But she’d been crazy enough to risk hitting him in the process. Like he’d said, we’d been standing pretty close together, and it wouldn’t have taken much to shoot the wrong person under the circumstances.
“Three, four days ago?” Rafe’s voice was still level, conversational. “That was just sex, sugar. It didn’t mean nothing. She was upset, and I thought I’d be nice to her and see if I couldn’t get laid. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded suspicious. But also pathetically eager to believe him.
“Course I’m sure. You think she’s gonna wanna take me home and introduce me to her mama?” He chuckled cynically. “Nah, sugar. She woke up the next morning begging me not to tell anyone.”
He waited a second before he added, “Wasn’t like I didn’t expect it, you know? She’d had too much to drink; wasn’t like she’d’a wanted anything to do with me otherwise.”
Again, the irony was almost too much to bear. Two months ago, I’d been playing this same scene, trying to get another nutcase with a gun—Perry Fortunato—to believe that there was nothing going on between Rafe and me. Now he was doing the same thing to Elspeth. And sounding very convincing, I might add.
Unless he really believed it...?
I had been upset the night I showed up at his house, and although I hadn’t been drunk, I’m sure he’d figured he might get lucky if he played his cards right. He probably wasn’t under any illusions about the possibility of a future. I’d made it pretty clear to him—before, during and after—that I wouldn’t be talking about what had happened with anyone. I certainly wouldn’t be taking him home to meet my mother; he’d hit that nail square on. It wasn’t like I could object to what he was saying, or the way he was saying it, when he was just repeating the things I’d already told myself, multiple times. But somehow it sounded worse when he said it.
Did he really believe that the only reason I’d wanted him was because I’d been freaked out over Todd’s proposal and had had just enough wine to lose some of my inhibitions?
Didn’t he realize that I was more than halfway in love with him? That I would have to be, to do what I did? I may have talked a good game—I may have come close to convincing even myself—but the truth is that I’ve never had ‘just sex’ in my life, and I doubt I ever will. I would never have slept with him if I hadn’t been emotionally involved.
I missed the next few sentences in my bout of uncomfortable self-revelation. When I got back to the conversation, Rafe had moved on. He’d obviously made the same deductions I had, and realized that if Elspeth had shot at us that night on Potsdam Street, then it was Elspeth who had killed Marquita, and Elspeth who tried to kill Yvonne, as well.
“What did she ever do?” he wanted to know.
“You kissed her,” Elspeth said, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why Yvonne had to die. “Yesterday. At the cemetery.”
“You were there?”
Obviously. Although I hadn’t seen her, either.
“In the parking lot,” Elspeth said. “I watched you. You kissed Yvonne. And you talked to Savannah.” She paused a moment and then she added, thoughtfully, “She looked like she wanted you to kiss her, too.”
Rafe resisted the bait. Again. I could hear the effort it took for him to sound careless. “I kiss a lot of women, sugar.”
“You can’t do that anymore,” Elspeth said, her voice tight.
“You gonna shoot every woman I kiss from here on out?”
“You belong with me,” Elspeth said. “Now that you’re back, we can be together again.”
I recognized the undertone in her voice, that almost Joan of Arc-like serenity. Her eyes were probably glowing with semi-religious fervor, too. She’d looked that way the first time I talked to her, when she spoke about Rafe.
I’m sure he wanted to tell her that he wasn’t back, and there was no way in hell he’d want to be with her kooky self. He didn’t.
“If we’re gonna be together,” he said instead, calmly, “you can’t go shooting nobody. I get into enough trouble without that. Why don’t you gimme the gun, sugar?”
Silence. I’ll never know whether Elspeth would have done it or not, because now a new voice entered the conversation.
“Better yet, why don’t you give it to me?”
I jumped. I’d been too caught up in my own thoughts and the conversation to have heard Jorge Pena make his way into the trailer and down the hallway to the bedroom. Or maybe he was just really, really good at sneaking up on people without making any noise at all. I wondered how long he’d been listening to their conversation before he made himself known.
It was horribly annoying to be stuck here in the closet, and not being able to see what was going on outside. On the other hand, I didn’t want to risk moving just in case they heard me.
“No,” Elspeth said. Her voice shook a little. I guess she was less brave looking down the barrel of Jorge’s gun than she had been wielding her own. Still, she was brave enough to refuse to hand over her weapon.
“It would be best. That way I won’t have to kill you.” Jorge’s voice was perfectly pleasant, but with an undertone of steel.
“I expected you a couple days ago,” Rafe’s voice said. “Took you long enough to get here.”
“You turned out to be more difficult to find than I had expected.” Jorge sounded irritated about that.
Rafe sounded amused. “Glad to hear it.”
“Hiding behind your girlfriend isn’t going to help you now I’m here, though. If I have to shoot her to get to you, I will.”
Nobody spoke for a second.
“I’m not moving,” Elspeth said. I rolled my eyes, even as I dug my fingernails into my palms deeply enough to leave dents.
“It’s your funeral,” Jorge replied. I wondered if he was trying to be funny, or whether he just didn’t recognize the humor in what he’d said. It was impossible to know for sure without seeing his expression.
I could hear Rafe shift his weight on the bedroll, but no other movement. No words, either. And I admit I was a little surprised by that. He’d never struck me as the kind of man who’d hide behind a woman. Whenever we’d been together and something happened, he’d always put himself between me and it.
“I’m going to count to five,” Jorge said. “If you haven’t moved by then, I’m going to kill you. And then I’ll kill your boyfriend. Is he worth dying for?”
Elspeth didn’t answer. But she didn’t move either, because Jorge started counting.
“Five.”
I dug my fingernails into my palms, holding my breath.
“Four.”
Was there anything I could do? Leap out of the closet and distract him...? If I did, maybe Elspeth would shoot him.
“Three.”
Rafe would shoot him, given that opportunity. But Rafe didn’t have the gun. Elspeth did.
“Two.”
If I’d been Elspeth, I wouldn’t have waited for him to count all the way down. I would have shot him long before he got to...
“One.”
For a breathless second, nothing happened.
And then the world exploded.
One shot. Two. Three. Four...
I think I screamed, but it wasn’t like anyone could hear me in the fusillade.
And then there was silence, apart from my ringing ears and my own rapid gasps of breath. No one spoke. No one made a sound.
I hesitated, torn.
Rafe had told me to stay in the closet until he said I could come out. But what if he couldn’t talk? What he was bleeding to death outside, while I was standing in here doing nothing? What if he was already dead?
I pushed the louvered doors aside, my mouth dry and my stomach in a knot.
Nothing happened when I stepped out into the room. No one said anything. No bullets came my way. I looked around.
In just the last few seconds, the bedroom had turned into a battlefield. Jorge lay crumpled in the door, his body halfway into the hallway
and his knees bent up at an uncomfortable angle. There was blood spray on the door jamb next to him, and he’d let go of his gun, which was lying next to him. He didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch.
Elspeth was in the middle of the floor, still between Jorge and the bedroll, her pale blonde hair fanned out across the green carpet. She was wearing virginal white, and bright crimson stains blossomed on her chest, like Yvonne this morning.
Rafe...
I caught my breath on a sob. He was on the bedroll, but slumped down, his eyes closed and his body lax. A gun—a third gun—was still in his hand, held loosely.
I moved toward him, on legs that threatened to give out with every step.
“Oh, God, no...”
There was blood on his chest, too. Not as much as on Elspeth, though.
I sank to my knees in front of him, my hand shaking as I reached out. His skin was still warm, and his heart beat under my palm.
“God!” I sat back on my heels, tears running down my face. “Thank you!”
His eyelids fluttered and then his eyes opened. They were glassy for a second before they fastened on my face. He moistened his lips. “I thought I told you to stay in the closet.” His voice cracked.
“You got shot,” I said. “Did you really expect me to stay in the closet when you might be dying out here?”
He didn’t answer, so I guess maybe he did. Instead, he tried to push himself up. It was hard to do with a bullet in his shoulder. I reached out to help, but he sent me a hard look, and I let my hands drop.
In the back of my mind, I’d been vaguely aware of sounds outside the trailer, and now the back door was wrenched open and running footsteps came pounding down the hallway.
Rafe was still fumbling to get upright, and in no position to protect himself. I snatched the gun—his gun—from beside him, and pointed it at the doorway, scrambling into position between him and whoever was coming.
In the back of my mind, I could fully appreciate the delicious irony in the situation. I was doing the same thing Elspeth had done: putting myself between Rafe and danger, and look what had happened to her. I didn’t care, though. My hands were steady, and at that moment I would have shot anyone who threatened either of us.
It didn’t come to that. Tamara Grimaldi skidded to a stop beside Jorge’s body, followed a second later by Rafe’s associate, Wendell Craig, a middle-aged black man with a gray military haircut. Both were holding guns. Both looked a lot more comfortable handling them than I felt about handling mine.
Rafe reached past me and took the gun out of my hand, a second before I dropped it. That probably wouldn’t have been good.
Tamara holstered hers, with a wry look at me. “Way to go, Annie Oakley. How much of this carnage are you responsible for?”
Rafe answered for me. “None of it. Jorge shot Elspeth and I shot Jorge. Jorge shot me. Savannah wasn’t here.”
“He told me to hide in the closet,” I muttered.
“I see.” Tamara’s lips twitched as she bent to check Jorge’s pulse. She straightened again. “He’s gone. Looks like two rounds in the chest.”
“That’s where I was aiming,” Rafe confirmed, looking up as Wendell stepped over Jorge’s body and around Elspeth’s to reach us. The older man met my eyes for a second—I scrambled out of the way—before he bent to probe Rafe’s shoulder. Rafe sucked his breath in, and my stomach twisted in sympathy.
“Doesn’t look too bad,” Wendell pronounced.
Rafe shook his head. “The bullet’ll have to come out, and I’ll be sore for a couple days. But I’ve been hurt worse before.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Wendell clasped Rafe’s forearm for a second before he let go and turned to me. “Miss Martin.”
“Call me Savannah,” I said weakly.
“I guess it’s time I call the sheriff.” Tamara reached for her cell phone.
“Hold off just a second on that,” Wendell instructed. “The fewer people who know about this, the better.”
“We’re in his town, though. And he needs to know that this young woman,” she glanced at Elspeth, “killed Mrs. Johnson and shot Ms. McCoy.”
Of course he did. That way he could stop bothering Rafe whenever something—anything—went wrong in Sweetwater, and Todd could stop throwing the horrible fate of poor Elspeth Caulfield in my face.
Except... how did Tamara know that Elspeth had killed Marquita and shot Yvonne? Elspeth had told Rafe that inside the trailer. While Tamara and Wendell were outside.
And then I realized: Rafe had said, “I wasn’t talking to you,” earlier. I’d assumed he’d been talking to himself, since no one else was here. But he’d also told me to be careful what I said. I had thought he was warning me not to say anything I’d regret, but what if he’d been telling me not to say anything I didn’t want anyone else to hear?
I turned to Tamara. “Are there microphones in here? Were you guys listening in?”
She nodded. Rafe met my eyes for a second but didn’t say anything.
“Surely you could just tell him that?” Wendell suggested, back on the subject of the sheriff again.
“I could,” Tamara agreed. “But why?”
“I had this idea.” He glanced at Rafe, who looked resigned, as if he already knew what Wendell was thinking.
“Before you get to that,” he suggested, “maybe we should let Savannah leave? I think she’s prob’ly had enough for one day.”
I opened my mouth. “I want to stay with you,” hovered on my lips. I swallowed it. “I should probably get back. Mother will worry about me.”
No one said anything to stop me. “I’ll walk you out,” Tamara Grimaldi said, when I had navigated around Elspeth and over Jorge, who stared up at me with dead, glassy eyes.
“Thanks.” I glanced over my shoulder one last time before I headed down the hallway. Rafe was sitting on the bedroll, holding a handful of fabric—probably his wadded-up T-shirt—against his shoulder. He was paler than usual, and there was some blood, but he didn’t look like he was in imminent danger of dying.
“You’ll make sure he gets to a doctor and gets that bullet out, won’t you?” I asked Tamara when we had reached the kitchen and were out of hearing range of the bedroom.
“Mr. Craig will take care of him. And like he said, he’s been hurt worse before.” She didn’t sound worried.
“So nothing bad will happen as a result of him not getting to the hospital right away?”
She shook her head. “He’ll be fine. I won’t let anything happen to him. Neither will Mr. Craig.”
“Thank you.”
We stepped out into the cool October evening, and I wrapped my arms around myself as goose bumps broke out on my naked shoulders.
“Drive carefully,” Tamara said.
“You too.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. When I get back to Nashville.”
I nodded. “I’ll probably be going home tomorrow, too.”
“No reason why you can’t go back to your apartment. And your regular life.”
Exactly. “Make sure Rafe gets to a doctor. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
She looked at me for a second. “Have you told him that?”
“He knows.” How could he not? Everything I’d done inside the trailer had been a great, big, honking giveaway.
Tamara didn’t argue. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Until then, don’t talk to anyone about what happened tonight, OK? I’m not sure what Mr. Craig’s plan is, but I have an inkling that it’ll be radically different from what really happened.”
I nodded. “I won’t say anything to anyone. Just let me know the party line when you figure it out. That way I’ll know what not to say if anyone talks about it.”
She promised she would. I resisted the need to tell her—again—to make sure Rafe got to the hospital and got taken care of, and then I walked through the dark to the Volvo, got in, and left the Bog.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dix called ju
st as I was heading out the next morning. It was around ten. Mother had been asleep when I got home, and with everything that had happened—gunshots, confessions, revelations, not to mention the fact that I’d realized I was in love with Rafe, and no halfway about it—I had found sleep elusive. The result was that I woke up bleary-eyed, and didn’t get my act together until quite late. But at least Mother was already out and about, and I didn’t have to worry about her interrogating me.
And then, just as I was putting my overnight bags—both of them; one from last time I was down here, one from this trip—in the trunk of the car, the cell phone rang and it was my brother.
His greeting was unusually abrupt. “Where are you?”
I told him I was standing outside the mansion, about to get in the car to drive home.
“Don’t move. I’m on my way.”
He hung up. I arched my brows, but did as he said. It was a nice day, crisp and sunny, and it was nice to be alive. Not so nice to be in love with a man I couldn’t introduce to my family, but you can’t win them all.
It took Dix less than five minutes to pull up next to me in the circular drive. He leaned over and opened the passenger side door. “Get in.”
“How lovely to see you too,” I said pleasantly, nevertheless doing as he said.
He gunned the engine as soon as the door was shut behind me. I fumbled to fasten my seatbelt as his tires spit gravel down the driveway. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”
He glanced at me. “Damascus.”
“Why?”
“Long story. First I need to tell you something.”
“OK.” He sounded serious. I folded my hands in my lap and waited for him to lay the bad news on me.
“Todd called me this morning. His dad had called him. To say that there was a shoot-out in the Bog last night.”
“Wow.” I should probably act like I didn’t already know that.
“A couple of people died.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, sis. But Rafe Collier was one of them.”
“No,” I said.
“I’m sorry. But yes, he was.”
“No, he wasn’t.” He’d been shot, but not killed. I’d seen him. I’d touched him. Talked to him. He’d been alive when I left. And Tamara had assured me he’d be just fine.
[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Page 78