Taking the podium, he kept his statement short. “Let me introduce Special Agent Steve Journey, a profiler with the FBI. He has put together a psychological description of the person we think is responsible for twelve brutal slayings. He will answer any questions you might have.” He indicated the microphone with his hand as he stepped back. Journey delivered the news, leaving out the actual suspect and the fact that they knew the killer to be female. Behind his colleague, Patrick Swift whispered something to the detective, who lifted an eyebrow. On Ray’s other side, Baker whispered something. To the press it appeared to be an exchange of information, but Raif’s heart raced. He left as soon as he could without drawing more attention to himself. Walking off the platform, Chief Gerard placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered. Raif’s whole body stiffened. He hurried away.
Raif entered the apartment, which Chris had domesticated, with a sigh.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Patrick and Baker know.”
“Know what?”
“That I’m not Ray. And Chief Gerard suspects.”
She gave him a questioning look. He shrugged. “They won’t say anything. Patrick thinks it’s funny, but he says I’m not as arrogant as my twin. Baker noticed I don’t have a scar on my lower right cheek. At least Ray has a beard right now so Latrice won’t notice his scar.”
“It’ll be fine,” Chris assured. “I think they should all know before the actual day.”
“You’re probably right, but I still have to keep fooling the other two agents until then.”
After another visit to the station, Raif returned with a deep scowl, which made him look even more like Ray.
Anxious at his expression, Chris asked, “What happened now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You look upset.”
“Well…” He hesitated. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Raif sat on the tan leather sofa, hugged an earth-tone paisley throw pillow to his chest, and stared at the floor. Chris recognized the barrier. She fretted. Will we have to start over? I thought we’d broken down several walls. “Have I done something wrong?” she asked.
“What’s your relationship with Lawrence Dantzler?” he asked, looking up with his captivating eyes without raising his head.
“Excuse me?” Chris shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “What relationship?”
“You don’t have one?”
“No!” she barked.
“He…intimated otherwise.”
“Jackass! I’ll put him in his place.” She sat beside Raif but hesitated to touch him because of the barrier he still held against his chest. “Lawrence Dantzler is a player. Likeable, but he strings women along.”
“You know this how?” He cocked his head to the side, but made eye contact with Chris.
“We dated about five years ago. The big problem was he had three or four other women he dated at the same time.”
“So, there’s nothing now?”
“No. Why?”
“It’s just…I wouldn’t want to step on his toes. He’s Herculean.”
Chris laughed. I hope I’m interpreting Raif’s dialogue correctly.
He said, “After Halloween, I think, I’d like to ask you to dinner since you’re not with Dantzler.”
“I am not,” she assured him. “And I’ll go.”
He put the pillow against the back of the sofa.
Through their time, Raif’s admiration and respect for Chris deepened. He wanted to open up fully to her, but he kept up his guard. Old wounds ran deep.
She tried everything she could, including talking about her dark childhood after her mother’s death when she’d had to shoulder the responsibility of helping parent six younger siblings. She shared about becoming involved with a boy no older than she was and how his parents had forbidden him to have anything else to do with her when she got pregnant. She related how her father had forced her to give the baby up for adoption. She talked about her own child she’d never held and wondered about every day. Her words were factual, but anguish and heartache showed on her face. Although a friendship blossomed, Chris was quite aware there was a shield, harder than the throw pillow Raif had held in front of him, over his heart. Only a miracle would make him lower it. Chris was angry with Lawrence Dantzler for replacing the mortar she had managed to chisel loose.
♣♣♣
Even as Raif and Chris bonded, Larkin and Ray grew close despite Ray’s resolve not to become involved any further on a personal level.
The ice broke the first day as they sat down to eat on the bed. Sitting cross-legged, Larkin joked, “All right! So, you deserve an Oscar. However, you can leave the playacting for Latrice. I would really like to get to know Raiford Reynolds.”
“What would you like to know?” the detective asked.
“Everything. I want to know about your childhood. I want to know your likes and dislikes. Then, you can choose an adjective that begins with each letter of your name that describes your personality.”
Shocked by her reply, Ray asked, “Yes, Teacher. Ray or Raiford?”
She grinned. “Raiford. Ray is too short, and Y is hard anyway.”
“I will if you will,” he challenged.
“Bring it on!” she teased.
Ray set about giving Larkin a synopsis of his childhood and family, including the death of his sister and the impact it had on his life. He became quiet and thoughtful for he wanted to be honest without being offensive. Then, he seriously said, “Now, for your adjectives.”
“Not mine—yours,” countered Larkin.
“You know what I meant,” argued Ray, “but I just might do some for you and tell you what I think of you.” His cheeks dimpled teasingly.
“Go for it, if I get the same privilege.” Her eyes danced with mischief.
Ray laughed. “Oh, this I have to hear. Here I go: First of all, Y wouldn’t’ve been that hard. I would’ve chosen yare. I think yare describes me. I’m just like a Boy Scout; I was a Boy Scout, an Eagle Scout. I’m always prepared.”
Both of them laughed before he began in earnest. “Rakish or Roguish—I couldn’t decide, but I confess I have a wild side, so either will work.”
She snickered. I have a hard time seeing you, so bent on justice, being a rake, although you are pushing the boundaries of the rule book with this double identity farce.
Face blank, he deadpanned, “I like beer and tequila, and I can tie one on.”
“Okay.” Trying to get my goat, huh? “Please, don’t let me stop you. I want to hear what you think of yourself.”
He nodded and kept on. “Alert—I pay close attention to details. Independent—I’m used to depending on myself and I find it difficult to let other people make decisions for me or about me. Fallible—I make mistakes. Opinionated—And I will argue my point to the bitter end. Reliable—you can depend on me. Determined—I don’t give up easily. How did I do, Miss Sloan? Do I get an A?”
“Well, all the words were adjectives, and you explained yourself quite well. I guess I’ll pass you.” The teacher pretended to write in a grade book and took a deep breath. All the while Ray had talked, she had weighed her options to describe a man that took her breath away. “But you might consider these: Restive—you’re quite impatient. Affable—you’re very kind and friendly, but. Irascible—you have a quick temper. Familial—your family and those you care about are important to you. Objective—although you’re opinionated, you must keep an open mind and weigh all the evidence. Rational—you have a great ability to reason. Daedal—you are very intricate and complicated. You’re not so hard to read, Raiford Reynolds, and you’re not as awful as you pretend to be. On the contrary, you’re one of the genuinely good guys.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Ray said deferentially. Interesting. Damn, and I thought of those too. “Now it’s your turn.”
“As you wish,” Larkin conceded. “Loquacious—I love to talk.”
“I can t
ell,” he said in a smart-aleck tone.
Larkin rolled her eyes, but did not let him deter her. “Ardent—I’m full of emotion in all that I do. Reserved—I keep a lot of my thoughts to myself, especially negative ones, which has caused my colleagues to think I don’t struggle as much as they do when I do. Keen—I’m sharp as a tack. Individualistic—I don’t conform simply to conform. I am myself. Take me or leave me. Novel—I’m far from ordinary.”
“Um,” mused Ray. I want to say just the right words. “You’re Likeable—I like you.”
“I like you, too.”
“Let me finish, Miss Loquacious.”
Larkin giggled.
He went on. “You’re Angelic—there’s an ethereal aura about you. You’re Refined—you’ve been purified by fire and emerged clear and delicate and cultured. Dr. Fairchild would agree. She told us about all you’ve endured. You’re Kind—a simple word, but as uncomplicated as you are. You’re Indulgent—ready to forgive and forget, most of the time. I see how you’ve already forgiven Raif.” He paused, not certain he should say exactly what was on his mind, but he couldn’t help himself. “I’m waiting to hear what you have to say about Dupree Parks.”
She started to speak, but he wagged his head and shook his finger at the same time. “I’m not finished. I still have your N.” He stared at her a moment. His voice took on dreaminess. “Last, you are Narcotic—spending time with you could become very addictive.”
“Take me off that pedestal right now, Ray,” she asserted. “I’m merely a sinner saved by grace. Anything good does not come from me, but from Above.”
“Like I said, angelic. How could you want to spend time with a rogue and rake like me?”
“Rogue! Rake! Right! When was the last time you were a rogue or a rake?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never told anybody but my priest this. Why am I telling you?” He rubbed his head as if one of his migraines might be coming on. “I have no idea,” he answered himself. “But it was the night I hired a call girl after my fiancée decided she couldn’t handle being a cop’s wife.”
“Why did she decide that?”
He sat back with a curious look on his face, mouth slightly ajar. “Aren’t you appalled I hired a hooker? I’m a cop. I broke the law.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s understandable. Like you said, you’re fallible. You made a mistake. Now, why did your fiancée leave you?”
“I got shot on a domestic disturbance response before I became a detective.”
“Ah. I’ve heard that’s one of the most dangerous calls a policeman can respond to.”
“Yep. You never know just how volatile the situation might be.”
“She really hurt you, didn’t she?”
“If she had just decided she couldn’t marry me, I could’ve dealt with that, but she went straight to the arms of the man I thought was my best friend. He was a lawyer—much safer and more money.” He rubbed his stubble. “When his philandering broke her heart, she wanted to come back. Sorry, babe. No can do. I realized then I’ll probably grow old alone. It’d take a very strong, special woman to be my wife, a cop’s wife. It’s who I am.”
“And after all this time, you’re still angry. You need to let it go.”
Ray looked at Larkin in disbelief. How can this woman see through me like that? “I suppose you think I should go to confession.”
“Would it help?”
“No. I actually went after the night with the prostitute.” He displayed the defiant look of a naughty little boy who should feel sorry for something he had done, but didn’t. “I was told to say ten ‘Hail Mary’s’ and ten ‘Our Father’s.’ They were empty words. I haven’t been back. That was four years ago. My mom worries I’ll go to Hell.”
“Perhaps if you confessed your feelings and sin to the Real Father, it would help.”
“The Real Father? Directly to God?” He sighed impatiently. “Just tell God how I feel? Sin? Ask him to forgive me?”
“Yes, face to face before the Throne.”
Words coated with bitterness, he said, “Are you preaching to me now?”
“Not my intent.” She sat back with her hands raised in surrender.
“Honestly, I’m not sure there’s anyone listening.” Ray looked contemplative. Is this what Raif meant? Will this woman’s words change my life? “I’ll have to think about that. Right now, I need to talk to Chris for a minute. Excuse me.”
Ray stepped out the door and called Chris. They talked several minutes, not about the case, but about what Larkin had said.
“Trust what she says, Ray,” assured Chris. “Try it. I did, and I’m changed from the inside.”
She got to both of them? “That’s what Raif said.”
“My dad always said that confirmation comes in threes. So, try it.”
“I don’t guess a prayer can hurt. ’Bye.”
Before he returned to Larkin, Ray paused at the door. “Okay, God. I’ve had my doubts about you even being up there. I’ve been very angry and bitter for a long time. I’ve tried to make it go away by myself. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Please, help me to let it go. Help me to find a better way. Whew! Amen.”
When Ray came back in, Larkin had washed the dishes they used. She asked candidly, “Just how close are you and Chris?”
The detective chortled. “Are you asking if I’m in love with Chris? The answer is no. She’s probably the best friend I’ve ever had. I love her to death, but I am not in love with her. We’re too much alike. One of us, or maybe both, would end up dead.”
“That’s what she said. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t setting yourself up to get hurt again.”
“I can take care of myself, Larkin, but thank you.” His tone abruptly ended the conversation.
“If you insist.” Larkin let the matter drop. The time hasn’t yet come, she told herself.
♣♣♣
After three days of chess, gin rummy, and Scrabble with Larkin, and losing every time, Ray announced, “I have to go to the health department to make contact with Latrice. I need to see her at least once before Halloween. A tail was placed on her, and I’ve kept in touch with Chris.”
Larkin looked terrified, her eyes wide and misty.
“I promise I can pull this off. Raif and Chris will be around the corner and will be listening and giving me advice,” he said confidently. “I do need your help though.” He opened a small case, which contained the tiniest microphone and recorder Larkin had ever seen. He produced a roll of medical tape and took off his shirt.
Her eyes were drawn to his finely chiseled and defined physique, innocence momentarily overwhelmed by the involuntary reaction of her own body. Face flushed, heart racing, she was sure she betrayed herself when she spoke.
“What do you need me to do?”
He handed her the tape as he connected the microphone cord to the recorder. Placing the recorder in the small of his back just inside the waist band of the grungy jeans Raif had worn at the last visit to Latrice, the detective said, “Tape the recorder to my back.”
Larkin’s eyes widened when she observed Ray’s tattoo. A Celtic guardian, in the same place as mine. A sign? That fact alone made her hands shake as she taped the recorder down securely. “How’s that?” she asked, unsure of what was racing through her mind. For the first time in my life I’ve found a man to whom I could give myself and possibly break a vow I made with you, Lord. The fleeting thoughts scared her. But here is all I’ve dreamed about—the dark hair and the blue eyes have a face and a name and a matching tattoo. Is this what God’s planned all along?
He felt the recorder. “Nice work.” Ray ran the cord along his rib cage. With his thumb, indicating where, he said, “Put a piece here.”
She taped the cord, and he positioned the microphone between his pectoral muscles against his breastbone, being careful to place it just to the side of the small patch of ebony hair on his chest.<
br />
“And here,” the detective instructed.
Before she taped the microphone, Larkin gently touched a scar in Ray’s left shoulder.
“That’s where I got shot,” he explained without her ever asking. “It wasn’t life threatening, but it hurt.”
She taped the microphone as asked, terrified this man would be able to read her thoughts, lustful thoughts as never experienced before. Ray said, “Thanks.” He then put on the same filthy hoodie Raif had worn. “How do I look?”
Her nose crinkled. “As revolting as you smell.” Impure thoughts vanished.
“Thank you again. I’ll be back very soon.” Ray reached into his bag again and handed Larkin a gun. “This is my backup .38. If anyone besides Chris, Raif or me comes through that door, shoot ’em. All you have to do is point and pull the trigger.”
A new worry struck. Might I have to kill someone? Her face drained of blood.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a precaution. We’re watching Latrice. Let’s hope you don’t have to pull the trigger.” He smiled. “But be sure you don’t when I come back in.”
Larkin tremulously asked, “Ray, have you ever had to kill someone?”
He became pensive for a moment before he answered. “Yes, and it haunted me for a long time. I hope I never have to do it again, but I know I can if it comes to protecting an innocent victim or myself. Let’s hope you won’t have to pull that trigger.” He kissed her on the forehead and left.
Larkin prayed.
♣♣♣
Latrice came out of the health department right at five. She saw Ray in the gathering dusk. “What do you want?” she snarled through clenched teeth.
Raif’s voice buzzed in his ear. “Act confused and a little incoherent.”
“Lar…Larkin needs food,” Ray stammered. “The three hundred dollars is gone.” He remembered the story his brother had told him about giving the money to a homeless man.
“Lord! How I look forward to Halloween!” Latrice muttered.
“Talk about the voices,” Raif instructed.
“Me too,” Ray whispered. “The voices will stop on Halloween, right?”
Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1) Page 15