by Karen Foley
“You’ll be fine. If anyone asks what you’re doing, just say you’re looking for the powder room.”
The book-signing itself was being held in an enormous formal drawing room, and the line of people waiting to get a signed copy extended out of the door and along a wide hallway. Music played softly in the background, and white-tuxedoed wait staff moved seamlessly through the crowd, offering beverages and food items.
As they made their way past the line of people, Rafe could sense Sara’s discomfort and he sympathized with her. He’d attended his own share of balls and soirees, but he’d never been in such an intimate gathering of influential personalities.
“Did you see that?” Sara whispered fiercely, glancing back over her shoulder. “That was the former first lady!”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed smoothly, poking his head through a doorway. “Let’s try through here.”
Glancing back the way they had come to ensure they weren’t noticed, Rafe pulled her into what looked like an empty sitting room, with dainty upholstered chairs against one wall and a matching chaise along the other. There was a paneled door on the far side of the room, and Rafe put his ear to the wood before carefully trying the handle. It opened easily beneath his hand.
“This is it,” he said softly, indicating Sara should precede him into the room.
An enormous desk dominated the room, with leather club chairs flanking a small fireplace and ornate side tables bearing decanters of liquor and cut glasses.
“Oh, this is lovely,” Sara murmured, moving around the room to examine the oil paintings on the walls.
“Sara,” Rafe said patiently, nodding toward the door. “Keep an eye out, will you?”
He tested the desk drawers only to find them locked. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a small tool and inserted it into the top drawer, maneuvering it carefully until the latch sprang free. Sliding the drawer open, he sifted through the documents inside.
“Hurry,” Sara urged, pressing her ear to the door.
Rafe opened the remaining drawers and swiftly sorted through the items, frustrated when he found nothing. Reaching into the very back of the bottom drawer, he withdrew a small metal box and quickly popped the lock.
“Sara, come over here,” he called softly.
She did, bending over his shoulder to peer at the photos he held in his hand, displaying her cleavage to his greedy gaze in the process.
“Oh my God,” she breathed softly, snatching the photo from Rafe’s fingers. “Is that who I think it is?”
“Yep.” Rafe met her astonished eyes. “Lauren Black is having an affair with Edwin Zachary, and it looks to me like someone might be trying to blackmail him over it.”
The black-and-white photos were grainy, as if they’d been taken from a distance, but there was no mistaking the identities of the two figures locked together in an intimate embrace. Rafe thumbed through the photos, each one more salacious than the previous.
“I can’t believe it,” Sara said, sounding more confused than surprised. “She’s never struck me as the type to have an affair, and certainly not with a married man. No wonder she didn’t want to come to the book-signing.”
“Yeah, no wonder,” muttered Rafe, his mind working furiously. Did Lauren have anything to do with the attempts on Sara’s life? It made sense, in a twisted way, since she’d invited Sara to the Singapore Bistro the night the car had nearly run them down. But what would her motive have been? There was something there, Rafe could feel it, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Rafe! Someone is coming,” Sara hissed, and then Rafe heard it too—footsteps crossing the outer sitting room toward Edwin’s office.
Shoving the box back where he’d found it, Rafe swiftly closed the drawer and caught Sara’s hand, dragging her across the room to a closet. Opening the door, he thrust her inside and followed her, pulling the door shut just as the outer door to the office opened. The closet was tiny, and there were boxes near their feet, making it impossible to move without creating noise. Holding Sara against his chest, Rafe laid his fingers over her lips, silently warning her to be quiet.
Easing the closet door open just a fraction, Rafe could see Edwin Zachary clearly. He watched as the other man poured himself a glass from the crystal decanter and tossed it back in one swallow. Then he moved to the desk and picked up the cordless phone that sat on the surface. They listened as he made a business call.
Rafe thought it would never end, Sara was still pressed against him, and his nostrils were filled with the honey-ginger scent of her shampoo, and an underlying fragrance that was hers alone. She was soft and supple against him, and he felt his body hardening in response.
He knew the precise instant that she became aware of his arousal, when her breath hitched unevenly and she stilled in his arms. Then slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his throat. Rafe swallowed hard.
In the office, he heard Edwin finish his phone call and hang up the phone. There was silence for a long moment until finally, with a soft oath, Edwin left the room. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, yet Rafe didn’t release Sara.
“We should go,” she murmured against his throat. “Before we get caught.”
“Mmm. We should.” But he couldn’t resist lowering his head and covering her mouth with his own, savoring her immediate response. His hands slid to where her warm skin was exposed by the strapless cocktail gown. He traced his fingers along the gentle slope of her shoulders, and she made a soft sound of encouragement.
He wanted to press her back against the closet wall, push her skirt up and bury himself in her welcoming heat. He wanted to keep her in the protective circle of his arms and never let her out of his sight. Hell, he just wanted to keep her.
She pulled away first, her breath fanning warmly against his face. “We need to leave before someone finds us,” she whispered.
She was right. They’d been lucky that Edwin hadn’t discovered them, but their luck might not hold out. Reluctantly, he released her.
“You’re right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
SARA’S HEART BEAT FAST, both from the fear of being discovered and from Rafe’s kisses. She followed him swiftly through the office and into the adjacent sitting room, closing the office door carefully. Keeping her behind him, Rafe entered the main hallway and nearly collided with a woman.
“Mrs. Zachary,” he said smoothly, stepping back. “Excuse us—we were looking for the powder room.”
Diane Zachary’s startled gaze flew from Rafe to Sara and then to the closed door of her husband’s office. “The bathrooms are located along the main corridor, on the left,” she said coolly. Her gaze lingered on Sara. “Ms. Sinclair, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right. From American Man magazine.” Sara strove for a calm tone as she extended her hand to the other woman, but Diane didn’t take it. Instead, her gaze dropped to the abrasion that extended from Sara’s elbow to her forearm.
“That’s a nasty scrape you have there.”
Sara withdrew her hand and tucked it behind her, casting a quick glance at Rafe. His expression was inscrutable. “Oh, that,” she said lightly. “It’s nothing, really. I fell the other night.”
“Hmm.” Diane gave her a patently false smile. “You should be more careful when you’re crossing the street. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m looking for my husband.”
But as she tried to step past them into the sitting room, Rafe caught her by the arm. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“I don’t believe Ms. Sinclair mentioned anything about crossing a street,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “How would you know that information? Were you, by any chance, driving through Chinatown last night in a Lincoln Town Car?”
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Diane snatched her arm free. “Keep your hands off me. Who do you think you are?” she hissed.
“I’m the man who’s
been trying to keep Ms. Sinclair alive for the past five days, despite your attempts to prevent that.”
Diane gasped, but Sara didn’t miss the quick fear that leapt into her eyes. “What are you suggesting? I don’t know Ms. Sinclair. I’ve never even met her before tonight.”
“But you knew that she’d discovered your husband’s involvement with a certain club, didn’t you? And knowing that she’s a writer for American Man magazine, you’d stop at nothing to prevent her from making his association with the club public knowledge. Isn’t that right?”
A group of elegantly dressed women were making their way down the corridor toward them, and with a small noise of frustration, Diane indicated that Rafe and Sara should precede her into her husband’s office. Only when the door was closed behind them did she speak again.
“I never intended to hurt Ms. Sinclair,” she said, tipping her chin up and fixing Sara with an icy glare. “I only meant to scare you enough that you’d think twice about publicizing my husband’s behavior.”
“And which behavior would that be?” Sara asked. “The sexual fantasies he purchases through the Glass Slipper Club, or his affair with Lauren Black?”
Diane gave Sara a frigid smile. “Don’t you know? They’re one and the same.”
Rafe frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Diane gave him a look of disdain. “For all your intelligence contacts, Sergeant, you really don’t know, do you? Lauren Black may very well work as an editor for American Man magazine, but she moonlights for the Glass Slipper Club under the name Lisette.”
Lisette. Sara recalled seeing the name on the client list. Judging by the frequency with which the name had appeared, Lisette was one of the more popular call girls in the club. But Lauren? Smart, acerbic, get-the-job-done Lauren?
“That’s impossible,” Sara protested. “I know Lauren, and she would never demean herself by doing something like that.”
Diane gave a bitter laugh. “Trust me, dear. I’ve had detectives following my husband now for months and I have explicit photos of Edwin with that woman.” She passed a hand over her eyes. “I even confronted him with the proof that I know about his activities, but the man is ruled by his dick. He truly can’t help himself.”
Sara moved closer to Rafe’s protective bulk. “Were those your detectives who responded to the break-in at my apartment?”
“Dear, those were my detectives who performed the break-in at your apartment. I pay Anderson and Michaels very well for their services. And now I know that you have a memory stick that contains certain information. What is it? A list of clients?”
“You’ll never know,” Sara said hotly.
“I want that client list, Ms. Sinclair.” Diane’s face twisted and her voice was fierce. “I’ve worked as hard as any whore to get where I am today. I knew Edwin was a womanizer when I married him, but I also knew he had what it took to go all the way to the top. I’ve put up with his philandering ways for years, cleaning up his messes and doing it with a smile.” She was almost spitting in her fury. “I’ve given away millions of dollars in charity to ensure he has the connections he needs for a presidential campaign, and I’m not about to let you ruin it by publicizing his connection with the Glass Slipper Club. I can destroy you with a snap of my fingers, Ms. Sinclair, do you understand that?”
Rafe stepped in front of Sara. “You’re not going to do anything, Mrs. Zachary. That list is somewhere safe, where you’ll never get your hands on it. If you want it to remain a secret, you’ll ensure that nothing happens to Ms. Sinclair.”
Diane turned her furious gaze to Rafe, sweeping him with a disdainful look. “Who do you think you are? I’ve spent years pandering to the Washington elite, and there isn’t anyone who doesn’t owe me a favor. With one call to the Pentagon, I could have your stripes.”
Anxiety stabbed at Sara. She’d never heard anyone so callously threaten to ruin a man’s career as Diane had just done. And Sara had no doubt that she could do it.
But instead of looking upset, Rafe gave Diane a slow, predatory smile. Even in his formal evening wear, he looked dangerous. “Go ahead,” he purred. “But after you make that call, be sure to pick up a copy of the Washington Post. And the Washington Times and the Express, because I think you’ll be interested in the headlines. Do I make myself clear?”
“You bastard,” Diana hissed. “I will not be made the butt of jokes amongst the political pundits, nor will I be an object of pity for the Washington elite. If this information becomes public knowledge, I won’t be one of those women who stands by her husband with a look of long-suffering tolerance while he apologizes to the American public for his transgressions. I can’t let you publish that list.”
Rafe moved quickly, pushing Diane back against the door of the office with his hands on her shoulders and his face scant inches from hers. His expression was ruthless. “If anything—anything—happens to Sara, I’ll personally ensure that a copy of that client list is delivered to the senior editor of every daily newspaper in Washington. And then I’ll come after you.” Diane’s cool façade cracked and she stared at Rafe with undisguised fear in her eyes. “So I’d say it’s in your best interest to keep her alive and healthy.”
He stepped back, dropping his hands from the woman’s shoulders as if he found the act of touching her personally distasteful.
“It’s men like you who make this world a dangerous place to live,” Diane said in a low, tight voice.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he snarled softly. “It’s people like you, who believe the rules don’t apply, who make this world a dangerous place.” He extended a hand to Sara. “But you’re right about one thing. I am a dangerous man. I’d remember that, if I were you.”
RAFE HANDED SARA INTO the limousine before he climbed in to sit on the padded seat across from her. Guests were still arriving at the Zachary residence as they pulled away, but Sara was grateful to be leaving.
“What a horrible woman,” she exclaimed. “Maybe we should just blow the entire story wide open and watch her go to prison for what she tried to do.”
Leaning forward, Rafe pressed a button and the privacy screen slid smoothly into place behind the driver. “I think Diane Zachary is already in a prison of sorts,” he said quietly, “just one of her own making. She knows that if anything happens to you, she’ll lose everything. As for Edwin, I guarantee he won’t run for President. He’ll end up destroying his own career. That’s good enough for me. Are you okay?”
Sara nodded and then slanted him a questioning look. “Where is the memory stick?”
Rafe laughed softly. “I have no idea. I sent it to a friend in North Carolina and told him to put it somewhere safe. I’m guessing it’s stored in a weapons bunker at Fort Bragg, protected by concertina wire and reinforced doors, not to mention the U.S. Army.”
Sara frowned. “Do you believe what she said about Lauren being one of the call girls?”
Rafe shrugged. “After what I’ve seen these past few days, I’m inclined to believe just about anything.”
“Do you think Lauren was involved in any of what happened? I mean, she invited me to the Singapore Bistro that night. Maybe she knew about the client list.”
“I don’t think so. But maybe you should talk to her.”
“You’re right,” she said, pulling her cell phone out of her small evening bag. “It’s bad enough that she had an affair with Edwin Zachary! No wonder she didn’t want to go to the book-signing. But I can’t believe she’s involved in the Glass Slipper Club. I won’t believe it until I hear it from her.”
She punched in the number and waited until Lauren answered. “How’s the book-signing?” the editor asked without preamble. “Did you get a quote from Edwin Zachary?”
Sara glanced at Rafe. “Unfortunately, no. But I did get one from Diane Zachary.”
“Oh. Well, let’s hear it. Did she have anything interesting to say?”
“I think so. She said you moonlight for the Glass Slipper Club unde
r the name Lisette.” She waited expectantly for an outraged protest, but there was only silence. “Lauren, we saw photos of you and Edwin Zachary together. Do you deny it?”
“Oh, what’s the point?” Lauren asked, exasperated. “Fine. Yes, I work part-time for the club. Are you happy now?”
Sara couldn’t suppress the disappointment and dismay she felt. “Why, Lauren? You’re a senior editor at American Man magazine. You’re well respected in the industry and it’s not as if you need the money. Please tell me why you’d be involved in something like that, because it just doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“What? You think only drug addicts or desperate women become call girls?” Lauren asked, her voice filled with derision. “Let me tell you something, sweetie. Most of the women who work for the Glass Slipper Club are highly educated, attractive women. They’re lawyers and college professors and reputable businesswomen.”
“So why do it?” Sara asked. “You’re intelligent and attractive—you could have any man you want.”
Lauren laughed. “I don’t want a man in my life, darling, just in my bed. I like sex. Hell, I love sex without any of the messy complications that come with a committed relationship. And Washington is a very expensive place to live. Plus, I get to screw some seriously powerful men. You wouldn’t believe the pillow talks I’ve had.”
Sara’s gaze flew to Rafe’s. He watched her intently.
“Is that how you found out about Rafe Delgado’s involvement with the rescue of the aid workers? Through one of your clients?”
“That was an unexpected perk,” Lauren admitted. “I’ve actually gotten the inside scoop on several great stories as a result of my club connections. You know, with a face and body like yours, you could make a bundle in this particular line of work. Think of it as a way to make your most secret fantasies come true.”
“The Glass Slipper Club is done, Lauren. Even if I hadn’t discovered what was going on, the Feds were getting ready to pull the plug on the whole operation. Juliet’s likely left the country and the club has closed its doors.” Sara let her gaze slide over Rafe as he eased a finger inside his collar and loosened his bow tie. “Besides, there are other ways to fulfill your fantasies without selling your soul.”