[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  Rafe didn’t move. He just stood there for a moment, making sure that Perry wouldn’t get up again, and then he kicked the gun under the bed, where Perry couldn’t reach it. When he turned to me, I caught my breath quickly at the sight of the knife in his hand. He must have had it in his pocket this whole time, and just waited for his chance when Perry’s concentration faltered.

  “You OK, darlin’?”

  Whatever huskiness and heat had been in his eyes and voice were gone. His eyes were flat and his voice even. I, on the other hand, was a basket-case. Trembling with fear and pain and exhaustion, I had tears running down my cheeks. “I think so,” I managed, through chattering teeth. “Is he dead?”

  Rafe glanced negligently at the huddled mess on the floor. Perry was curled into himself, clutching his stomach and breathing in short, shallow gasps. “Not yet.”

  “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance or something?”

  “Considering that he’s looking at two counts of murder and two more of attempted murder, not to mention the rapes and the theft, it’d be kinder just to let him bleed out. But it’s up to you.”

  He lifted the knife. A drop of blood – Perry’s blood – fell on my arm, and I shuddered in revulsion. Rafe wiped it off with his hand, unemotionally, and then dried the blade of the knife on the black satin sheet, where the wet blood disappeared against the fabric. My hands were shaking so much it was a miracle he didn’t cut an artery as he released me, but I guess it was because his own hands were rock steady. As I sat up, wincing at the pins and needles in my arms, I worried for a moment that I’d lost control of my bladder in the heat of the moment. But then I realized that the bullet had penetrated the cover of the waterbed, which had sprung a slow leak, and I was sitting in a widening puddle of water.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” Rafe said, and without any more ado, he scooped me up and stood. For once, the fact that I was practically naked in the arms of a man who wasn’t my husband, failed to worry me. I threw my arms around his neck and held on for dear life while he moved past Perry, out the door and down the stairs, into the living room. However, it wasn’t until he put me down on the edge of the sofa and straightened up, and I reluctantly let go, that I noticed the glistening crimson stain on his T-shirt.

  “Oh, my God!” I choked out, staring, “is that your blood?”

  “What?” He followed the direction of my eyes. “Oh, this? The bullet nicked me on the way past. No big deal.”

  “You’re bleeding!”

  “It’s just a scratch.” He sounded like the larger-than-life hero of the bodice ripper currently nestled in my bag, but I couldn’t summon enough air to say so. He must have seen my eyes turn glassy, because he added, quickly, “Look, I’ll show you. It’s nothing. No worse than a skinned knee. I’ve been hurt much worse than this before. See?”

  While he continued to talk soothingly, apparently intent on keeping me from fainting, he peeled the white T-shirt up and over his head. I’ll never know if the ploy might have worked had the circumstances been different, but overwrought and over-stimulated as I was, the sight of him – silky smooth skin, hard muscles, bloody furrow and all – stole the remaining breath out of my lungs, and I slid to the floor in a dead faint.

  * * *

  When I woke up, I was on the sofa, and Rafe was slapping my face with a wet washcloth. He had taken the time to put a couple of Band-Aids over his injury, but not to put his shirt back on, and all of that masculinity leaning over me made me feel faint all over again. I pushed his hand away weakly and sat up, folding my arms across my breasts. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” He straightened up, too.

  I shrugged, making sure I didn’t look below his chin. “Everything. Almost getting you killed. Acting like a girl. Fainting.”

  “You’re entitled. Some scary stuff happened to you.”

  “Have you called the police yet?”

  “Figured I’d leave that to you.” He got up and snagged the cordless phone from the table. “Here.”

  He headed into the bathroom with the wash-rag. I dialed Tamara Grimaldi’s number and this time caught her. “Detective? Savannah Martin.”

  “What are you doing, calling from the Fortunatos’ house?”

  No flies on the detective. Of course, it wasn’t omniscience, just caller ID.

  “I was hosting another open house,” I explained. “Perry called and asked me to. While I was here, I stumbled over his collection of pornography, and also over a black ski mask and coveralls. He found me going through his stuff and tried to kill me.”

  “Holy Mother of God!” the detective said. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “How about you come down here, and I’ll tell you?”

  “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

  “I don’t, but Perry might. He’s in pretty bad shape. Or he might be dead by now.”

  “Good,” the detective said callously. “Stay where you are. I’m sending an ambulance, and I’ll be there in 30 minutes myself. Don’t go anywhere, and don’t open the door to anyone else.”

  I promised I wouldn’t, and hung up. “They’re on their way.”

  “Seems a shame to cover you up,” Rafe remarked, with another glance at my scantily clad charms, “but you should prob’ly get dressed.”

  “I would if I could find my clothes,” I said, “but I didn’t see them upstairs. And my cell phone is somewhere in the closet. Perry snatched it out of my hand and threw it.” My voice began shaking again.

  “At least you managed to call first,” Rafe answered.

  I nodded. “Good thing Perry didn’t know that Wendell always says you’re not there. If he had realized I’d actually gotten through, he might have killed me right away.”

  “Today I really wasn’t there,” Rafe said. “But Wendell called me as soon as your phone went dead, and told me to get the hell over here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll go upstairs and see if I can find your clothes. If I can’t, I’ll find something of Mrs. Fortunato’s. You two were about the same size.”

  Connie had been as thin as a rake and at least an inch shorter than me, but I didn’t point it out. “Maybe Perry has a shirt that’ll fit you. You should get dressed again, too.”

  Rafe didn’t answer, but he turned to grin at me before he headed up the stairs, as if he knew that the main reason I wanted him to cover up, was so that I wouldn’t be tempted to sneak peeks at him.

  He came back a few minutes later, wearing a dark green T-shirt and carrying my cell phone and a pair of Connie’s jeans and a stretchy top. “I couldn’t find yours, but I figure these’ll do.”

  I had my doubts, but I took them anyway, and started putting them on. “How’s Perry?”

  Rafe was watching me, but I don’t think it was because he was enjoying the show. Or not solely because he was enjoying the show. Probably, it was just as much to gauge my reactions. “Dead.”

  “Oh, my God!” I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I pulled the white top over my head and yanked it down. It failed to meet the top of the – skintight – jeans by several inches, leaving a strip of my stomach bare. Rafe’s lips curved in momentary appreciation, but he didn’t comment.

  “He’s better off,” he said instead. “I’ve been where he was headed, and believe me, I know what I’d choose.”

  I didn’t answer. He’d been there, yes, so maybe he did know, but all the same, it was difficult for me to admit that Perry was better off dead than alive.

  “I gotta go,” Rafe added when I didn’t say anything.

  I stared up at him, mouth open. “What do you mean, you have to go? You can’t leave me here alone!”

  “I can’t take you with me,” Rafe said. And added, with a toss of his head up the stairs, “He ain’t gonna bother you. Just stay down here and wait for the cops.”

  “Why can’t you stay here and wait for the cops?”

  His voice was patient, as if this was something I
ought to have reasoned out for myself. “Cause they’ll arrest me. And now ain’t a good time for me to be in jail.”

  “Oh.” I bit my lip. I’d forgotten about the tiny matter of the robberies in the flush of having found Lila’s and Connie’s killer.

  Rafe’s voice gentled. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Just keep the front door locked, and don’t go upstairs.”

  I shook my head. No danger of that. “But what do I tell them?”

  He spread his hands. “Anything you want.”

  “But…” But I don’t want you to go!

  He looked at me for a moment, as if he could read my mind, before he said, “I’ll call you.”

  “Isn’t that what every man says? And never does?”

  He looked at me for another second, and then he came back. And grabbed me by the shoulders, lifted me off the sofa, and planted a kiss on my lips. It was quick and hard and surprisingly thorough, and when he let me go, I sat down again with a thump.

  “I’ll call you,” he said again, with emphasis. I didn’t bother arguing. I wouldn’t have bothered to argue even if I could have gotten my vocal chords to cooperate. There is no sense in arguing with something like that.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By the time Detective Grimaldi arrived, Rafe was gone. I was outside, sitting on the front steps in my borrowed jeans and top, still feeling chilled in spite of the September heat, and the paramedics were upstairs deciding that there was nothing they could do for Perry.

  They hadn’t come down the stairs to tell me that, of course, but dead is dead, and I wasn’t fool enough to believe that Rafe might have been mistaken about Perry’s state.

  Grimaldi stopped in front of me for a moment and waited until I looked up. “Are you OK?” Her dark eyes were concerned.

  “As good as I can expect to be,” I said.

  “I’m going to go inside for a minute, and talk to the paramedics. Then I’ll come back out and talk to you. Don’t go anywhere.”

  I shook my head.

  True to her word, she came back a few minutes later and sat down next to me. In her hand was a plastic baggie containing the bloody knife that had killed Perry, and another holding the gun. “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  I avoided looking at the bags as I went over the progression of events again, in a little more detail this time. Perry’s phone call to me, and my agreement to host another open house for him. Beau Riggins’s phone call, spurring my nosiness. What I’d found in Perry’s secret cubby, and Perry coming home and finding me there.

  “And then?”

  “He knocked me out. Elbow to the head, I think – it felt that way – and taser. When I woke up, I was tied to the bed.”

  Tamara Grimaldi nodded. “We saw the ropes. How did you cut yourself loose?”

  I hesitated. Cutting myself loose while my hands were tied would have been an impossible task. “I didn’t. I talked Perry into doing it.”

  She arched her brows. “How did you manage that?”

  “I… um… made him think I wanted to participate.” I blushed.

  “I see. That was very resourceful of you. So this knife…” she lifted the baggie, “…belonged to Mr. Fortunato?”

  “Um…” I hesitated for another moment while my brain scrambled to consider all the pros and cons of all my possible answers. Lying to the police is such a hassle. “Actually, no. It’s mine. Or rather, it’s Rafe’s. He gave it to me.”

  Better to own up to that part of it. The police would probably check the knife for fingerprints and find his.

  “You don’t say?” Detective Grimaldi eyed it speculatively. “When was this?”

  “Um… a few days ago?”

  “On Thursday, perhaps? When Spicer and Truman caught you two making out in the parking lot across from Julio Melendez’s place?”

  “We weren’t making out,” I said, but without heat. I didn’t have any energy to spare to set the record straight; I was too busy trying to muddy the waters. “But it might have been then. I’m almost sure it was.”

  “Right,” Grimaldi said. “You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Martin.”

  I stared at her, wide-eyed, and she added, “I’m not saying it isn’t Mr. Collier’s knife. I’m sure it is. As a matter of fact, I think I’ve seen it before. We tested it for traces of blood after Mrs. Puckett’s murder, I believe. But I don’t think he gave it to you several days ago. If he had, you wouldn’t have had to visit Sally’s shop yesterday, to buy your own knife.”

  Darn. I’d forgotten about that.

  “So why don’t you tell me what really happened? Not that I can’t venture a pretty good guess.”

  “Fine,” I said, resignedly. “When I discovered Perry’s stash of porn and goodies, I tried to call you. You didn’t answer, and I didn’t have time to leave a message, because I could hear him outside. I needed someone who always picks up the phone, so I called Rafe instead. Then Perry found me and knocked me out. By the time I woke up, Rafe had gotten here. He’d knocked Perry out; that’s why the… um… corpse looks like it’s been in a fight. But before he could untie me, Perry came upstairs and pulled out a gun. Rafe was the one who made him believe he wanted to participate, not me.”

  Although my not entirely fake fear had helped to make the deception possible.

  “I see,” Detective Grimaldi said. “So when we look at the tapes from the hidden cameras, that’s what we’ll see?”

  The cameras! I’d forgotten all about them.

  “Pretty much, yes. Perry believed him, and let his guard down. Rafe pulled the knife out of his pocket and stabbed Perry in the stomach. I was still tied up then. He didn’t cut me loose until afterward.”

  “I see,” Grimaldi said again. “And where is he now?”

  I made a face. “He left.”

  “He left?!”

  “He said this wasn’t a good time for him to be in jail.”

  “Great,” Detective Grimaldi said, breathing through her aquiline nose. “He stabs a man to death – in a particularly efficient, brutal way, I might add – and you let him walk off.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Knock him down and sit on him?”

  “Oh, he would have loved that!” Grimaldi said, through her teeth.

  I shrugged. “I’m not a cop, Detective. I don’t have the authority to tell a man not to leave. Although I tried.”

  “Uh-huh,” the detective said, grumpily. “I’m going to need that telephone number, if you please.”

  “Sure.” I rattled it off. “He doesn’t deserve to be arrested for killing Perry, though. It was self defense. Perry had a gun, and he had threatened to use it. When Rafe stabbed him, Perry tried to shoot. The bullet grazed Rafe and ended up in the waterbed. Either of us could have been hit, and if Rafe hadn’t stopped Perry, I would certainly be dead by now.”

  Detective Grimaldi didn’t answer. “Will you be OK driving home on your own, Ms. Martin? I’m going to have my hands full here for a while.”

  I blinked. “That’s it? You’re just going to let me leave?”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop by downtown tomorrow, to go over things again. Late morning, perhaps? I’ll have some lunch delivered and we can talk things over in private. For right now, I need to look at the evidence and the video tapes. But if everything turns out to be as straight-forward as it seems, yes, this is it.”

  “Wow!” I said, getting to my feet. “Sure. I’ll be fine driving home by myself. My hands have mostly stopped shaking. If you have any more questions, you know my number. And… um… if you come across a black skirt and a pink blouse in there, they’re mine. Rafe couldn’t find them, so he borrowed some of Connie’s instead.”

  “The shortest and tightest he could find, no doubt.” Detective Grimaldi looked me over.

  I smiled apologetically. “I’ll have them cleaned and bring them to you tomorrow. If you find mine, you can just throw them away, unless you need them for evidence. I don’t think I’ll be comfortable wearing them ag
ain, knowing that Perry took them off me while I was unconscious.”

  The detective nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Elevenish?”

  I agreed to be at Police Plaza by eleven the following day, and Tamara Grimaldi went back into the house while I headed in the opposite direction, for my car and the safety of home.

  * * *

  When I showed up at eleven the next morning, she had ordered lunch from Monell’s Restaurant and spread it out in an unused interview room on the top floor, with a view of the Cumberland River and the barges floating slowly by outside. “Have a seat.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “I think.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I guess I’m just worried about all this niceness. Like, you’re going to wait until my mouth is full and then spring something on me.”

  Tamara Grimaldi shook her head. “There’s nothing to spring. The evidence bears out everything you told me. The knife has Mr. Collier’s fingerprints all over it, and some of Mr. Fortunato’s blood. We also found a tiny fiber from the rope lodged between the blade and the handle, and traces of blood on the rope. Obviously, the knife was used to stab Mr. Fortunato and then wiped on the sheets and used to cut the ropes that tied you to the bed. The bullet was right where you said it would be, and the gun had Mr. Fortunato’s fingerprints on it, and no one else’s. We discovered a white T-shirt with Mr. Collier’s blood in the downstairs trash can. I hope he wasn’t badly hurt?”

  “It was just a scratch. Or so he said.”

  “That’s good to know. We also found your clothes tossed in a corner of the closet. For now, I’m going to hold on to them, but if there comes a time when I don’t need them anymore, I’ll get rid of them for you.”