by Rachel Lee
“Whatever you heard, Angela,” Gage said, “must’ve come from someplace else.”
“I guess. I’m sorry about all this uproar.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Micah said, touching a finger to the brim of his cowboy hat. “Good night.” Then he went to reassure the gathered neighbors.
A few seconds later the spotlight turned off and night resumed its reign.
“I feel like such a jerk,” Angela said.
“That makes two of us.” Rafe took her arm and guided her back into the house. “We’re all on edge. Jumpy. It’s okay.”
“Better jumpy than sorry,” Gage said as he held the door open for them. “But considering you’re the target, Rafe, I’d be obliged if next time you’d wake me up to investigate.”
“You’re right. I’m too used to acting alone.”
Emma was sitting at the table with the baby, feeding him a bottle. “We don’t know that anybody’s a target,” she said reasonably. “Not in the sense of being in physical danger.”
“The problem, sweetheart,” Gage said, “is we don’t know what the threat is.”
“Exactly,” Rafe agreed. “Manny Molina is a big question mark. I have no idea how to predict what he might do. I hate that. Here, give me the kid so you can go back to bed.”
“I’m enjoying this,” Emma said with a smile. “I’ll turn him over to you when he’s done...as long as you don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind.”
Angela got her glass of water and joined Emma at the table. Rafe sat beside her. Gage leaned back against the counter, loosening the tapes on his bulletproof vest.
Angela spoke. “But didn’t you say that Manny isn’t involved in criminal activity?”
Rafe’s dark eyes settled on her. “Not as far as we know.”
“But,” said Gage, “we don’t know what lengths he might go to get the baby. Or whether he wants revenge on Rafe for arresting his brother. Just because the guy isn’t involved in the drug trade doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of some pretty bad stuff when motivated.”
Angela nodded and looked at the baby. “Poor tyke. He’s too little to be involved in all this ugliness.”
“I doubt he’s aware of any of it,” Rafe said.
And indeed, the child appeared oblivious to anything except the pleasure of sucking on his bottle. But Rafe felt a twinge of guilt, anyway. This sure as hell was no way to raise a kid. He was going to have to figure out some way of dealing with the Molinas so they didn’t become a permanent problem.
Emma turned the baby over to him a few minutes later, then headed back to bed with Gage. With the baby on his shoulder, Rafe paced slowly. “Things can’t continue like this,” he said.
“No, they can’t,” Angela agreed. Now that the excitement had passed, she was feeling tired. Maybe too tired? She rose and got herself a couple of crackers.
“You okay?” Rafe asked.
“I’m fine.”
“The problem is, I don’t really know what Manny is after, or what he’ll do to get it. If it were his brother, I’d know exactly what I’m up against, but Manny is a cipher.”
“Maybe he really does just want visitation.”
“It’s possible.” He mentally replayed the scene with Manny back in Miami.
“But you can’t quite believe that.”
“No, I can’t I mean...why not just wait for me to come back to Miami?”
“Maybe he thinks you won’t ever come back.”
“Possible, I guess.” Extremely likely, given the way he’d left town. “But given the nature of my work, I get seriously bent when someone tracks me down like this.”
“I can understand that.” A small sigh escaped her. “Do you have to do this kind of work? I mean... Oh, I don’t know what I mean. I’m tired, and it’s none of my business. Good night, Rafe. I’m going upstairs.”
Did he have to do this kind of work? The longer he was off the street, the less desire he felt to go back to it. The problem was, he didn’t know how to do anything else. He supposed the agency could find him a desk job somewhere, but the thought of being tied to a desk didn’t exactly appeal to him, either. And unless he dealt with Manny Molina, all these questions were going to be moot, anyway.
Damn, he couldn’t have this guy following him all over the world no matter what he was after. Maybe he ought to just go over to the motel right now, roust the guy and have it out with him.
But if he did that, he would never be sure exactly what Manny had come here intending to do. Better, he decided, to just watch and wait. In fact, he’d better call Nate first thing in the morning to tell him not to confront Manny.
Let the man play out his hand. It was the only way they could ever know what he was up to.
Then, as he was climbing the stairs to put the peanut to bed, he found himself remembering the nice view he’d had of Angela’s legs when she’d come outside earlier.
Man, he really didn’t need that right now. But the image wouldn’t go away. It followed him into sleep, where he had erotic dreams of running his hand up those smooth, lovely legs.
Angela awoke late the next morning. Far too late. Before she even opened her eyes, she knew her blood sugar was low. Irritation filled her. She threw back the blankets, pulled on her robe and stalked downstairs ready to bite someone’s head off.
Not that it was anyone’s fault. But she was so damn sick and tired of this! She hardly noticed Rafe as she stomped into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge and poured herself a glass of juice with a trembling hand.
Rafe didn’t say anything. He was sitting at the table, reading the morning paper, the remnants of his breakfast on a plate beside him. The baby sat in his carrier seat on the table, waving his arms and talking to no one in particular.
Realizing that she’d just burned up even more sugar with her nasty little mood didn’t make Angela any less irritated. She sat at the table, feeling the early weakness in her limbs, and tossed down the orange juice like an alcoholic after a long dry spell. Now her entire medical schedule for the day was screwed up and she would be struggling to keep everything in balance until she could get back on track.
“Bad morning?” Rafe asked mildly.
“I slept too late.”
“Most people don’t get upset about that.”
Her tone was acidic. “Most people aren’t supposed to take their insulin and eat at eight a.m.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
He rustled the pages of the paper, turning to the editorials. “So,” he asked in the same mild tone, “does getting low blood sugar make you crabby?”
She wanted to snarl at him. She settled for more acid. “Just slightly. But what makes me even crabbier is knowing my schedule is all out of whack again, and I’ve got to figure out some way to keep things in balance until I can straighten it out.”
He nodded. “So how do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Adjust your schedule?”
“I change the proportions of fast-acting and slow-acting insulin.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Of course!”
“Then I guess you know how to take care of it.”
Now she really wanted to snarl at him. Couldn’t he see what a miserable way this was to live? Of course not. He didn’t have to deal with four shots a day, four blood tests, blood sugar that was out of control, not being able to sleep late, not being able to...
Her angry thoughts stuttered to a stop. Maybe the orange juice was hitting her system, or maybe she was just seeing herself clearly. Whatever it was, she decided she didn’t like herself very much right then.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, no longer wanting to eat him alive with a side order of hash browns.
“Of course you will. You’ve been dealing with this for nearly thirty years, right? It seems to me that you must be pretty good at handling it.” He smiled at her then.
The urge to kill him came back. How dare he smile at her like
that, making her feel warm and beautiful and somehow special?
“Actually,” he continued, “I think you’re pretty remarkable.”
He had no right to say things like that to her, she thought. No right to make her feel this way. No right to make her want to throw herself into his arms until his smile was wrapped all the way around her.
“So go take your insulin,” he said. “I’ll make your breakfast. Do you want your usual amounts, or do you need to adjust that, too?”
She couldn’t think. Measuring her food was the last thing she could focus on right now. “Um...the usual.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Somehow she found herself on her way back upstairs. Away from him, she was able to think more clearly about how to adjust her dose, but her thoughts kept going back to his strange reaction to her.
He had refused to allow her to wallow in self-pity, but he’d been nice, almost gentle about it. Then he’d commended her for being so knowledgeable about how to take care of herself. This guy ought to run for president. He could charm the socks off a cat.
When she went back down, she was dressed and feeling fresher.
Rafe put her breakfast in front of her at the table. “No running this morning?”
“Thank you. No...everything’s too out of whack. I’ll just focus on getting back on track for now.”
“Good idea. After you eat, how about the three of us take a drive up into the mountains? It’s a beautiful day out there.”
Which was how she found herself driving out of Conard City toward Thunder Mountain on a beautiful autumn day full of sunshine and chilly breezes. The man should definitely be a politician. Or a nurse. He’d been the one who remembered to bring her travel kit and some food in addition to the diaper bag. The way her head was working today, she would have just waltzed out the door without a thought for them. It was one of the dangers of being diabetic. Even after all these years, she could still forget.
Rafe ducked down in the back seat until they were safely out of town; then they stopped, and he joined her in the front.
“Did anything happen with Manny?” she asked.
“I asked Nate to let it lie until we find out what he’s up to. Better to know what his plan is. But let’s not talk about him, okay?”
“Fine with me.” There certainly seemed to be no reason to ruin this beautiful day with thoughts of Manny Molina. She stole a glance at Rafe and saw he was sitting with his head back against the headrest and his eyes closed, washed in the sun that poured through the car windows.
He was so handsome, she thought almost wistfully. No, not handsome, exactly. His face was too hard, and lined from the Miami sunshine. He didn’t look like a model or a movie star. But attractive. Very attractive. Hispanic and Anglo blended perfectly in him, giving a dusky tint to his skin and strong features.
She stared down the road ahead of them as the mountains grew closer, but all she could see was Rafe Ortiz’s face against the rising wall of blue splendor ahead of her.
The mountain peaks were dusted white with snow, and as they climbed higher she needed to turn up the car heater. When she glanced at Rafe again, she found him staring at her, his obsidian eyes inscrutable.
“Don’t stare at me,” she said on an uncomfortable laugh.
“Why not? You’re the prettiest thing around.”
The compliment left her feeling almost breathless. Why would he say such a thing?
“I usually go for dark hair,” he remarked, his voice almost drowsy. “But your hair...did you know it’s got an almost silvery quality? Like fairy dust...”
She didn’t know how to respond to that. But she could feel her cheeks pinkening, and her heart hammered quickly.
“You can’t tell it in the house,” he said as if he was discussing wallpaper. “But out here in the sun...you’ve got amazing hair.”
“Thank you.” The words sounded husky.
“Cute nose, too,” he added, a smile in his voice. “Tiny little nose.”
“It’s not tiny!”
“No, it’s just right for you. Not big like mine.”
Automatically, she looked at him and found him grinning. “Stop it!” she said, starting to laugh. “You’re making me uneasy. And you don’t have a big nose.”
“I imagine I’d look stupid with a smaller one,” he agreed. “Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t mean to. I’m having this problem.”
She noted how he looked away from her and realized he was being serious. “What kind of problem?”
“I don’t know how to relate to you.”
“Why don’t you just relate to me like anybody else in the world?”
“That’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed and closed his eyes. “I relate to types, not individuals.”
She thought that over but couldn’t make sense of it. “I don’t understand, Rafe.”
He shook his head a little, then sat up higher in his seat. “It’s hard to explain. Don’t worry about iL I’ll quit embarrassing you.”
He’d closed himself off again, and Angela felt a burst of frustration. Every time she started to feel she might actually get to know him, he backed away. But what could she do about it? And what did it matter, anyway?
They found a turnout that announced a hiking trail and decided to stop there.
“We won’t be able to go far,” Rafe remarked. “Too much to carry, and no convenient way to carry it.”
“That’s okay.” She shouldn’t exert herself too much, anyway.
She carried the blankets and her kit; Rafe slung the diaper bag over his shoulder, took the baby in his arms and picked up the plastic bag holding the food.
It was a perfect day for hiking, cool enough that movement kept them warm rather than make them hot. Sun poked through the pines, dappling the path, and late-season wildflowers poked up here and there, adding color.
A quarter-mile down the path, Rafe pointed out a clearing off to the side, where the grass was thick and the sun bright. “Let’s stop there. I wonder if it’s okay to build a fire.”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe I’ll skip that, then. Better safe than sorry.”
They spread a blanket on the grass and sat on it with the baby. Peanut seemed enthralled by all the colors and cooed happily.
“He’s staying awake a lot more,” Rafe remarked. He leaned back on his elbow so that he was only a foot from Angela but could still watch the child. “It’s kind of neat. When I first got him, he slept so much, it was like he was always a stranger. Now he’s awake more and showing definite signs of personality.”
“I think kids are born with personality. Not that I’m an expert on kids. But it seems to me that if we were all blank slates when we were born, brothers and sisters would grow up to be a lot more similar than they do.”
“You might be right. Nate and I were raised apart, but were both in law enforcement, after all.”
“And you both read your magazines back to front.”
He laughed and looked up at her. “That’s a real kick. Imagine a gene for something like that!”
They’d already had this conversation, and Angela realized they were both stumped for something to say. They were falling back on what they knew to be safe. It was as if there was a brick wall between them.
And Rafe had built that wall, she thought. Then, immediately, she realized that wasn’t fair. She had her own defenses, particularly when it came to men, so she kept this wall of reserve between herself and Rafe, not trusting him.
She sighed a little and tipped back her head to let the sun kiss her face. From somewhere she could hear running water and the whisper of the wind in the pines. A perfect day on a perfect planet. The only thing not right was her. And a lot of that was her fault.
She spoke, taking her courage in her hands, needing to cross that wall of reserve. “What you said about reacting to people
as types?”
“Yeah?”
“I do the same thing.”
“How so?”
“I don’t trust men.”
He paused a moment before answering. “That might not be so dumb, Angela. I don’t think most of us are really trustworthy when it comes to women.”
“Really?” She looked down at him. “What about Gage? And Nate? They seem trustworthy.”
“They’re exceptions. Believe me.”
“You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself.”
He laughed, but the sound contained no mirth. “No, I’m just honest. That little kid lying there proves it. I unzipped my pants at the wrong time, under circumstances that were wrong, and I knew it. I wasn’t thinking. And what came out of it? A child I didn’t even know about until his mother died. That doesn’t really make me trustworthy, does it?”
“But you’re taking good care of him.”
He shrugged and looked away from her. “It makes me a good actor. Give me a role and nobody can do it better. The kid needs a dad, so I’m being one.”
“You’re not acting, Rafe. I’ve watched you with the baby.”
“No? Then I’m doing a great job. Living the role of Dad. Just the way I live the role of D.E.A. agent.”
“That’s not a role. That’s what you do.”
“Same difference. You know how I see myself, Angel?”
That was the second time he’d called her Angel, and this time she didn’t dismiss it as a slip of the tongue. The word settled uneasily into her heart, touching her in ways that frightened her. She couldn’t allow that. But she couldn’t prevent it, either.
“How do you see yourself?” she asked, feeling suddenly reluctant to pursue this conversation any further. Walls were a good thing, she realized suddenly. And tearing them down was dangerous.
“I see myself as an angel of justice.”
She didn’t know how to take that. Her response was cautious. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He gave her a sardonic smile. “Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? But the thing about angels is that they can’t allow themselves to feel anything. Because if they felt anything, if they felt any sympathy for human hopes, dreams and desires, they couldn’t do what they do.”
“I never saw angels that way.”