by Brant, Kylie
“Macauley?” Her voice was trembling, aching.
He stepped behind her then, picking up the towel. Slowly he wrapped it around her back, both hands keeping hold of the ends. His eyes met hers in the mirror before them as he slowly dried her.
Her breath came in little gusts, and she leaned against his chest. Her eyes never left his in the mirror, and he could read her response in the way she trembled under his hands. He went down on his knees, dragging the towel down her body to catch the tiny rivers on her skin before they reached the floor. Rising again, he wrapped the towel around her, tucking the ends together over her breast. His hands didn’t leave then, and he moved closer, giving in to the temptation to bury his face at her neck.
Her throat arched to him, and she gave a little gasp at the sharp, stinging kiss he placed there. “Macauley,” she moaned.
Abruptly, painfully, he remembered what had brought him upstairs to begin with. He drew a shuddering breath and brought his hands to her shoulders. “Detective Ramirez wants to speak to you.” His voice was raspy.
She blinked dazedly. “Now?”
“He’s downstairs.” His hands skated down her arms and up again before he dropped them reluctantly and stepped back. “Get dressed and come down. I’ll give him some coffee or something while we wait.”
She nodded mutely, and he turned abruptly, leaving the room.
Rejoining the detective, he told him, “She’ll be down in a few minutes. Can I get you something? Coffee?”
The man shook his head. “Had to give up caffeine. Doctor said it was causing an irregular heartbeat. And I can’t get used to that decaff stuff. I mean, if you can’t enjoy that jolt of caffeine, why bother, right?”
Mac grunted. He’d experienced a jolt this morning, but caffeine had had little to do with it. Suddenly he felt in need of something to drink, something a lot stronger than coffee. He wondered if the detective would find the taste of a shot of scotch more to his liking.
“Want to help me with this?” the detective asked.
Mac reached for the plastic evidence bag and held it open. Ramirez pulled a glove from his jacket pocket, put it on, picked up the letter and envelope and dropped them both into the bag. Doffing the glove, he shoved it in his pocket.
“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the bag. He sealed it deftly. “This one will probably go right to the postal boys. They have their own investigators for these kinds of things. They might come up with something interesting.”
Raine came into the room then. “Good morning, Detective.”
Ramirez turned. “Miss Michaels, you’re looking good. Glad to see you weren’t too badly hurt in that accident.”
“I’m fine,” she murmured, giving a quick look toward Mac.
Her hair was already drying, Mac noted. Soft curls were forming on top. She’d dressed quickly, in a pair of white shorts and a silk tank top. His eyes went to her throat, which was marred with the slightest hint of color left by his mouth.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Miss Michaels, about the car that ran you off the road.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and forced her gaze away from Mac, focusing on the detective.
“Do you think you’d be able to identify it?” the man asked. “Reason I’m asking is, we think we may have found a vehicle matching the description. It was a rental and was abandoned about ten miles from where the accident happened. Guy drove it off the road into some bushes and left it there.”
“A guy?” Mac asked, sharply.
“According to the records, a Mr. Ray Paulus rented it from the agency the day before the accident.” He shook his head, forestalling Mac’s next question. “The information on the application was all phony. And no one at the agency remembers the man well enough to describe him. He rented at an airport, so it was plenty busy there.”
“I described it to the trooper who helped me,” Raine said. “It was a blue four door. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about cars to guess at the make, but it was older. There was a lot of chrome on it, and it was big. At least twice the size of mine.”
“Do you remember anything else?” the man pressed.
“It had a hood ornament of some kind,” she said slowly. “And the chrome on the front passenger door was missing.”
“That matches with the one we’ve got,” the detective said, satisfied. “I’ll tell the boys to start going through it. We may be fortunate. It’s hard for a person to be in a car and not leave something behind.”
“Assuming, of course, that the car was thoroughly cleaned before it was rented out last time,” Mac murmured.
The other man grimaced. “Yeah, assuming that. But it’s the best lead we’ve had yet. I’d like to get this wrapped up for you, Miss Michaels. Keep your fingers crossed.”
While Raine walked the man to the door, Mac made a quick phone call. When she came back to the room, he asked her, “How would you like to go see your mom today?”
Her eyes lit with pleasure. “Really?”
“You’d have to go with me,” he cautioned. “But yeah. I need to talk to your dad, anyway. I just called him, and he’ll stay home until we get there.”
“Okay.” But still she didn’t move, just stood in the doorway and looked at him. The silence grew thick with awareness.
“Raine,” he said softly. “Unless you’re trying to tempt me to finish what I never should have started upstairs this morning, you’d better give me a little while.”
Her voice was just as soft. “And what if I wanted to tempt you?”
He closed his eyes tightly. She had no idea just how much of a temptation she was. “Then I’d be an even bigger jerk than I already am.”
She looked away, her mouth trembling.
“Go on now. Get ready to go. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
She nodded shakily, turned and left the room.
He took a deep breath. A man could be all kinds of a fool, but he wasn’t sure he could have been any more foolish than to indulge himself the way he had upstairs. It wasn’t going to make this case any easier. It wasn’t going to make it simpler to do as he’d vowed and stay away from her, reminding himself just how bad he was for a woman like her.
And it wasn’t going to make it any easier to lay in his bed, just down the hall from her at night. Sleep was only going to get more elusive.
After greeting her father briefly, Raine left the two men alone and went in search of her mother. Mac closed the door to Simon’s office behind her and then turned to look at the older man.
Simon sat behind his desk and leaned back. “Sit down, Mac. I hope you’ve got good news for me. Do the police have any information yet about the lunatic who ran Raine off the road?”
Mac remained standing, surveying the man, and didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when his hands itched to punch the man in the jaw for the way he’d manipulated this situation from the beginning. And maybe even for more than that. Hell, yeah, maybe, he thought savagely, he’d like to get his hands around Simon’s throat for the way he’d failed his daughter all those years ago, when she’d needed him most.
Impatient at Mac’s silence, Simon quizzed, “Well? Has there been a new development, or not?”
Mac strode to Simon’s desk and placed his palms on the top. “Yeah,” he snarled, leaning across the surface toward the man. “There’s been a development. But I’m the only one it’s news to, and you know why, Simon? Because you deliberately kept it from me when you conned me into taking this job.”
Simon never blinked. “What’s on your mind, son? I told you everything I knew, which was damn little, I might add.”
Mac’s laugh was ugly. “Except that you forgot the most important detail.” He paused meaningfully for a moment. “You forgot to tell me that Raine had been attacked eleven years ago.”
The man actually paled. “How did you . . . What makes you think—”
Mac’s palms slapped the top of the desk frustratedly. “Raine told me, Mi
chaels! But she shouldn’t have had to. I should have known, because I should have already had that information. You should have given it to me. And to the police! My God, man, didn’t it ever occur to you that the pervert who hurt her before could be a major suspect in this current sick little game?”
“Yes,” Simon replied sharply. He’d obviously recovered from his earlier surprise. “Of course it occurred to me! That’s why I’ve had someone watching him twenty-four hours a day since I found out about those damn letters!”
Mac stared hard at him. “Tell me.”
Simon heaved a sigh. “His name was—is,” he corrected himself grimly, “Brian Burnett. He was twenty when he . . . attacked Raine. He spent four years in prison and then returned to Sacramento, where we used to live. Five years ago he moved to L.A. He works in a factory.”
“Why the hell did you keep this from me?” Mac bit the words out frustratedly.
“Don’t you think Burnett was the first person I thought of when I heard Raine was being threatened?” Simon snapped. “I didn’t go through you and I didn’t go through the police, I took care of it myself! I hired a man to find him and to see what he’s been up to lately. He’s been under constant surveillance. If one thing had pointed to his being involved in this mess, don’t you think I would have done something about it?”
“What, Michaels? What would you have done? You’re not the law, so there’s damn little you could do about it. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was trying to protect my daughter’s privacy!” Simon shouted. He struggled visibly to calm himself. Then he went on in a quieter tone, “There was no reason to hand this information over to strangers. For pity’s sake, man, I have many more resources at my disposal than that detective who’s handling the case.”
“You mean money,” Mac put in cynically.
“Yes, I mean money. And the things money can buy. In this instance it bought me a background check on Burnett and weekly reports on his movements. What would the police have done? Questioned the man, maybe, and left it at that? If Burnett isn’t responsible for these threats, I didn’t want to take the chance of mentioning Raine’s name to him again. I don’t want him even thinking about my daughter and I sure don’t want him coming near her.”
Mac was silent. Simon hadn’t changed a bit over the years. He was the same man who’d thought the best way to help Raine get over the rape was to keep silent about it.
He shook his head. Hell, maybe he wasn’t giving the man enough credit. Simon was trying, in his own way, to protect Raine. And while Mac didn’t agree with his methods, he at least could agree with the intent. But the fact remained that Michaels might have inadvertently put his daughter even more in jeopardy by not giving this information to Mac and to the police.
“Do you have the reports from your investigator?”
Simon unlocked a desk drawer and withdrew a thick file, dropping it on the desk. “Right here.”
Mac reached across the desk for it. Flipping it open, he scanned the first few pages. Detailed logs had been kept of Burnett’s every movement, including the people he met. Mac’s eyes rose to meet Simon’s. “I’m taking this with me,” he said. “I’ll make a copy of it, then I’m handing this over to the police.”
“The hell you are!” the man thundered. He rose to his feet and leaned threateningly across the desk. “You’ll follow orders, O’Neill, or you’re off this case. I’ll fire you!”
“You can try,” Mac invited. “But just because you stop signing the checks doesn’t mean I’ll be out of the picture. I gave my word that I’d stay with Raine until this thing is over, and you can’t stop me.”
Simon glared at him. “You’re as stubborn as your old man was.”
“No,” Mac contradicted. “I’m much worse. The stakes have been raised, Simon. There’s no doubt that Raine was set up last week. Whoever called knew just what to say to take her off guard, to lure her away from the house. What’s left of her car testifies to the dangerous twist this case is taking.” He watched Simon visibly pale and drop into his seat. “Yesterday another letter came. The detective took it, and the envelope, back to headquarters. He’ll be turning it over to the Postal Inspection Service. Their investigators may be able to use the postmark to pinpoint the locale the letter was mailed from. They need to be aware that Burnett is a suspect in the case. All the information we have has to be available to them. Otherwise you’ll be tying their hands. That’s not fair to Raine.”
Simon rubbed his hands over his face. Suddenly he looked like a frightened old man. “I wanted to spare her this,” he muttered. “If it hasn’t occurred to her that Burnett could be involved, I don’t want to get her thinking about it again.”
“You can’t protect her from her thoughts, Simon,” Mac said quietly. The man still didn’t seem to understand that his keeping silent about the attack hadn’t helped Raine forget about it. Just the opposite, in fact.
Simon sighed and clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. He contemplated them for a long time before looking at Mac. “All right. I’ll put this into your hands, all of it. If you think the police need to be told about Burnett—” he gestured to the file Mac was holding “—go ahead.”
“I don’t see any other way.”
Simon nodded. “I’m going to continue with that investigator who’s watching Burnett, of course.”
Mac agreed soberly. “I’d like to see the weekly reports you get on him.” He’d feel better himself knowing someone was keeping tabs on the bastard who’d hurt Raine.
He began walking to the door, but Simon’s voice stopped him.
“Mac.”
He turned inquiringly.
“I’m trusting you to keep my daughter safe.”
Mac exchanged a long, meaningful glance with the man. Simon was putting full trust in Mac because he had no other choice. But Mac could understand his desperation. The promise he made then was a vow as much to himself as to the other man.
“I won’t allow her to be hurt again.”
Chapter 10
Mac went quickly through the file when he arrived at Raine’s house. It was complete and detailed, and there was absolutely nothing in it to indicate Burnett’s involvement in Raine’s case. The day she’d been run off the road, he’d been followed going to work.
Mac picked up the phone, called Ramirez and told him about Burnett. The detective was noticeably unhappy about the information that had been withheld from him. Mac could understand the feeling. Promising the detective that a copy of the file would be in his hands in a couple of hours, Mac hung up.
The radio on his desk crackled. “A car’s coming up the drive, Mac. It’s Sarah Jennings.”
“Got it,” Mac answered. He spoke to the employee a minute longer, giving him the job of copying and delivering the file. Then he rose and went to the front door. Sarah was just getting out of her bright red convertible sports car.
“Well, hi,” she greeted him as she slammed the door. She raised a graceful hand to push her long blond hair from her face. “I’m surprised to see you still here.”
Mac went out and leaned against a post of the porch. “You’re not working today?”
She made a face as she bounced up the porch steps. “Oh, work. Today was too gorgeous to be stuck inside. I decided to come by and see if I could tempt Raine into playing hooky with me. Maybe we could drive along the coast, go to the beach.” She gave an artful shrug. “I’m open to suggestions. As long as it’s outside.”
Mac frowned. “Raine’s up in her studio. She’s pretty busy getting her last painting done for the show. I’m not sure she should be disturbed.”
Sarah opened her eyes wide. “Well, listen to you! You sound like André’s clone. He didn’t send you out here to keep Raine’s nose to the grindstone, did he?”
Mac snorted. “Not hardly.”
“Well, what André doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And I’m going to take Raine with me, if I can manage to steal her away. She needs a bre
ak even worse than I do, with all that’s happened around here lately.” She cocked her head to look at him coquettishly. “You’re welcome to come along, if you like. I have absolutely nothing against sharing sunny California days with dangerously attractive men.”
Mac surveyed her through narrowed eyes. A month ago this woman’s blatant interest would have been returned, tenfold. Hell, a month ago he’d have asked someone just like her to accompany him on that tropical vacation he’d been planning. But a lot seemed to have changed in the past few weeks, not the least of which was his preference for voluptuous blondes with bust sizes that rivaled their IQ. That was before he’d seen a pair of wide vulnerable eyes of the rarest gold. It was before he’d witnessed the gut-clenching sight of a woman who put herself back together time after time, no matter what life threw at her.
It was before he’d met Raine.
Not responding to her invitation, he pushed himself away from the post. “Suit yourself. You can talk to her. She won’t be going anywhere, though. I guarantee it.” He walked into the house and entered the office.
Sarah raised her eyebrows at his terse response and ran lightly up the stairs and down the hall. Breezing into the studio, she said, “Surprise! I hope you’re going to be a little more welcoming than Mac was. He seems to think he’s taken over André’s job as your watchdog during working hours.”
Raine looked around at her entrance, smiled and put down her brush. “Sarah!” She picked up a rag to wipe her hands before going over to give her friend a hug. “It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you better tell that to Mac. He was positively taciturn downstairs. Of course, I don’t have anything against silent men. Not talking does leave their mouths free to do, shall we say, more interesting things, so they have their good qualities. And Mr. O’Neill has a few good qualities of his own.” She paused to take a breath. “What’s he still doing here, anyway? How much more work is there to be done?”
Raine bit her lip at the question. It was as straightforward as Sarah herself and demanded an equally straightforward answer. She searched frantically for words that wouldn’t be an out-and-out lie but would satisfy her friend. Before she could think of any, Sarah’s eyes lit on the half-finished canvas beyond Raine.