Undercover Father

by Mary Anne Wilson

  “It’s Rafe Diaz! Open up!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MEGAN STARED AT the door, not believing her ears, and didn’t move until he called again. “Megan, open up!”

  Rafe? She went closer, reaching for the doorknob, but hesitated, afraid of what she’d find. “Rafe?” she managed to call through the door.

  “It’s me. Open up!”

  She twisted the knob and jerked the door back, and discovered it was him. The instant she saw him, she ran into his arms and held on to him for dear life. “Thank goodness it’s you,” she gasped against the heat and strength of his chest.

  “It’s me,” he said in a whispered voice that rumbled in her ears. Then his arms tightened around her and closed out the fear. “I’m here. It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”

  She held him for another heartbeat, letting a sense of safety filter into her being. It was okay. She was safe, safer than she’d ever felt in her life. Then she realized who was holding her, who she’d made her anchor, and she eased back from him. Wrong. Really wrong, she thought, but couldn’t make herself totally let go of him. “Someone...someone’s in there. They h-hit me, and I...”

  Before she could finish, he was pushing her down the hallway, getting between her and the open loft door. Then he had his gun out, ready, and he said, “Get on your phone and call 911.”

  Her phone? “It’s in my briefcase, inside.”

  “Just go and find a phone. Knock on doors, anything, but get the cops up here,” he said, then literally pushed her toward the elevator.

  She stopped when she reached it, but couldn’t make herself get in. Instead, she turned just in time to see Rafe slip into the loft and out of sight. There was silence, nothing, and she found herself slowly going back to the open door. She cautiously peered inside, but saw only darkness. No sounds. No movement. It was as if Rafe had vanished.

  She looked down the hallway to Trig’s loft. She could get him. He was bigger than anyone she’d ever seen. And she started to turn, but stopped dead when she heard something from inside her loft. A thud, another thud, then a scuffling sound. Raw fear shot through her, and she screamed, “Rafe!” and ran toward the sounds, but didn’t get very far.

  She literally ran right into Rafe as he came toward her out of the side room. He had her again in his arms, but this time he’d been the one to reach out to catch her, to hold her against him and keep her from falling. The hug was fierce, intense, then he whispered hoarsely, “I told you to go, to get help.”

  “I heard...I thought...” She bit her lip. There was no way she could tell him how afraid she’d been or why she’d come in when she heard the noises. No way at all.

  “No, you didn’t think,” he practically growled, and eased her away from him, though he kept a tight hold on her upper arms. “You didn’t leave.”

  She stood there, enduring the connection, then did something she seldom did. She apologized. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  She felt the tension in him, the unsteadiness, and saw fear in his eyes. Then, without warning, he leaned closer, kissed her quickly and fiercely, and the fear was gone. Megan was left wondering if she’d imagined it or if it had been real. She was free and standing on her own in the loft, with a good two feet of space between herself and Rafe.

  Nothing made sense to her, and she couldn’t even get out the words to ask him what had just happened and why. She saw him close his eyes, take a deep breath and release it, then he was looking at her again. “You’re so infuriating,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  She tried to come up with some way to make sense of all that had happened since Rafe Diaz walked up to her the night at the ball, and couldn’t. Her mind refused to focus on what he was or wasn’t, except that he was married. “Sorry,” she heard herself saying, a stupid response when all she wanted to do was demand to know why he’d just kissed her.

  “So you’ve said.” He ran a hand roughly over his face, and his wedding band gleamed.

  She swallowed hard, then looked down and saw that his gun was holstered at his hip.

  “You—you didn’t have to...hurt anyone, did you?”

  “I tried, but he was too fast for me.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “There was someone...?”

  “Something,” he said, and motioned to the partial wall of the room he’d just left moments ago. “There’s the culprit.”

  She didn’t understand what he was talking about until her gaze followed the direction he indicated, at the top of the partition. Then she saw her attacker. A huge orange cat was perched calmly on the ledge there, a massive ball of fur with dark eyes watching them inscrutably. “A cat?” Megan’s relief was overwhelming.

  “You’re lucky it was just a cat,” he muttered. “If it had been—”

  She turned on Rafe, her nerves frayed beyond measure. “Okay, I didn’t go to the next-door neighbor, who happens to be a biker the size of the state of Texas, and I came back in here. It’s okay. Nothing happened. It’s a cat. Even I can deal with a cat.”

  He unexpectedly reached out and cupped her chin, making her keep their eye contact. “But it could have been someone the size of Texas in here,” he muttered.

  They should both be laughing at the way she’d overreacted to a cat attacking her. They should maybe be having a drink and rehashing how foolish she’d been, how it would make a good story when they told it to others. They definitely shouldn’t be inches from each other, with him still angry at her, and her so confused by everything that her headache was coming back full force.

  “Well, I’m glad it’s just a cat,” she said, and looked at the animal. The cat calmly licked one paw, then proceeded to clean his face, all the while staring at the two humans below. “How did he get in here?”

  “There’s an open window,” Rafe said.

  She looked at the windows and saw what he meant—open louvers over what she thought was the fire escape window. “He got in through there, but jumped at me from behind when I was over by the computer.”

  “Looks like he comes and goes as he pleases. You probably intruded on his privacy. He was startled, tried to get away, maybe to get to the window, and hit you.”

  It made sense to her, but that was about the only thing that did at that moment. She turned, looking past Rafe to the still-open door, then the broken lamp on the floor. She moved away, going to the lamp and picking up the pieces.

  “He did that, too?” Rafe asked from behind her.

  “No, I did it trying to grab my briefcase and get out of here.” She looked at the cracked lamp base and the dented shade, then put them back on the table. “It’s ruined,” she said.

  “You’re lucky that’s the only casualty,” he said from right behind her.

  She spun around. “Just stop. You’ve tried to scare me about everything to do with this place, and I’ve had enough.”

  “I’m out of here,” he muttered, and started for the door.

  But before he got to the exit, she realized something. “What are you even doing here?”

  He stopped and spoke without turning. “You screamed on the phone, then it went dead. I came over to make sure you were okay.” She didn’t remember screaming, but she probably had. “I thought you were calling from LynTech, then you showed up on my doorstep.” Another thing hit her. “And you got through the security door.”

  He stood still for a moment, then turned back to her. “I was going past and saw your car, and thought I’d call up to make sure you got in safely. Then you screamed and...” He tugged at the tie of his uniform, unfurling it, then undid the top button of his shirt. “The security door—and I use that term loosely—opened when that big biker you were talking about came out. Seeing my uniform, he actually held the door for me.”

&nb
sp; She heard what he said about the door, about Trig actually letting him in, but she was still hung up on one of the first things he’d stated. “You were going past this place?”

  The past few minutes blurred together for Rafe, melding the shock, the fear and the feeling of Megan shaking in his arms. He tried to separate everything, to focus, but all he could remember was her scream, then being here and thinking that she was in real danger. The raw terror that surged through him, the suffocating need to save her, the fear that he would be too late... Then going inside, finding the cat, letting himself breathe again, only to discover Megan back in the loft without going for help...

  It was like reliving a nightmare, that horrible feeling of doing everything he could, and it not being enough. The feeling of helplessly watching a horror, and having no ability to protect anyone. He hadn’t been there with Gabriella, hadn’t been able to tell her to get out, to run. But he knew that she hadn’t run. She’d never had a chance. But Megan had. She’d had the chance but hadn’t taken it.

  He exhaled harshly. “You know, you could thank me, instead of putting me through twenty questions.” He heard the tension in his voice and knew it was time he left. Before he did something he’d regret. “And the next time someone tells you to get help, do it.”

  He turned; the door was right there. But she spoke and it stopped him again. “It was a cat,” Megan repeated.

  Yes, it had been a cat. He turned back to her and watched her lift her chin slightly.

  “We both overreacted,” she added. That was when her tongue touched her lips, a fleeting action, but enough to make his world start to tip again.

  Overreacted? He’d kissed her. He didn’t know why. Out of anger? Frustration? Need? “And you’re lucky that’s all it was,” he countered.

  “You know, it’s your fault,” she said out of the blue.

  Just when he thought he had her figured out, she pulled something like this. “My fault?”

  “Sure. If you hadn’t scared me about being in this area, I never would have reacted the way I did.”

  “Why didn’t I think of that?” he said sardonically, focusing on the fact that she probably never took the blame for anything. “That’s brilliant, Counselor. It’s my fault.” He’d left his hat in the car. Otherwise, he would have saluted her and left. As it was, he did the next best thing. He simply said, “And now I’m really out of here.”

  He turned again and stepped through the door, but she wasn’t letting him off that easily. “I’d really stop and check your job description sometime if I were you,” she called after him.

  Against his better judgment, he turned again. She was still by the sofa, an aloof, sarcastic woman who bore little resemblance to the one who had run into his arms for protection. He found sarcasm to match hers. “Are you always this rude, or did you go to some private school to teach you how to do it properly?”

  “Are you this obnoxious naturally, or were you self-taught?” she countered.

  He stared at her long and hard, thankful that his emotions at that point were clear cut: anger. Then she crossed her arms and the diamond on her finger flashed in the light. “Heaven help your fiancé,” he muttered, then strode across the hallway to the lift.

  He was inside, turning to pull down the chain-link door, when he saw her again. She was standing in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, leaning out toward him. “You...you’re married. Does your wife know what you do on your way home?” The next instant, the door slammed shut and what should have been relief only shook him more.

  His wife. He jerked down the barrier and jabbed at the down button. He braced for the searing pain that always came with those words...his wife. But all that followed was anger. Searing anger. Anger at Megan, and anger at himself for ever calling her in the first place. He could be home with the boys, and Megan Gallagher wouldn’t be part of any equation. But he wasn’t home. Instead he was here, getting out of the elevator and heading for the exit.

  He was raging at himself as he went out into the balmy night and toward his car, feeling as if he’d been hit in the gut by an iron fist. He had no idea why he’d driven by the loft, let alone called up there to check on Megan. He’d been heading home, but found himself going in the wrong direction. Then he’d looked up and noticed he was passing the address he’d seen on the letter from Wayne Lawrence. He’d spotted her car parked between heavy-duty motorcycles and a psychedelic van. Instead of just driving past, the way he should have, he’d pulled to the curb beyond the bikes, then used his cell phone to call Zane, and in two minutes he’d had the phone number for the loft and had called it. Then he’d heard the scream.

  He crossed to his SUV, parked in front of the bikes, got in and started it up with a roar. A cat had attacked her? He drove off with a squeal of tires. If he was a cat he’d probably attack her, too. Right now she had likely forgotten how foolishly she’d acted, and was worried about cat hairs on her clothes.

  His cell phone rang, and he took it out and glanced at the screen before answering. “Zane?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “What’s up?” he asked as he forced himself to slow the car and drive in the right direction toward home. Hopefully by the time he got to the boys, he’d be calmer.

  “You hung up so fast when you called, I forgot to ask why you needed the phone number at the loft.”

  He thought about lying, just saying it was for his own reference, but the last person he’d lie to was Zane. “I found someone in Legal going through Mr. Lawrence’s desk when I made my rounds tonight.”

  “You what?”

  “It was a false alarm,” he said. “She’s the lady I told you about, the one I thought was crashing the ball. The one meeting up with Wayne Lawrence.”

  “What was she doing there? Waiting for him?”

  “No, going through his desk.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, it got my attention, too. But it turned out she’s new, and she wasn’t on the list yet. She’s working in Legal with Mr. Lawrence.”

  “Jack Ford mentioned something about Mr. Lawrence getting someone from our West Coast office to fill a temporary vacancy in the company. Why was she going through the guy’s desk?”

  “She was getting something that she’d left in his office earlier. It turned out it wasn’t anything subversive.”

  “That’s a relief. But what does this have to do with you needing the phone number for the loft?”

  “That’s where Lawrence is putting her up. I haven’t been in the area for a long time, and last time I looked, it was pretty rough.” He glanced out the window, at a neighborhood that was still iffy, but heading in the right direction. “I went past it on my way home, and thought I’d check to make sure she got in safely.”

  “On your way home?”

  “Okay, I made a wrong turn.” That was so true it hurt. “And I thought, since I was there, it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

  “Lindsey lived there when I met her, and Jack’s lived there. In fact, LynTech is in the process of buying the building from the owner, Jack’s new father-in-law, George Armstrong, one of the last hippies around and one of the biggest LynTech stockholders.”

  The garish van. That explained that, at least. “It doesn’t look too bad, actually.”

  “I take it everything’s okay?”

  “It is now. When we were on the phone, she screamed and the line went dead. Seems some huge orange cat got in and scared her to death.”

  Zane laughed out loud, then finally said, “That’s Joey. Someone should have warned her, I guess. He came with the loft, and we tried to bring him over here, but he runs away, and always shows up back there. I’ll have to tell Lindsey that he made it back again. He’s been gone for four days.”

  “He’s there, big, fat and scary.”

  “A perfect description,” Zan
e said with a chuckle. “I need to get going, but wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  “Sure, everything’s fine,” he replied, the lie almost sticking in his throat. “Just fine.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Zane said, and hung up.

  Rafe tossed the cell phone onto the seat and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Fine,” he said again, just to hear the word and willing it to be so. It wasn’t, but he’d keep saying it, hoping that somewhere down the line, he might wake up one morning and things would be fine.

  By the time Rafe got home the boys were asleep and Carmella was ready to leave. She’d jumped at the chance to come to Houston so she could spend time with her sister. “A paid vacation,” she’d told him with delight. She’d been with the boys since they were born. She was a short, kind woman who had raised her own children, and now she was helping to raise his.

  She’d spent the day with the boys, getting them ready for the day care center tomorrow, explaining, as Rafe had instructed her, that they would be called Diaz. It was a game for them, and they’d fallen into it easily. They were excited about going to the center, about the game and being near Rafe. That was a relief. Rafe walked her out to her car so she could go to her sister’s, and waited until she was heading through the gates at the end of the driveway before he turned and went back inside the adobe ranch house.

  As soon as he closed the door, he started his routine, checking all the windows, all the doors, locking everything, then finally setting the alarm system he’d had upgraded the day he arrived. Compulsive, some called him, obsessed with the ritual, but he needed to do it. Needed to know his home was secure.

  He walked back through the darkened house, which was spread out on one level in a long U, with Spanish tile everywhere. The ranch house sat on a ten-acre property, with lots of room for the boys to run and play and have their dogs and horses. They’d never lived here before, and he’d only used it occasionally, when he had to be in the area. He’d bought it as a tax write-off, but now that he was here, he found he liked that it didn’t have a lot of memories built into it.