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

by Naima Simone

  A hard twinge twisted low in her stomach, and she gasped, clutching her abdomen. She remained motionless, inhaling, exhaling. In. Out. In. Out. The pain ebbed, and she slowly straightened. Okay. Okay. Just a cramp. Just a cr—

  Another spasm, and she bent over, whimpering. The baby. Jesus. What was wrong? Breathing deep, she shoved away from the counter and ambled down the hallway to the bathroom. Minutes later, fear trapped her in its icy grip, thundered through her veins. Blood. Three drops of blood on her underwear. She was spotting.

  No! The denial howled in her ears as she cradled her lower stomach as if she could hold her baby, protect it. God, no, not the baby. I love it. I want it. Please don’t take my child away from me. Cramping, bleeding. She could be losing her…

  “Stop it, damn it! Get it together. Hospital. Doctor.” The words tumbled from her lips like a to-do list. She rearranged her clothes with fumbling fingers, stumbled to her room, and located her cell phone on the dresser. Nearly running from the room, she dialed a number. The other end rang three times before Rafe’s deep voice came over the line ordering her to leave a message and number.

  “Raphael,” she said, out of breath, snatching a pair of keys off the hall table. “I’m headed to the hospital. I’ve started cramping and bleeding.” A sob rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down. “I’m taking your car. Please…meet me there. Bye.” She disconnected the call, punched in the security code for the house alarm, reset it, then snatched open the hall door that led to the garage. The black SUV was gone, but Raphael’s black Dodge Charger was parked in the second spot. She unlocked the car and pressed the automatic garage opener above the visor. She cranked the ignition and backed out with inches to spare between the roof of the car and the garage door. Executing a messy K-turn, she peeled down the driveway.

  And almost slammed into the car blocking the end of the lane.

  “Damn.” She rolled down the window as the driver’s door of the other car opened. “Excuse me I’m in a— Aubrey?”

  Aubrey smiled, strolling toward Greer, the light afternoon breeze blowing her jacket against her slim body, emphasizing the firm mound of her stomach. “Hi, Greer.”

  Confused, frowned. “What are you doing here?” Then she shook her head. “Look, forget it. Can you move your car so I can get out? I need—”

  “To turn the car off and get out,” Aubrey finished, the smile still in place even as she lifted a black gun and pointed it in Greer’s face.

  …

  Raphael hit “send” on the last unanswered email in his inbox. With a yawn, he lifted his arms above his head, stretched. The nine-thirty appointment had run longer than he’d expected. After two hours of constantly assuring their new client that yes, they could promise state-of-the-art technology for his research lab, and going over their system detail by ever-loving detail, the paranoid scientist-turned-business owner had finally left. He glanced at the clock on his monitor. 11:50.

  Cool. He only had a couple of phone calls to make and then he could be out of here and return home to Greer.

  Return home to Greer.

  Damn, that sounded good. Too good. I’m-scared-shitless-to-say-it-out-loud-and-jinx-it good.

  Last night—confessing about Yolanda, the baby, and the pain of losing them—had been cathartic. He’d meant it when he told Greer she and Yolanda were nothing alike.

  Greer was strong, courageous, funny, beautiful. So gifted and talented it was kind of intimidating. Fiercely loyal and just…good. She was good.

  In his life and line of work, he didn’t encounter a lot of good. The one time he hadn’t been suspicious and cynical, his heart had been ripped from his chest. And all these years, though he’d convinced himself he was over Yolanda’s betrayal and the loss of a family he’d desperately wanted, he hadn’t let go of the pain.

  But one woman—another socialite, but with a gladiator’s spirit—had forced him to face the part of himself that was bitter and used to it. In some perverse way, he’d lived with his anger for so long, he didn’t know if he would recognize himself without it. But damn, he longed to. For her. For them. For their baby.

  She scared him. The power she wielded over his heart scared the hell out of him. He stood on this edge where he had to decide to either remain on land where his life was safe—he was alone, but safe—or step out and free-fall, believing the woman who owned his heart wouldn’t betray him.

  Wouldn’t leave him.

  He inhaled a deep breath. Held it. Then expelled it in a long, low rush.

  He was going to be a father.

  He was going to have a baby with a woman whose goodness he trusted. A woman he…loved.

  Holy shit.

  A weight lifted from his chest. One he hadn’t even realized had been caving him in year after year. He’d been withholding that admission to himself—steeped himself in denial—out of fear. But he was letting go of the past.

  And grabbing on like a motherfucker to the future.

  “I’m surprised to see you still here.”

  Rafe glanced up from his computer and smirked at Chay, who leaned against the jamb of his office door.

  “I won’t be for long.”

  Chay snorted, entered the room, and dropped down in the chair in front of his desk. The same chair Greer had occupied a week ago when she’d come to him for help. Damn, had it only been a week? So much had happened in that time. He’d found out he was going to be a father, aborted a kidnapping, ducked a bullet—well, bullets—found a dead body, and had fallen in love.

  Yeah, he’d been pretty busy.

  “So, how’s Greer doing?”

  “As well as she can be, I guess.” He sighed, rubbed a hand over his jaw and as the bristles scraped his palm, realized he hadn’t shaved that morning. “She’s hanging in there. Hurting but she’ll be okay.”

  Chay nodded. “Good.” Then, “I like her.” And then, “You do, too. More than like her.”

  “Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Oh, shit.” Chay groaned, sprawling in his chair, his head falling back against the headrest. “Gabe. Mal. Now you. I’m the lone survivor. Because of you, you selfish douche. We were supposed to be holding out together.”

  “Sorry.” Not.

  Chay cocked his head to the side. “So you’re finally accepting that the baby is yours, huh?”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t believe she was lying to me for very long,” Rafe admitted. “It was thinking she would cut bait and leave with the kid that had me angry and resistant.”

  Chay nodded, understanding clear in his eyes and small smile. “I get it. But she’s not a Yolanda. It was clear as hell to me and took some time for you to see. I’m real glad you finally did.”

  “Know-it-alls suck ass,” Rafe growled and his friend laughed. A real laugh.

  “So what are you still doing here?” Chay asked, dipping his head toward the computer. “Why aren’t you home with Greer?”

  “I’m headed out. I had to check a few emails, return some calls, and transfer some files since I’ll probably continue working from home a couple more days.”

  He glanced at his monitor and frowned. A new email popped up in his in-box. A message from Leah. In the subject line was “Adam Morgan file.” He frowned, clicked the box. The mail contained Adam/Tag’s criminal record, which he already had, and some more notes about his past that she’d managed to dig up between yesterday morning and this morning. The woman was good. Adam Morgan hadn’t always lived in Delaware and New Jersey. He’d actually been born in Boston, had attended school here through the tenth grade before leaving for parts unknown. Rafe grunted. Leah’s source must really like her because he or she had uncovered a juvenile record for Aaron Chandler, one of Morgan’s aliases, and apparently his real name. He had family here—or he did back then. Wonder if they’ve been notified. He scrolled down…

  “Hey, Rafe.” Sara rapped on the opened door and entered, his cell phone in her hand. “This has been going off in your jacket pocket the last
couple of minutes. I’m not your coatrack, you know,” she drawled, setting it on his desk.

  “Noted.” He picked up the phone. Two missed calls. Two voicemails. “Snarl all you want, darling, I know you miss me,” he teased, bringing up the messages. He returned to studying the file as he navigated the voicemail.

  Mother, Melissa Chandler. Father, unknown. Sister, Aubrey Chandler.

  Aubrey Chandler? The woman Gavin was cheating with Aubrey Chandler?

  “Hey, Rafe,” Mal’s low voice came through the phone. “I was getting ready to head over to your house but was unexpectedly called into court. I may be tied up until late afternoon. I called Gabe, and he has a meeting with his agent at 9:30, but said he’ll go to your house as soon as it’s finished. When you get this message, text and let me know.”

  The call had come in at ten o’clock. So Greer had been alone all morning. Frowning, he moved to the next message.

  “I’m headed to the hospital. I’ve started cramping and bleeding,” Greer’s husky, trembling voice had Rafe stiffening, his grip tightening on the phone. What did she say? Meet her there? “Damn it.” His fingers went numb as he fumbled to replay the message. Greer. Oh, Jesus. The baby. She must be so scared.

  “Rafe.” Chay surged from his chair. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wait.” He listened to the message again, and the fear and alarm in her voice twisted his gut in knots, sent him to his feet. “It’s Greer,” he said to Chay, redialing her number. “She’s having cramps, bleeding. I need to meet her at the hospital.”

  Her phone rang, went to voicemail. He tried again. Nothing.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “She’s not answering.”

  “Maybe she’s already at the hospital,” Chay said.

  “No.” He shook his head, dialed again. “This call came in nine minutes ago. She wouldn’t have had time to make it to the hospital. Shit,” he snapped as once more the computerized voice let him know the person he was calling wasn’t available. What if she was hurrying and crashed? What if she was in a ditch somewhere hurt?

  “Calm down, Rafe,” Chay murmured, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “She’s fine. She probably just can’t answer the phone right now.”

  “The GPS.” He dropped down in his chair, spun around to the monitor. “I can pull up the GPS tracker on the car.” He scrolled through his files, pulled up the tracker program, and with a few clicks, had the information he sought. “What the fuck?”

  Greer’s address. Her old Beacon Hill address. Why the hell would his car be parked there?

  “Wait, wait, wait,” he mumbled, minimizing one program and pulling up his email.

  Aubrey Chandler.

  How did he and Noah meet? What’s the connection?

  Greer’s questions ricocheted off the walls of his skull. Last night he hadn’t dwelled on them, but now…

  He shot from his chair again, bounding around the desk. Chay followed hot on his heels.

  “What’s up, Rafe? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said, grabbing his jacket from Sara’s desk. “But I’m going to find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Greer slipped her key into the lock of her front door, a silly, sappy smile curving her mouth. I’m a slut. A backseat slut. Oh, my God, I’m a backseat slut who has sex in public places. Her smile broadened into a grin. You’re damn right I am.

  Sex with Rafe had been amazing. Mind-blowing. For the first time in her life, she’d been a woman desired strictly for her body. Not because of her connections, her family, or her hostess skills. Just wanted for her body, for the pleasure he could give her and she could give him.

  It’d been…freeing.

  And he’d given that gift to her. This day had started out like, well, shit. But it’d ended with sex in the backseat of an SUV with the hottest man she’d ever met, giving her the best orgasms she’d ever experienced. Gifting her with a femininity and sensuality she’d never known she possessed.

  Twisting the key, she opened the door and entered her apartment. And tried to pretend she wasn’t wishing like hell she’d stayed in the truck, stayed with Rafe. Too late now. And probably for the best, she mused, tossing her keys on the mantel. Hell, what kind of couple would they—?

  She jerked to a halt. A body. On her apartment floor. Blood. So much blood. Like crimson paint, it splattered his back, the wall behind him, pooled under his body. Jesus, so much blood…

  Gavin. Oh, God, Gavin…

  “She doesn’t love you like I do. She never did. You said you knew that. You said we would be together. So why did you go back on your word? I couldn’t let her have you, I couldn’t. Not after you promised. You promised, Gavin! She doesn’t deserve you. You’re mine. Mine.”

  Aubrey perched on the chair of Greer’s dining room set, a blood-covered butcher knife clutched in her hand. The woman who’d slept with her ex rocked back and forth, red gore dotting her cheeks, matting her hair, and coating the front of her dress. An image of Carrie in her white slip of a prom dress flashed across Greer’s mind.

  She shuffled backward, her heart lodged in her throat. Aubrey’s head jerked up, alerted as if scenting prey. Real terror swelled inside Greer, and she whirled on her heels, running for the door.

  Pain. Blinding pain.

  She cried out, grabbed the back of her head.

  Another burst of hot agony.

  Then nothing.

  Her head ached.

  As if Thor had taken a hammer and was striking away inside her skull. Relentlessly. She raised her arms—

  No, she didn’t. Couldn’t.

  Greer lifted her arms again, but…what the hell? Prying her eyes open, she peered down. Her sweater, jeans. Where were her arms? And why was she staring at the floor? Hell, lying on the floor. She groaned, wriggled her hands. Her wrists brushed her lower back. Strange. She tugged her arms forward, but they didn’t move. Her hands…

  She rolled to her back, and pain lanced up her arms, pulsing like an open wound in her shoulders.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake.”

  Aubrey. Her voice brought all the memories pouring into her head like a flood. The cramping and bleeding. Hospital. Aubrey. Gun. The terrible, crimson-drenched memories of that night Gavin died.

  Moaning, she moved back to her side, and curling her legs under her hips, pushed to a sitting position. Instantly, her head protested. But that pain had been relegated to negligible. Desperate, she took inventory of herself. She scanned her jeans—the inner thighs, the crotch. Relief doused her. No blood. Her stomach, though tender, wasn’t cramping. For now. But she needed to get to a hospital. To make sure—

  “Sorry I had to knock you out…again.” Aubrey rose from her sitting position across the empty room. “But I think it’s fitting we end it here where it all began.”

  Here. For the first time, Greer scanned the place that had become her prison. Bare walls and floors greeted her, but the space was oddly familiar.

  Her old apartment. Where she’d found Gavin’s body. Where Aubrey had knocked Greer out, leaving her there to take the blame for a murder Aubrey had committed.

  “Aubrey,” Greer said, voice hoarse. She swallowed, moistening her mouth. “Aubrey, why—?”

  “Why?” Aubrey laughed. “You already know why. Your mother told Karen you were having headaches, your memories were coming back.”

  Oh, God. “I don’t know what—”

  Crack. The slap across her face echoed in the room. Fire blazed in her cheek.

  “Don’t you lie to me,” Aubrey snarled, grabbed Greer’s chin in a bruising grip. “Damn! You just ruin everything!”

  She squeezed hard, then jerked her hand away. With another of those brittle cackles she stalked across the floor.

  “You had everything; you always did. The perfect family, money, privilege. Everybody loves Greer. She’s so nice, pretty, and smart. Have you ever had to worry about will you have a home to go to at night? If there will be food on the table or money to bu
y new school clothes? You have no idea what it’s like to be teased because of the hole in your shirt or for being the scholarship girl. You didn’t even have to worry about a job because Daddy did that for you, too,” she sneered. “But now, now I have everything you had. Parents who worship the ground I walk on, because I made their son happy in his last days. And they think I’m carrying their beloved grandchild. I live in a home that’s ten times the size of the crappy apartments my mother moved us to every damn year. Finally, I’m loved, and you’re hated. I have the life I’ve always dreamed of.”

  Greer tracked her every move. Her breath chafed her throat, fear like sandpaper in her lungs, her chest. She dropped her gaze, just for a second, to the big, ugly gun on the floor where Aubrey had been sitting. She wanted to close her eyes, block out the sight of it, but she couldn’t afford to. Her life depended on focusing every cell and neuron on the jittery, pacing woman in front of her.

  “They think you’re carrying their grandchild,” she murmured, the phrasing snatching her attention.

  Aubrey cupped her stomach. “It doesn’t matter. They want a grandchild, and I’m pregnant. They’re too desperate and happy to have a piece of Gavin to question anything.” She smiled. “Gavin didn’t need much convincing to come to me. You didn’t appreciate him, damn sure weren’t satisfying him. That’s why he came to me, and he would’ve stayed with me if not for the money and promise of running the Addison empire your father dangled in front of him. How fucking pathetic is that? Your father had to buy Gavin away from me! But I couldn’t let him do that. I was so close to having it all. And now I do. His death gave me everything I wanted.” She bent down, shoved her face into Greer’s, an ugly sneer twisting her mouth, and an almost fanatical gleam glittering in her eyes. “They should’ve arrested you, locked you up. And your damn memory. For months, you didn’t remember anything. I was safe—my future was safe. But here you go screwing it up again. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let you take it away.”

  She stood, whirled around, and strode to the gun. Panic clawed at Greer.