"You're convinced it was Folsom, aren't you? The person who shot you?" Even as she said the words, images formed of this strong chest spurting blood as bullets slammed into him. Fear was a chilled blade in her own heart. Fear for him. Fear for her and Lyssa and for the baby.
He curled his fingers around her hand and tucked it against the scar that would always remind him of the price Alice paid for his lapse of attention.
"Maybe Folsom pulled the trigger, maybe he didn't. But Alice died because I made the mistake of thinking that just because I gave her an order she would follow it."
"What order was that?"
He hated talking about that morning. Hated even to think about it. So many times in the hospital he'd gone over and over every detail, every move, every decision. It still shook out the same. Despite his training, despite his experience, he'd let his emotions cloud his judgment. His guilt was like a constant ache deep in his gut. It sometimes faded, but it never quite went away.
"First day we were in the safe house, I laid down the rules. The curtains stayed drawn. The doors stayed locked. I made sure she didn't have her cell phone. If the doorbell rang, she was to ignore it. Even if she was sure it was one of us, she wasn't to go near the door. I explained why. I asked if she understood. Yes, she said. Of course she understood. Even got prickly about it." He felt his throat getting painfully tight. He'd told his story so many times it had started to feel like begging for forgiveness.
"What happened?"
What happened, Rafe? Damn it, we had it covered. How did he get to her?
How? Too damn easily.
Like a video on slow motion that morning played out in his head. The splash of sunshine on the worn kitchen counter as he diced peppers, the radio playing drive-time rock, the smell of brewing coffee.
The shrill sound of the doorbell.
The split second delay when he went from thinking that Seth was ten minutes early to raw terror. He'd got to her too late.
Sorrow exploded like shrapnel inside his chest.
"One morning, while I was in the kitchen making breakfast, she opened the door and died."
His voice was so terribly controlled. But there was so much he wasn't saying. So much he needed to say in order to heal. Because the wound was still raw. God knew, she'd heard enough terrible stories to sense the effort he was making to keep it all shoved down inside.
Helping people heal was as much a part of who she was as his badge and that awful gun were a part of him. But there was more to Rafe than a man doing a dangerous job. So much more.
The sensitive boy who'd soothed her tears and talked his mother into mending a beloved doll was still inside that powerful man's body. A man capable of holding her head while she retched and waking her every few hours to make her swallow the medication that would lower her temperature and soothe her aches, then bully her into drinking foul-tasting liquid because Luke said she needed it.
"Rafe, you can't blame yourself if she disobeyed your orders. Yes, it was tragic and a waste and all the things people say and feel when an innocent person is killed for no good reason. But she has to bear some responsibility for what happened to her."
His anger flashed, a whiplash cutting toward her. "Spare me the shrink talk, okay? I've heard it all before."
"But you didn't listen, did you?"
"It was my fault, damn it! Alice was scared and lonely. We talked about books, movies, played gin. Things you do to pass the time. I knew she was starting to feel things for me she shouldn't, and I knew I had to put some distance between us. I asked for relief, but half the available agents were out with the flu. I could have pulled rank, but I figured I could deal with it for a few more days. Then the night before…" His jaw turned to stone and he closed his eyes. "I waited one day too long."
Danni felt herself go pale. "You slept with her?"
His gaze seared her. "No, damn it! I didn't sleep with her. I explained … tried to, anyway, that what she was feeling wasn't love but gratitude." Anger draining, he raked his hand through his hair, his expression tortured. "Have you ever heard of the Stockholm Syndrome?"
Of course, now she understood, she thought, nodding. "The growing identification of a hostage with his or her captor. Like Patty Hearst and the SLA. Often those feelings are mistaken by the hostage as love. It's often the same with patient and therapist. I've had to refer patients out a time or two myself."
He took a ragged breath. "Even though she was a bright woman, Alice wouldn't listen. She was so sure what she was feeling was real. Nothing I could say changed her mind. That night, after I, uh, turned down the offer she made me, she cried herself to sleep."
Alice was a good woman. A decent woman who loved kids. She'd trusted him and he'd let her down. He'd thought long and hard about turning in his badge. Maybe when Folsom was locked in a cage, he still would. Until then, he needed the authority the job gave him to make sure the bastard paid.
"I'm sorry, Rafe," Danni said softly, laying her hand against that tight jaw. Her voice was gentle when he wanted it to be harsh and accusing. He wanted to lash out the way he'd lashed out at the agency shrink and damn near everyone else who'd tried to absolve him.
"Danni—"
"No, don't close me out, please, Rafe. I know it's a cliché but it's also true that no one is perfect." Her lips curved into a rueful smile. "Lord knows I've proven that in spades recently. Maybe, if I didn't have Lyssa and this new little one to think about, I'd let myself wallow in guilt and regret, but I don't have that luxury. So I had to find a way to forgive myself. You can do the same."
He felt the gentle barb bite deep. "You don't pull your punches, do you lady?"
Her eyes pleaded with him and emotion seemed to shimmer from her. "Not when I care as much as I care about you."
Caring he could handle. Caring he could return. And did, he realized with a depth that came as close to love as his cynical heart could manage.
He took a breath and then because his chest was tight, took another. Because he needed to touch her, he ran his fingers through her hair and the springy curls caught on calluses rubbed deep in his palms by the work he'd done for her father. She leaned into his hand, and he cupped her cheek.
"If Folsom makes bail, promise me you'll accept protection for you and Lyssa," he said gruffly.
He saw the refusal flicker into her eyes, saw her banish it. "Protection, yes," she said quietly. "But I have to make a living, Rafe. I can't go off and live in seclusion for two months."
It was enough for now. If it became necessary, he'd find a way to convince her, even if he had to enlist the help of her father and that brother of hers. Hell, he'd hog-tie her and throw her over his shoulder and haul her off to a cave if he had to.
"If you're finished wearing me out, Wonder Woman, how about we get some sleep?"
* * *
Chapter 13
« ^ »
It was dawn when he woke to find himself fully aroused and wanting her. It surprised him some to realize he'd slept deeply, without the usual tangled dreams. He told himself it was because she'd worn him out.
She was still asleep, curled against him, one hand relaxed on his chest. Her hair was tickling his chin, and each little breath warmed his neck. Her breasts were pressed against him, full and soft, and her scent was in his head, something classy suited for a princess. There was a hint of musk on her skin now, an earthy scent than ran just below a man's consciousness.
It made him smile to remember how the elegant Dr. Fabrizio had shattered under his touch. And yeah, maybe it made him feel a little smug.
He didn't consider himself a stud like Gresham, but a man didn't get to be nearly forty without having some memorable moments. Last night, when she'd come apart, he'd felt invincible. With his sweat shining on her skin and her lips swollen and rosy from his, she'd been his Danni, the girl who held his heart.
It was tempting to think they could go back to those feelings. The innocent trust they'd shared. The uncomplicated friendship. He'd told
her things no one else knew. How he planned to go to college so he could get a good job and buy his family a nice house. How he wanted to be married forever like his folks and have at least six kids of his own. Kids with his blood. A connection to the future because he had no past.
The little hoyden who'd rarely sat still longer than it took to tie her sneakers or wolf down a fast meal had sat quietly next to him on the riverbank, a fishing pole in her hand, listening to him for hours. Not just with her ears but her heart, the way she'd listened last night.
Linc, Seth, others had damn near begged him for months to get past that bloody morning. He'd blocked them out. With her big brown eyes full of compassion and a steely determination to rival his own, Danni had slipped past the land mines in his head to plant a seed. Like a cool hand on a hot forehead she'd soothed him somehow.
The guilt was still there, but a lot of the sharp edges had been blunted. He was a long way from forgiving himself, but the tenacious little mule had jolted him into opening the door. Might even have given him a start on the peace he craved.
Several times he'd awakened when she'd left him to pad into the bathroom. She'd been half-asleep when she stumbled back to bed. She'd snuggled close, then kissed his shoulder, patted his chest as though to comfort him and then ordered him to go back to sleep. It had given him a glimpse of what it must be like to be someone's husband. No, not someone's husband. Danni's.
A familiar feeling of loss ran through him.
Whatever they had now was a mix of leftover feelings and sexual attraction. He wanted her the moment he'd seen her struggling with those grocery sacks with her face damp with the rain and her big eyes sparking outrage.
He'd fought it. But he hadn't been able to get past the fact that she made him feel things he'd denied for years. Want things he'd learned to live without. Just being around her made him edgy in his soul, and it wasn't a comfortable feeling.
In fact, it bordered on desperation, the kind that made a man want to pound his fists against something hard until they were bloody and raw and hurt so much he couldn't feel anything else but the ache.
A few days, a week, whatever time he could justify was all they had. All they would ever have. It wasn't what he would have chosen, but he'd learned to play the hand he'd been given. A man who lived one wrong move from death learned to live in the moment.
Right now, this moment, making love to Danni was what mattered, he thought as he brushed his lips across hers. She stirred, then smiled. Her lashes fluttered, but remained closed.
"I was dreaming about you," she murmured, her voice slurred. A wave of tenderness crashed through him. He wouldn't think about the other men who'd had the right to kiss her awake. Or of the baby in her womb.
The baby he'd once longed to put there twenty years ago, even as he'd fought not to plunge through her maidenhead. He would only think of now and the magic they made together in this bed.
"What were you dreaming, honey?" he asked, his voice thick with feelings he didn't dare acknowledge.
"Hmm." Her fingers toyed with his chest hair, raking over his skin. His muscles contracted helplessly, and her lips curved in pure female satisfaction. "We were at the pond and you were trying to leave me again."
"Couldn't be me, honey. I learn slow but I do learn."
"So do I," she said in a purring voice that shivered through him.
"Is that right?"
"Hmm." She ran her hand down his body, her fingers trailing fire. He fought to keep the groan inside, but when her fingers curled around his engorged body and squeezed, his breath exploded in a harsh cry.
"I'm not leaving this time, not this time," he vowed as he rolled her onto her back.
But he would, Danni thought as his mouth crashed down on hers. And she would have to let him go. Again.
* * *
Two hours later, Danni sat at the kitchen table in a pool of sunshine, enjoying her second cup of raspberry tea. Rafe was loading the dishwasher, the muscles of his long, lean back stretching and contracting in a fluid, efficient rhythm. It could have been a ballet, or perhaps a martial arts exercise, so perfectly coordinated were his movements.
There was nothing more adorable than a steely-eyed cop doing dishes with a towel tucked into the low slung waistband of his jeans and his thick sun-bleached hair disheveled, she decided, her heart doing a slow sweet roll.
Suddenly, his gaze swung her way. It was unsettling, the rush of giddy excitement running through her as his hard mouth slanted into a slow, supremely smug grin. It irritated her no end that he knew exactly how he affected her. He'd always known.
"Finished with that mug, honey?" he asked, his gaze brushing over the mug in her hand to rest on her breasts. She felt the impact of those green eyes all the way to her womb. It unsettled her to realize she was in real danger of falling in love with him again. Or perhaps she already had.
So far she had managed to keep herself from examining her feelings too closely for fear of what she would find. Afraid her thoughts would show on her face, she dropped her gaze to the mug. It was all but empty. Perversely, she tightened her grip. "No, actually I'm not," she declared in a little burst of defiance.
Rafe heard the lick of irritation in her voice and was pleased. Danni was a strong woman. She'd suffered a blow that had all but destroyed other victims in her situation, but she'd managed to hold on to her sweetness. And her compassion. If she was glaring at him, it was a good bet she was on the mend.
To punish her a little for getting to him in ways that no other woman ever had, he skimmed his gaze down the length of that curvy little body, taking time to enjoy the elegant line of her throat, the hint of cleavage where the lapels of her honey colored shirt met in a deep vee. When his gaze skimmed the ripe little belly, his heart bled a little.
"You have any plans for today?" he asked as he measured soap into the receptacles on the door.
"Yes, three loads of laundry, followed by a rousing game of Russian roulette with my bills,"
The proud jut of her chin warned him not to offer sympathy. Instead he offered an alternative. "How about playing hooky and going to the coast for a picnic after Lyssa gets home?"
He saw her hesitation and sweetened the pot. "We both could use some downtime, Princess. A couple of hours to stuff ourselves with junk food and bake in the sun."
A wistful look crossed her face. "God, that sounds wonderful, but—"
"But what?"
"It's just that the beach might not be the best idea. Lys is still self-conscious about her scars."
"She shouldn't be. They're hardly noticeable."
"To Lys they are. I suspect they're all she sees when she looks in the mirror." She smiled. "These days I tend to obsess about other women's waistlines. One or two times I've even glared at a particularly skinny specimen."
She would, he thought, resisting a smile as he closed up the dishwasher and set the dial. Over the sudden rumble of the water, he tugged the towel from his waistband and wiped the counter before returning the towel to the rack. "I like your little tummy, Princess," he said, letting his gaze linger there. "It's curvy, just like the rest of you."
Surprise shone for an instant in her eyes. "If you're trying to get on my good side, it's working, darn it," she said in glum tone.
He figured it was safe to laugh now, and did as he poured the last of the coffee into his mug, then switched off the coffeemaker. "I assume she's had reconstructive surgery?" he said before taking a sip.
"Several times. The surgeon thinks one or two more operations will complete the process." She drained her mug before carrying it to the sink. He took it from her, opened the dishwasher and tucked it inside before buttoning everything up again.
"Sounds like it's been rough," he said as he restarted the machine.
"The first year after Mark's death was sheer hell." Shadows chased through her eyes. "Lyssa is a gutsy kid though. Sometimes I think she supported me more than I supported her."
"I suspect you supported each other.
" And the pain of watching her child suffer was still raw inside, he thought as he pulled his watch from his pocket and strapped it on.
"I'm trying to decide if I should let her attend the trial."
He glanced her way. "You know that as a witness, you won't be able to be with her if she does attend, don't you?"
"Yes, Ms. Hall-Jones explained the process. But my father will insist on being there and probably my brothers. Lys will be safe with them. They're even more protective of her than they were of me."
"I doubt it." The sardonic edge to his voice had her glancing up. His face had gone hard, and the lazy glint was gone from his eyes.
She hesitated, then decided he would never be more receptive than now. "Rafe, instead of going to the coast, let's go down to the vineyard."
"No, Danni."
"You're their son, and they still love you, I know they do."
His mouth turned cynical. She hated it, she realized. The Rafe she knew was sweet and loving and kind. "Yeah? Just how do you know that?"
"Because I'm a mother. I know how I would feel."
"Lyssa carries your blood. My mother was a teenage slut who threw me away and never looked back."
"Your mother is the woman who nursed you from her own breast and rocked you back to sleep when you had bad dreams and saved pennies so that you could go to college."
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"Rosaria's dream jar. She kept it on the top shelf of the pantry. I saw her putting money in it once, and she told me that was the reason she sold her salsa at the crafts fair every spring, to fill up the jar so you could go to college."
He didn't believe her, she realized. But he wanted to. She let him see the truth in her smile. "She loved all her children, she said. But you were her answered prayer. Her gift from God. She wanted to give you everything you wanted." She rested her hands on his chest. "She's getting older, Rafe. She misses you. It would mean so much to her to see you."
His jaw tightened. "I'll think about it."
She knew the buttons to push. His love for his mother, his strong sense of gratitude, his deep vein of honor. She could push and he might listen. In her heart she knew he wanted to go home. But it had to be his decision. She'd manipulated his emotions once before and everyone had suffered. So this time she would let him make his own decisions.
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