chamois in it. Rub it in. Small circles. It’ll take a while, but it also lasts a good long time. With how much it rains in this state, you’ll get plenty of cars to practice on.”

  “Today?” The worry in Jesse’s tone matched his wide eyes.

  “Nah. Once you finish Mick’s car, the rest of Saturday is all yours.” And then Rafe pushed off the wall, dropping his arms and almost, almost, reaching for his nonexistent gun out of habit. Because both of his brothers were running full-out down the street toward him. Arms pumping, faces strained, like they were being chased by a guy in a mask wielding a chainsaw.

  Shit.

  He’d never seen them run like that before.

  Especially not in sleepy, peaceful, middle-of-nowhere Bandon.

  “What’s wrong?” he shouted.

  Flynn straightened one arm to point at the garage. “Inside. Now.”

  “Jesse, you keep going with the wax.” The kid had the smarts to realize something bad was going down, because he nodded and didn’t say a word. “Come and get me if there’s a customer.” Rafe pulled the chain to drop the wide corrugated door behind Flynn and Kellan. They both bent over, hands on their knees, panting. “What the hell’s wrong with you two? We’re supposed to be acting fucking normal. There’s nothing normal about grown men not in running gear hightailing it through the middle of town at three o’clock on a Saturday.”

  Flynn swiped at the sweat on his forehead with his arm. “Emergency.”

  No panic. Nope. Every inch of Rafe turned ice-cold. Handling a crisis had been his specialty back in Chicago. Whatever it was, he’d get his brothers through this one. He grabbed two water bottles out of the mini fridge and handed them over. “So why didn’t you call me?”

  Kellan took two long swigs before answering. “After Delaney admitted the Marshals Service bugged your laptop, we were worried that they might have bugs in our cell phones, too.”

  Oh, shit. “Good thinking.” Kellan really was the brains of the family. Rafe’s mind shifted to the sexting he’d been doing with Mollie. Or, even more embarrassing, the tender things he’d sent her right before going to sleep last night. He didn’t want anyone to know about that. Especially not the freaking U.S. government.

  Flynn closed the door between the garage and the outer office. He even checked the bathroom and locked the back door. “Somebody knows we’re here.”

  “Somebody who?”

  “Somebody in McGinty’s crew.”

  It was what he’d figured since he’d seen them sprinting down the street. But Rafe refused to accept it. He gave a slow shake of his head, left to right. “Bullshit.”

  “There’s no other explanation,” Kellan said earnestly. He’d stopped panting and paced in front of a jacked-up F150.

  Kellan didn’t pace. Not unless he was pee-your-pants nervous. He’d paced before getting his wisdom teeth pulled and before his interview to get into Northwestern. That was it.

  Until today.

  Seeing Kellan this shaken pierced Rafe’s subzero calm. “For what?” he snapped. “What the fuck has you two literally running scared?”

  “This.” Flynn pulled a folded envelope out of his back pocket. “I went to check the mail. This was in it. Addressed to all three of us.”

  Problem solved. Everybody could simmer down. Rafe whapped the envelope with the back of his hand. “See, that proves it’s nothing to do with McGinty. He’d never address something to Kellan. He was never a part of any of it.”

  “Just wait.” Flynn unfolded the single sheet of plain white paper. “It says—”

  If this was a real emergency? They’d be dead three times over at the rate Flynn was getting to the point. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Hand it over. I can read.”

  Rafe had to work not to crumple the flimsy thing in his fist. Whatever it said, he knew he wanted to throw it out. To ignore it. To forget it. To just go back to their daily fight to scratch out a new life here.

  To call Mollie. Hear her voice and let it soothe him better than a whiskey shot with a beer back.

  He laid it out flat on the hood of the black truck.

  I know who you really are. Give me $100,000 within 5 days. Or else I’ll expose you to the world. Instructions tomorrow.

  Rafe shoved it away. Didn’t go far, but it felt good to do. “This is the worst blackmail attempt I’ve ever seen.”

  Kellan barked out a harsh laugh. “Not to insult you guys or anything, but who says professional mobsters are that well-schooled?”

  “Really, counselor?” Flynn rounded on him with fire in his eyes and fists half-cocked. “You think now’s a good time to poke at us for having fewer years of school under our belts than you?”

  It was a sore subject. Flynn had wanted to go for his master’s and McGinty paid for his bachelor’s, but that was it. Declared it was time for Flynn to start earning back that tuition and put him to work full-time the day after graduation.

  Rafe didn’t . . . well, it wasn’t that he didn’t care. College would’ve been nice, sure. But he didn’t regret the choice he’d made to join the organization instead of joining a frat. It’d provided for his brothers. Put a roof over their heads and food on the table when both of their parents were gone. And Rafe was more proud of that than getting any degree in the world.

  Kellan held up his hands. “I’m not starting anything. But calling it badly written doesn’t automatically discount mob involvement.”

  Was he going to make them diagram it next? Rafe jabbed his index finger at the huge font filling the middle of the page. “I’m calling it too well-written. ‘Expose you to the world’ is a stupid thing to say. How about ‘gimme the cash or I’ll kill you.’ That gets the point across.”

  Kellan took a step back. Eyes wide, he asked, “How many of these have you written?”

  O
ne of these days he’d have to sit down and actually explain what daily life was like working for McGinty. Or some of it. Enough so that his youngest brother’s imagination didn’t make him flinch away from Rafe at any and every mention of mob activity.

  “None. Blackmail’s not worth the time it takes to write the note. You don’t know how other people prioritize things in their life. If they don’t give a shit about whatever you threaten, you’re left with no money and having to whack someone for no good reason.”

  “It could be a ploy. Just a way to disguise who sent it.”

  Flynn shook his head. “Nobody else knows that we’re here living fake lives, under fake names. If not McGinty, then who?”

  Just to have something to do with his hands, Rafe started picking up the tools strewn around the truck. The sharp ends of the hook and pick set made him frown. Jesse was in for another lecture. Those were too dangerous to not put back in the tool box after every use. The kid was wicked book smart. But street smart? He’d pretty much lose a fight to a pigeon.

  He tapped them against his shirt pocket, thinking. Who else did know? “Why don’t they ask for more money?”

  Flynn patted the pocket where his wallet sat. “We’re not rocking high-powered careers here. That’s a lot of money to scrape together in five days.”

  “Not to someone who knows how much we—” Rafe broke off with a grunt. The door from the office opened right onto his funny bone. It slammed the sharp end of the hook through his shirt, right into his muscle.

  That didn’t feel funny at all.

  Blood poured over his hand, down his shirt to drip onto the ground. Jesse’s head peeked through the half-open door. Then he turned white. “Oh crap. Did I . . . Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault, kid.” It was. Hundred fucking percent. They’d come back around to that when his chest wasn’t pumping out blood. Having Jesse pass out would only make this already complicated moment a thousand times worse.

  “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “No!” Flynn shouted.

  Good thing Rafe agreed. An ambulance would get written into the day’s official record, and it’d zip right over to the marshal. Who’d undoubtedly take a couple of strips off of them for all the attention the siren and flashing lights would draw.

  “Kellan will drive me to the hospital. Mollie’s working. She’ll fix me up. Flynn, you clean everything up here and wait for us at home. Don’t do anything else.”

  Blackmail. Blood.

  Another kickin’ Saturday night in the making.

  Mollie tied the last stitch off and finally exhaled. Not that Rafe had been in danger of bleeding out. But it had scared her to death when he stumbled in, his entire shirt covered in blood.

  Luckily, the jagged tear down his pectoral muscle closed well. It was similar to injuries she dealt with from deep sea fishermen—or rather, the day-trippers who knew nothing and weren’t careful when they went out to fish.

  Even though he wouldn’t feel it through the lidocaine, Mollie gently stroked a finger down his skin, reassuring herself that the rest of it was fine. “You’re all set. A bandage and a tetanus shot and you’ll be on your way.”

  Those bedroom eyes of his half lidded in invitation. Rafe curled a finger under her waistband to pull her closer. “No lollipop?”

  Geez. Hospitals were like Viagra to this man. Not that she was complaining. At all. “Maybe I’ll find you something better to suck on . . . if you’re healing well when I check on it tomorrow.”

  “What the hell?” Rafe jerked up, indignation in his tone and pouty, aggrieved man painted all over his face. “You’re taking sex off the table because of three lousy stitches?”

  It was five. The fact he wouldn’t let a trip to the ER take down his sex drive even a little . . . well, it was hot. Also, flattering.

  But she knew what was best for him. Mollie taped a square of gauze over his wound. “You don’t feel it now. But you’ll feel it plenty when the numbing medicine wears off. That tool of yours went pretty deep into your pectoralis. You don’t work tomorrow, right?”

  “Nope.” Rafe pulled free the dangling tatters where she’d cut his T-shirt away. “The only things I had lined up were baseball, beer, and hopefully a certain hot babe.”

  “You’ll be fine to go back to the garage on Monday. Especially if I treat you to some TLC tonight.” Taking pity on him—no, taking pity on her own now-stifled need, Mollie dropped featherlight kisses down his chiseled cheekbone to his lips.

  To her surprise, he turned his head away. “I’ve got a thing tonight.”

  “A hot date?” she teased. Mollie wasn’t worried one bit about his answer. Because even if it wasn’t supposed to be a real relationship, they’d promised to not be with anyone else while this ran its course. The one thing Mollie knew, down to her core, was that Rafe Maguire was a man who honored his promises.

  “A . . . well . . . it’s just a thing with my brothers. Not sure when we’ll be done.”

  Mollie ran a hand through his hair, then slowly stroked it down the side of his face. Stubble scraped her palm. She couldn’t wait for that same burn on other, more intimate patches of skin. “Be sure they take good care of you. I don’t want you lifting anything heavier than a remote on that side of your body.”

  “How about a beer bottle?”

  “Well, that’s simply medicinal. I was going to insist on it.” She grabbed the Tupperware container of cookies from the cabinet beneath the sink. Mollie had intended to drop them by the garage at the end of her shift. Handing them over now might chase away the shadows that flitted across Rafe’s eyes when he’d mentioned his brothers. Which made her wonder what they were doing that he wouldn’t tell her . . . “These were supposed to be a thank you for the other night. Now they can make you feel better, too.”

  Rafe peered through the clear plastic. Then his mouth dropped open. “You baked me sex cookies?”

  “That sounds . . . disgusting when you put it like that.” She set the container on her instrument tray and grabbed a wipe to remove the yellow Betadine stain from his skin. “We’ll call them thank you cookies. End of discussion. Eat two whenever the pain bothers you.”

  Rafe grabbed her hand. Kissed the back of it. Kissed each individual knuckle with such tenderness that her heart practically burst. Then he flipped his hand, still in hers, to splay her fingers wide. He pressed the absolutely softest, velvetiest kiss right in the center of her palm. “Thanks for taking care of me, Doc.”

  Wow. Wow. Mollie tried desperately to play it cool. Even though that was a lie. She was anything but cool, anything but composed. She was falling to pieces. Or rather, the wall of resistance she’d put up to keep anyone from getting too close was currently crumbling to pieces.

  “I have a vested interest in your muscles looking amazing.”

  Rafe shook his head. A thick, dark strand of hair fell adorably onto his forehead. It softened him. If anything could soften solid granite. “I mean it. I’m not used to anyone fussing over me. Or taking care of me.”

  “You’ve been hanging out with the wrong people,” she said tartly. Mostly to hide the depth to which she was struck by how sad it was that Rafe didn’t know the simple comfort of being coddled when sick, or blue or just off.

  Laughter burst out of him. And not the way he’d laughed when she’d told him about the whole front line of the Chicago Bears coming in with food poisoning on her first shift in the Northwestern ER. No, this was something harsher. Like gravel scraping up and out of his lungs. Like what she’d said was actually the least funny thing in the world.

  “You have no idea, Doc.”

  “Well, you have me now.”

  Uh-oh. That simple assertion had just slipped out. Slipped through the enormous cracks in the shattered wall that was supposed to protect her from hurt and inevitable abandonment. From someone deciding she wasn’t enough, wasn’t worth sticking around for.

  Rafe’s head cocked to the side. His expression blanked out, as thou
gh this were a test and he didn’t want to give any hints away. “Do I?”

  Mollie couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie. Not to herself. Not to Rafe. She’d mentally castigate herself later for the errant slip of the tongue that got them into this conversation. Especially since after the conversation with Norah and Lucien, she’d been ready to keep Rafe at arm’s length until she finished interrogating him.

  Then he’d shown up in her exam room covered in blood and quibbling about which life facts he had yet to share flew out of her mind. Relief that they’d have more time together filled her heart, without even a second thought about her paranoid phobia about being left. It made her realize just how important he’d become in an impossibly short amount of time.

  Mollie stuffed her hands into the deep pockets of her lab coat. Took a deep breath of the overly sterile air. “I know it isn’t what we agreed to, what you signed up for. There’s no bait and switch going on here. I swear that I had no intention of this turning into a real relationship. But despite my best intentions, it appears that I’m falling for you.”

  “Is that so?” Still expressionless. Still not giving anything away. The man had one heck of a poker face. Was he mad? Ready to walk?

  Mollie’s defenses kicked in. The rest of it all came out in a rush. Because no way could he blame her for this. “After what I explained on the boardwalk the other day, you’ve got to believe that this isn’t what I want. Being crazy about someone isn’t in my plans at all.”

  “Mine, either.”

  “You can make all the plans in the world, but then life happens. You happened.”

  Rafe’s chin dropped to his chest. “Shit.”

  Oh. Great. Not that she’d known what sort of reply to expect, but that one really didn’t bode well. “Excuse me?”