[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set

by Jenna Bennett

  He shrugged, a jerk of his shoulders. The lack of grace told me more about how he was feeling than any words of his ever would.

  Or maybe not. He looked at me. “Is this on me?”

  I bit back an automatic, Of course not! “You mean, is it your fault?” I asked instead. “How could it be? You didn’t shoot her. You weren’t even here. Were you?”

  He shook his head. “But she worked for me. Lived under my roof. Someone mighta...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Someone might have killed Marquita to send Rafe a message. Someone like the man from yesterday.

  “What have you gotten yourself into now?” I said.

  He hesitated for a moment before he answered. “Nothing you need worry about.”

  “What do you mean? If someone killed Marquita because of you, what’s to stop them from...”

  I managed to bite my tongue before I blurted out something I’d regret. But if someone had killed Marquita just because she worked for him, how much more satisfying would it be to kill me, who had been one phone call away from getting naked with him just now?

  He looked at me in silence for a moment. “You should get outta here.” He turned away.

  “Rafe...”

  But I didn’t know what more to say.

  I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish what we started?

  I’m sorry we started anything in the first place?

  Now that I was away from him, out of the magnetic pull of his body, it was almost unbelievable that just a few minutes ago, I’d been tangled in bed with this man. What had I been thinking? If word of this got back to Todd—or God forbid, to my mother...!

  Moving blindly, I grabbed a set of clean underwear from the suitcase in the corner, and a skirt and blouse from the closet. Rafe didn’t watch me, just walked to the rumpled bed and laid down, folding his hands across his stomach like an effigy on a tombstone, looking up at the ceiling. It was the most awkward morning-after atmosphere ever, especially considering that nothing had happened earlier. Nothing I couldn’t get over. And it wasn’t like I knew much about mornings-after, anyway, but I could imagine that they must feel like this. He acted like he couldn’t wait for me to get out of his space. So maybe what had happened hadn’t meant anything to him. Maybe he was glad we’d been interrupted before anything more had happened. Something we couldn’t come back from.

  Feeling horrible inside, I went across the hall into the bathroom to change and brush my teeth, and then came back into the bedroom to put my nightgown in the suitcase. May as well pack, since I wouldn’t be spending another night here.

  Rafe still hadn’t moved. If it weren’t for the fact that his eyes were open, I’d have thought he’d fallen asleep. Frankly, he looked like he could use some rest. His face was drawn and the circles under his eyes almost black.

  I hesitated next to the bed. To talk, or not to talk? Leave without a word, or break the silence?

  Before I could make up my mind, he turned his head to look at me. Took in the change from rumpled nightgown and tangled hair to primly buttoned blouse and tight chignon without comment. His eyes lingered on my tidy hair for a second, though, and I could see the shadow of memory in his eyes: how he had driven his hands into my hair earlier, holding me in place so he could kiss me. My cheeks heated as I remembered his mouth on mine, the feeling of his hands in my hair, angling my head for the perfect fit...

  So much for my attempt to take control of the situation by taming my hair.

  I cleared my throat. “We have to talk. Someone broke into my apartment two days ago. Searched my bedroom, went through my stack of mail and my laptop, and slashed my nightgown with a knife. We think whoever it was, was looking for you. And there was this man yesterday...”

  His eyes returned to mine. “Who?”

  “He was Hispanic. About thirty five. Six feet one, muscular. Scary. Also looking for you.”

  Rafe shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells.”

  “I know. It could be anyone. Detective Grimaldi said the same thing.”

  He nodded. “You really oughta get going, darlin’. You don’t wanna keep Tammy waiting.”

  “You do know that she doesn’t like it when you call her that, right?”

  He smiled. I sighed. “I’ll be back later to drop off Mrs. Jenkins and pick up my things. Are you planning to be around for a while?”

  “Figured I’d have to be.”

  Great. “If you’ve got your grandmother taken care of, I’ll move out. Maybe go to Sweetwater for a few days, until the police are finished with my apartment.”

  His lips curved. “You’re more than welcome to stay here, darlin’.”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said primly. “For either of us.”

  The smile widened. “You afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me if you stick around?”

  Something like that. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” I said, deliberately ignoring the question.

  “I’ll be here.” He closed his eyes. I watched his lashes, long and thick and dark, make shadows against his cheeks in the sunlight streaking through the slats in the blinds, and then I walked to the door and out.

  * * *

  Giving Tamara Grimaldi my statement didn’t take much time at all. I hadn’t seen Marquita the day she left for Sweetwater, and the last time I did see her, a day or two earlier, she hadn’t said anything about leaving, and hadn’t been acting any different than she always did.

  “She didn’t like me,” I explained. “The first time I met her—since high school, I mean—was in the Bog in August, and she thought Rafe had brought me there. So she took against me from the start.”

  And some of it, admittedly, had been my own fault. Instead of being gracious to someone who was clearly less fortunate than I, I had chosen to take offense at her behavior, and had retaliated by being condescending and snarky. As well as by patronizing Rafe, and essentially dissing Marquita to him. Yes, I knew why she hadn’t liked me. Of course, she hadn’t liked me before I’d done any of those things. And she had certainly let me know it, before and since.

  “So she wouldn’t have told you about anything that was going on in her life.”

  I shook my head. “Our conversations pretty much always went the same way. I knocked on the door and she told me Rafe wasn’t there. I said I was there to see Mrs. Jenkins. Marquita told me I couldn’t. I insisted, and pushed my way inside. She grumbled until I left.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “That’s it. I don’t know anything about her personal life. Other than that she used to be married to Cletus Johnson, and they separated a while back. There are a couple of kids.” Who were now motherless. “She had a crush on Rafe. He swears there has never been anything between them, that they needed a nurse and she needed a job, and that’s it. She was pretty good at what she did. For as long as she was taking care of Mrs. Jenkins, Mrs. J has been clean and well-fed and taking her medication regularly.”

  Detective Grimaldi nodded. “You can’t think of any reason why she’d want to kill herself?”

  “Is that what happened?”

  The detective didn’t confirm nor deny, just kept looking at me across the desk, and I said, “No, I can’t. But I wouldn’t. As far as I knew, everything was fine.”

  “You don’t think the pressure might have gotten to her? Being alone with Mrs. Jenkins for all those weeks while Mr. Collier was gone?”

  I thought about it. “I suppose it might have. Although if she couldn’t handle being alone with her patient, why would she have taken the job?”

  I knew the answer before I’d finished asking the question. Because it brought her closer to Rafe, during those times when he was around.

  I’d spent the past two days with Mrs. J, so I had a pretty good idea what daily life with her was like, and now I tried to imagine what it would be like to spend weeks like that. I had known that my tenure was limited, that sooner or later Rafe would be back to relieve me. Bu
t if I’d been looking at an eternity of reminding Mrs. Jenkins to take her medication, of making her coffee and laying out her clothes and combing her hair, with no end in sight, I might have started to feel a little claustrophobic, too.

  Not claustrophobic enough to kill myself, though. I might have been tempted to run away, to get in my car and go back to Sweetwater to hide in the bosom of my family, but I wouldn’t have put a gun to my head and pulled the trigger. There are easier modes of getting away from it all, like buying a bottle of Jack Daniels or a ticket to Aruba. So where I might see Marquita being fed up with her job and her charge, and leaving Mrs. Jenkins high and dry to head to Sweetwater for a change of pace, I couldn’t see her killing herself over it.

  Detective Grimaldi nodded. “Those are my thoughts, as well. But I have to keep an open mind.”

  She leaned back in the desk chair, dark eyes steady on my face. “Now that that’s out of the way, would you care to tell me what my call interrupted this morning?”

  “What do you mean?” My voice sounded stiff and fake, even in my own ears.

  The detective rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother trying to lie to me, Ms. Martin. I have a well-honed bullshit detector, and you’re a terrible liar.”

  I sighed. “So I’ve been told.”

  “I’ve gotta figure you were either asleep—and there’s no reason why you would lie about that—or you were with someone.”

  Ugh.

  “You weren’t in your apartment—I know because Officer Slater was there. There was no activity overnight, by the way, other than that Mr. Satterfield showed up last night a few minutes before seven.”

  I nodded. “He called. We were supposed to have dinner, but I forgot. And then I forgot to call and cancel.”

  The detective nodded. “So what did you do with Mrs. Jenkins while you went on your date with Mr. Satterfield?”

  The implication that I’d gone out gallivanting and left the old lady alone at home made me bristle. “I didn’t do anything with her. I didn’t see Todd. She and I stayed out all day, and had an early dinner at Burger King, and by the time we got home she was tuckered out and went to bed to watch TV. I spent the evening reading.”

  “So you didn’t see Mr. Satterfield.”

  I shook my head. And realized too late where this line of inquiry was going.

  She didn’t bother spelling it out, just shot it at me, point-blank. “When did Mr. Collier show up?”

  “What makes you think...” I bit off the rest of the sentence. What was the point of trying to deny it? She was right: if all she had done was wake me, I would have said so. And if I hadn’t been with Todd, then the only logical explanation was that she had interrupted me with Rafe. I’m not the type of woman to pick up a man I don’t know for an overnight quickie, and the detective knows it.

  “He was there when I woke up. Sitting on the edge of the bed. So I guess he arrived sometime in the early morning.” And if the exhaustion I’d seen on his face was any indication, he hadn’t taken the time to sleep in the past 36 hours or so.

  She leaned forward, pulling a yellow notepad closer. “You don’t know when?”

  “I have no idea. I woke up, and he was there.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “None of your business,” I said, my cheeks flaming.

  She looked at me for a moment in silence before she asked, “Did he say where he’d been? What he’d been doing?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did he mention anything about being questioned by the TBI in connection with a cargo heist in Memphis last week? Half a million dollars worth of electronics and furs and brand-name clothes going missing?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Did he mention that he wasn’t supposed to leave Memphis? That he’d been specifically told to stick around?”

  I shook my head. “We didn’t really talk.” And then I realized my error and tried to backpedal. “I mean...”

  “Right,” the detective said, her voice dry as sawdust.

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. We’d been doing exactly what she thought we’d been doing, and she and I both knew it.

  Tamara Grimaldi capped her pen and leaned back in the chair. “A little unsolicited advice, Ms. Martin.”

  “Call me Savannah,” I said, “please. If you’re going to give me advice on my love life, we should be on a first name basis, don’t you think?”

  She didn’t answer. Didn’t answer that, I should say. “I don’t know you well,” she continued, “and it’s none of my business anyway, but I would strongly recommend that you not get too involved with Mr. Collier.”

  “Define ‘too involved.’”

  She arched her brows. “I suppose it’s too late to tell you not to sleep with him. But don’t make a habit of it. Don’t get into a relationship with him.”

  I shook my head. “God, no. I wouldn’t. I can’t. My family would have a collective fit.”

  “Maybe you should consider that they have a point.”

  “And maybe they’re just being overprotective. I’m not stupid, you know. And I haven’t slept with him. You called before we got that far.”

  She actually looked relieved. “You might want to consider keeping it that way.”

  Right. “Are you sure you don’t just want him for yourself? Back in August, you did seem somewhat interested in him. And not only in a professional way.”

  Tamara Grimaldi actually flushed. “No, Ms. Martin. Savannah. I admit the man’s attractive, but I know his type too well to want to get involved with him.”

  The detective was discombobulated, and that was a rare occurrence. “His type,” I said. “Which type is that?”

  “Would you consider that he’s dangerous?”

  “To me?” I shook my head. “No, I wouldn’t. He won’t hurt me.” I was absolutely sure of that. And I didn’t care what Todd or even Tamara Grimaldi said.

  “He might not. But some of the people he associates with may not be as particular. I’d hate for you to get caught in the crossfire.” Her eyes were serious.

  I sat up, any amusement I might have felt gone. “Have you found out anything about the man from yesterday?”

  She shook her head. “I told you, the description is too vague. He could be anyone. But I’m talking about people like him. People who aren’t particular what they have to do or who they have to go through to get to Mr. Collier.”

  Danger by association.

  “I see your point,” I admitted. I wasn’t sure, though, whether it wasn’t already too late to worry about this. After this morning... heck, after yesterday morning, the Hispanic man knew who I was, and that I’d been staying with Mrs. Jenkins. He had already considered using me to send a message to Rafe. I could perhaps cut off all contact with him—with both of them, Mrs. J and Rafe—and make sure I didn’t see either of them again. That might work. Maybe then I wouldn’t end up dead.

  “Is there any reason why you’d need me to stay in Nashville for the next few days?”

  She looked surprised. “I don’t think so.”

  “How long will Megan be staying in my apartment?”

  Tamara Grimaldi thought about it. “Now that Mr. Collier is back, chances are that whoever went through your place will leave you alone and concentrate on him. Even so, I’d like to keep Officer Slater there another day, just to make sure.”

  “That’s fine with me. I think I’ll run down to Sweetwater for the night. Stay with my mother, have that date with Todd Satterfield. Let them both see that I’m fine.”

  Grimaldi nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  It did. It would get me out of Nashville, get me away from Rafe, give me time to process what had happened between us this morning and what, if anything, it meant. Plus, it would allow me to mend fences with Todd, who was probably worried about me. And who, although he couldn’t turn me to goo with a look, was a good, solid marriage prospect.

  I stood. “If you’re done with Mrs. Jenkins, I’ll take he
r home, grab my stuff, and hit the road.”

  The detective got up, too. “Drive carefully, Ms. Martin. Try not to get in Sheriff Satterfield’s way while you’re down there.”

  “Bob Satterfield likes me,” I said. “He wants me to marry his son.”

  “Does his son know?”

  “Oh, yes. Todd wants me to marry him, too. As does my mother. In fact, everyone wants me to marry Todd.”

  “Everyone except Mr. Collier.” Tamara Grimaldi opened the door.

  “Only until he talks me into bed. After that he doesn’t care who I marry.” I stepped into the hallway. “You’ll let me know what you find out, right? And when I can move back into my place?”

  She promised she would. I collected Mrs. Jenkins, who had given her statement before I did, and who was sitting in the lounge eating crackers and watching TV, and set out for the house on Potsdam Street.

  When we got there, Rafe’s motorcycle was gone from the circular drive, and for a few minutes I worried that he’d up and left again, and that I’d have to stay on with Mrs. J. Truth be told, the idea wasn’t only worrisome, either; if I stuck around, at least I knew I’d get to see him again whenever he resurfaced. But then while I was upstairs, packing the rest of my things into my suitcase (and trying hard, and unsuccessfully, to keep my eyes and my thoughts away from the rumpled bed), I heard the sound of an engine out front. I went to the window and peered out, onto the roof of a black car.

  After a second, the driver’s side door opened, and Rafe got out. He stood for a second, scanning the front yard, before slamming the car door, and I allowed myself to look at him, staring in a very unladylike manner.

  After only two long-term relationships it may be premature to talk about types, but if I have a type of man that I always get involved with, that would be the blond, blue-eyed, well-dressed, and well-educated WASG. Wealthy Attractive Southern Gentleman. Like Todd, and Bradley, and for that matter my brother Dix. Or perhaps not Bradley, since he had turned out to be lying, cheating scum and no gentleman at all. Just tall and blond, wealthy, attractive, well-educated, and Southern.

  Rafe is Southern, and God knows he’s attractive, but as far as the rest of it goes, he’s batting zero. Any money he has, is ill-gotten gains. He doesn’t have a job, at least not a legitimate one, and he barely squeaked through high school before he went to prison. Physically, he’s dark—eyes, hair, golden skin—and a few inches taller than Todd and Bradley, who both come in at around six feet. Rafe’s at least six three, and he looks dangerous, with that tattoo of a viper curled around his left arm—a very muscular left arm—and with the build and reflexes of a predatory animal, a panther or mountain lion. Fluid, graceful, and deadly; tightly controlled power and strength. He doesn’t look like someone you’d want to tangle with, in any sense of the word. And I couldn’t quite believe that I’d done just that this morning.