Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite)

by Naima Simone

  “Fine,” she said numbly.

  “Translation: Someone just threatened my life with a bomb. How do you think I’m doing?” His faint smile was self-deprecating, wry. “Can I get you something? Water? Juice?” He scanned her huddled frame. “A sweater?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

  “Okay. I’m going to sit here with you while Rafe ties up the interview with the police.”

  She nodded, appreciative of his kindness, and if she could loosen the vise gripping her throat, she would’ve thanked him. Her gaze slid past Chay to the huge window beyond where Raphael stood outside, arms crossed, speaking with a police officer. As if he sensed her regard, Raphael turned his head in the direction of the house. Chances were he couldn’t see inside, but her view of his masculine beauty was unhindered. His wide mouth turned down at the corners, emphasizing the sensual fullness. The early April breeze teased his hair, and the dark waves grazed his hard jaw and the strong column of his neck. The late-afternoon sun glinted off the hoop in his eyebrow and those in his ears. He frowned at something the officer said and rubbed a knuckle over his unpierced brow. A habitual gesture she’d noticed that night in the bar and in his office yesterday. The unconscious act made him seem softer, more…vulnerable.

  A breath shuddered out from between her lips. The lethal gift at the end of his drive this morning drove home just how vulnerable, how exposed he truly was. And she’d brought the threat directly to his doorstep.

  Jesus, if he came to any harm because of her, she would never forgive herself.

  “Thank you,” she finally murmured to Chay.

  “Feeling slightly better?” he asked, settling into the chair Raphael had occupied the night before after comforting her. An image of his bare chest and beautifully tattooed arms rose up like a ghostly specter. Haunting her. With a mental head shake, she cleared the picture from her mind. Too bad the slow curl of heat in her gut couldn’t be shaken like a martini.

  “Yes, thank you. And thank you for coming out here for”—she waved a hand toward the window and the driveway blocked by two police cruisers—“this. You didn’t have to.”

  “Yes, I did,” he replied. “Rafe’s my best friend. Though it’s not written in the code, I’m pretty sure the fine print includes showing up for support when suspicious packages are delivered on his doorstep.”

  The dry wit caught her off guard; she expected that kind of retort from Raphael. But Chay, with his closed expression and gentle tones? She was beginning to understand why the men were so close as well as business partners. They might be more alike than different.

  Her mouth twitched. “You’re right, I suppose it does. So since you’re in here with me instead of out there, does that mean you’re on babysitting duty?”

  He shrugged. “Something like that.”

  She set the drink back on the table and ran her palms over her hair, suddenly too tired to hold up her bowed head. Some of her weariness could be attributed to the pregnancy—as with the sickness, the plaguing lethargy hadn’t quite passed yet either—but if she were cut-the-bullshit honest, she was scared. And tired of being scared. It seemed as if fear had been a permanent bed partner with her since Gavin’s death, the amnesia, and the arrival of the first letter. The unvarnished truth? She longed to lie down and just sleep. And maybe when she woke, this nightmare her life had devolved into would have faded away.

  But nothing came that easy, and unless one morning she slid the shower door back and found that the past few months had somehow been a terrible dream montage, then she had to drag her big-girl panties on and face the twilight zone her existence had become.

  The front door slammed shut, and moments later, Raphael strode into the living room, his presence wild, vibrant, consuming. His shuttered gaze swept over her. Hold me, please. Just this once. Tell me everything’s going to be okay. The cry rose up inside her, but she trapped the plea behind her teeth. But, God, she wanted him to drag her into his strong arms, press her close where she could inhale his unique scent, and know that as long as he held her nothing could harm her. But except for comforting her in the bathroom the night before, he hadn’t touched her. And as he shifted his scrutiny to Chay, she doubted he ever would again.

  “You know, between Gabe, Mal, and now you, the police should just give you a hotline number,” Chay advised wryly, rising from the chair.

  She recognized the names of Raphael’s friends; when she’d Googled his name after their initial meeting, she’d also come across several articles regarding his and his friends’ involvement in the disappearance of Richard Pierce. The details regarding the businessman’s murder had been from an anonymous “source” and pretty thorough. Including why Chayot Grey had stabbed him. The story had sickened her. And all her sympathy had been for the four boys and not the predatory “upstanding citizen.” Her father was many things—cold, condescending, absent, unforgiving—but he hadn’t preyed on innocent children. As a matter of fact, that was probably the only praise she could assign him.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Raphael said, dragging his hair back and briefly fisting the thick strands before dropping his arm. “Maybe we can get a package deal or something.” Maybe her confusion showed on her face, because Rafe tipped his head in the direction of the now empty driveway. “Our friends Gabe and Malachim have had interactions with the police lately.” A beat of silence passed. “As well as their women, whose lives were threatened. Seems to be a trend around here,” he murmured.

  Their women…

  The words echoed in her head, and a silly, girly part of her shimmied as if he’d slipped a letterman’s jacket over her shoulders. Damn, her rational side immediately leaped in to scold. How pathetic can you get? At best, he considered her a confused one-night stand who refused to go away—one he felt responsible for and offered to lend help to in solving her stalker problem. An offer he was probably regretting about now. At worst, he regarded her as a spoiled princess desperate to pin her dead fiancé’s baby on him. A pampered socialite who was using him for his particular skill set even as she dragged him into drama that had nothing to do with him.

  Either perception made her cringe in humiliation.

  It would be so easy to start relying on him. To start depending on him for her protection and care. To start falling for him and envisioning happily ever after. Then it would just be a matter of time before she convinced herself it was okay he didn’t believe her about being the father of her baby. It was okay he didn’t see her as anything more than a pretty, pampered, useless doll. Everything would be okay and “fine,” because she loved him. Fear that had nothing to do with the packaged threat crept through her like an insidious invader. No, this fear had everything to do with the vapid shell of a woman she could become if she surrendered to her weakness that was Raphael Marcel. Love, as she’d witnessed so many times, was an excuse to settle and put up with a hell of a lot of shit. And Raphael was the only man who’d threatened her resolve to never give in to the humiliation of “love.”

  “What did the police say?” Chay asked.

  Raphael slid his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “They’re keeping the box and bomb, of course, to examine for fingerprints and to determine if there’s a ‘signature’ that may already be in their system. They’ll file a report and have cruisers drive by, but there’s really not much more they can do but continue to gather the evidence so if a suspect arises, they have something on record.”

  That sounded familiar, almost verbatim what she’d been told when her car had been vandalized and the doll left on her seat. Hopelessness washed over her, adding more weight to her already-burdened shoulders. Whoever was behind this seemed to be winning this war of terror.

  “But,” Raphael continued, eyes narrowing, “depending on where the asshole with the box parked, I might’ve been able to catch him on video. Come on.” He headed down the hallway, Chay on his heels. “Shit. I could’ve looked at the feed. I was so wrapped up with waiting on the bomb squa
d, it completely slipped my mind.”

  She didn’t wait for an invitation to follow…or an order to remain behind.

  They disappeared through a doorway at the opposite end of the house from her bedroom, and she didn’t hesitate to follow. A steep flight of stairs descended into a lower level of the house, and she emerged into the man cave of man caves. Part playroom with the enormous mounted flat-screen television, complex surround-sound system, video game console, pool table, and wet bar. And part control center with a bank of computer monitors, drives, and technological equipment she couldn’t begin to name.

  The entire basement stretched the length of the house, and it was…impressive.

  And intimidating as hell.

  With a confidence that shouldn’t have been sexy—but so was—Raphael slid behind the wide, curved desk, and his fingers danced over the keys, the tap-tap echoing in her ears. Obviously as comfortable down here as he’d been upstairs, Chay circled the desk and stood behind his friend’s chair, resting his folded forearms on the back of the seat. She hovered to the side, not as sure of her welcome into Raphael’s private lair.

  As she waited, she took in the spacious area that seemed to mirror the two sides of her protector’s personality. Laid back, flippant, blithe. And then there was the other half. Brilliant, intense, focused. Hard. She’d been the recipient of both men’s attention. The devil-may-care seducer melted her, invited and persuaded her to indulge in every erotic fantasy she possessed, and some she didn’t know she had. The take-no-bullshit security specialist set every feminine alarm inside her clanging even as he inspired a warm—and dangerously deceptive—sense of safety.

  She shifted a step back from him. And another.

  Her halting movement must have snagged his attention, because his head jerked up, and he pinned her with an inscrutable stare.

  What was he thinking? She didn’t belong down there in his personal cave? She’d brought a shitstorm right to his doorstep? She wasn’t worth all this trouble?

  Her breath caught as his eyes heated, the blue darkening to nearly black as his perusal moved from her eyes, slipped over her lips, and skimmed down to her shoulders, breasts, and lower still. The air stalled in her lungs, the visual survey like a physical caress. She shivered as if his fingertips actually brushed her mouth, molded her breasts, and smoothed over her stomach, teasing her with a sensual touch that left her aching and damp.

  Did he hear the catch in her throat? Did he notice the hardening of her nipples under her thin sweater? Maybe. Because he snapped his scrutiny upward toward her eyes before quickly returning to the computer monitor.

  Just as her knees turned to Jell-O, she sank against the back of the sofa.

  The one look had been like a shot of pure sex.

  Her common sense must have gone the way of butterfly collars and fanny packs. Because if she had one ounce of intelligence left, she would be sprinting up those stairs to pack her clothes and leave.

  Facing a deranged stalker alone. Or making a fool of herself by lusting after Raphael Marcel.

  Jesus, it was a toss-up.

  “Here,” Raphael rapped out, grim satisfaction in that one word. Chay leaned forward, his jaw hardening, and again, she glimpsed the similarities between the two men. “Gotcha, asshole,” he murmured.

  Her legs only slightly steadier, Greer pushed off the couch and edged forward until she had an unobstructed side view of what the two men studied so intensely.

  Again, her breath whistled from between her lips, but this time it wasn’t from desire. Fear. Unadulterated fear and horror.

  Raphael paused the video feed so the image of his long drive, the black mailbox, the gray, dirty van, and the man lowering a white box to the ground were frozen on his large screen.

  She studied the van first—and recognized it as an evasion tactic. She didn’t want to look at the man who may be behind this terror campaign just yet. She needed…a few seconds. Just a few.

  The nondescript older-model van could’ve been any delivery van, sans the advertisement on the side panel. Dried smears and flecks of dirt splattered the lower half as if it had been driven through a mud puddle hours before. Nothing special about it. Nothing to identify it from hundreds of others of vans out there in the greater Boston area.

  Her heart hammered against her chest wall as she switched her scrutiny to the slightly hunched figure wearing baggy denim and a green sweatshirt with the Boston Celtics logo across the front. Dirty-blond hair hung in a surprisingly young face. Early twenties, maybe. Long bangs concealed his forehead and eyes, leaving the lower portion of his face visible. Still, she didn’t recognize him, and didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. A stranger would be harder to identify and catch. But if he’d been someone she was familiar with, then trapping him would’ve been simpler. But also more of a knife to her heart. So some piece of her was relieved. How crazy did that make her?

  “Do you recognize him?” Raphael questioned, all his attention still fastened to the monitor.

  She shook her head, though he couldn’t see the gesture. “No,” she croaked. Or at least she didn’t remember him. With the hole in her memories, she could’ve seen this guy before and just didn’t recall it. But she shied away from explaining all of that to Raphael, especially with Chay in the room. It was stupid to be embarrassed about something she couldn’t help, but there it was.

  He tapped a button. “How about now?”

  Another image popped up, and the time stamp in the corner of the screen revealed the frame was only seconds later than the first. A profile shot as the guy walked back to the cab of the van. Pimples dusted his cheek and jaw. So damn young. Why would he want to terrorize her? Why her? Had he fixated on her for some imagined slight? All these questions and thoughts flew through her head at warp speed.

  “No,” she repeated, wishing it could be another answer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know him.”

  She shifted forward, wrapping her arms around her midsection. The protectiveness of the gesture—her arms covering the baby sleeping inside her womb—didn’t elude Raphael as his hard stare dropped to her stomach. Unlike the hot lick of desire that had brightened his eyes moments ago, this guarded survey was impenetrable. She couldn’t ascertain his thoughts, almost as if he’d hidden them behind a vault only he had access to.

  “Can you catch a shot of his license plate as he pulls out?” Chay murmured, breaking the tension.

  “Maybe.” Raphael returned to the computer, his fingers flying over the keys once more. After several silent seconds, he grunted and reclined in his chair. “It’s covered in mud.”

  “Probably deliberate,” Chay added.

  Raphael nodded. “It’s definitely a Massachusetts plate. And I can still catch the first two numbers: 4 and 2. And the second letter in there may be an M.”

  “What can you do with that?” she asked. She could clearly see the blue “Mass” and even the numbers he mentioned. But the rest seemed obscured by caked-on mud and dirt. Damn. This was the closest she’d come to believing the whole ordeal might be nearing a conclusion. Already Raphael had compiled more information regarding her harasser than the police. Now even that lead appeared to be petering out.

  “Oh, I can do something with it,” he muttered. “It just might take a little longer than I assumed.” The tap-tap over the keyboard started again. “I’ll run those three characters through my Registry of Motor Vehicles program searching for any plates containing them. Then I’ll cross-reference the findings with older-model white Dodge Ram vans.”

  A sliver of hope slid between her ribs, lodging in her heart even as she frowned.

  “Is that legal? Can you look at the DMV’s files?”

  His hooded gaze swung to her. “Princess, when it comes to finding out who’s threatening your life with a bomb, live or not, on my doorstep, I’m willing to straddle the legal fence.”

  Good point. A bomb wasn’t a parking ticket. She nodded toward the computer. “Will that find him?”

>   Chay shrugged. “It’ll help. Once he has a large pool of potentials, he’ll cross the names with driver’s licenses. Eliminating the females and different ethnic groups will further whittle the numbers down. It’ll definitely get us closer to identifying the driver—unless the van was reported stolen, that is.”

  With a final click, Raphael pushed away from the desk and rose. “It’ll run for a while. I’ll give you a call when I’m finished with the search.”

  Chay dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Set it so when the results come through I’ll be notified as well.”

  She glanced from Chay to Raphael.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Raphael arched a dark, pierced brow.

  “We wait.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Greer stared out the window in Raphael’s sunroom. This late in the evening, moonlight spilled through the glass instead of the sun’s rays, but it wouldn’t have mattered if the scene beyond was washed in golden or pearlescent beams. The events of the day captured her attention, leaving no room for appreciation of the scenery outside Raphael’s home.

  Waiting. It seemed her life had been in one big holding pattern for months. Waiting for the police to clear her. Waiting for the bastard stalking her to make his next move. Waiting for her future to begin.

  And here she was again. More waiting. Except now she did so in the company of a man who believed her to be so desperate that she would pin a pregnancy on him. A man who had once made her burn so hot, the leather of his truck seats should’ve been scorched. A man who stared at her with no hint of feeling at all, except for the few brief flashes of heat she thought she’d caught in his eyes. Now she wasn’t so sure she hadn’t hallucinated that glimpse of desire. Not when he seemed to merely tolerate her in his home, his life. Not when she was in danger of receiving frostbite from his cold, distant manner toward her.

  She should be grateful. The tender, seductive Raphael had been…devastating. To her senses, her rationale—her heart. The aloof Raphael slapped down any chance of her resolve slipping. This Raphael didn’t let her forget he considered this child hers. And as soon as this all passed, she would be out of his house, on her own. Even when his paternity was established after the baby was born, he still might not want anything to do with her. To him, she was a one-night stand who hadn’t gone away after one night. And that was fine. It’s what she wanted…