Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  Elsa nodded.

  "Do you get any negative vibes from any of these peo­ple?" Kate questioned.

  "I really hate to make that kind of assessment. I could be wrongfully accusing someone simply on my instincts."

  "We need somewhere to start digging," Kate explained. "That's all. Nothing more."

  "I get odd vibes from Ellison Mays. And. . .and from Chief Fleming."

  "Did Mays come on to you, too, or just Fleming?" Rafe placed his big hands, palms down, atop Elsa's desk and stared right at her.

  "I didn't say Chief Fleming came on to me, but. . . well, yes, they've both made me feel a little uncomfortable, as if they were invading my private space. Do you know what I mean?" Like you're doing right now, Rafe Devlin, she wanted to shout. But it wasn't his fault. Simply being in the same room with him was too close for comfort. His presence was too overpowering for her to ignore him.

  "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean." Rafe lifted his hands from her desk and moved away from her.

  She sighed with relief. The closer he was, the more ner­vous she became. Again, not his fault. So, how on earth was she going to deal with being around him all the time?

  "You don't need to worry about Fleming or Mays," Rafe said, his voice low and deadly calm. "I'll make sure they both know precisely where the boundaries of your personal space are located and give them fair warning what will happen if they cross the line."

  Before Elsa's mind fully comprehended the possessive, protective tone of Rafe's comment, Kate stood up, sighed loudly and said, "Time to get to work. Rafe, we'll check into our hotel and give you a call later, to let you know where we'll be. In the meantime, you've got our cell phone numbers."

  Troy reached out and dragged Alyssa into his arms. He covered her mouth with his hungrily. Mercy, he was hog-wild crazy about her. Hell, face it, he told himself, you 're in love with her. Yeah, he was in love, really in love for the first time in his life. He couldn't get enough of being with Alyssa. Even before they became lovers a couple of months ago, he'd wanted to be with her all the time. To look at her, touch her, smell her sweet scent every chance he got. When they first met, he'd thought he didn't have a prayer with her. She was not only beautiful and smart, she was one of the most popular girls on campus. And she was President Alden's daughter. But as crazy as it seemed to everybody, including Troy himself, Alyssa had fallen for him like a ton of bricks. He'd heard that opposites attract, and for Alyssa and him that was true sure enough. She was as good as he was bad, as sweet as he was mean. And she came from money. He'd learned after they'd been secretly dating a few weeks that the Aldens weren't just socially prominent, but they were rich, too.

  Alyssa moaned as he ran his hands up under her sweater and caressed her bare back. She all but melted into him. He loved the feel of her, the way she responded to his touch. There had never been anyone like Alyssa, and there never would be again. She was "it" as far as he was concerned. She made him want to better himself, to prove to her and her father that he was good enough for her.

  She gave him a gentle shove. "Please, Troy, stop."

  "Stop what? Stop kissing you or stop feeling you up?"

  "Both. Please. We've got to talk."

  He focused on her face and noted the worried expression that wrinkled her brow and darkened her golden eyes. "What's wrong, babe?"

  Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Troy. . ."

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're scaring me, Alyssa. What's wrong?"

  "I don't know how it happened." She gulped. "Well, I do know how, but. . .but we're always so careful. If only I'd gotten the birth control pills sooner. It's all my fault. I—"

  Troy shook her gently but soundly. "What are talking about?"

  "I'm pregnant."

  "What?" He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd told him she was an alien from outer space.

  "I took the test last night. You know, one of those home pregnancy tests you can buy at the drugstore."

  "How accurate are those?"

  "I hear they're pretty accurate. Something like ninety percent or better."

  Troy released her, ran his fingers through his hair and cursed softly under his breath.

  "I'm sorry," Alyssa said, then started crying, tears spill­ing out of her eyes like water from a broken faucet. "I'm so sorry."

  "Damn, stop saying that, as if it's all your fault." He cupped her face with his hands. "You didn't get pregnant by yourself. It takes two."

  "You. . .you know it's yours, don't you? I mean, there hasn't been anyone else. Ever."

  Fresh tears cascaded down her cheeks.

  Troy kissed her forehead, then hugged her to him. "Stop crying. We'll figure out something. This is our problem. It's our baby."

  "But. . .but we're just kids ourselves. I mean I'm eigh­teen and you're barely twenty. We're both in school and you have only a part-time job."

  "We'll get married." Oh, God, how could he take care of a wife and baby? Only since they'd moved to Maysville had he taken full responsibility for his life and started walking the straight and narrow.

  "No, we can't. My father would never allow me to. Besides, I don't want to trap you into marriage."

  "I love you, Alyssa."

  "I know. And I love you, too, but—" Her words were lost in a torrent of sobs.

  Van Fleming answered his private line, the one reserved for official business. "Chief Fleming."

  "Listen very carefully," the voice on the other end of the line said.

  The blood ran cold through Van's veins. "You shouldn't be calling me here."

  "I'm a concerned citizen. I have every right to tele­phone the chief of police."

  "What do you want?"

  "A small favor."

  "I told you the last time I did a small favor for you that it was the last time."

  "Now, is that any way to talk to a friend?"

  Friend? No way was this man Van's friend. His tor­mentor, most definitely. "You said one favor and that was all."

  "I know that's what I said, but it seems I need another favor, and I know that you won't let me down, considering all it would take is one phone call and your son Anthony would be—"

  "Just tell me what you want and I'll do it, if I can. Just leave Anthony alone."

  The man laughed. God, how Van hated his laughter.

  "That's mighty good of you. When you're so agreeable, it makes me want to protect Anthony, not harm him in any-way."

  "Just spit it out."

  "I want to know everything that goes on in the Elsa Leone investigation. Everything."

  "Damn! It was you, wasn't it? You're the one who tried to kill Elsa," Van said, his voice quivering with a com­bination of fear and outrage.

  "Don't be silly, Chief. I never get my hands dirty."

  "I won't be a party to murder. Do you hear me?"

  "All I want is information. I need to stay one step ahead of the law. . .and the Dundee agents."

  "How'd you know—"

  "I know everything that goes on in Maysville."

  Elsa flipped on the light switch when she and Rafe en­tered the foyer of her three-bedroom English Tudor house. When she'd come to Maysville to scout out the town be­fore she moved here, she'd fallen in love with this old house that was built in the late thirties and couldn't believe the owners had retired to Florida and put the place up for rent. Before returning to Louisiana, she'd signed a one-year lease and began mentally decorating the large, airy rooms.

  "Come on in," she said. "The bedrooms are upstairs. Follow me and I'll show you the room you'll be using while you're here."

  "Is it next to yours?"

  She glanced over her shoulder. "It's directly across the hall."

  "That'll be fine."

  With his vinyl suitcase in his hand, he followed her up the wooden stairs graced with an intricate, black wrought-iron railing. The hallway ran the length of the upstairs, with arched openings leading into three bedrooms and two baths. Dark hardwood fl
oors gleamed with the patina of age and polish.

  "The first bedroom on the left." Elsa led the way, then stood aside so that Rafe could inspect his quarters. "You'll share a bath with Troy. I hope you don't mind."

  Rafe entered the large room with cream plaster walls and brown marble windowsills. This old house had char­acter unlike anything found in more modern houses. Char­acter and style. And workmanship that would cost a small fortune these days.

  "This will do nicely." He deposited his suitcase on the foot of the bed, then turned to Elsa. "And I don't mind sharing a bath."

  "Troy probably won't be home for supper. He usually grabs a bite in town before going to work at the station. I thought I'd fix a salad. Is that all right with you?"

  He nodded. "A salad is fine for tonight, but tomorrow night, I'll cook."

  "You cook?"

  "I grill," he told her. "Steaks, chops, burgers. You do have a barbecue grill, don't you?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "Hmm." He unzipped his vinyl case. "So, I noticed when we came in that you have a security system. Who besides you and Troy know the code?"

  "No one else. Just the two of us."

  "Good." He removed his underwear from his suit­case—briefs and T-shirts—then glanced around the room. One look at his underwear and her mind went off in oddly erotic directions. She pictured him wearing nothing but a pair of those white cotton briefs. His arms were hairy and she couldn't help thinking that his legs and chest were covered with the same dusting of curly brown hair. Stop this, Elsa! Stop it right now. What on earth is the matter with you?

  She hurried to the walnut dresser against the far wall, opened the wide top drawer and gathered up an armload of plastic-wrapped, out-of-season clothes. "Use this drawer. I'll put these things in my closet."

  Thankful for any excuse to escape Rafe for a few minutes and have time to get her wild, sexual fantasies under control, Elsa all but ran from the guest room. Once inside her bedroom across the hall, she closed the door, dumped the plastic bags on the overstuffed armchair in the corner, then took a deep, calming breath. Her reaction to Rafe was silly. He was just a man. Harry was actually more handsome and had a much better personality. Think about Harry and your date Friday night. Count the rea­sons that Harry is a better man for you than Rafe. First of all, he doesn't rattle you the way Rafe does. With Harry you could always be in control of yourself. And Harry is interested in you. Rafe isn't.

  A loud knock on the door jerked her from her thoughts. "Yes?"

  Rafe opened the door but didn't cross the threshold. "How loudly will you protest if I ask you to leave your door at least partially open at all times?"

  "Leave my door. . .why?"

  "I wouldn't want to have to break the door down to get inside to you if you were in danger."

  "In danger? Here in my own home?" Was he serious? Did he really think that someone could break in and get upstairs before the entire household heard the security alarm?

  "There are ways to get around a security system," he told her. "I'll take some extra precautions, of course, but please leave the door partially open."

  "All the time?"

  "Dress and undress in your bathroom. Oh, by the way, does your bathroom have a window?''

  "A small oblong window, but it's covered with deco­rative wrought-iron bars."

  "I don't want you standing in front of any windows. You'd be an easy target."

  Her stomach knotted with unease. "Am I safe any­where?"

  He looked right at her, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. Elsa's heartbeat accelerated. "You're safe when you're with me. I'll see to it."

  "All I have to do is obey your every command."

  He grinned. Her stomach did a nervous flip-flop. "Yeah, that's all you have to do."

  Please go back to your room now, Elsa pleaded silently. She just knew that if he kept staring at her, he'd figure out exactly what kind of effect he had on her.

  "Why don't you finish unpacking?" she suggested. "I'll go downstairs and get started on those salads."

  "I can unpack later," he said. "I'll go down with you. I want to check out the downstairs and see what needs to be done, if anything, to make the house more secure."

  She nodded nervously, then walked toward him. She thought he'd move out of her way but he didn't. He stood there and waited for her to walk past him. Just as she stepped out into the hall, he grabbed her arm to halt her.

  "It's all right to be afraid," he told her. "You don't have to try so hard to hide your nervousness and fear."

  "I don't like giving in to my emotions. I prefer being in control." She could hardly admit that, in that regard at least, she was equally afraid of her would-be killer as she was of her fearless protector.

  His big hand tightened ever so slightly around her arm. "I understand. I'm the same. But it's okay to let me take care of you. That's my job. Besides, what difference does it make if you let me get a glimpse of your weak and vulnerable side? After all, when this assignment is over, we'll never see each other again, will we?"

  "No, probably not." And oddly enough the thought of never seeing Rafe again bothered her far more than it should.

  Chapter 4

  Rafe helped Elsa clean up after dinner. Just as he placed the glasses in the dishwasher, the telephone rang. Again. It seemed to him that half the town had called Elsa tonight and over half of the ten calls she'd received were from concerned men. Mayor Noah Wright. Chief Fleming. Bruce Alden. Now who? Rafe wondered.

  Elsa wiped her hands off on the floral dishcloth, tossed it into the sink, then lifted the receiver from the wall phone in the kitchen. "Hello." She frowned.

  Rafe tensed. "Something wrong?" he asked softly.

  She shook her head. "Thank you for calling again, Mr. Mays." Pause. Her frown deepened. "What? Oh, yes. Sorry. I appreciate your concern, Ellison." She empha­sized his given name.

  Rafe held out his hand, motioning for her to give him the phone. If this guy was harassing Elsa, he'd take care of him right now. She shook her head again and held on to the phone.

  "No, there's nothing you can do for me. Really, no. Thank you. I have a personal bodyguard who'll be with me twenty-four/seven, so I feel perfectly safe."

  Rafe studied her as she continued the uneasy conver­sation. This guy—Ellison Southwell Mays—really did un­nerve Elsa. While she listened, she twirled wisps of hair near her ear around her finger. A nervous habit, he sur­mised.

  "Again, thank you for calling, but I really must go. It's late and— Yes, of course the flowers were lovely."

  "Ms. Leone, there's someone at the front door. Would like me to see who it is?" Rafe spoke loudly, lying about the visitor, giving her a diplomatic way to end the un­wanted telephone conversation.

  "Ellison, I must go. There's someone at the door. Yes, yes. Good night." After hanging up the phone, she let out a relieved sigh and glanced at Rafe. "Thanks."

  "Why haven't you already told Mr. Mays that you're not interested in what he's offering and to leave you the hell alone?"

  "For several reasons," Elsa replied. "First, he's never actually asked me for a date or out-and-out said he's in­terested in me other than as a friend. Secondly, Ellison has a great deal of power and influence in Maysville, as does his aunt, and offending either of them is social doom around here. So, I tread softly where Mr. Mays and Miss Southwell are concerned."

  "You don't really care about your social standing, do you? I didn't figure you for the type."

  "I care only so far as it affects my job and my standing within the community as the founder of MGS."

  He studied her closely, making assumptions again, but ones he felt were probably right on the money. "No, it's more than that, isn't it?"

  "And just what more do you think it would be?" Her tone was defensive.

  "You forget, Elsa, I have a background report on you. It's standard procedure for any new Dundee client. So, you see, I know you grew up very poor, with irresponsible parents, absolutely no s
ocial standing, and your family was, at one time, welfare recipients. You've come a long way from that dirt-poor kid who had to struggle to take care of her younger siblings. You've become a well-liked, well-respected member of Maysville society, an up-and-coming young business-woman. That has to mean a great deal to you."

  She stared at him, a mixture of defiance and anger in her dark brown eyes. He'd hit a nerve.

  "Yes, it means a great deal to me," she admitted, if somewhat reluctantly. "And apparently not everyone likes me. Somebody hates me enough to want to see me dead."

  "Nope." Rafe's gaze locked with hers, but she didn't even flinch at his scrutiny. "Whoever is behind the threats to you probably doesn't hate you at all. For him, it isn't personal. It's business. Or at least that would be my guess."

  "Because MGS is putting up a fuss about all the illegal activities in Honey Town?"

  Rafe nodded. "That's the obvious. Of course, there's always a slight chance that someone does hate you and the threats are very personal. Can you think of anyone who might hate you enough to want to kill you?"

  "No, I can't think of anyone."

  "A spurned lover? Or maybe a rival for Harry Colburn's affection? Or the wife of someone you've been involved with or—"

  "Hold it right there." Elsa held up a restraining hand.

  "I have never—nor would I ever—become involved with a married man!"

  Rafe had made the comment with humor, but apparently that fact had eluded Elsa completely. "Not the type, huh?"

  "No, I'm not the type. No married men! No spurned lovers! And my relationship with Harry is in the beginning stages so I'm hardly a threat to any other woman in his life."

  Good, Rafe thought. He was glad she wasn't sleeping with another man, especially this Colburn guy, who ap­parently had a Midas touch. No matter how much she might deny it, money had to mean a great deal to Elsa. Somehow it always mattered more to those who had grown up without it. "Well, if that's the case, you've ruled out a personal agenda for our would-be killer, which takes us back to MGS and Honey Town, doesn't it?"

  Elsa opened her mouth to reply but was silenced by the ringing doorbell. "What now?" She groaned as she headed out of the kitchen.