by Maggie Price
She stared at him for a moment. “He followed me?”
“Yes. Did a good job of it, too. He varied the car’s speed. Even let a pickup pull in front of him at one point.”
“How do you know all that?”
“Because I tailed him from your house. He was parked on a side street that had a view of the only way in and out of that ritzy neighborhood you live in. When you turned onto the street, he flipped on his headlights and pulled in behind you.”
Allie listened in dismay while her mind spun, trying to process the information. “First off, what were you doing outside of my house?”
“I had a gut feeling there might have been something to Ellen Bishop’s threat.” Rafe shrugged. “So I hung around after I followed you home from the auction.”
“Do you think Ellen called this guy? That she sent him to hurt me?”
“If he wanted to hurt you, he had plenty of chance to do that on the drive here. He could have run you off the road. Shot you. Or rushed at you when you got to the door of your warehouse, then forced you to open it.” Rafe took a long swallow of water. “His intent wasn’t to hurt you. It was to watch you.”
“Why?”
“Good question,” Rafe said as the wail of sirens grew louder. “Why did you come here in the middle of the night?”
“A detective called me,” she answered, then gave him the details of the conversation. She shifted her gaze to her car, parked in the pool of light in front of her warehouse. “When I got to the door, I saw that it hadn’t been kicked in. And the alarm system’s still activated.”
Her hand trembling, she gestured toward the dead man. “He must have been the guy who called me.”
“I’d say so. Too bad we don’t know why.”
“Your reasons for thinking he didn’t intend to hurt me make sense,” she said while her stomach clenched. “Even so, I’m thankful you were here. And that you’re safe.”
The urgent whipping sirens split the night as a dazzlingly lit fire truck turned into the entrance to the warehouse complex. Behind it sped a black and white police car, its light bar flashing red and blue. A sporty Miata brought up the rear.
“That’s Liz’s car,” Allie said.
Rafe looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “Just so you’ll know, the wreck didn’t kill the guy,” he said levelly. “I shot him.”
By dawn, the warehouse complex was awash with portable lights, cops, the ME and their various vehicles. Yellow crime-scene tape blocked access to the area.
Arms crossed over his chest, Rafe leaned against a black and white patrol car, waiting. When the cops arrived, he and Allie had been separated for individual interviews. He’d given his statement to a uniformed officer, who told him a detective would speak with him shortly.
It was the same drill he’d gone through seven years ago when his life transformed into a nightmare. He’d been innocent of the crime he was accused of, but that hadn’t mattered. Now he stood in the already skin-soaking early morning heat, having admitted to shooting the bastard driving the Crown Vic.
Rafe knew cops. To some, it wouldn’t matter that he’d been exonerated and his conviction wiped off the books. With the Internet, nothing ever went away—all anyone had to do was run a search on his name and they’d get any number of hits on the newspaper articles from his trial.
He would forever be an ex-con, who spent two years locked up with the dregs of society—it was a short mental step to assume some of their evilness had rubbed off on him. As proof, early that morning he’d killed a man.
That knowledge dredged up memories and emotions—pain and fear swirling furiously inside him. The pain was an old companion. The fear was for the control he felt slipping, sliding through his grasp like smoke.
Movement across the parking lot at the door to Allie’s warehouse caught his attention. Earlier she, her pal Liz Scott and a uniformed officer had gone to check the warehouse to determine if it actually had been broken into. Now Liz Scott emerged from the building.
Rafe watched the cop advance toward him with long, purposeful strides. She was dressed in a green blouse and black slacks, a gold badge and holstered automatic pistol clipped to the waistband. Her long red hair was held back in a braid that looped over one shoulder.
“Rafe, I’m Sergeant Scott,” she said when she reached him. Up close, he saw the smattering of freckles across her nose and a cop’s intensity in her pale green eyes. “Sounds like you had a busy evening.”
“That’s right.”
“Tell me about it.” She pulled a small notepad and pen from the pocket of her slacks. “From the beginning.”
Pulling in a deep breath, he started with the threat that Ellen Bishop made against Allie during the silent auction.
Liz jotted notes as he went through the events that followed, asking a question here and there.
He ended his statement, saying, “After I dived out of its path, the Crown Vic swerved toward me. I fired my weapon twice. I didn’t see that I had a choice.”
Liz closed the flap on her notepad. “I imagine it will ease your mind to know that Allie has made it clear the driver tried to run you down. I’ll review the statement you gave to the patrol officer. If I have questions after I get reports from the lab and the ME, I’ll contact you.”
“You’re working this case?”
She nodded. “My permanent assignment is to the cold-case office, but I used to work out of Homicide. After Allie called and told me about the dead guy here, I phoned my captain, told him I didn’t have anything urgent on my plate and volunteered to work this case. He said yes.”
“Being Allie’s friend, I expect you know my history.”
“You bet I do,” she said, eyeing him. “You’re wondering if I’m one of those police officers who can’t admit the system makes mistakes.”
“I’ve run into a few cops like that.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not one of them. You’ve got a rep of being a damn good PI with a legal permit to carry a concealed weapon.” She angled her chin. “It wasn’t too shabby the way you dealt with that money-laundering street gang a few years back. The lieutenant over at the department’s Gang Squad gives you full credit for obtaining the evidence that sent the entire gang leadership to prison.”
Rafe frowned. “Did you have time to find all that out tonight?”
“I checked you out a few days ago when Allie told me you’d shown up at Silk & Secrets.”
“Why bother? I went there on behalf of my client, to ask questions about her finding the McKenzie woman’s body.”
“So you claimed. But you and Allie share an uncomfortable past and that isn’t something I was willing to ignore. She’s a good friend of mine. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been carrying around a chip on your shoulder and all of a sudden decided a little revenge was in order against a woman who helped send you to prison.”
“Did I pass your test?” Rafe was aware of the cold hardness that had settled in his voice. If the cop took exception to his tone, she didn’t show it.
“With flying colors. Now that we’ve got the past out of the way, let’s talk about our dead guy here.” As she spoke, Liz’s gaze drifted past Rafe to where the ME’s assistant was crouched beside the body. “Name’s Joseph Slater. That ring any bells?”
“No.”
Liz’s gaze swung back to meet Rafe’s. “I think your theory that he had plenty of chances to hurt Allie if that had been his intent is right on. What does your gut tell you, Diaz? Do you really think Ellen Bishop sent Slater? That what happened tonight is connected to Mercedes McKenzie’s murder?”
Rafe scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Knowing he wasn’t minutes away from getting hauled to jail for murder had something loosening inside him. “I don’t know. But it’s worth looking into.”
Liz arched an auburn brow. “Are you going to be looking into it?”
Rafe matched her steady stare. “Even if I wasn’t trying to clear a client accused of murdering McKenzie, I’d check it
out. Call me curious, but anytime someone tries to run me down, I want to know why.”
“Same here. When I have a chance, I’ll get with the detectives working the McKenzie homicide and take a look at the file.” Liz handed him a business card. “I’ll get your phone number off the uniform’s report. How about you and I keep in touch if we find a connection between the cases?”
“Deal.” As Rafe slid the card into his back pocket, he caught movement in his peripheral vision. Turning his head, he spotted Allie coming across the parking lot, her tote bag slapping against her side as she hurried their way.
In a red sleeveless top smudged from pavement grit and jeans ripped at the right knee, she looked deceptively delicate. But Rafe knew it hadn’t been some shrinking violet who, with no thought to her own safety, helped him drag Slater away from the burning car.
For the first time, Rafe acknowledged that the details he’d begun collecting on the woman she had become didn’t at all match the spoiled, self-involved rich girl he’d vaguely known.
“You won’t believe this,” Allie said when she reached them. Up close, he saw that her blue eyes were tense and grim, her mouth clamped in a thin line.
“What’s wrong, Al?” Liz asked.
“Claire’s husband just called. He was on his way to the Reunion Square bakery when he glanced in the window of my shop. It’s been burglarized.”
Feeling cold, numb and faintly sick, Allie stood in the center of her shop. Silk robes and gowns that had once hung on padded hangers were pooled on the floor in an ocean of vivid, sensual color. Drawers had been emptied of satin bustiers, lacy bras and panties, the items flung here and there, tornado-style. Display cases stood open, their contents scattered across the polished wood floor to form a sparkling path of glittering hair accessories, jeweled purses and sequined slippers.
“Jackson and I feel awful about this.” Claire Castle squeezed Allie’s hand. “I can’t believe we live right next door and didn’t hear a thing.”
“Your apartment is upstairs over your shop.” Allie felt a tug at her heart over the guilt in her friend’s eyes. “It’s not like the burglar came in here and smashed things. Tossing around lingerie and accessories doesn’t exactly make a lot of noise.”
“You’re right.” Sighing, Claire reached back to tug the band ponytailing her dark, glossy hair a little higher. “If only the alarm had gone off, we’d have heard it.”
“There wasn’t a chance of the thing going off.” Rafe’s deep voice coming from the rear of the showroom had both women turning toward the arched doorway that led to the shop’s design area and fitting rooms.
It hit Allie that the man dressed all in black seemed to block out everything around him with his height and broad shoulders. The day-old stubble that now shadowed his jaw only made him look that much more compelling. Delectable.
Lord, here she was, standing in the chaos left by a burglar while lusting after a man. Too late, she rethought the wisdom of having agreed to Liz’s suggestion that Rafe follow her to the shop while Liz finished tying up loose ends at the warehouse complex. But with the events of the night having left Allie feeling vulnerable, she had been grateful for the escort.
Had it only been the previous night when she and Rafe stood in the hotel’s parking lot and she suggested they someday might become cautious friends? So much for caution, she thought. She couldn’t even look at Rafe without feeling her blood heat and her pulse rate jolt.
“Why wasn’t there a chance the alarm would go off?”
Claire’s question jerked Allie back to the present. “I’m wondering the same thing. The alarm salesman assured me I purchased a quality product.”
“Your high-dollar alarm would probably keep out most B&E guys,” Rafe said. “But whoever broke in here knew what he was doing. After prying off the cover of the alarm panel mounted over the back entry door, he cut some existing wires and clipped new ones to bypass the old. It takes skill and a good understanding of how alarms work to pull that off.”
“Great,” Allie said. “I get hit by an intelligent burglar. How much better can this get?”
“It’s about to get way better.” Claire plucked a padded hanger off the floor. “Because I’m going to get started putting everything back in its place. As soon as Jackson gets off his conference call, he’s coming over to pitch in, too.”
Allie gave her friend a hug. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”
Claire arched a dark brow. “This coming from the woman who spent an entire week helping me clean ash and soot off my stock of antiques.”
Even now, thinking about how Claire and Jackson had almost died in the fire at her antique shop set by an out-for-revenge former colleague of Jackson’s had Allie’s stomach clenching. They, along with Liz, were closer to Allie than any blood relative of hers had ever been.
“Do you know yet if anything’s missing?” Rafe asked.
Allie shook her head. “I don’t have a clue. With everything scattered around, it’s impossible to tell.”
“What about from your office?” He angled his chin toward the back room. “Should be easy to figure out if equipment is missing.”
“Go take a look,” Claire urged while sliding the straps of a frothy pink lace teddy onto the hanger. “Heaven knows I’ve pined after so many of these gorgeous creations that I don’t have to ask which rack anything belongs on.”
“Thanks,” Allie said. “As soon as I take a look in the office, I’ll be back out here to help.”
“Shoo,” Claire said, flicking a wrist her way.
When Allie stepped into her office, she groaned. The desk she kept pristine was now scattered with the files that had been organized in four separate drawers. Several folders lay open, their top pages covered with a gray fingerprint powder left by the crime-scene techs Liz had sent to the shop.
Allie swept her gaze around the small room. “My computer’s here. The fax. Shredder.” She glanced inside the gaping door to the supply room. Bottles of cleaning products and stacks of office supplies had been swept off the shelves and now lay heaped on the floor. Crouching, she input her digital code into the panel on the small safe, then opened its door. “The petty cash is all here.”
Rafe stood at the desk, gazing down at the sea of paper. “This file folder that’s open on top has a printout of inventory in it. Are the items listed on it here in the shop?”
Allie walked to his side and picked up the printout. “No.” She flipped through the pages. “This is for equipment at my warehouse. Office machines, the sewing machines my seamstresses use. New computer hardware we’ll use next month when we start accepting orders through my Web site. There’s also a listing of all the stock, the lingerie and accessories that are stored there. And the trousseaus I’m designing for three brides-to-be.”
Rafe shuffled through the remainder of papers in the folder. “Everything in here lists a PO box for the warehouse.”
“The only physical street address I use on correspondence is for this shop. I don’t want my customers to get confused. If they had both addresses, they might go to the warehouse instead of coming here.”
“If I wanted to know the actual street address of your warehouse, I’d go online to the county assessor’s Web site to search yours and your company’s name. Would either search bring up the address?”
“No. The warehouse is owned by a company under the Fielding family umbrella. It’s that way for tax purposes.”
Crossing his arms, Rafe leaned against the edge of the desk. “Let’s go with the assumption that the now-deceased Joseph Slater burglarized this place. He was after a specific item, but didn’t find it. So, he trashes your desk and discovers the file on your warehouse. In it, he sees the list of inventory. Bingo, the item he’s after is listed. But that only gets him so far because all he’s got on the warehouse is a PO box. How’s he going to get the actual address at three o’clock in the morning?”
Allie shoved a hand through her hair. “By calling me, pret
ending to be a detective and saying that the warehouse had been broken into. And that I needed to meet him there.”
Rafe nodded. “Your home address is listed in the phone book, so all he had to do was wait until you headed for the warehouse and follow you. You parked right at the front door.”
“I wish to hell I knew what Slater was after.”
“That, and who sent him, are the million-dollar questions.”
Allie felt a sudden chill. “When Slater saw which warehouse was mine, I wonder if he had time to call someone and tell them where it is? Someone who might try to break in.”
Rafe nodded, his eyes grim. “That’s a possibility. After we’re done here, let’s go back there.”
“And look for what?”
“Something out of place, maybe. Or a package brought in by an employee that doesn’t belong there. Could be anything.”
He pushed away from the desk, grabbed the phone book that had been tossed on the floor and fanned through it. “I’ll give you the name and number of a security company I’ve worked with.” He unearthed a notepad and pen from the desktop clutter and jotted the information. “Until it’s clear what’s going on, it’d be a good idea to hire them to watch the warehouse and the shop while no one’s there.”
“I’ll arrange for them to start today.” She jabbed the paper he handed her into the back pocket of her jeans, then stared down at the inventory list. “Dammit, if I knew what they wanted, I’d give it to them.”
“Just like that?” Rafe asked.
“Just like that.” Too on-edge to keep still, she paced to the other side of the office. At the door she turned and moved back the other way. “Everything in this shop, in the warehouse, can be replaced. It’s simply a matter of money.”
“To most people, that’s a big deal.”
The bluntness in his tone had Allie halting midstep. She turned and faced him. “But not to the heiress of the Fielding fortune, you mean,” she said levelly.
“As I recall, you used to go through money like it was water. Men, too.”
