Internal Affairs

by Alana Matthews

  Rafe reached the doors and launched himself against them, flinging them open to reveal nothing but darkness inside. This was a warehouse of some kind or a storage facility.

  As he got inside, he kept moving through the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust and hoping he wouldn’t bump into anything. After a moment, it became clear that this was a file depot of some sort, the massive place crowded with numbered legal boxes sitting on low rows of shelves.

  Rafe could hear Kate’s footsteps behind him. She would be inside at any moment now and, per protocol, would slow herself down and draw her weapon.

  He wondered for a moment if he should just give this up and cop to the truth, but there was a large part of him that resisted for one simple reason—he didn’t want to look like a complete fool in front of his older sister. Rafe had spent his entire childhood trying to impress both Kate and their older brother, Vincent. And he knew Kate would not react well if she discovered the man she was chasing was her own kid brother.

  So he kept moving, working his way through the rows of shelves, looking for another door. A way out.

  He saw one on the far side of the second row he entered, visible mostly because of the light seeping under the door. He abruptly shifted direction and was halfway to it when Kate shouted, “Freeze!”

  A flashlight beam illuminated Rafe’s back, throwing his elongated shadow onto the floor and up onto the boxes.

  Rafe stopped in his tracks, raised his arms and knew what was coming.

  “Down on your knees!” Kate commanded.

  Rafe’s heart was thumping in his ears.

  Oh, well, he thought. At least I tried.

  He was about to drop to his knees when another voice shouted, “What is this? What’s going on here?”

  Rafe recognized the indignant, authoritative tone of what had to be the building security guard, probably pulling his own weapon from his holster as he spoke.

  Rafe froze in place, knew that Kate would have to respond, and she did immediately. He also knew that she’d be showing the guard her weapon in a nonthreatening manner to keep him from firing his own.

  “County Sheriff, sir! Don’t fire. Do not—”

  That was when Rafe bolted. Made a beeline straight for the door, Kate again shouting for him to halt or she’d shoot. But he didn’t falter, didn’t slow down, knowing that she would aim for his legs.

  He zigged and zagged and the first shot didn’t ring out until he reached the door, gouging the floor nearby. It ricocheted harmlessly, just as he slammed through the door and burst onto the street, once again running for all he was worth.

  Rafe had a better lead on her this time and he wasn’t about to let himself get caught. His lungs felt shallow, each breath harder than the next, but he didn’t let it slow him down, couldn’t let it.

  He took a right at the next block, then darted across the street, ran to the next corner and took a left, finally chancing a look behind him.

  No sign of Kate. Or Eberhart, wherever he’d gone to. Probably still back at Azarov’s apartment, relaxing and smoking a cigarette.

  Rafe took two more turns, left, then right, then stripped off the hoodie and dumped it into a trash can on the street. Crossing the next intersection, he spotted a coffee shop and went inside, finding a booth in back that allowed him a view of the street.

  A waitress nodded to him as he slid into the booth, gave him a small smile and he smiled back, even though he didn’t much feel it.

  He sat there trying to catch his breath, then gestured for the waitress to bring him a cup of coffee.

  He waited in the booth for nearly an hour before going back to Azarov’s neighborhood to retrieve his Mustang.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Are you sure this’ll be okay with your grandmother?”

  “I’ve already called her,” Rafe said. “She’s more than happy to have the company. Thrilled, in fact.”

  They were driving at a clip in Rafe’s Mustang, Lisa up front next to him, Chloe and Bea in back. Lisa felt uncomfortable and nervous, but wasn’t really sure why. She had met Grandma Natalie during her junior year, when Rafe had brought Lisa home for the weekend.

  Maybe the nerves were caused by the way Rafe was driving, which was a tad too fast for her. When he had shown up at the door looking disheveled in jeans and a T-shirt—as if he had just returned from a jog at the park—she’d had to wonder what he’d been up to.

  She was immediately reminded of how gorgeous he was, but he seemed distracted and a little out of sorts. Something was weighing on his mind.

  Maybe some of that had rubbed off on her.

  Or maybe her nerves were simply caused by the secret she knew she had to reveal. The one sitting right there in the backseat, playing Crazy Birds on an iPad.

  The closer they got to Grandma Natalie’s house, the more trepidation Lisa felt. She had spent half the day wondering how she would break the news to Rafe, and still hadn’t come up with an idea that would guarantee a happy outcome.

  But then she supposed nothing could.

  This feeling was compounded by her mixed emotions about Rafe himself. He had only been back in her life for a few short hours—and only a small portion of that, when she thought about it—yet she felt as if something had been awakened inside her. Some long-abandoned emotion that had lain dormant, quietly percolating below the surface of her heart for the past three years.

  Why, she wondered, did it matter to her how he reacted to the news about Chloe?

  Was she still in love with him?

  After everything she had been through with Oliver, was she still even capable of love?

  All she knew was that, despite the turmoil inside her, she felt good being with Rafe again, riding beside him in this Mustang that he’d had for so many years. It was the same car they drove here as juniors, and she felt at home in it. Just as she had back then.

  She felt safe with him, protected.

  It was the role Rafe had always taken. Lisa had grown up very much the independent woman, but when she’d met Rafe in her freshman year—or the tall, reedy teenager he was back then—she had quickly discovered that she didn’t mind his old-fashioned, chivalrous ways. He opened doors for her, pulled out chairs for her, gave her his coat if they were caught in the rain, stood up to boys who made drunken passes at her at frat parties or disparaging remarks when she turned them down.

  Yet he did all this without ever robbing her of her independence. Without ever undermining the essence of who she was as a woman.

  Now he here was again, falling so easily into the old role. Looking out for her. Helping her.

  He was staring intently at the road as he drove and she wanted so much to ask him what he was thinking about right now.

  “You seem preoccupied,” she said. “Is something wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Does it have something to do with Oliver?”

  He glanced at her, smiled. “Don’t you worry about that jerk. He’s my number-one case now.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “That sooner or later I’m gonna find a way to put him behind bars, where he belongs.”

  Lisa shook her head. “I still can’t believe all this stuff about his being involved in organized crime. I mean the mob?”

  “This isn’t like the old days, Lisa. Gangsters don’t dress up like the godfather or threaten people with tommy guns. Organized crime is fronted and populated by people who look like legitimate businessmen, and are often so far removed from the actual wrongdoing that it’s nearly impossible to put them away.”

  “So then what makes you think you’ll be able to do anything about Oliver?” she asked.

  “Determination,” he said. “Pure determination.”

  * * *

  GRANDMA NATALIE LIVED on the Hill, a largely Italian-American neighborhood marked by the brick and terra-cotta Roman Catholic church that stood on the corner of Wilson and Marconi Avenues.

  The house itse
lf was a two-story, red-and-white, bungalow-style affair with a large front porch overlooking Shaw Avenue, which was fairly busy at this time of day.

  Rafe pulled the Mustang into the drive, and before they even had their doors all the way open, Grandma Natalie emerged from the front doorway—looking just as Lisa remembered her—arms extended to Rafe.

  She was a small, plump Italian woman in her mid-eighties, with a smile that was big and wide and friendly.

  Lisa watched as Rafe went to the foot of the porch and pulled her into a hug.

  “Rafael,” the old woman sang. “My sweet little Rafael.”

  Not so little anymore, Lisa thought. He dwarfed the old woman.

  “Good to see you, Nonna. How’ve you been?”

  “I work, I eat, I sleep,” she said. “Then I start all over again.” She pulled away and held him at arm’s length, studying him. “You look tired, Rafael. Have you been sleeping?”

  He shook his head. “I never made it home after my shift,” he told her. “I’m pretty beat.”

  “Well, come then. Come sit inside in your grandfather’s chair and take a nap. I’ll make some tea and keep your friends company.”

  This was Rafe’s cue to turn to Lisa, Bea and Chloe. “Nonna, you remember Lisa, don’t you?”

  Now the old woman turned her smile on them, and in that moment Lisa could swear she felt warmth flowing through her. Almost magical in its energy.

  “Ah, yes,” Grandma Natalie said, taking Lisa’s hands in hers. “Of course I remember. The one who got away.”

  Lisa and Rafe exchanged a brief glance, an embarrassed smile, then Rafe gestured to Bea and Chloe and introduced them.

  Natalie nodded to Bea, then stooped toward Chloe, reaching a hand out to tousle her hair. “What a beautiful little...”

  She paused, a question forming in her eyes.

  She glanced up at Lisa, then Rafe, then at Lisa again, who quickly averted her gaze. Rafe didn’t seem to notice the look, but in that moment, Lisa knew that the old woman had seen something familiar in Chloe. Probably the same thing Lisa saw every time she looked at her daughter’s face.

  Rafael Franco’s eyes.

  “Lovely child,” the old woman said. “Let’s see if we can find you some cookies.”

  Chloe’s face lit up. “Really?”

  “As long as your mama approves.”

  Lisa smiled. “Of course. Thank you so much for having us, Mrs. Franco.”

  “Call me Nonna,” she said, then lightly flicked a finger under Chloe’s chin, provoking a giggle. “You, too.”

  “Okay.”

  Then she straightened and turned to Rafe. “Rafael, don’t just stand there looking handsome. Get their things and carry them to their rooms upstairs. I’ll start the tea.”

  * * *

  THE INTERIOR of the house was a museum. A perfectly maintained replica of 1920s St. Louis, with antique furniture, polished wood floors and a gleaming wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms.

  Lisa had forgotten that feeling she’d had so long ago, when she had first stepped foot inside the house. It seemed to hold the same welcoming warmth as Grandma Natalie’s smile. A house that said, Come in, come in. Make yourself comfortable.

  “I remember the first moment I saw you,” Nonna said to her as she poured tea into delicate porcelain cups.

  They were seated in the large but intimate living room, the air so still that every clink of the porcelain seemed magnified.

  “I was in the kitchen,” she continued, “with the window overlooking the drive, and Rafael drove up in that infernal machine of his, and a moment later you stepped out.” She smiled. “I thought, oh, my, what has that grandson of mine gone and done?”

  Rafe, who was slumped wearily in a worn leather chair, cracked open his eyes and said, “What’s that supposed to mean, Nonna?”

  “That as handsome and charming as you are, young man, I couldn’t quite believe you had managed to steal such a beautiful treasure. Especially after some of the ungodly young women you dated in high school.”

  Bea, who looked a little uncomfortable being served, let out a snort. “I like this woman.”

  Nonna smiled at her. “I’ll bet you’ll like my lasagna even better. Just you wait and see.”

  “Come on, Nonna,” Rafe said. “Cut me a break.”

  The old woman ignored him and turned again to Lisa. “And when I met you, I was quite delighted that he’d finally managed to find someone who was not only beautiful, but also had brains, too. Rafael’s a wonderful boy, but he doesn’t always think straight. He needs to be grounded in reality sometimes and you seemed like just the woman to do it.”

  Rafe sat up now, blinking at her. “How long are you planning to go on like this?”

  “You just go to sleep, son. Let the ladies talk.”

  “I feel like I’m under a microscope.”

  Nonna waggled a hand at him. “Just be happy anyone’s talking about you at all. You could do worse.”

  Rafe gave her a good-natured scowl, then settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to, so carry on.”

  “Boys and their grandmothers,” Bea murmured with a grin.

  Nonna finished pouring her own cup of tea, stirred in some sugar, then settled onto the sofa, again addressing Lisa.

  “Where was I?” she asked.

  “Talking about how Rafe needs grounding,” Lisa said, more concerned about where the old woman was going with all this. During the entire monologue she had kept glancing at Chloe, who was once again in deep communion with her crayons.

  “Ah, yes,” Nonna said. “So you’ll understand why I was surprised and disappointed when the two of you broke it off. I had gotten the impression that Rafe was quite enamored of you, and you of him.”

  Rafe opened his eyes again. “Okay, Nonna, now you’re really pushing it. Time to change the subject.”

  She glanced at Chloe again. “A grandmother can’t be concerned about the choices her grandson makes? Especially when he may have certain responsibilities...”

  Rafe frowned. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  Lisa knew exactly what the old woman’s concern was and she immediately moved to allay it. “The breakup was a mutual decision, Nonna. And it didn’t come easily.” She smiled. “I’m just happy we’ve had this chance to reconnect, even if it’s under unfortunate circumstances.”

  Grandma Natalie looked at her. “Then I take it he doesn’t...”

  She stopped, letting the unspoken question hang in the air, and Lisa felt a sharp, painful stab of guilt.

  “Doesn’t what?” Rafe asked.

  Lisa looked directly at the old woman, mentally imploring her not to go any further. She didn’t want Rafe to find out like this.

  “Nonna?”

  The message seemed to get through, as Nonna relaxed. “Never you mind, son, you’re half asleep. You’d better take that nap before dinner. The stomach won’t wait.”

  Rafe studied her curiously for a moment, glanced at Lisa, then threw his hands up in an exasperated gesture that implied that women were a mystery to him.

  Then he closed his eyes again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dinner crept up on them faster than anyone had expected. Chloe unpacked the toys she brought in the living room as Lisa and Bea helped Grandma Natalie in the kitchen and a still-groggy Rafe set the dining room table.

  Lisa remembered what a wonderful cook Grandma Natalie was. One Sunday every month, the entire Franco clan gathered here at the house to break bread and catch up with one another. Grandma Natalie would prepare a feast and the wine flowed as if it were coming from a fountain in the floor.

  Lisa had been part of one of those Sundays. Had met Rafe’s brother, Vincent, and his aunts and uncles and cousins, all of whom seemed to have some connection to firefighting or law enforcement. Sheriff’s deputies, firefighters, beat cops, detectives, arson investigators. The Franco family was permeated by the culture and seemed t
o revel in it.

  On the drive in, back then, Rafe had warned Lisa that she was about to be surrounded by some of the toughest cops she had ever encountered—not that she had encountered many—and that she shouldn’t let them intimidate her. That they were loyal to the badge, but they were also good people. Compassionate people.

  “My family,” he had told her, “lives and breathes by our own code.”

  “Code?”

  “It’s based on what’s informally called Code Blue, the police code of conduct.”

  “Sounds a little ominous to me,” she had said.

  Rafe shook his head. “Just the opposite. Since childhood, I’ve always been taught by example to respect others, show empathy and humanity, do no harm unless it’s justified, protect those who can’t protect themselves, trust and help one another when needed...and...”

  “And what?”

  “Avoid bringing shame on the family. I know it all sounds a little goody-goody, but it works for us.”

  At the time, Lisa had thought this code painted a vivid portrait of the Rafe she knew. He had always been a man—a boy then, really—of integrity, who seemed very sure about who he was and what he believed in. Cop confidence was part of his DNA, but never in that annoying, holier-than-thou way demonstrated by so many of the campus police officers.

  Rafe was the picture of solid, but gentle, self-assurance. A picture Lisa had found quite attractive.

  Still did.

  Not that Rafe didn’t have his doubts at times. He had often told her about his reluctance to follow in his siblings’ footsteps and join the force. But that had come more from a fear of disappointing them than anything else. He was afraid he wouldn’t live up to the Franco family name.

  He was especially concerned about living up to the example set by his sister, Kate—whom Lisa hadn’t met that Sunday. She was apparently one of the shining stars of the Franco family and Rafe said he often felt inadequate around her.

  But now it looked as if he had finally conquered that fear and had grown and matured since making his decision to join the department. And helping her with Oliver proved that he still lived by the credo the Francos so cherished.