by Maggie Price
“What’s on the third floor?”
“The computer equipment. My Web site designer has an office there. The stock is stored upstairs, too.”
“If you looked everywhere and nothing seems out of place, I’ll take your word for it.” He glanced at his watch again. He had no idea what time—or even day—it was in Singapore, but he needed to start tracking down the pilot Hank Bishop had fired. “I’ve got things I need to check. I’ll get with Liz later.”
“Look, you don’t have to…”
He raised a brow when Allie’s voice trailed off. “I don’t have to what?”
She closed her eyes for an instant. “Liz,” she said, looking up at him. “You don’t have to go out of your way later trying to find her.”
Leaning against the worktable, he crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you suggest?”
“Come to dinner at Claire and Jackson’s. Liz will be there.”
“Most hostesses hate having uninvited guests pop in.”
“You won’t be popping in. Claire suggested I invite you. In the summertime, she serves dinner on her building’s roof in her patio garden.” Allie’s mouth curved. “Jackson and Sam—he’s Liz’s fiancé—fire up the grill and, according to them, show us women how to cook.”
“They do a good job?”
“Yes, but it would go to their heads if we admitted that.” She raised a hand, let it drop. “It seems like I remember that your mom is a widow and you go to her house every Sunday for dinner. So, if you still do—”
“My mother’s dead. She died while I was in prison.”
He watched her go pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She paused, then asked, “Did you get to go to her funeral?”
“I didn’t want to go. It would have been a sign of disrespect to my mother for me to have stood over her grave wearing handcuffs with a guard breathing down my neck.”
He damned himself for the bleak look that settled in Allie’s eyes. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that. Nor was she to blame for the recurring dream that dragged him back all too frequently to the trapped existence of his cell.
“What happened to you was a mistake,” she said fiercely, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “A horrible one.” She pulled in a shaky breath. “Rafe, how much were you told about why Nina recanted her testimony against you?”
“Not a lot. According to my lawyer, she’d been seeing some psychiatrist. During a session, it came out that she’d repressed memories of her stepfather sexually abusing her. That’s who raped her, not me.”
Allie nodded. “Her therapist theorized that since you and Nina had just become intimate, being with you had somehow fused with memories of the sexual abuse by her stepfather that she’d suppressed for years. After you brought her home from your date that night, she jerked awake out of a nightmare. All she could remember was she’d been raped. And to her it seemed like it had happened recently.”
Allie wrapped her arms around her waist as the old memories settled into her stomach, hard and aching. “Nina woke me up, screaming. I found her huddled on the corner of her bed. She was chalk-white and hysterical. She kept sobbing that she’d been raped. By you. I got her to the E.R., and they examined her and called the police. I told the officer what she’d said. They went to your apartment—”
“And hauled me off in front of the entire neighborhood.”
It was all Allie could do not to flinch against the hardness in his voice. “I told the police what Nina said. I thought it was the truth. That doesn’t make up for what you suffered—I know that.” She shoved an unsteady hand through her hair. “If I could, I would try to make up the years you lost.”
His throat went tight at the sight of the anguish in her face. “I don’t want you to try. I don’t want…” You, he tried to force himself to say the word, but couldn’t.
Because she twisted him in knots and he did want her. Viciously. And if he didn’t get out of there, he was going to reach for her again and do a lot more than just kiss her.
“You’re not to blame for what happened to me.” Just by voicing the words, he felt an easing of the tension that had festered inside of him for years. Maybe, just maybe, he’d someday be able to put that vicious, black part of his past totally behind him.
For now, all he wanted was time to get his system under control.
“I’ve got some things I need to do,” he repeated, while sweeping his hand toward the garment bags. “Do you need help carrying those somewhere?”
“No, thanks. I’ll manage.”
He gazed down into her gorgeous, expressive face. He had spent years rebuilding himself, walling off what little emotion prison hadn’t managed to scour away. Yet in this finger-snap of time, he felt himself falling into something with her that he was ill-equipped to handle, didn’t want. But hell if he could stay away from her for long.
A dark sense of inevitability settled around him as he scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. Why or how she had swept across the distance he had purposely established between himself and everyone in his life, he didn’t know. He just knew she had.
He was going to have to figure out how to deal with that, which meant he needed some space.
“I’ll get back to you about dinner,” he said, then headed for the door.
Standing in Claire’s kitchen with the scent of simmering apples and cinnamon heavy in the air, Allie slid mushrooms the size of golf balls onto a skewer. Over the faint hum of the air conditioner she heard the clock in the old brick tower that stood in the center of Reunion Square bong six times.
“Rafe won’t show up,” she said. “After my bringing up his poor, dead mother this afternoon, I don’t blame him.”
“It’s not your fault the woman died while he was in prison,” Liz pointed out from the opposite side of the kitchen. Because she barely knew her way around a stove, Claire had assigned her wine-serving duty.
“Diaz told you he needed to talk to me,” Liz continued, pulling glasses out of a cabinet. “He didn’t drop by the station. He hasn’t called.” She inclined her head toward the cell phone clipped to the waistband of her pink capris. “Meaning he plans to show up here.”
“He could call you later.” Allie laid the full skewer in the dish of marinade Claire had prepared.
“Yeah, but my honed detective’s instincts tell me he’ll ring the doorbell anytime now.” Instead of her usual braid, Liz had opted to let her auburn hair flow free over her shoulders and down her back.
“I agree.” Claire, clad in a sleek sundress in eye-popping yellow, backed away from the open refrigerator, a platter of thick steaks clenched in both hands. “Rafe will be here.”
Allie snatched up an empty skewer, stabbed a mushroom onto it. “I shouldn’t have even invited him. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I can guess.” Claire set the platter on the counter, then turned to Allie. “You were thinking about that kiss in your office. He knocked your socks off. It’s only natural you’d want to find out what will happen after another one.”
“Whoa.” Liz halted halfway through stripping the foil off the neck of a bottle of straw-colored wine. “What kiss? And how come I haven’t heard about it?”
Allie slid Claire a withering look before shifting to face Liz. “If you’d have met us at the warehouse, I’d have told you the same time I told Claire. Bottom line is, Rafe kissed me. I kissed him back. Then we agreed it had been a bad idea.”
“Why?” Liz asked. “His ‘knocking your socks off’ sounds like chemistry wasn’t the problem.”
If there’d been any more chemistry on her part, steam would have risen through her pores, Allie thought as she impaled another mushroom. Rafe was a different matter. She had seen the way his eyes shuttered when he broke off the kiss, the way he retreated from the intimacy. She had no idea how their close encounter had affected him. If it had.
“It’s not like Rafe and I stood there, telling each other our reasons why we thought the kiss was a bad idea. But I imagine there’s no wa
y he can forget I testified for the prosecution during his trial. For myself, I’m not interested in getting involved in a romantic relationship. Ever.”
“Yeah, well, those might be famous last words.” Liz took the wine opener and extracted the cork. “I was determined to stay free and single, too, after I broke off my engagement to Andrew. Then Sam walked into my office out of the blue. We’re getting married in two months. So much for grand plans.”
“Don’t forget, Jackson and I had baggage from the past, too,” Claire said while digging a barbecue fork and spatula out of a drawer. “I never expected him to show back up in my life.” As usual, just talking about the man she loved had Claire’s brown eyes shining and her golden skin glowing. “Jackson was the one for me. I didn’t want to admit that at first. Turns out, it was impossible to resist something that was meant to be.”
“Not to mention that the best of intentions go down the tubes when there’s a hunk involved in the equation,” Liz chimed in. “I’ve seen Diaz up close, Al. Faced with all that broody sexiness, it’s no wonder you want to jump his bones.”
Allie whipped around from the counter to face her friends. “I don’t want to jump…” She trailed off, undone by their patient gazes. “Okay, I admit it. I liked kissing Rafe. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. But if we were to sleep together, it would just be sex. That’s it. I won’t let it be more.”
She cut herself off, squeezed her eyes tight. “I felt something. Some sort of connection I’ve never felt with another man. It scared me. I don’t want to take a chance.”
“And wind up like your parents,” Liz observed. She poured wine in three glasses, passed them around. “It’s no wonder you feel that way when all you saw while growing up was relationships crashing and burning. Heck, anyone who’d had five stepmothers would feel the same. But take a look at Claire and Jackson. Then there’s Sam and me. We’ve beat the odds.”
“I consider you guys the exception.”
Sympathetic, Claire squeezed Allie’s arm. “You and Rafe could be, too.”
Allie sipped her wine. Willed her system to steady. It was time to refocus her thoughts and just enjoy being with her friends.
She put some effort into making her lips curve. “Anyway, all the talk about Rafe is a moot point. He’s not going to show up tonight.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
Rafe jabbed his finger a second time at the bell beside the door of Claire Castle’s antique shop. It wasn’t the prospect of a few hours socializing on the building’s rooftop garden with Allie’s friends that had his shoulders tight with tension. It was spending time with her, now that he accepted she had managed to find a weakness in the emotional wall he’d thought impervious.
But find it she had, and he intended to figure out what to do about it.
About her.
She was no longer the shallow party girl he’d known in college. He couldn’t claim to have a total understanding of her yet, but he was beginning to uncover all those layers and contrasts that made her who and what she was.
Granted, he wanted her physically, but it was much more than that. He was intrigued by her transformation, which fueled an innate curiosity deep inside him to find out how and why the change had come about.
When the door to the shop opened and his gaze settled on Allie, an instant, primal zing of need shot through his gut.
Oh, yeah, he was definitely going to have to figure out what to do about her.
She gazed up at him, her coral-glossed lips forming a cynical curve. “Now that you’ve shown up, Liz is going to be impossible to live with.”
His gaze swept down her, then up. She’d changed into black shorts and a sleeveless top in some sort of floaty material the color of ripe plums. Her bare toes peeked out from under the plum-colored leather tops of a pair of sexy, backless slides. Her hair hung loose in a waterfall of golden blond.
Wanting more time to appreciate the view, he propped a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Why is my showing up going to affect Liz?”
“Because you didn’t call or contact her at the station, her honed detective skills told her you were going to show up tonight. And here you are.”
He shrugged. “If you want to deflate her ego, I can take off now.”
In the moment of electric stillness that followed, he was excruciatingly aware of Allie’s well-toned body, the heat and lean curves. Suddenly, he knew how it would be if they slept together…the rise of her hips beneath his, the softness of her flesh against his palms. The last thing he wanted to do was leave.
“You could go,” she agreed, looking up at him through thick lashes. “But I don’t want to trample Liz’s ego, so you’d better stay.” She paused for an instant. “I’m glad you’re here, Rafe.”
She moved back, pulling the door open wider. When he stepped inside, her subtle, sophisticated scent drifted over him like a gentle stroke of hands, making him ache.
The ache didn’t lessen when they walked through the cozy shop filled with antiques that glowed in the light of lamps turned low. Or when he followed the gentle sway of her hips up the stairs and stepped into a spacious apartment that brimmed with furniture, paintings and bright rugs that pooled color over the polished wood floor.
“Claire and Liz just headed to the roof to make sure Jackson and Sam have fired up the grill,” Allie said as she led him into the kitchen, the heels of her sexy shoes clicking against the floor as she moved. “We’ll follow after I get you something to drink. I’m having wine. Would you like some?”
“I lean more toward the soft stuff.” In the five years since he’d walked out of prison, he’d made a point to avoid everything that had the potential to affect his control. He’d been successful, except when it came to her. “Tonic with lime will do.”
“Coming right up.”
Minutes later, they scaled another flight of stairs and stepped out onto the flat rooftop, rimmed with a wrought iron railing. While the sun dipped below the city’s skyline, Rafe took in the thickly cushioned patio chairs and small tables placed on a bright all-weather area rug. Bordering the rug were pots brimming with flowers that burst in wild color and filled the air with their scent. A round, glass-topped dining table sat loaded with plates, silverware and glasses.
He slid a hand into the pocket of his khakis. “Impressive.”
“It is,” Allie agreed. “Claire fashioned it after a restaurant in Paris that she and Jackson visited. When it comes to decorating and setting a scene, she has a gift.”
“That she does.”
Allie smiled up at him. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Jackson and Sam.”
Over the next few hours, Allie didn’t relax. How could she when everything female inside her sensed that something about Rafe had changed? She couldn’t put her finger on what the change was. It just seemed that whenever his dark gaze settled on her, it felt something akin to a caress. And although he didn’t once touch her, she had the unnerving feeling he was crowding her space.
By the time dessert was served, the waxing moon cast a silvery sheen over the rooftop. A soft breeze carried the scent of the potted flowers. And her nerves were wound so tight she felt like a coiled spring.
She slid her gaze sideways. Rafe sat in the chair beside hers, looking totally at ease in the combined glow of moonlight and flames from the candles that sat in the table’s center. He even seemed to be enjoying the verbal sparring match Liz had started in an attempt to ferret out details about what Hank Bishop had told him concerning his relationship with Mercedes MacKenzie.
“Come on, Diaz, you’re not a lawyer,” Liz pointed out while wagging her dessert fork in Rafe’s direction. “There’s no concept of privilege between a PI and a client. Meaning, if you have information pertinent to the role your client played in Mercedes McKenzie’s murder, you’re free to tell me.”
“True,” Rafe agreed as he polished off his apple pie. “However, the retainer my client pays makes it clear where my loyalties lie. By the way, Bishop didn’t
kill his mistress.”
Just then, his cell phone rang. After checking its display, he excused himself from the table and moved to an area of the roof where he wouldn’t be overheard.
“He’s apparently one PI you aren’t going to be able to pry information out of,” Sam Broussard said from his chair next to Liz’s. The faint, cultured hint of Louisiana in his voice drifted on the warm night air.
“Yeah.” Liz sent her fiancé a sly grin. “But it’s always fun to try.”
Sam reached for her hand, his eyes staying on hers while he pressed a kiss against her palm. “Always,” he agreed.
From where she sat across the table, Allie watched her friend’s grin transform into a dreamy smile. Which looked identical to Claire’s expression as she sat beside Jackson, their fingers linked.
A flash of emotion shot through Allie, and it took her a moment to realize what she felt was an odd little twist of envy. For the first time ever, she found herself wanting the type of relationship her two friends had with the men in their lives. But finding that kind of forever love involved risk. From what she had seen growing up, she knew all too well that the odds heavily favored unhappy endings.
“Here’s something about my case I will share,” Rafe said when he returned to the table. He stood behind his chair, resting his hands on the top of its back.
Allie found herself watching his hands in the candlelight. Noting how solid, strong and long-fingered they seemed. Imagining those olive-skinned hands creating havoc on every inch of her naked body was enough to make the muscles in her belly quiver. With her throat as dry as the Sahara, she reached for her wineglass, took a steadying sip.
“I just spoke to the pilot my client fired. He admitted that before he left for the Orient, he told Ellen Bishop about her husband’s affair with Mercedes McKenzie. The pilot even picked up McKenzie once and drove her to the airport, so he gave Ellen Bishop the address of McKenzie’s condo.”
Liz pursed her mouth. “Ellen Bishop being the woman who got snockered last night and tried to put out Allie’s lights with a line drive using a Mercedes McKenzie evening bag.”
