The Redemption of Rafe Diaz

by Maggie Price

  “Prove he’s innocent.”

  “Do you believe he is?”

  “I believe in giving him the benefit of the doubt.” Rafe dipped his head. “Not everyone who gets arrested is actually guilty.”

  Ouch. Allie felt heat flood into her cheeks. “No, they’re not.” She laid the card aside. “You were innocent, Rafe. As much a victim as Nina was, but in a far different way.”

  Even after so many years, Allie still shuddered at the horrific memories. For the pain her best friend suffered. And what Rafe must have endured. “Does it make you feel better to hear me say you were innocent?”

  She saw a shadow of emotion move in his eyes before the shutter came down. “What I want to hear from you are details. What happened when you found Mercedes McKenzie’s body?”

  Allie eased out a breath. Okay, so his coming here didn’t include clearing the air about the past. Talking about finding a dead body wasn’t high on her list of subject matter, either.

  “I went over everything with the police,” she said. “Several times.”

  “I’m not the police.”

  She hesitated when a long-ago memory stirred inside her. Nina, her best friend and roommate who’d been dating Rafe, had mentioned his driving goal was to be a cop. His conviction ended that dream. And though it had been expunged as if it had never happened, Allie didn’t think any police department would hire a man who had served time in a state penitentiary.

  “I want whoever killed Mercedes put away, so I’ll tell you all I know about that night,” she said quietly. “But I’m still a little unsteady from the experience. I’d prefer to talk over there.”

  His gaze tracked hers to the plush sitting area tucked into one corner of the shop’s main showroom. “Fine.”

  When she moved past him, she caught the tang of masculine-scented soap. She had to stop herself from turning her head, inhaling deeply of the scent that was indescribably male.

  As she walked across the shop, she was acutely aware of Rafe moving behind her.

  Allie settled onto the powder-pink love seat. “You might as well get comfortable,” she said, gesturing toward the upholstered chair on the opposite side of the round glass coffee table.

  Instead of sitting, Rafe stood behind the chair. “About that night?” he prodded.

  She leaned back against the love seat’s cushions and met his waiting gaze. “All I saw was a dark form lunge from behind the door. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. I’m sure the police had reason to arrest Hank Bishop, but it wasn’t because of anything I told them.”

  “He was arrested because he was Mercedes McKenzie’s lover,” Rafe said. “He owns the condo she lived in, his prints are all over everything, his DNA is on the sheets, he has clothes there. And he has no alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “So Bishop could have killed Mercedes and assaulted me.”

  “Could have, but didn’t,” Rafe said. “Do you know the exact time you got to the condo?”

  “Right at nine-thirty. I paid attention to the time because I was miffed I had to deliver lingerie that Mercedes was supposed to have picked up here earlier.”

  “Did you see anyone else? A neighbor out smoking a cigarette? Someone walking a dog, maybe?”

  “No.”

  “Did you hear anyone?”

  “No,” Allie said, then paused. “I heard a car start. And saw it speed by the driveway.”

  “Going which way?”

  “East.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “It was too dark to tell. All I saw were the taillights.”

  “How many?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “How many taillights? What shape?”

  She arched a brow. “The police didn’t ask me such specific questions.”

  “I believe in being thorough.”

  You would have been a good cop, Allie thought and felt a wrench of regret for the unfair hand life had dealt him. “The taillights were round. Two on each side.” She tried to picture something about the car during the few seconds she’d glanced its way. “I think they were high up, close to the lid of the trunk.”

  Rafe nodded. “You didn’t see enough of your attacker to ID him. But did you get a sense of anything about him?”

  “No, there wasn’t time. Everything happened so fast. Too fast.”

  Before she could block it, the vision flashed in her head of the dark form lunging at her. The fear came barreling back, sending a wave of nausea lurching in her stomach. Leaning forward, Allie propped her forearms on her knees and shut her eyes against the blinding white spots spinning before them. God, would the image never start to fade?

  “Are you all right?”

  She flinched when Rafe’s voice came from just beside her. She hadn’t even heard him move. “I’m…fine.” A sheen of clammy perspiration enveloped her entire body. “Fine.”

  “Fine, hell,” Rafe muttered. With one hand, he shoved her head between her knees. “You’re as white as chalk and about to pass out. Take deep breaths.”

  With her head spinning and her vision dimming, Allie had no choice but to obey. Please don’t let me heave on his shoes, she prayed as she dragged in a series of shaky breaths against the nausea churning in her stomach.

  Keeping his hand pressed against her spine, Rafe lowered himself onto the arm of the love seat. Despite her dazed senses, Allie felt the pressure of each of his fingers through the fabric of her suit, all too aware of the latent strength in his touch.

  “You have some water around here?” His voice had lost some of its hardness.

  “There’s…a small refrigerator off the fitting room,” she said, keeping her eyes on the blurred toes of her yellow leather heels.

  “Where’s the fitting room?”

  “Just beyond that arched doorway.”

  Without further comment, he rose and disappeared out of her line of sight, his footsteps hollow echoes as he headed across the shop.

  Lord, Allie thought. How many times over the five years since his release had she thought about contacting him? Or writing him a letter to let him know how horribly sorry she was. In the end, she’d done nothing. There was no way to make up for the wrong that had been done to him. That she’d done.

  Rafe returned, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water.

  Bracing herself, Allie eased upright and took the bottle from him with both hands. “Thanks.”

  She sipped slowly, concentrating on the simple act of swallowing the cool liquid.

  When her vision came back into focus, she saw that Rafe had relocated behind the upholstered chair. “Feel like continuing?” he asked, his dark eyes measuring her.

  “Yes.” She lifted her free hand to her bruised temple, felt her fingertips tremble against her tender flesh. “I keep telling myself that it’s over, that I’m safe. Then I see this blurry shadow careen from behind the door. I was so afraid.”

  “What happened after he hit you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up on the kitchen floor.” Allie squeezed her eyes shut. “The first thing I saw were Mercedes’s dead eyes staring back at me.” A shiver ran up Allie’s spine and her voice broke. “I was unconscious for over half an hour. He had plenty of time to kill me, too.” She took another shaky sip of water, then lifted her gaze to meet Rafe’s. “I don’t know why I’m still alive.”

  Rafe’s mouth tightened. “The fact you are tells me he knew for sure you didn’t get a look at him.”

  “Which is fortunate for me.” Allie took another sip of water. “Not for your client if he’s innocent.”

  Apparently assured she was no longer in danger of fainting, Rafe wandered past an array of display racks holding colorful, delicate silks. Allie noted that he moved with the sinuous tread of a big cat. No wasted motion, no abrupt movements.

  Seven years ago, she hadn’t known him all that well—he and Nina had dated only a short time. Still, Allie had been well aware that
there had been something about Rafe Diaz, and it wasn’t only his dark, go-to-hell looks. He’d exuded some sort of innate brooding sexiness that seemed to promise endless nights of pleasure. Watching him now, she realized that hadn’t changed.

  “Speaking of my client,” he began. “Bishop told me that both his mistress and his wife shop here.”

  With her mouth having gone dry for an entirely different reason, Allie took another sip of water. “True, but I wasn’t aware of that until after Hank’s arrest. Mercedes made no secret she had a married lover, but she never told me his name.”

  “Who paid her bill?”

  “She used a credit card in her own name.”

  “Did she and Bishop’s wife ever cross paths here?”

  “No. Mercedes always made a point to come here after regular business hours.” Allie set the water bottle aside. “Look, I didn’t pass judgment on Mercedes’s lifestyle. But the fact is, she had a married lover, who apparently wanted her to feel free to buy whatever she wanted in my shop. I saw no reason not to accommodate the arrangement.”

  Rafe slid her a look. “And you wanted the profits.”

  His judgmental tone had Allie bristling. “I’d be a damn poor business owner if I didn’t keep my eye on the bottom line,” she shot back. “And you apparently didn’t let Hank Bishop’s questionable morals get in the way when you agreed to take him on as a client.”

  Rafe paused beside the velvet-covered pedestal to study the ornate shoes. “Point taken,” he said after a moment.

  Allie felt a rush of satisfaction at his admission.

  “Does Bishop’s wife shop here a lot?”

  “Yes, Ellen’s a regular customer.”

  “Did she know her husband had a mistress on the side?”

  “If she did, she didn’t tell me.”

  Allie’s gaze followed Rafe’s to the pedestal and the shoes that were to be auctioned at the upcoming benefit for the foundation she had established years ago. In the past, Ellen Bishop had attended the auction, but now that her husband’s affair was out in the open and he’d been charged with the murder of his mistress, Allie suspected it might be a while before Ellen was ready to show her face again in public.

  “Bishop’s partner in his real estate business is Guy Jones,” Rafe said. “They’re brothers-in-law. Bishop said Jones’s wife and daughter shop here, too.”

  “That’s right,” Allie confirmed. “The daughter is getting married. I’m designing her trousseau. Neither Katie nor her mother have ever mentioned Mercedes in my presence.”

  Rafe turned, wandered toward a glass display case. “Do you have any other customers who had a connection to Mercedes?”

  “Not directly.”

  “Indirectly?”

  “The purses.” Allie swept a hand toward the display case that held a number of jeweled evening clutches. “Mercedes designed those.”

  Frowning, Rafe stared down at the case. “She made purses?”

  “She designed them. She had a savvy eye for fashion. When I saw her designs, I bought them. I have them made at the same off-site warehouse my seamstresses work out of.”

  “Interesting.”

  The sardonic tone that had settled in his voice had Allie narrowing her eyes. “Why is that interesting?”

  “In college, you were too busy partying to bother attending class. Now, you oversee a financial empire and own this shop.”

  Irritation shot through her as she stared at his hard, emotionless face. Logic told her she should be able to shrug off his words. After all, what he’d said was true. She’d spent her time hooking up with wildly inappropriate boyfriends while thumbing her nose at her studies. Not because she hadn’t been capable of making good grades but because it had irritated her father, and that had been important to her at the time. But a whole lot of life had gone on since she had last seen Rafe, and she was a very different person from the looking-for-a-good-time girl he had known.

  Something inside of her that she couldn’t define found it vitally important that he understand that.

  “You’re right, I sit on the board of my family’s company,” Allie said coolly. “And I’ve built my own separate business from the ground up. I’m about to start direct sales of the lingerie I design via my Web site. Things change, Rafe. People change. Sometimes for the better.”

  “Yeah.” He gestured toward his business card she’d left on the counter. “If you remember anything else about Mercedes or the night you found her dead, give me a call.”

  Allie watched him turn, tracked his progress as he strode toward the door. And even though her muscles still felt like glass, she rose from the love seat. “Rafe.”

  He paused, turned back to face her, his eyes as dark and hard as flint. “What?”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Aware that her heartbeat was much too fast and labored for a woman standing still, she curled her fingers into her palms. “Truly sorry. I hope you know that all I did was tell the truth.”

  His gaze stayed locked on hers as an emotion she couldn’t define flickered in his eyes. “You told what you thought was the truth. And I’m the one who paid for it.”

  Chapter 2

  “Dammit, I don’t care if Allie Fielding saw me at the condo. I didn’t kill Mercedes!”

  Rafe studied his client across the real estate developer’s expansive desk. In his late fifties, Hank Bishop was powerfully built with black hair going gray at the temples and a strongly carved face with prominent planes. The stress of a murder charge hanging over him made those planes look glass-sharp.

  “Miss Fielding didn’t see you,” Rafe said levelly. “She saw your car’s taillights when you drove off.”

  Bishop dragged in a breath. “That should add muscle to my claim that I’m not the person who clubbed Allie in the head.”

  Bishop’s comment shoved her image into Rafe’s mind. Despite his best efforts not to, he pictured how she’d looked sitting on that pink love seat, her temple bruised, her cheeks colorless.

  He’d left the shop hours ago and he was still fighting to shake off the awareness that had jolted through him when he pressed his palm against Allie’s spine and nudged her forward. She’d been on the verge of passing out, yet the electricity that zipped into his fingers had been unmistakable. It was a connection he had not felt—had not wanted to feel—with another living soul over the past seven years.

  The unexpected quake of emotion had pissed him off. He was still pissed off. He didn’t need this, didn’t want the memories spilling out, flashing in kaleidoscope tumbles, like the revolving red/blue lights on the police car that had driven him away from the life he’d once known.

  “The killer had to have still been at the condo when I got there.” Bishop bounced a fist against the arm of his chair. “Maybe when I went out the front door he headed toward the back, thinking he’d get out that way? Instead, he ran into Allie.”

  “That’s probably what happened,” Rafe agreed. “It’s just that her seeing taillights matching your Ferrari goes a long way in placing you at the scene of the murder.”

  Bishop cursed. “My security chief recommended I hire you because you’ve got a reputation for digging up evidence that clears innocent people. That’s what I need you to do for me, Diaz. Not tighten the noose that’s already around my neck.”

  “Before I accepted your retainer, I explained it’s possible that evidence doesn’t exist.”

  “Dammit, it has to.” Bishop jerked his tie loose, then flicked opened the top button on his starched shirt. “Mercedes was dead when I got to the condo. There has to be a way for me to get clear of this.”

  For a moment, Rafe said nothing. He had thought the same thing himself when his nightmare began. He’d been innocent, yet he’d wound up in prison.

  “Let’s go over what you told me about that night. See if we can come up with something.”

  Bishop eased out a breath. “Like I said, I arrived early to pick up Mercedes for our flight to Paris. I used my ke
y to get in. She didn’t answer when I called her name, so I figured she was upstairs. I knew something was wrong when I saw the stuff from her purse dumped out on the bedroom floor.”

  The mention of the purse sent Rafe’s thoughts to the display at Silk & Secrets of the sequined purses the dead woman had designed.

  “I found Mercedes in the kitchen.” Emotion flickered over Bishop’s face before he looked away. His fisted hand trembled. “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  To give his client time to get a grip on his emotions, Rafe swept his gaze around the office. As on his first visit to the downtown high-rise, he could find nothing compelling about the cool black furniture and white walls. The place had the same stark feel as the cell where he’d spent two years of his life.

  “The killer dumped out the contents of Mercedes’s purse, so it sounds like he was after something she might carry around,” Rafe said after a moment. “Any idea what that might be?”

  “I have no clue.”

  “I found out the police discovered a state-of-the-art audio system in the condo. Did you have it installed?”

  “No.” Bishop frowned. “You mean, a stereo system?”

  “The wiring was hooked to a recorder. Hidden microphones were in every room. Apparently, Mercedes used the system to record conversations.”

  Bishop scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  Rafe studied the man for a long beat. “Maybe you told her information about your business that could hurt it or you if it got out? She could have recorded all of your in-bed sessions with an eye on blackmailing you.”

  Bishop’s mouth thinned. “If she did record them, it’s news to me. And she never tried to blackmail me.”

  “Were you the only man she was sleeping with?”

  “Yes. I bought her a car, clothes, jewelry. Put a roof over her head. I made it clear if I caught her messing around, our deal was over.”

  “Exactly what was your deal?”

  Bishop shoved his chair back and rose. He stepped to the credenza, grabbed a crystal carafe and tumbler, then glanced over his shoulder. “Whiskey?”

  “No, thanks.” Rafe let the silence continue.