“So you’ve let her go?”
Tamara Grimaldi shrugged. “You win some, you lose some,” she said philosophically.
I nodded. You sure do.
Naturally, Timothy Briggs wasn’t thrilled about what had happened. Three weeks ago, I had single-handedly put Walker Lamont in jail, and now I had killed one of Tim’s clients. Or if I couldn’t claim that honor myself, it was my fault that he was dead. At least it seemed so to Tim. Although it wasn’t actually the arrest and the death that bothered him as much as the fact that the Fortunatos’ house had to be taken off the market pending probate, and Tim would miss out on the commission.
“Couldn’t you just have left well enough alone, Savannah?” he grumbled. “I mean, did you have to get mixed up in another crime spree? This isn’t going to reflect well on Lamont, Briggs and Associates, you know!”
“I suppose you wanted me to just ignore the fact that he’d murdered two women? Or was this a situation where I should have taken one for the team and, as Perry put it, laid back and enjoyed it?”
Tim didn’t answer. Not surprisingly, as there wasn’t really a good answer to my question. I added, “You know, I wasn’t actually the one who killed him. Rafe did.”
Tim’s eyes lit up at the mention of Rafe, and suddenly he seemed to take Perry’s death in stride, just the way I had hoped he would. It was probably mean of me to capitalize on Tim’s fascination with Rafe, but it sure came in handy sometimes. “And how is the scrumptious Mr. Collier today?” he wondered archly.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” I said, “although I won’t actually see him until tonight.”
“Ooooh!” Tim tittered. “Fidelio’s again? Or somewhere less… restrained?”
I made a face. “Fidelio’s, unfortunately. I’ll have to let him know that I really don’t like it there, and maybe he won’t suggest it again.”
“But that’s where you’ll be tonight? You won’t mind if I just stop by to say hello, will you, darling? I promise I won’t be a pest.”
“Knock yourself out,” I said. “It’s a free country.”
And then I added, prudently, “But don’t expect us to ask you to join us. No offense.”
“None taken.” Tim rubbed his well-manicured hands together gleefully. “Oh, goody-goody! I can’t wait. When will you be there?”
“I’ll be there at 8:30. He may be there earlier, or later, or not at all, if Detective Grimaldi finds him and arrests him before tonight.”
I got up from the chair I’d been sitting in, across the desk from Tim, and headed for the door. “I guess I’ll see you there.”
“Count on it,” Tim said, with a display of blindingly white teeth.
Chapter 20
I started agonizing over what to wear a little after 4 o’clock, with two hours to go before I had to leave. Whatever I wore had to be subdued enough for a business meeting, which was what the gala planning meeting was. On the other hand, I wanted to look good for my date with Rafe. (And yes, it was a date. I’d spent enough time trying to rationalize and explain away the obvious.) He’d asked me out, so he deserved a modicum of effort on my part – I did my best to look pretty when Todd asked me out, after all – and after what he did for me last night, Rafe deserved a whole lot more than that. If he hadn’t killed Perry, I would be lying on a steel table in the medical examiner’s office right now.
All right, so let me modify the statement I made earlier. I didn’t want to look merely good; I wanted to look amazing. Stunning. Gorgeous. Or at least good enough to wipe out the image he must be carrying in his head of my far from perfect body clad in nothing but a bra and matching pink panties.
His last statement to me on the phone earlier was also playing havoc with my head. I hadn’t had time to worry about it at the time, while I was trying to make sure that Tamara Grimaldi didn’t realize who was calling, but now I allowed my insecurities full reign. What exactly had he meant by ‘something comfortable’…?
In fiction, the phrase usually has a very specific meaning. The sultry heroine disappears into the bedroom to ‘slip into something more comfortable,’ leaving the hero to cool his heels on the living room sofa, and when she comes back, she’s wearing a negligee. But surely Rafe didn’t expect me to show up at Fidelio’s dressed in my bathrobe…?
Well, if he did, he could just forget it. There are limits. However, I owed him something more than just my usual business attire. He’d always made a big deal out of the slinky cocktail-dresses I wore to have dinner with Todd – mainly because I didn’t wear them when I went anywhere with him – so maybe I should wear one of those. They didn’t fit the description of comfortable, though. And what if by ‘comfortable’, he’d really meant ‘easy to get off’…?
That thought threw my emotions onto a whole new plane, one where I was walking a tightrope between abject terror and breathless, if unwilling, anticipation. Either seemed treacherous; it was a long fall regardless, and no soft landing to be expected on either side.
But he probably hadn’t meant ‘easy to get off’. And if he had, he wasn’t going to get it. Again, there are limits. Although I supposed it couldn’t hurt to compromise just a little, in case it was what he had meant...
I owned this little, black wrap-around dress, which I didn’t wear very often because… well, frankly, because it was so easy to get off. All someone had to do was untie the bow, and he could spread the dress out like a picnic. Which made me worry that I’d accidentally snag my string on something, like a door knob, and before I knew it, I’d be standing there showing the world my underwear. Not an experience I sought. But tonight might be the perfect occasion for just such a dress.
Not that I wanted Rafe to take it off me, of course; I didn’t mean that. But if that was what he’d planned, I couldn’t very well refuse. Not after telling him just yesterday that if he got me out of Perry’s clutches unharmed, I’d let him take advantage of me, no holds barred. He’d kept his end of the bargain, and I couldn’t really back out now.
So I put on the black wrap-around dress, and black stockings, and black shoes – yes, the ones with the ankle straps – and black underwear (just in case), and then I fussed with my hair until it fell over my shoulders in – if I do say so myself – fetching disarray. I spent a good twenty minutes slathering on eye make-up, to make my eyes appear bigger and brighter and more luminous, and then I painted my lips the perfect heathery mauvy color, to look soft and inviting and kissable. Not because I wanted him to kiss me, of course, but… oh, what the hell; yes I did. I’d totally missed the first kiss he gave me, because I’d passed out from sheer terror, but I wouldn’t miss this one. If he gave me one. Which he’d damned well better, because if he didn’t, I’d have something to say about it.
When I walked into the small salon at Cheekwood at a few minutes before 6:30, people turned and stared, and a few of the men even whistled. Which was exactly the effect I was going for, so I blushed and smiled and felt pretty good about myself.
The meeting got underway shortly, minus Lila – of course – and Connie, and even Heather Price. Detective Grimaldi had assured me she wasn’t in jail, so I guess maybe the embarrassment of the situation had made her decide to make herself scarce. Laura Burgess, the event coordinator, held another one-minute silence for Connie, like she had done for Lila last week, but beyond that, she didn’t discuss the matter. Nobody seemed to realize that I’d been in the middle of it all, and I saw no reason to enlighten them.
An hour and half later it was over, and I got in the car and headed for Fidelio’s, making sure to check my make-up in the rearview mirror before I got out of the car, and to fluff my hair and ensure that my dress draped properly as I minced across the parking lot to the front door.
The maitre d’ recognized me, of course, and sent me what I can only describe as a disappointed look along with his usual polite bow. “Good evening, signorina.”
“Good evening,” I answered, inclining my head and wondering what I’d done now.
; “Signorina’s young man is waiting.” He was far too dignified to comment directly on my choice of dinner partner, but he managed to convey his opinion quite well nonetheless, with the flaring of his nostrils and the inflection in his voice. “Would signorina like me to escort her to the table?”
“No, thank you,” I said, “Signorina can make it on her own.”
“Very well.” He looked at me down the length of his Roman nose. “The… gentleman is waiting at table 4.” The slight pause before the word ‘gentleman’ indicated the opposite. “Table 4 is located behind the pygmy date palm.” He indicated a small, green tree with fluffy leaves, beyond which I could see Rafe’s unmistakable shoulders.
“Oh,” I said, relieved. “Thank you.”
He inclined his dignified head, but didn’t tell me to enjoy my meal. I guess maybe he thought there was no way I would.
The men at Fidelio’s were just as gratifyingly attentive as those at Cheekwood had been. I got more than a few looks as I walked through the restaurant to the table behind the pygmy date palm, and I admit I soaked it all up. There’s nothing quite like admiration from the opposite sex to make a woman feel her best. And I needed all the encouragement I could get. My knees were shaking as I made my way across the room.
Last time we’d been here together, I’d arrived to find Rafe flirting with all three of the women at a neighboring table. Not so today; he was alone, and his attention was on me. Fully. The whole way across the floor. By the time I arrived at the table, I had a hard time looking up to meet his eyes.
“Evening, darlin’.” He gave me a cool peck on the cheek, and held the chair for me before he walked back around the table and sat down himself. And grinned. “That dress ain’t much like what you wore last time we were here. I’m surprised Satterfield let you out the door in it.”
Last time, I had followed Todd’s directive not to wear anything suggestive and/or revealing in front of Rafe. I had dressed in my most prim and proper business-blouse and calf-length, black skirt, with my hair slicked back in a tight chignon and practically no make-up. The very opposite of today, in fact.
“You told me to wear something comfortable,” I said defensively.
He was much too quick on the uptake, and the way he could read my mind was downright disconcerting. “And you figured I wanted you to wear something it’d be easy for me to take off of you later?”
“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted, blushing.
He laughed. “I appreciate the effort, darlin’, but the only reason I told you that, was to yank your chain. I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Not that I’m complaining.”
“No, I can see that. I suppose it would probably boost your ego to know that that remark made me worry all day long?”
He grinned. “At least you were thinking of me, right?”
I shrugged. I supposed I couldn’t very well deny that I had been. “So I’m not actually going to have to fight you off tonight?”
“Course not.” He turned away from me just as the waiter approached. “I’ll have a beer. In the bottle, no glass. And the lady’ll have white wine.”
As the waiter moved off, nose in the air, Rafe turned back to me and continued smoothly, “I mean, we had a deal, right? I said I’d get you out of Perry’s house in one piece and without letting him touch you. As I recall, what you said you’d do in return didn’t include fighting me off.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Although I could feel my face turn pale. Rafe looked at me for a moment, savoring my expression, before he started laughing. “Maybe you oughta put your head between your knees if you’re gonna pass out, darlin’. Good Lord, it’s just sex, not marriage. What are you afraid I’m gonna do to you?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I just know that the idea scares me out of my mind.”
“No kidding. Well, you can relax. I don’t plan on taking advantage of the fact that you’d have promised me anything yesterday. You probably didn’t expect to live long enough to have to deliver.”
“So I’m not going to have to sleep with you?”
He smiled. “Sure you are. Just not tonight. No time for sex tonight.”
“What are we doing?” I lifted the glass of Sauvignon Blanc the waiter put in front of me and took a healthy swallow. After a moment, I could feel some color creep back into my cheeks. “I’ll have the Chicken Marsala, please.”
“Same.” Rafe waited until the waiter had moved off, and then he added, “We ain’t doing anything. I, on the other hand…”
I put my glass down. “Uh-oh. What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to let you know I’m gonna be going away for a while.”
My eyes widened. “You’re not going to jail, are you? Are Spicer and Truman waiting outside to drag you off as soon as we’ve finished eating, or something?” I looked around wildly.
“You’ve seen too many bad movies,” Rafe answered. “It’s only in old westerns that the outlaw gets to say a proper goodbye before they haul him off to be hanged. No, I’m between a rock and hard place here, with Tammy wanting to talk to me about Perry, and Julio’s boss wanting to talk to me about why Julio’s in jail, and by tomorrow, one or the other’ll be ready to move on me. So I’m getting out while the gettin’s good.”
“If you knew that when you called me this morning, why didn’t you just leave then?”
“Wanted to say a proper goodbye,” Rafe answered, with a grin. I flushed, and tried to hide it by lowering my eyes to the table. It didn’t work, and he chuckled. “Bedding you properly would take too long, but I’m sure I can find time for a proper kiss.”
Goodness, I thought, distracted, how long did he expect a proper bedding to take? Gary Lee and Charlene had certainly managed their encounters in record time, and when Bradley and I had had sex, it had been over practically before it started. At least for me. But Rafe made it sound like he’d need twelve solid hours of uninterrupted time to do the job right, and the idea of it made my head spin and my toes curl.
“Savannah,” Rafe said, and I resurfaced, blinking to dispel the slideshow currently running on a loop in my head. He so rarely used my name, seeming to prefer that Southern catch-all phrase, darlin’, that it sounded foreign to me. It also sounded serious.
“Yes?” I said apprehensively.
“I want you to do something for me.”
“OK.”
“While I’m gone, will you check in on my grandma once in a while? Just to make sure she’s all right? Marquita’s over there, but she’s getting paid to care, and it ain’t the same.”
“Sure,” I said. “I’d be happy to. I like your grandmother. When do you expect to be back?”
He avoided my eyes. “No idea. Depends on how long it takes for this to blow over.”
“Can you give me some idea? A couple of days? A month? A year? Ever?!”
He shrugged. “I’d like to avoid that, but yeah, that’s a possibility. If the wrong people find out where I’m at.”
“Julio’s boss?”
“Among others. Over the past couple years I’ve pissed off some pretty bad people, and some of’em may try to settle the score.”
“Todd told me what you’ve been doing since you got out of prison,” I said tentatively. It was his turn to arch a brow.
“How does Satterfield know? That ain’t something that shoulda shown up on that background check he did last month. If it did, I’m in even deeper shit than I thought.”
“Actually, he’s gone a little beyond that.” I made an apologetic face as I dug in my purse. “Last week he told me he was having you followed. The private investigator took this. Along with a lot of other photographs.” I handed him the picture of the two of us at the Shortstop Sports Bar, the one I had taken from Todd. Rafe looked at it in silence for a moment.
“Nice shot of you,” he said eventually.
“Thank you. Todd thought so, too.”
“Gave you a hard time, did he?” One corner of his mou
th turned up.
“He thought I looked like I was enjoying myself a little too much, yes. He accused me of flirting with you.”
Rafe grinned. “I should be so lucky. Course, if someone had shown me a picture of you looking like this, across the table from some other guy, I mighta felt a little jealous, too.”
I snorted. “I’m sure.”
He smiled. “So Satterfield’s figured out how I’ve spent the past ten years. What do you think?”
“I wish you’d stop. It’s dangerous.”
“So’s life, darlin’. Besides, somebody’s gotta do it.”
“I don’t see why,” I said, “but never mind. You sound like Beau Riggins.”
“Yeah? Who’s Beau Riggins? Somebody else I gotta worry about you marrying while I’m gone?”
I giggled. “Hardly. Although if you wanted to resign from your life of crime, you could make a killing in Beau’s profession. No pun intended.”
He leaned back on his chair and folded his arms across his chest. I could see the outline of the snake tattoo curled around his left bicep through the thin sleeve of the white shirt. “What’s his profession? Assassin?”
“House boy,” I said.
“Come again?”
“He cleans houses.” I went on to explain exactly what Beau did and how he did it, and had the pleasure of hearing an unguarded, totally spontaneous laugh from Rafe. Not an everyday occurrence, and one that made me feel good on those rare occasions when I witnessed it.
“In his underwear?” he repeated, his voice uneven.
I nodded, blushing. “He pulled down his zipper and showed them to me.”
Todd would have been shocked and appalled, first at Beau for exposing himself – or his underwear – to me, and then at me for looking at it. Rafe clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “Shame on you.”
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