The Redemption of Rafe Diaz

by Maggie Price

  “Do you have a female admin assistant?” Rafe asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Would she have had any reason to call a potential investor about information on property in Automobile Alley?”

  “She doesn’t get into specific stuff like that with clients. Why, what have you found out?”

  Rafe held back from mentioning he suspected Guy Jones might have been wheeling and dealing behind his partner’s back. Bishop was out on bond for murder—if he confronted his brother-in-law and things got heated enough that the cops were called, Bishop’s bail would be revoked and he’d spend the time between now and his trial behind bars.

  “I need to check a few more facts before I lay things out for you,” Rafe answered.

  Bishop eased out a frustrated breath. “Diaz, I hope to hell whatever those facts are gets me off the hook for Mercedes’s murder.”

  “I’ll do my best to make that happen,” Rafe said. He ended the call and tugged the phone book out of his desk drawer.

  Because Guy Jones had called in sick to work that morning, Rafe flipped to the page that showed the man’s home address.

  By the time Rafe located Guy Jones’s sprawling three-story house, long fingers of late-afternoon shadows had spread across the manicured lawn. He spotted Jones’s daughter heading across the front porch toward the driveway where a sporty little powder-blue MG sat. Dressed in a sleeveless yellow top and white capris, Katie Jones looked pencil-thin. To Rafe’s investigator’s eye, the young woman had dropped a few pounds since the silent auction.

  He caught up with her in the driveway just as she reached the driver’s side of the MG.

  “Miss Jones? I’m Rafe Diaz. We met at the silent auction.”

  “You’re the PI my Uncle Hank hired, right?” she asked, peering at him through enormous black sunglasses. Her dark hair was pulled back in such a tight bun that the bones in her face looked as if they’d been sharpened on a whetstone.

  “Yes. Something’s come up that I need to speak to your father about. I understand he called in sick today.”

  “He had some sort of stomach thing this morning, but he’s okay now. He left to run a couple of errands.” She pointed at the house with her chin. “My mom’s home if you want to leave a message for him. Or you can call his cell.”

  “I need to see him in person. Do you know where he went?”

  “The only place I’m sure of is that he’s going by Silk & Secrets to drop off a check to pay for my trousseau.” Her mouth curved. “I go in tomorrow for my final fitting and I want to bring home all the accessories. They have to be paid for so I can do that.”

  While she talked, Katie dug into the oversized purse slung over one shoulder and pulled out car keys and an iPod. “Actually, I think my wedding’s the reason my dad all of a sudden has stomach problems.”

  “How so?”

  “Money. I’m not good about sticking to a budget.” She shrugged. “He turned as white as a sheet a while ago when I told him I’d added a purse to the accessories I’m getting from Allie.”

  “A purse,” Rafe repeated, his mind clicking to the fact that Mercedes McKenzie’s killer had dumped the contents of her purse on the floor of her bedroom. “If it’s shaped like a clamshell, I saw it the other day when I was at Allie’s warehouse.”

  Katie’s face brightened. “That’s the one. I know it was designed by Uncle Hank’s mistress and that my Aunt Ellen will freak if she sees me with it, but it matches my going-away outfit. I just had to have it.”

  Rafe narrowed his eyes, remembering. The silent auction. Guy Jones looking surprised when told the jeweled purse his sister-in-law had lobbed at Allie had been designed by Mercedes McKenzie. Purses that Allie sold in her shop.

  Hours later, Silk & Secrets was burglarized. All clothing had been thrown on the floor. Every purse had been pulled out of the display case, opened and tossed aside. Opened, as if the burglar had been searching for something in one of the purses.

  Presumably, whatever that something was hadn’t been found because Joseph Slater later lured Allie to her warehouse, where the purses were made.

  Rafe stabbed his fingers into the back pockets of his jeans. Jones’s involvement in a real estate scheme he’d concealed from his partner, combined with his surprised look when he discovered Allie sold a line of McKenzie purses in her shop had the hairs on the back of Rafe’s neck standing on end.

  And that wasn’t all. Jones had lied about hanging around to help his wife calm down their drunken sister-in-law whom they’d driven home from the auction. It was possible he had used that time to arrange for Joseph Slater to burglarize Silk & Secrets. Dread splashed through Rafe’s heart like acid.

  “How long has your dad been gone?”

  Katie lifted an impossibly thin shoulder. “Twenty, thirty minutes. I told him he’d better hurry if he was going to get to Allie’s shop before it closed.”

  Rafe wheeled around, dashed for his car.

  Chapter 13

  She needed girl-talk, Allie decided while snipping a stray thread off the ivory satin basque Katie Jones was scheduled to try on in the morning. The clock on the long-legged design table tucked into a corner of Silk & Secret’s plush fitting room showed it was one minute to closing time. Claire would be at her antique shop next door and Liz was due off her shift in an hour.

  Allie had stocked the shop’s small kitchen area with several bottles of good wine. Dinner could be ordered in. And it was a sure bet Claire had a quart of the chocolate cherry ice cream she kept on hand in case of girlfriend emergencies.

  Allie figured the ache in her heart qualified as one.

  She closed her eyes on a wave of pain. Dammit, hours had passed since the melt-your-skin-off-your-bones encounter with Rafe, but she could still feel the imprint of his mouth, his hands on her. She could still taste him.

  “Not for long,” she muttered. She might not be able to do anything about the bruising her heart had taken, but she’d do her best to erase his taste. A combination of wine and ice cream ought to do the trick. At least she hoped it would.

  She replaced the scissors on her design table. After diverting around the pinning platform that faced a soaring trifold antique mirror, she draped the basque on the powder-pink love seat beside the other pieces of Katie’s wedding lingerie.

  Allie was on her way to lock the shop’s front door when she glimpsed a tall, brawny man rushing across Reunion Square. When he came abreast of the front window, she realized it was Guy Jones.

  Although she was in no mood to deal with a last-minute customer, Allie forced her mouth to curve. Guy and his wife had spent a hefty sum on their daughter’s wedding trousseau and they deserved the best service Allie could offer.

  “Hello, Guy, how are you?”

  “Fine.” He was wearing pleated khaki slacks with what appeared to be permanent ironed-in wrinkles, a striped short-sleeved dress shirt, black loafers with dusty toes and a watch large enough to be a cell phone. “I stopped by to give you a check for Katie’s stuff.”

  “I appreciate that.” Allie stepped behind the glass counter to one side of the door. “Although Katie could have brought it when she comes in tomorrow to try on her trousseau.”

  Guy dug out his wallet, pulled out a check and handed it across the counter. “I brought it by because I want to take a look at the stuff.”

  Allie glanced up from the receipt drawer. “You want to see Katie’s complete trousseau?”

  “Yeah.” He wiped a palm over his dark, thinning hair. “My wife’s seen everything, but I don’t have a clue what all Katie’s picked out. I like to know what I’m getting for my money.”

  “Of course.” Allie closed the drawer. It was the first time she’d had a father of the bride make that sort of request—and truth be told, it seemed a little odd—but Guy was footing the bill, so she would accommodate him.

  Wine and ice cream, she thought, would have to wait.

  “Because Katie will be here in the morning, I’ve got everythin
g laid out for her to try on. Just follow me.”

  When they stepped into the fitting room, Allie gestured toward the love seat. “Katie’s bridal lingerie is there. Her gowns and robes are hanging here.” Allie indicated the antique coat tree that held numerous padded hangers dripping with a rainbow of silky garments. “Other items—”

  “She mentioned a purse.” Guy’s gaze swept the room. “Said she had to have it because it matches some outfit.”

  Allie arched a brow at the sudden briskness in his tone. “The clamshell.” Diverting around the pinning platform, she stepped to the design table and lifted the lid off a hot pink box with Silk & Secrets scrawled in italics across its top.

  “This will look gorgeous with Katie’s going-away outfit,” Allie said while retrieving the beaded bag from its tissue-paper nest.

  “The McKenzie woman designed it, right?”

  “Yes.” She saw Guy’s eyes sharpen when she handed him the purse. She wondered if his reaction was due to the fact his brother-in-law had been involved with Mercedes and had been arrested for her murder.

  Guy opened the purse, jabbed his beefy fingers inside and groped at the lining.

  Allie had to hold back from cautioning him to be careful.

  While she watched, a mix of emotions washed over his face that Allie was at a loss to read.

  He snapped the purse shut. “I’m taking this with me.”

  She furrowed her forehead. “Katie is bringing her going-away outfit in tomorrow to try on with its lingerie and accessories. The clamshell goes with that outfit. It would be more convenient if you left it here.”

  His eyes went hard and flat. “Did you forget about the check I just gave you?” Guy’s voice had lost all casualness and Allie noted that a fine sheen of sweat now covered his upper lip. “I can haul all of Katie’s stuff out of here now if I want.”

  “You can.” Allie’s stomach quivered at the sudden change in his demeanor. “I merely wanted to point out that it would be inconvenient—”

  The aggressive step he took toward her sent her two swift steps backward. Her hip rammed into one corner of the design table, making her wince while alarm bells shrilled in her head. Something was terribly wrong.

  “Things have been inconvenient for me, too,” he snapped, his eyes gleaming with sudden fury. His chest heaved as if his breathing had suddenly become labored and his voice had turned hoarse. It was as if the man had begun unraveling in front of her. “Just give me the box the damn purse goes in.”

  “Of course.” The nerves jumping in her stomach echoed in Allie’s voice. He stood so close she could smell the sourness of his sweat through the faint wisps of lavender that scented the shop’s air. She had no idea what was going on and she didn’t care—she intended to put as much distance between herself and Guy Jones as possible. But her hip was wedged against the table, making it impossible to inch away in any direction.

  She forced her mouth to curve, her posture to remain relaxed. “I apologize, Guy. Usually it’s the bride and her mother whose nerves fray over wedding details.” As she spoke, Allie angled sideways. With her body blocking his view, she groped her hand up the side of the table until her trembling fingers connected with the cold steel of her scissors. “It’s easy to forget that fathers of the bride are also susceptible to getting the jitters.”

  “Yeah, jitters,” Guy agreed. “I’ve got them, all right.”

  “Looks that way.”

  With the scissors gripped in her hand, Allie whipped her head toward the arched entrance in time to see Rafe step into the dressing room. Earlier, he’d been the last man she wanted to see. Now faced with Guy Jones’s erratic behavior, she was grateful for Rafe’s presence.

  She heard Guy’s breath hiss out. “What are you doing here, Diaz?”

  “Looking for you,” Rafe said levelly. Fingers jammed into the back pockets of his jeans, he strolled to the center of the room. “I dropped by your house. Your daughter told me I could probably catch up with you here.”

  Guy stood close enough to Allie that she felt him stiffen. “Why are you looking for me?”

  The words came out on a low growl, ramping up the volume on the warning bells already going off inside Allie’s head. She could almost smell Guy’s tension, his fear, and suspicion chilled her body. Had Rafe found something that connected the man to Mercedes’s murder?

  Rafe set his jaw. Jones’s stiff demeanor, the wariness in his eyes convinced Rafe that the man had killed McKenzie. But knowing it and proving it were different matters. He needed Jones to confess. But his first priority was getting the man away from Allie. So Rafe kept his voice calm, steady, as he responded to Guy’s question. “I need to talk to you about your brother-in-law’s case.”

  “What about it?”

  Rafe flicked his gaze toward Allie. Her face was flushed, her mouth set. “I’d prefer not to discuss this in front of Miss Fielding.” Rafe tipped his head toward her. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” The nerves rolling in Allie’s stomach made her voice sound like rusted metal. Her fingers felt numb against the cold steel of the scissors.

  Rafe made his slow way around the pinning platform. “Jones, how about you and I walk over to the bar on the other side of the square? We can have a drink while we chat. On me.”

  “I’d rather talk here.” Guy jerked his head toward Allie. “With her staying right where she is.”

  Sick panic clawed inside Allie. Rafe clearly wanted to get Guy out of the shop. That he insisted on staying—with her beside him—made her feel like a hostage. The adrenaline rushing through her blood pushed at her to bolt. To run. Yet, all of her instincts told her to take her cues from the PI watching her with those dark, steady eyes.

  “Your call.” Rafe took an idle step closer. “The bottom line is, every lead I check on this case points back to Hank. It’s looking like he killed Mercedes McKenzie.”

  Allie’s breathing shallowed. She knew that wasn’t true—he’d told her he was convinced Hank Bishop was innocent. She felt awareness creep under her skin. She was certain now that Rafe had found evidence linking Guy to the murder. That would explain the man’s erratic behavior. And the reason Rafe was trying so hard to get him out of the shop. Away from her.

  “Have you told Hank?” Guy asked. A muscle ticked in his jaw while a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. His chest heaved in and out and Allie could hear the quickening in his breathing.

  “Not yet.” Rafe paused beside the antique coat tree, ran a fingertip down the sleeve of a peach-colored robe. “It’d be best to have a family member with me when I do. For support. Because Hank’s son is ticked off at him and Ellen has filed for divorce, you’re it.”

  Allie scrolled her gaze downward. Guy had such a tight hold on the clamshell purse that his knuckles showed white beneath his skin. In hindsight, she realized his sole reason for coming to the shop today was to retrieve the purse. Somehow, someway, it must be connected to the murder.

  At that point she didn’t care how. The situation was so volatile that the very air crackled with electricity. Guy’s stress level seemed to inch up with each passing minute. If he had killed Mercedes, there was no telling what he might do if he felt cornered. Rafe wanted to get Guy out of the shop. So did she. She could try to help make that happen.

  “He’s right, Guy,” she said, forcing her voice to remain level while her fingers trembled against the scissors. “No matter what Hank has done, he needs his family’s support. Go with Rafe.”

  As if he’d suddenly realized how close Rafe now stood, Guy shifted a step sideways and bumped into Allie. “I’ve got other stuff to do right now. You go on, Diaz. I’ll drop by Hank’s later.”

  Rafe’s eyes narrowed, glinted. “Sorry, that plan doesn’t work for me.”

  “Bastard!” Guy shouted, fury resonating in the curse. He swivelled, his lips curled back. Before Allie could think, before she could react, he’d whipped an arm around her throat. Her lungs heaved as he jerked her back ag
ainst his chest.

  “You listen to me, Diaz. I’m not going to the chair for Mercedes’s murder! She was blackmailing me. She was vicious. Greedy. She asked for it.”

  “I know.” Rafe kept his gaze locked with Jones’s. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let himself think about the damage the bastard’s beefy arm could do to Allie’s throat.

  “You know?” Against her spine, Allie felt the words shudder inside Jones. “You know what Mercedes did?”

  “Most of it,” Rafe answered. “You were working a deal under the radar to buy property in Automobile Alley. You didn’t want Hank to know about it. But Mercedes found out and threatened to tell him.” The theories Rafe had already formulated in his head clicked neatly into place. “What did she do? Call and invite you to her condo?”

  “That’s right.” Jones’s voice was a hard rasp in Allie’s right ear. “Hank had kept their affair secret so I had no idea she was involved with him. She said one of the investors I was working with referred her and she wanted to get in on the deal. She sounded legit. I went to her place. Laid out everything. She said she’d be in touch.”

  Rafe eased an inch closer. “And when she got back to you, she told you she’d recorded your conversation, using all that high-tech equipment hidden in the condo. She threatened to tell Hank if you didn’t pay, right?”

  “Two million!” Guy shouted. “I’d barely been able to scrape up that amount for the deposit on the property.”

  “Which you would lose if the deal fell through.” Rafe looked at the thick arm clenched around Allie’s throat. At the scissors she held gripped against her thigh. One false move on anyone’s part and she might die. The knots in his stomach tightened. “The deal would fall through, wouldn’t it, if Hank found out?”

  “He was fed up with me! Kept telling me I needed to hold up my end, bring in some profits. Think outside some damn box. I knew he was getting ready to dissolve the partnership. For years he’d brought in all the major clients. The profits. If he walked, he’d keep everything that had his fingerprints on it and I’d wind up with nothing.”