“Whoever they are, they’re long gone.” Rafe walked to the sofa and made himself comfortable. “Mind if turn on the TV?”
He reached for the remote, muscles moving smoothly in his arm under the short sleeve of the black T-shirt. My mouth went dry. Until he opened his. “I wanna see if we made the news.”
“Oh, God.” That possibility blew anything else right out of my head. If my mother saw me on the news, facing a firing squad with a gun to my head, she’d have all sorts of fits. “Please do.”
He’d already turned the TV on, and as soon as the picture came into focus, he started flipping channels. We hit pay dirt on Channel 4. “...latest from the hostage situation in South Nashville,” the perky blonde anchor said, “we’ll go to Chip, live at the scene. Chip?”
“Brandy.” Chip nodded. He was blond too, and looked a bit like a King Charles spaniel. “We’re here, outside La Havana nightclub off Nolensville Road in the Tusculum area, where earlier tonight, federal and local authorities cracked down on what they say is an illegal gambling parlor and money laundering facility with ties to organized crime.”
Over Chip’s shoulder, we could see that police and agents in SWAT black were still milling around the parking lot outside the nightclub. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at that. It felt like an eternity had passed, but in reality, it was just about an hour since we’d stood face to face in the hall outside the bathroom. Chances were there’d be law enforcement in and around the nightclub until morning.
“Several arrests were made,” Chip continued, “and more than a hundred witnesses and suspects were carried off in buses, to be processed at an undisclosed location. Meanwhile, everyone is still closemouthed about the hostage situation a few witnesses have told us took place earlier.”
And then the TV cut to what looked like it might be cell phone footage: jumpy, grainy and dark. Rafe leaned forward with a soft curse. I leaned back, and although I didn’t curse, I wanted to.
There we were, the two of us, outlined against the purple wall, lit up by spotlights with our shadows making strange and grotesque shapes behind us. Thank God whoever had shot the video had done so from a distance, but even so, it looked horrifyingly real. I was pale, my eyes huge, as I stumbled along, and when Rafe started calling out demands that nobody try to stop him or I’d end up with a bullet through my brain, he sounded all too serious.
The clip ended with the Volvo fishtailing out of the parking lot with a federal SUV in hot pursuit, and Chip came back onscreen. “The identity of the hostage has not been released by authorities, but the kidnapper has been identified as Jorge Pena, a resident of Miami and a suspect in several local, national and international homicides. If anyone sees this man, you are advised to keep your distance and call 911 immediately. Do not attempt to engage the suspect, who is described as armed and extremely dangerous. Brandy?”
Chip disappeared, and Brandy came back on, only to promise more news after a short break. The news gave way to a commercial about yoghurt, and Rafe turned it off. He didn’t look at me, just kept staring at the blank screen. I did the same, since I couldn’t think of anything to say to make him feel better.
“You think your mother saw it?” he asked eventually.
“I hope not.” Although if she had, chances were she would have tried to call me by now.
He shot me a quick look out of the corner of his eye. “Looked pretty bad, didn’t it?”
“It looked real, if that’s what you mean. Obviously everyone there thought you were holding a loaded gun to my head.”
“I was holding a loaded gun to your head,” Rafe said. “And before you ask, yeah, there were real bullets in the guns the police and TBI had, too.”
“But they wouldn’t have shot us, right?”
He shook his head. “It was choreographed. All of it except you. I was just supposed to get swept up along with everyone else, but then you showed up, and I figured I’d take advantage of the situation to get you outta there.”
“I would have been arrested, too?”
“Yes, darlin’,” Rafe said, “you woulda been arrested. You were hanging out in an illegal gambling den.”
“So you saved me from having to spend the night in a cell with a lot of prostitutes? And Carmen?”
He nodded.
“My hero,” I said.
He shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder about you, darlin’.”
Sometimes I wondered about me, too. But I was feeling just a little giddy and giggly, like I’d had a glass of champagne too many, and I didn’t feel like pretending otherwise. “I do know I’m supposed to stay away from you, you know.”
I thought he might smile at that, but he didn’t. “You’d be safer if you did. People wouldn’t try to shoot you.”
“On the other hand, Perry Fortunato probably would have strangled me—after he raped me—if you hadn’t been there to take care of him, so it worked out well enough.”
We looked at one another in silence for a moment.
“If you know you’re supposed to stay away from me,” Rafe said, “why don’t you?”
“I guess because I like you.”
He nodded. “I like you too.”
“I assumed you did. You slept with me.”
“Darlin’,” Rafe said, “that don’t mean I like you. I’ve slept with lots of women I didn’t like.”
My eyes narrowed. “Like who? Carmen?”
His voice didn’t change. “I was thinking of Elspeth Caulfield.”
“So you didn’t sleep with Carmen?”
For a second he just looked at me. “Don’t worry about Carmen,” he said at last. “She was part of the job, nothing more.”
So he had slept with her. And it had been in the line of duty, so I couldn’t even make a fuss the way I wanted to. And—point to him—he didn’t lie about it.
“I know I have no claim on you,” I said, striving to keep my voice steady and realizing I was giving myself away with every word I uttered. “You’re a free agent, you can sleep with anyone you want... but I really don’t like that!”
“If it helps, I don’t plan on doing it again.”
“You’ll have to,” I said, my voice taking on a shrill edge. “They’ll keep sending you undercover, and you’ll have to do whatever you have to do to do the job. Even if it’s sleeping with the people you’re trying to arrest.”
He shook his head. “I’m done after this. My cover was blown. I got another few months by becoming Jorge, but once this sting’s over, I’m finished. No more undercover work for me.”
I blinked. “What will you do?”
He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Might be kinda hard getting another job, what with a criminal record and all.”
“Surely they’ll strike everything you did while you were undercover off your record?”
“Sure,” Rafe said, “but I earned that assault and battery conviction all on my own. Two years in medium security.”
“You were eighteen. And there were mitigating circumstances.”
He shrugged.
“Can’t they find something else for you to do?” Somewhere out of harm’s way? Where he wouldn’t have to sleep with the suspects? It seemed the least they could do after ten years of faithful service and putting his life on the line every day.
“Wear a suit and tie and ride a desk?” He shook his head. “Not sure that’s for me, darlin’.”
“I’ve seen you in a suit and tie. You look good.”
And if he had a normal life, with a normal job, maybe he could have a normal relationship, too. Feeling a little like I was taking my life in my hands, I added, recklessly, “I could meet you at the door with a pipe and slippers at five o’clock.”
“If I want someone to bring me my slippers, I’ll buy a dog,” Rafe said, and then added, when he saw my expression, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Of course not.”
“I didn’t. Listen, darlin’,” he leaned forward, “I’ve spent ten years never knowing w
hen someone might pull out a gun and shoot me. I get up in the morning never knowing if I’m gonna live through the day. I’m afraid if I make plans, something bad’ll happen.”
I guess I could understand that. “I’m sorry.”
“It ain’t that I don’t want to. Just that I never thought I’d survive long enough to have any kind of future. I still might not. The job ain’t over.”
“I understand,” I said, as a knock on the door heralded someone’s arrival. As I got up to answer it, I added, over my shoulder, “Just... keep it in mind, OK? I’d like another shot at that baby.”
I didn’t give him time to answer, just opened the door.
“Evening, Ms. Martin,” Tamara Grimaldi said.
Chapter 13
She was still dressed in SWAT black, with gun belt and heavy boots, and she didn’t look happy to see me. Or perhaps it was Rafe she was unhappy to see. She scowled past me into the apartment. “Is he decent?”
“Of course.” I may have wanted to rip his clothes off, but I hadn’t actually done it. “Come on in.”
“I need to take him with me. He has to show his face in night court so everyone can see we got him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be happy to go to night court,” I said. “Whatever it takes to put this whole mess behind us, right?”
Neither of them answered me. Grimaldi brushed past me into the apartment, and came face to face with Rafe in the living room. They stared at one another for a long moment before Grimaldi broke the silence, her voice tight. “What the hell were you thinking, dragging her into the middle of that?”
“I didn’t drag her anywhere,” Rafe answered, in the same tone. “She showed up. I had to get her outta there before something could happen to her. I did the best I could.”
“Why are you talking about me like I’m a potted plant?” I wanted to know. “I’m standing right here. And if I remember correctly, I was the one who stepped in front of him.”
They both ignored me.
“For your information,” Grimaldi said, hands on her hips, “that idiot stunt got you national news coverage. By tomorrow, it’ll be on every news channel in the country and all over the internet. If you had any hope of salvaging your career, you just blew it sky-high.”
“My career was over long before tonight,” Rafe answered calmly. “I blew my cover months ago, and you know it. By now, everyone knows who I am.”
“You do realize her family’s having collective fits, don’t you?”
“They haven’t called,” I said.
Grimaldi turned to me. “Everyone called your brother. Then he called me. He was unhappy. And that makes me unhappy. His wife died just a few weeks ago, and here is his favorite sister, a hostage in a police-standoff, with a gun to her head!”
“Catherine is his favorite, not me. And if he recognized me, he would have recognized Rafe too.”
“Your faith in Mr. Collier is touching,” Grimaldi snarled, “but your brother doesn’t share it. He’s upset.”
“I’ll call him.”
She shook her head with a sigh. “I talked him down. He’s fine, really. He knows you weren’t in any danger.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I have to arrest your boyfriend.” She reached for the handcuffs hanging from her belt.
“He’s not...” The denial was automatic, and I bit it off. After losing the baby—and Rafe—I’d promised myself I’d never again try to deny how I felt about him, and that automatic denial of him as my boyfriend had to go. “Can we have a minute first?”
Grimaldi paused with the cuffs in her hand, looking from me to Rafe and back. “You’ve already had plenty of time to figure things out. He needs to get to night court so there’s no question that he’s under arrest.”
“Just one minute. Please.”
She sighed. “Fine. One minute. I’ll wait in the hallway.”
“Thank you.”
I waited until she was outside with the door closed before I turned to Rafe. He was grinning. “What’s the plan, darlin’? You want me to jump off the balcony and take off down the street?”
I shook my head. “I know you have to go. I just wanted to say goodbye in private.”
The grin widened. “Planning to do something you don’t want anyone to see?”
“We don’t have time,” I said, and had the pleasure of hearing him actually laugh out loud. I added, “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
“I’ve always come back before.”
I shook my head. “Not this time. You came back without telling me.”
“I woulda told you eventually. I was trying to keep you out of it.”
I’d already figured that out. “You’ll be careful, right?”
“I’m always careful,” Rafe said.
No, he wasn’t. He was rarely careful. Although he usually managed to survive with his skin intact.
“I’d really like you to kiss me goodbye,” I said; he smiled, “but I’m afraid if you do, Detective Grimaldi will have to pry my fingernails out of your skin. And probably put the handcuffs on me just to keep me from trying to hold on to you.”
He laughed. “I’ll risk it. C’mere, darlin’.”
He reached out a hand. I took it, and he pulled me closer. I thought he might embrace me, but he didn’t, just kept our fingers entwined while his other hand came up to cup my cheek. I leaned into the touch, and lifted my free hand to wrap my fingers around his wrist. The steady beat of his pulse against my fingertips was reassuring. Things could be worse. He might be leaving, but he was alive. And for once, hopefully not heading into anything too dangerous.
When his head descended, my eyes fluttered closed, and when his lips brushed mine, my knees turned to water. It had always been that way. At first I’d told myself it was terror; now I knew it was just the way I responded to him. Breathless and weak in the knees, like the heroine in one of Barbara Botticelli’s bodice rippers. I swayed toward him and felt his chest move when he chuckled. And then his lips came back, and everything faded to black.
It must have lasted more than a minute, because when I came back to myself, Tamara Grimaldi had opened the door and was telling Rafe he’d had enough fun and it was time to go. I opened my eyes reluctantly, and I’d been right about the death-grip: at some point I’d let go of both his hands and latched onto his shirt, and I was bunching fistfuls of material, practically trying to crawl up his body to get closer.
“Let go, Savannah,” Grimaldi said; one of the few times she’d used my first name. “I need to take him.”
I let go, with a bit of effort, and did my best to smooth out the material. It didn’t work, and the pull of hard muscles under the fabric was distracting. Rafe was grinning, as if he knew what I was feeling. I managed a weak smile in response before I turned to Grimaldi. “You’ll make sure nothing happens to him, right?”
“He’ll be fine.” She twirled the handcuffs. “Hands behind your back, please.”
I watched, wincing, at Rafe obediently put both hands behind him and let Grimaldi snap the handcuffs on.
“Are there cameras outside?”
She shook her head. “Not here. Outside night court, yeah. You never know who might have gotten caught driving drunk.”
“Try to stop them from getting a good picture of him,” I said. The identity situation was still a problem. To most people, Rafe Collier was dead. If they saw his picture in the paper, they’d wonder what happened. And even if the caption said his name was Jorge Pena, a few of them would probably recognize him for who he really was. And I had no idea how the TBI planned to handle that aspect of things, whether he’d get to go back to being Rafe Collier again, or whether he’d become someone else entirely. He couldn’t continue to be Jorge, since Jorge was wanted for multiple homicides here and abroad. “You’ll make sure they know he’s not really Jorge Pena, right? I don’t want him extradited anywhere to stand trial for someone’s murder that he didn’t commit.”
“I’ll take care o
f him. Don’t worry.” She gave him a nudge toward the door.
“See you around, darlin’,” Rafe said.
“I’d better.” I followed them to the door and stood and watched them walk down the hallway to the stairs. Only when I couldn’t see either of them anymore did I close and lock the door. And then I went out on the balcony.
I’d expected a police car. Flashing lights, maybe. A few cops with guns trained on the door. A smaller version of the scene outside La Havana.
There was nothing like that. Just an unmarked car waiting at the curb. When Rafe and Grimaldi came out of the courtyard, a man in black—Rafe’s handler, Wendell Craig—opened the car’s back door and kept his hand on Rafe’s head while the latter got in. He looked up once before the door closed, and shot me a grin when he saw me standing there, arms wrapped around myself against the chill. Grimaldi turned too, but she didn’t smile or wave. Wendell gave me a nod, and then they all piled into the car and drove off down the street. I waited until the red of the taillights had faded into the distance before I went back inside and closed the balcony door.
The first thing I did was get undressed and in the shower. My red satin dress had taken quite a beating tonight. Between dinner with Bradley and the crowd in the nightclub I reeked of a mixture of Italian spices and cigarette smoke, and then there was Rafe’s treatment during the hostage situation. The dress was wrinkled and stained, and it desperately needed to go to the dry cleaner. My hair smelled pretty ripe too, and the shampoo and warm water felt nice. I came out feeling somewhat refreshed, as if I’d washed away a few weeks worth of stress and anger along with the bad odors. It didn’t matter what Rafe and Carmen had done after dinner on Friday; whatever it was, it had been in a day’s work for him. He kissed me because he wanted to.
Actually, he’d kissed me because I wanted him to. Because I’d asked him to. But he’d wanted to, too. At least I thought so.
A Done Deal Page 15