Cynicism edged his tone as he said, “That’s easy for you to say. Your skin is white. You can go anywhere, talk to anyone, and you’ll be respected.”
What he said was true. Very true. And suddenly the need to apologize welled up in Libby.
“Let me tell you a little story,” he said. “After my mother died and I returned to the reservation to live, I was filled with rage. And I was looking for some way to release it. Well, I found myself a friend. A good friend who was just as angry as I was. We took to joy-riding around Prosperino on motorcycles. Motorcycles that we stole. We were picked up by the police more than once. And each time, my friend was released to his guardian. Because his skin was white and his family had money and prestige, he was given preferential treatment. And me? I was held in that jail cell. Waiting for hours, and sometimes days, before I was allowed to see anyone from the rez.”
Libby supposed that when Rafe had had this experience, the police department had most probably been filled with predominantly white officers. She strongly suspected it remained that way even today. But she hated to think that race bias had been their motivation in the treatment Rafe had received.
“Maybe they didn’t keep you there because you’re Indian,” she said. “Maybe they were trying to teach you a lesson. Let you see where your behavior was taking you.”
But clearly Rafe didn’t believe that, and the look on his face told her that she’d be a fool to even consider the notion.
“Oh, they taught me a lesson, all right. They taught me that they think I don’t deserve the same treatment as others.”
All Libby wanted to do was reach out to Rafe, to somehow soothe the wounds that had been inflicted on him while growing up in a discriminatory society. However, one thing she’d learned about him was that he was a proud man. She feared he wouldn’t accept any comfort she might offer.
Softly she said, “You told me before that Blake Fallon was your best friend, like a brother to you. Is he the person you’re talking about? The one who stole motorcycles and got into trouble with you?”
Rafe nodded. A cool Pacific breeze whipped at his hair, blowing it across his face. Reaching up, he swiped it back in one fluid movement.
“I don’t blame Blake. He felt terrible every time he was released, every time that metal door closed between us, me on the inside, him on the outside. I don’t blame Joe Colton, either. He was just doing what he could for Blake.”
“Joe Colton? The Joe Colton was Blake’s guardian?”
At the mention of the man’s name, Libby remembered the scandal. Over a year ago someone had tried to murder Joe Colton, the wealthiest resident of Prosperino. She also recalled that Blake’s father, Emmett had been the guilty party.
Again, Rafe nodded. “Blake lived with the Coltons for several years.”
Silence settled over them, and Libby thought the conversation had petered out. Rafe took a step toward home, but then he stopped and turned to face her yet again.
“I remember,” he said, “when an officer told Joe Colton he’d be doing Blake a big favor if he kept him away from me. A knife slicing into my gut wouldn’t have injured me worse.”
“Oh, Rafe.” She couldn’t have stopped those words from coming had her life depended on it. Without thought, she reached out and took his hand in hers. If he rejected her comfort, she’d deal with it. But she simply had to express her compassion.
Their fingers laced together in a perfect fit.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“I felt so damned ashamed of what I’d done, of the disgrace I’d placed on my name. Oh, not on the James name. I don’t give a spit about that. But I’d always thought of myself as a Running Deer. And everyone knew I was a thief. You asked why I hadn’t changed my name back to Running Deer. Well, that’s why. Shame.”
Libby thought her heart was going to wrench clean in two. Her very soul ached for Rafe. For what he’d gone through, for all he’d endured.
“You were just a kid,” she pointed out. “And you said yourself, you were angry. You didn’t have any other outlet. Your parents were gone. Rafe, you did the best you could.”
“Running around thieving and getting into trouble was not the best I could do. And when that cop looked at me with such contempt and said that my best friend would be better off without me…well, all I can say is from that day on, I never took another thing that didn’t belong to me. I’ve never broken another law.” His tone was dry as he added, “I don’t even drive over the speed limit.”
Softly she said, “Your parents would be proud of the man you are.”
He didn’t respond. Libby didn’t even know if he’d heard her. She also didn’t know when he’d released her hand, but they started off toward the house. Thoughts churned in Libby’s head.
She’d lived such a sheltered life compared to him. She’d spent her childhood and her teen years almost cloistered in a cocoon woven for her by her loving parents. Whereas, Rafe had lost his father at a very early age. His mother had been forced to leave the reservation to find work. She’d married an alcoholic, a mean drunk, Libby remembered. Rafe had faced adversity and strife. He’d faced the kind of hardship that fostered anger and resentment bone deep, and it had affected him. Enough to have caused him to rebel against it.
Once again, Libby wondered exactly what had happened to cause such anger in him.
There are many torments, Cheyenne’s words wafted through Libby’s mind, bad memories…in his heart and in his mind…that he hasn’t been able to release.
The years Rafe had spent with Curtis James, Libby suspected, were the key to unlocking all those many torments. If she could somehow unlock them, maybe, just maybe, she could persuade him to release them. Maybe she could liberate him from all the dark and plaguing memories.
The computer expert sent by Libby’s San Francisco law firm was waiting for them when Libby and Rafe arrived at the courthouse. Her name was Susanna Hash, and she looked about twelve years old. She was petite and slender. Her blond hair was cut in a short bob and she chewed the gum in her mouth with such enthusiasm that it snapped and cracked.
“Brought all the equipment I need,” Susanna told Libby. “If you can find me a place to set up, and give me the addie for Springer’s server, I’ll be set.”
“Addie?” Libby’s eyebrows raised with her question.
“Internet address. Also known as an ISP.” The girl’s speech slowed, as if she thought Libby might be some kind of moron. “Internet Service Protocol.”
“The server Springer uses is located in San Diego,” Libby felt compelled to warn.
Susanna grinned. “No prob. Doesn’t matter if the actual database is in China. All I need is the addie and I can get in.” She shrugged. “’Course, I could get in without it, but it would take a while. And you do want this to be legit, right?”
Prob? Legit? Libby wondered what kind of expert she’d been sent.
Libby stressed, “Absolutely legitimate. In every sense of the word.”
The girl snapped her gum as she grinned. “It will be, I promise. If someone from Springer so much as attempted to illegally mess with that database, I’ll know about it. And so will you.”
“Okay, then, let’s go to the hotel and get you set up,” Libby told the girl. “You can follow us there.”
“Oh, before we go—” Susanna’s pent-up energy had her lifting up onto her toes, rocking back onto her heels “—I have a message for you.”
“A message?” Libby tossed a quick look at Rafe, then back at the young woman.
“The senior partner sends a greeting,” Susanna told her. “Mr. Adams also says that if you need more help, he’ll send someone. Whatever you need, just call.”
A gray cloud descended on Libby. So the senior partner of her firm, like her own father, didn’t believe she was capable of handling this case alone. Plastering a smile on her mouth, she told the girl, “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
On the way to the car, Rafe said,
“I thought they were sending a skilled specialist. You sure this…um, young woman is experienced enough for what we need?”
Libby lifted one shoulder. “Apparently she’s the best. Graduated from MIT top of her class. I was told if anyone could root out computer sabotage, she could do it.”
“She seems like just a silly kid to me.” Rafe started the engine.
Chuckling, Libby said, “Me, too. Let’s hope we’re both wrong.”
Her naked skin tasted honey-sweet. Her silky hair, the mass of it fanned out on the ground above her head, glowed like shiny new pennies in the firelight. She arched her back, lifted her bare breasts as an offering, and he took one dusky nipple between his teeth. A moan gathered in the back of her throat, and he was certain he would lose all control.
Her tone was a rich and husky whisper. “Rafe.”
With a gasp, he opened his eyes and sat up, breaking the bonds of sleep. Sweat chilled his skin. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and donned a pair of loose flannel pajama bottoms.
These dreams were going to be the death of him.
The sun hadn’t yet risen above the horizon, so when he opened his bedroom door, the smell of coffee surprised him.
Padding down the hall, he wondered why Libby was up already.
She was sitting at the table, her fingers cradling a mug of coffee.
“Morning,” he greeted, stifling a yawn. “You feeling okay?”
“Bad dream.” She lifted the mug to her lips.
His dream had been bad, too. Very bad. But he suspected it wasn’t the same kind of bad of which Libby was speaking.
“Want to talk about it?” His back was to her as he pulled a mug from the cabinet and picked up the coffeepot.
Exhaustion was expressed in her heavy sigh. “A train was coming and I was standing right in the middle of the tracks. Dad was there, too. Behind me. And I knew I couldn’t save him.”
Something in her soulful inhalation had him turning to face her. Even in the dim, rosy light of predawn, he could see tears gathering in her eyes.
“The worse thing about it was, Dad knew I couldn’t save him, too. He wanted to step off the tracks. But he didn’t. He gripped my arm and held on to me for dear life. He kept saying, over and over, ‘Don’t you think we ought to get off the tracks?’”
The need to be near her propelled him forward. Rafe went to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Wonder what brought that on.”
“I don’t know. Probably something stupid. Something…stupid.”
These bouts of vulnerability she suffered pulled at the very deepest part of his emotional being.
“Sounds as though you’re talking about a particular something stupid.”
Her jaw worked. Then she blurted, “Why would the senior partner of my firm offer to send me help? It’s a huge office. I’ve only met the man a couple of times at the annual Christmas party. He barely knows me. Why would he think I can’t handle this? Why can’t anyone have any faith in me?”
Rafe set his coffee aside. Quietly he asked, “Why do you automatically assume that the offer means the man has no faith in you?”
He knew there was more to this than merely an offer of help from her boss in San Francisco. Libby’s father was the one standing on those tracks in her dream, not some senior partner. Rafe knew her doubts were caused more by what she thought her father was feeling than by anything else.
Her nightmare might have blossomed due to the offer of help, but the core of her doubt was rooted in David’s opinion. It wasn’t Rafe’s place to reveal David’s fear. But he could offer Libby another angle from which to view the offer she’d received via Susanna from her boss.
“It could be that this Mr. Adams wants you to have all the help you need.”
“Why would he think I need help?”
He chuckled then. “Libby, honey, we all need help. His offer does not necessarily mean he thinks you’re incompetent. It could be just what it sounds like—a friendly offer of help.”
The urge to touch her, hug her, pull her tight to his chest, was strong. But he didn’t.
In these past days he’d slowly been coming to the conclusion that he’d lost his heart to this woman. She was everything a man could want. Everything a man could need. She was beautiful. Soft and yielding. Strong when she needed to be. And intelligent, too.
She was sweet and wonderful.
A chill crawled across his skin. Yes, she was sweet and wonderful. She was deserving of happily ever after. And Rafe couldn’t give her that.
But there was something he could give her. Something she needed. Badly.
“Listen,” he told her, “how about if we cook up some of your Dad’s favorite foods and take him lunch today? Have ourselves a nice visit.”
A hug would do her wonders, he knew. And since he couldn’t give it to her, he’d take her to someone who could.
“But will the guards allow us to take food in there?”
“Just let ’em try to stop us.”
Her face cleared then, and she smiled. And Rafe felt as if the sun had risen up and flooded the whole darned room with bright, warm light.
Fifteen
When her father reached for his third piece of fried chicken and a second biscuit, Libby smiled. The handmade clay pots in Rafe’s kitchen worked perfectly for keeping the hot food hot and the cold food cold.
“Libby, Libby, Libby.” David groaned with epicurean pleasure. “These green beans are delicious.”
“Sautéed in olive oil and garlic,” she said proudly. “Just like Mom used to make.”
“Yes, but your mom’s biscuits weren’t this flaky.”
“Shhh.” Libby shot a glance heavenward. “We wouldn’t want her to hear.” But pleasure curled the corners of her lips. Contentment settled over her like a warm and loving shawl when she realized that her dad was thoroughly enjoying her efforts.
“The cole slaw’s delicious, too.” Rafe reached for the bowl of shredded and dressed cabbage. “I was surprised by your secret ingredients.” When David looked at him questioningly, Rafe revealed, “A big dollop of sour cream and a teaspoon of sugar.”
For a while, they ate in companionable silence. Finally, David set his fork across his plate and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin.
“I’m stuffed,” he proclaimed. “Filled to the gills. Thanks, sweetheart.” He covered his daughter’s hand with his own. “I haven’t eaten this well in weeks.”
“You need to thank Rafe. It was all his idea.”
David expressed his gratitude, and then beaming at them, asked, “You two spent the entire morning cooking?”
“I cooked,” Libby told him. “Rafe continued to read through the evidence.”
They discussed the case for a bit: Rafe’s theory that someone meant to contaminate Crooked Arrow, the paperwork that documented David had visited the Mokee-kittuun Elders to ask for use of their land, the refusal of that request and finally the electronic diary that made David look as if he had some twisted vendetta against Springer.
“But we have a computer expert working ’round the clock now,” Libby said to David. “And she’s confident that she’ll dig up something that will help our cause.”
“I sure hope so.”
Dejection rounded David’s shoulders.
If he again suggested that they consider giving up and pleading guilty to a lesser charge that might be offered, Libby was sure she’d scream in frustration.
“We’re going to be okay, Dad,” she said in a rush. “I do wish you’d believe that.”
She hated the jitteriness of insecurity. Yet, she’d wrestled with that anxiety more in the past few weeks than she had during her whole career as a lawyer. She guessed that was because so much was riding on her getting her father out of this horrible predicament.
Her gaze connected with Rafe’s, and she could tell he discerned her lack of confidence. The idea of looking weak had her eyes sliding from his.
“David, I think it’s time you
tell Libby the truth.”
Rafe’s quiet statement had her head swiveling back toward him. She looked from Rafe to her father and back again.
“The truth?” David sounded truly bewildered.
“I know you didn’t want to say anything, but she’s been spending far too much time fighting off the discouraging idea that you doubt her ability as a lawyer. That you don’t want her representing you.”
“What?” Now her father looked shocked. He frowned at Libby. “Why would you think a thing like that?”
Speechless, Libby blinked. When she’d confessed her consternation and doubt to Rafe, she had never thought he’d betray her. Seconds ticked by, and still she said nothing.
“You have her thinking a thing like that.” Rafe balled up a paper napkin and dropped it onto the top of the metal table next to his plate. “I know you haven’t meant to.” His tone became peculiarly intense as he stressed, “I know you haven’t.”
Obviously, he was privy to something. Libby curled her spine and relaxed against the back of the cold folding chair.
Then he added, “Several times now you’ve suggested that Libby accept an offer of a lesser charge if the opposing counsel should propose one. Your daughter has taken those suggestions as your having doubt in her ability to represent you.”
The older man’s brown eyes expressed myriad emotions: astonishment, dismay, sorrow, regret.
“Oh, Libby.” David whispered the words. “My dear, sweet Libby. I didn’t realize. I didn’t know what I was doing to you.”
Libby hadn’t realized she’d put her elbow up onto the table, that she’d begun to worry her lower lip with her knuckles.
“Why, then, Dad?” she asked softly. “If you didn’t have reservations about my ability…and you’re truly innocent of this crime…then why would you want to plead guilty to any charge. I don’t understand.”
David and Rafe exchanged glances, and Libby saw that Rafe was silently encouraging her father. Yes, it was clear Rafe knew something she didn’t.
Reaching to take her hand in his, David told his tale of finding evidence of missing DMBE some months ago, of receiving the necklace along with the anonymous threat against Libby if he went public with what he knew, of becoming so fearful for Libby that he destroyed the electronic post he’d received alerting him to the problem.
Close Proximity Page 15
