by Robin Caroll
“Oh.” Quick on his feet, she’d have to give him that. Or was he being honest? She couldn’t tell. “I’ve always looked at the world a bit differently. I see things in an alternate light than most people, I suppose.” She pushed her plate forward and took a sip of water. “I just capture with the camera what I see, the way I see things.”
“You take beautiful photographs. While stills, the sense of movement in the pictures grab you.”
“Thanks. That’s the goal.” Speaking of . . . her focus shifted back to the task at hand. Let’s see if you’ll lie to me. Turnabout was fair play. “You’ve seen my work?”
He nodded. “At the motel.”
“Ah. I forgot about those. That series is titled ‘Changes.’ It was one of my favorites.” She ran a finger along the lip of the glass. Why not throw open the door wide? See if he crossed the threshold. “Have you seen any others of mine?”
“In Hayden’s office.”
She smiled. “The bayou ones? That’s one of our favorite fishing spots.” She’d taken the same shot during different types of weather—raining, sunny, a rare instance of sleet. In each of the pictures, the color scheme was totally different. The end result of the three photos was something she was truly proud of.
“They are beautiful.”
The waiter interrupted to whisk away their plates and drop off dessert menus. She perused the offerings, despite being full. Perhaps Hayden was right and Rafe was a good guy and worthy of trust.
“I’ve seen another print of yours.” His voice came out thicker, deeper.
She shut the menu. “Which one?”
“There was one hanging in Daniel Tate’s home office.” He went still. Studying her. Analyzing her every reaction.
Bella kept her expression in check. He didn’t hold back anything. He’d effectively bounced the ball back in her court. While she’d been testing his trustworthiness, had he been testing hers? She took a deep breath. “You’re quite sure it was one of mine?”
“Almost positive. I’m no expert, but the way you photograph—dark in composition, dense, but moving—it’s a unique style.”
“Interesting.” What else could she say? He’d picked up on what made her portraits individual, and she couldn’t deny the style was her unadvertised trademark.
He frowned. “That’s a noncommittal response if I ever heard one.” He straightened and crossed his arms over his chest.
She mirrored his movements. “I’m sorry, am I missing something?”
“I also saw one of your photographs hanging in Ardy Simpson’s dining room.” He paused, scrutinizing her so deeply she had to clench her leg muscles not to flinch. “I saw it when she told me you knew about Daniel Tate being Hayden’s father before she told anyone.”
Blindsided! She steeled her reaction. Ardy hadn’t said a word about talking with Rafe, so Bella hadn’t even a hint of warning. She had no time to prepare an answer, appropriate or otherwise.
“No response to that either, Miss Miller?” His voice had an unfamiliar edge. His tone was colder, sharper, harsher.
The waiter chose that moment to return to the table to take their dessert orders. Bella smiled at him as sweetly as possible. “Nothing for me, thank you.” She glanced back at her date. “I’ve had quite enough.”
“Where is she?” Lars Hartlock shone the flashlight on his partner and glared.
Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Her truck is still here.”
“I thought I told you to watch her and inform me immediately if she left.” He kept the beam on Jack’s face. “She’s not here.”
“I said I didn’t know. I got here almost two hours ago, just like you told me, and there’s been no activity. Nothing. No one’s come by, no one’s left. Her truck hasn’t moved. There hasn’t been anything to report to you.”
Was Jack really so stupid, or had he just gotten lazier the closer he got to retirement? “Was she in the house when you got here?”
“I didn’t exactly walk up to the door and knock, Lars. I really don’t know.”
He turned off his flashlight. “Well, we’d better figure out where she is and when she’s coming home, because we have orders to have this done before tomorrow morning.” No way would he admit to failing again. That outcome wouldn’t be good for his health.
“I checked the tap we have on Hayden Simpson’s cell. Heard him arguing with Bella Miller when she refused to go stay with a friend. She’s alone. Even her dog is still at the vet.”
Lars kicked the ground with his toe. “Good. Stupid dog. Thought we’d killed it.” They should’ve already killed Remington, like three years ago, but that was beside the point. He would ensure it was handled tonight.
“Apparently not. According to Hayden’s phone call with her, the vet said the dog will be able to go home in a few more days.”
Another reason to strike tonight. The gods seemed to be smiling down on them, making the path easy. If only he knew where she was.
“Well then, she should be returning.” Lars leaned against the tree at the edge of the woods adjacent to the bayou. He nodded toward her cabin. “We’ll just wait on her to come back home.”
He’d blown it but good.
Rafe signed the check, slipped his credit card back into his wallet, and waited for Bella to return. She’d excused herself to the ladies’ room a good ten minutes ago, and he hadn’t seen sight of her since.
He groaned. He’d pushed her too hard. She’d volunteered about the widow thing with no direct probing. Was it the truth? He didn’t know, but Rafe was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt.
What he did know was he had feelings for Bella Miller. Feelings that had nothing to do with the Daniel Tate case and everything to do with him personally.
And he’d blown any romantic chance he had with her by backing her against a wall on a case she probably had nothing to do with. Yet every bit of evidence pointed to her being involved, or being aware of something, in the case. It infuriated him that he couldn’t figure it out. It annoyed him even more that he’d gotten his emotions tangled up with a woman who had anything to do with one of his cases.
Maybe he just had bad luck, period.
Bella appeared beside the table. She didn’t bother to sit. Her expression was unreadable. “I think I’d like to go home now. I’m not feeling very well.” Her voice came out stiff and her tone stilted.
If he’d been holding out on a slight hope, her cold shoulder killed that. He pushed to his feet. “Okay.”
She turned and stomped out of the restaurant. He almost had to speed-walk to keep up. One thing he’d learned well from Maddie and Riley—a woman ticked marches. The smartest thing he could do would be to keep his mouth shut.
He handed the valet ticket to the young man, then stood beside Bella, keeping his trap closed even though he warred between wanting to apologize and wanting to defend himself and wanting to do his job. Raindrops pelted the asphalt.
The valet returned with his car. Before he could open the passenger door for Bella, she jumped inside, slamming the door behind her. He tipped the valet, then got behind the wheel.
An uneasy and heavy silence filled the car’s cabin. Only the hum of the engine sounded.
Scenario after scenario rushed through Rafe’s mind—none of them with a good outcome for him. Why did this have to be so hard?
The wisdom of keeping his mouth shut lost out to the nervous thrumming of his pulse. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I’m just stating the facts.”
She didn’t reply, just stared out the window into the dark night.
“This is my job, Bella. I’m not asking you questions to try to make things difficult for you. I’m just trying to solve a case.”
She made a muffled sound. Was that a snort?
“Your work be
ing in Tate’s home office? Yeah, that could be a coincidence, I suppose.” Even though he didn’t believe in coincidences. “But Ardy Simpson told me you knew about Tate being Hayden’s father.” He cut his eyes to her, then back to the road. “And that fact links you directly to my case.”
She jerked in the seat to face him. “So you go on a date with me to pump me for information?” Her glare was nothing short of lethal. “That’s a real low blow, even for an FBI agent.”
Another slight against the bureau—what did she have against them?
“No. I honestly didn’t mean to interrogate you on our date. I’d just been working on the case and . . .”
“And what? You thought you would just take advantage of the situation?” She leaned as he took a sharp right. “How do you think that makes me feel? That you would press me for information on your case on our date.”
“It isn’t like that, Bella.” His stomach roiled with the steak he’d enjoyed half an hour ago. “I didn’t intend to ask you about the case.”
“But you just couldn’t help yourself, is that it? The road to hades is paved with good intentions, Rafe Baxter.”
Words left him as he steered down her drive. He’d give up on the romantic angle, but he still had an ongoing investigation he was working. “Perhaps I went about this the wrong way, but I do still need an explanation of how you knew about Tate and Hayden.” He stopped in front of her house, put the car in Park, and stared at her.
Even in the dimness of her security light on the porch and the orange glow of the dashboard lights, there was no mistaking the fury lining her face. “You know what, Mr. FBI? If you want to interrogate me, I’d suggest you contact me during daylight hours in a professional setting.” She opened the door, stomped on the gravel, then slammed the car shut for a second time.
Bella marched up the stairs, shoved a key into the lock, and disappeared without so much as a glance back at him.
Dare he follow her? Bang on the door and apologize? Demand she answer his questions?
Barely a minute passed before the porch lights went out, plunging the bayou into darkness, save for his headlights.
Guess that answered his question. If he stayed on her porch all night, she probably would ignore him.
He sped back to the motel, debating how to best approach her tomorrow. He didn’t have a choice—he had to question her and get answers in relation to his case.
Seeing about dating was a whole other problem. Maybe he would call Maddie and get some advice. Scratch that—if his sister thought he was interested in a woman, she’d hound him with questions. He’d do better to call Darren.
Alone in his room he shucked out of the slacks, trading them for jeans, and sat at the desk. He opened his laptop and accessed his e-mail program. Not that he expected anything—he’d been reporting in to the ASAC and, unfortunately, Hartlock was in a room across the motel’s parking lot.
He clicked through the spam folder, deleting all twenty-eight pieces of junk mail. If he cashed in all the monies he’d inherited, he could retire in style. And take care of all of Savannah’s medical bills.
Rafe shook his head and went back to his in-box. He ignored the one from Riley—it’d only be a guilt trip. Then he bypassed the e-mails from two of his hunting buddies because he saw the attachment indicator. Probably showing off pictures of their first bucks of bow season.
He hovered the mouse over the next message as he read the return e-mail address: [email protected]. He slowly opened the e-mail.
Baxter, ASAC Hartlock will arrive tomorrow morning to assist you in the case. Check with him before going any further.
He double-checked the date the e-mail was sent—this afternoon. Chills drilled into his spine as the enormity of the e-mail hit him. If Hartlock wasn’t supposed to show up until Monday, why had he arrived on Friday? What had he and Devane been up to this weekend?
Hartlock’s interest in Bella . . . the attack on her house . . .
No, that was ridiculous. Hartlock had never met Bella. This was all confusing. He just had Bella on his brain. Yet . . .
Everything sure seemed coincidental all of a sudden. And Rafe didn’t believe in coincidences.
He snatched his keys and cell phone from the desk and shut his laptop. It didn’t matter how ticked off Bella Miller was, he was going to get some answers.
And he would get them right now.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Keep cool; anger is not an argument.”
DANIEL WEBSTER
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Bella repeated the mental bashing she’d been giving herself since she walked in the house, flipping on every light she passed. She’d be glad when Chubbers was home. Something about coming home to an empty house just made her even more depressed than a ruined date.
How could she have been so stupid? Despite his looks and charm, Rafe Baxter was just like the other FBI agents: crooked and untrustworthy.
Well, he wasn’t necessarily crooked—at least not that she could prove just yet, but she sure wouldn’t trust him with anything as important as her life.
A moment of conscience sidled against her as she acknowledged the main reason she’d gotten him to ask her out was to see if she could trust him.
Guess she’d found that out.
She kicked off her shoes, swapped her pants and sweater for sweats, and shoved her socked feet into her lambskin slippers. All comfy, she should have been in a better mood, but she wasn’t. Still berating herself for almost trusting Rafe, she shuffled down the hall and into the kitchen. So what if it was almost ten o’clock? She needed coffee.
Once she’d set the pot, Bella headed back to the living room and flipped on the television. After reading the online guide, she turned the set back off. Nothing grabbed her interest.
The enticing aroma of fresh brewed java filtered through the house. Just the smell calmed her frayed nerves and took the edge off her anger.
She headed to the kitchen, grabbing her cell from her purse as she passed the entryway. Hayden was going to get an earful tonight. Trust Rafe Baxter?—ha, that was a joke. She’d have to figure out some way to explain what Ardy had told him.
Or she could run again.
Her finger froze over Hayden’s number on her cell. If she decided to disappear, it’d be better just to go. Everything in her wanted to stay. Maybe Hayden was right and it was time to get justice for Daniel. He’d waited three years already.
Yes, it was time she took a stand. Right, wrong, or indifferent, she wouldn’t run again. She’d stand and fight. Try to stay alive while seeing justice served. And if Rafe Baxter stood in her way with Hartlock and Devane . . . well, she’d just have to deal with her raging feelings for him.
If only he didn’t appeal to her so much. If she could ignore the quickening of her traitorous heart every time she saw him. If she could pretend he didn’t make her stomach do backflips with that velvety voice of his. If he didn’t look at her like he could see into the very depths of her being.
Bella sighed and pressed the button on her cell. Hayden would come over, and they could decide what she was going to do.
Thump! Thump!
The wooden frame around the kitchen window facing the bayou shook.
Whaa—?
In a split second, she registered the sound: bullets hitting her house.
Not again.
Bella dove to the floor behind the island. The cell phone flew out of her hand and clattered across the wood floor. The battery skidded out of sight. Her heart thundered, but she shoved fear aside. On all fours, she crawled to the pantry where she kept her shotgun.
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Those were coming from the side of the house, closer to the guest room than the front door. Whoever was shooting outside, they weren’t that great of a shot. Or they were too far away.
She hoped for the latter as she slammed two shells into the shotgun. Her hands were steady as she chambered the rounds.
She opened the panel for the breaker box and turned off the main switch. The house plummeted into darkness.
Bella held the shotgun and inched out of the pantry. All of her senses went into overdrive—she could see every shadow cast by the moonlight, hear every snap of a twig broken in the yard, smell even the stench of her own fear. The pounding of her pulse thudded inside her head as she crept forward into the kitchen.
Not another bullet hit. No echo of a gunshot split the eerily silent bayou. Her mouth went as dry as the Spanish moss veiling the cypress trees outside.
She pressed her back against the wall and sidestepped to the living room, darting her focus between staring out the windows into the darkness and listening for any sounds. One step, two step, pause. Listen. Look.
A step. Two. Three. Look. Listen.
Step, again. Again. Again. Was that a shadow in the front yard? She gripped the shotgun tighter. No, only the wind shifting the limbs of an old live oak.
Another step. Two. Listen. Look.
Step. Step. Was that someone stepping on leaves?
Crunch. Snap. Crunch.
Definitely someone creeping around outside.
Bella slumped silently to the floor and scooted into the living room, positioning herself behind the couch. She would use it for cover.
Creak.
The loose bottom stair. She’d been meaning to fix it for months but hadn’t gotten around to it. Now she knew someone climbed the porch stairs.
Tap. Tap.
From her bedroom. Someone trying to get in the back door?
Her chest hurt. Every nerve of hers was at attention. Footfalls on the bottom of the staircase pushed her into action. She propped the shotgun against the back of the couch, aiming at the front door.