by Maggie Price
Suddenly, light flicked on behind the upstairs French doors.
Rafe plunked the coffee cup into the car’s holder and leaned forward.
Minutes later, a second upstairs light came on. Then both went out. He waited, watching, and saw a light turn on behind one of the downstairs windows.
Rafe knew her going downstairs could be something as innocuous as a raid on the refrigerator. Still it was possible a noise outside had dragged her out of bed.
Either way, he needed to check.
Having long ago disabled his Mustang’s dome light, he eased out of the door, closing it behind him with an inaudible click. Earlier, he’d traded his tuxedo for the black jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt he kept in the trunk. If he stayed in the shadows, there was little chance he’d be spotted.
He had just crossed the street and stepped into the boathouse’s front yard when the glare of headlights licked around from its rear. He crouched, using a shrub to shield his presence as the car appeared down the sloped driveway. In the illumination from a nearby streetlamp, he saw it was Allie’s Jaguar.
He had no idea where she was headed at this time of night. Morning, he corrected, glancing again at the luminous dial of his watch.
He rose slowly while his gaze tracked the Jag’s progress down the street. At the first corner it came to, its brake lights flashed on, spearing the darkness briefly before it turned.
He took in some air and let it out slowly with his lips pursed in a kind of silent whistle. The Allie Fielding of seven years ago had come and gone from the apartment she shared with her roommate at all times of the day and night. So maybe she had a late date. Or an early one.
Hell, maybe everything was fine and she was headed to the grocery store to pick up some Rocky Road. Following her might be a waste of time.
Problem was, a disturbing sensation in his gut had his instincts clanging like a fire alarm.
With every protective instinct rearing up inside him, Rafe jogged back to his Mustang.
Rafe had Allie’s car in sight by the time it turned out of the exclusive housing addition and headed south.
He had just stopped at the intersection, preparing to make the same turn when a dark car parked on a side road switched on its headlights and pulled in behind her. There was enough illumination from a streetlight for Rafe to tell that the car was a maroon Crown Vic. Its male driver appeared to be alone.
For no other reason than his gut told him to, he switched off his car’s headlights, counted to ten, then turned onto the street. The road had few lights and he made sure to stay far enough back that, unless its driver watched for a tail, there was little chance he’d spot the black Mustang.
And little chance Allie would notice the Crown Vic, because it varied its speed. Once it even dropped back far enough to allow a pickup truck bearing the logo of the city’s newspaper to turn in between them.
Because he was too far away to read the tag, Rafe grabbed his digital camera off the passenger seat. Through its powerful lens, he discovered the car’s tag had been smeared with mud, rendering it unreadable.
There was no mud anywhere else on the car’s rear. Meaning, the tag had been purposely obscured.
Why?
Fifteen minutes later, the three-car entourage reached a dingy area of the city’s southside that sprouted warehouses and a few small manufacturing facilities. Up ahead, Allie’s car topped a rise, then slowed. The street, still covered with a wet sheen from the rain, reflected the Jag’s brake lights.
And the Crown Vic’s.
If Rafe had any remaining doubts that she was being tailed, they ended when the car followed hers into what looked like a mini city of warehouses.
He thought back to the interview he’d conducted with Allie at Silk & Secrets. She’d mentioned having an off-site warehouse that her seamstresses worked out of. That warehouse was probably in this complex, Rafe reasoned. He supposed the guy behind Allie could be a business contact who’d arranged to follow her there for some legitimate purpose.
But why so early in the morning? And why with mud smeared on his car tag?
Rafe set his jaw. If he’d had Allie’s cell-phone number, he would call and ask if she knew the guy behind her. But he didn’t know the number. Hadn’t had a reason to ask for it.
Up ahead, the Jaguar turned into a parking area. Instead of following, the vehicle behind hers slowed, then braked against a curb.
If the driver was supposed to have been following her, why not just turn in behind her?
A warning blared in Rafe’s brain. Allie didn’t know she’d been tailed.
With his car’s headlights still off, Rafe whipped a quick turn up a side street lined by another grouping of warehouses. He parked out of the light-spill from the night spots in metal cages mounted on the corner of each warehouse. He pulled his automatic out of the console, checked to make sure it was loaded. It was. He grabbed the flashlight he kept under the seat, then eased out of the door.
Grateful now that he’d dressed all in black, he retraced his route, then eased around the corner. The Crown Vic hadn’t moved from the curb. Its idling engine was a soft hum in the still night air.
Keeping low, Rafe headed toward the car at an angle, making sure his reflection couldn’t get picked up in any of the car’s mirrors. Closer now, he verified the driver was alone. From where the guy sat, he had a clear view of the lot where the Jaguar was now parked.
In his peripheral vision, Rafe saw Allie get out of her car. Hoisting a tote bag over one shoulder, she headed to a warehouse’s lighted door.
Rafe felt his gut tighten while he watched the driver’s head move slowly, tracking her progress.
If he’d harbored any doubt the guy was watching her, it was gone.
Keys in hand, Allie stood in a pool of light at the locked door of her warehouse, trying to make sense of the fact the alarm panel showed the system was activated. She might have been in the throes of a hot dream about Rafe Diaz when Detective Young called, but she’d been wide-awake by the time he told her some burglar had kicked in the door.
Standing there alone in the dead of night, she began to have a very bad feeling.
She dragged in a deep breath in an attempt to control the adrenaline gushing through her system. There had to be a logical explanation, she reasoned. It would be nice if Detective Young were here to give her one. Or the police officer he assured her would meet her in his absence.
Because that bad feeling was getting worse by the minute, she decided to call a cop she knew—Liz Scott.
Holding the automatic hidden behind one thigh, Rafe sidled from the rear of the car, stopping just behind the driver’s door. Clicking on the flashlight, he trained the beam through the open window at an angle that would blind the guy.
“How’s it going, pal?”
His quarry jolted, jerked his head sideways. Rafe had an instant to note the startled dark brown eyes before the man cursed and stepped on the gas.
Against the rain-soaked pavement, the car’s tires sent up a howling squeal as they fought for traction. Then they caught and the rear end fishtailed, slamming into Rafe’s thigh. The blow knocked him into a sideways stumble and he hit the pavement hard, sprawling on the grit.
He’d barely dragged in a breath when the squeal of brakes jerked his chin up. The Crown Vic did a wild spinning U-turn. The driver gunned the engine. The car lurched forward.
Rafe scrambled to his feet. When the car rocketed for him, he dived for the curb.
“You’re sure he said his name was Young?” Liz Scott asked, her voice foggy with sleep. “Detective Young?”
“Positive,” Allie replied. “Liz, I’m sorry I woke you, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Why would a cop call and tell me my warehouse had been broken into if it hadn’t been?”
“And the alarm panel says the system is still activated?”
“Yes, I—”
Allie jerked around when the roar of an engine and high squeal of rubber on pavement pierced the
air. Instead of the police car she was hoping to see, she spotted a dark car whip a U-turn, then speed toward a man in the middle of the street.
“Look out!” she screamed even as the man dived out of the car’s path.
“What the hell’s going on?” Liz shouted.
“A car almost hit a man.”
Allie screamed again when the car swerved, aiming right for him.
Her scalp prickled when the man’s arm swung up and light glinted off the barrel of a gun aimed at the car’s windshield. Two high-pitched pops exploded through the air.
The engine gave a deafening roar while the car veered wildly. Seconds later, it crashed head-on into the wall of a warehouse. Windows in the building shattered while metal screeched as it tore and bent.
Allie’s stunned gaze jerked back to the man with the gun. Not any man, she realized when he stepped into a pool of light. Rafe!
“Oh, my God!”
“What? What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s Rafe!”
Allie didn’t stop to think about her safety. Her single driving need was to get to Rafe.
She dropped her phone and tote and ran.
“Rafe!”
Gun gripped in both hands, he was halfway to the car when her shout had him turning toward her. Whatever he yelled back was lost against the roaring of her heart.
“Rafe!” She skidded to a stop inches from him. In the wan light, his mouth was a thin line, his eyes like hard black marbles.
“Are you okay?” she panted.
“Fine. Stay back while I check on the guy in the car.”
Allie was suddenly aware that the air had turned heavy with the reek of gasoline.
A whoosh had her spinning toward the car just as flames danced from beneath its crumpled hood.
“I have to get the guy out of there,” Rafe said, then headed toward the car.
Allie dashed to keep up with his long-legged stride.
He shot her a sideways look. “I said stay back. The car could explode at any second.”
“Two can get him out faster than one.” Closer now, she could see into the driver’s window. “He’s slumped over the steering wheel. He must be unconscious.”
Rafe’s hand clamped on her upper arm, staying her steps. “That’s what it looks like.” His voice was flat, his eyes remote. “Stay here while I check him.”
“But—”
His hand tightened on her arm. “Dammit, he might be faking. He might have a gun.”
Allie nodded numbly. Her stomach clenched while she watched Rafe advance to the driver’s window, gun aimed at the motionless figure. He reached in, shook the guy’s shoulder.
In the glare of the flames she saw the dark crimson stains on Rafe’s fingers when he pulled back his hand. He stuck the gun in the back waistband of his jeans and jerked the car door open.
Allie dashed to the car as scarlet tongues of flames shot skyward. Black, acrid smoke rolled from beneath the crumpled hood, nearly obscuring her vision.
Rafe unhooked the seat belt, grabbed the unconscious man by the shoulders, then dragged him sideways.
“Grab his feet,” Rafe shouted.
Allie gripped the man’s ankles and lifted. Instantly, she staggered beneath his weight while her lungs fought to pull in scalding air that reeked of smoke and gasoline.
They’d barely made it halfway across the street when the fire’s roar intensified.
A heartbeat later, an explosion blasted the air. A fist of heat and force fumed out, slamming her to the ground.
Chapter 6
Stunned by the blast, Allie gingerly sat up. Her ears rang. Her spine felt as if some giant hand had smashed into it, then flung her forward like a rag doll. Her palms stung from her crash-landing on the gritty pavement. Her right knee throbbed.
Glass crunched under Rafe’s feet as he crouched beside her. “Are you okay?”
She looked up, trying to focus on his face through eyes stinging from the fire’s acrid black smoke. “I…think so. You?”
“Fine.” Gripping her arms, he helped her to her feet. “He’s not,” he said flatly, looking at the man lying in the street. “He’s dead. Probably was before we pulled him out of the car.”
Allie struggled to make out the man’s features in the orange glare of the flames, which was hard to do because blood covered the entire right side of his head. His open eyes had the same dead stare she’d witnessed when she found Mercedes McKenzie.
The reminder tightened her stomach.
“Do you know him?” Rafe asked.
The question jerked her head around. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one he tried to run down.”
Without comment, Rafe flipped open his cell phone and dialed 911.
While he spoke to the dispatcher, Allie shifted her gaze to the car. Sharp, brilliant tongues of flame had turned it into a blazing inferno. It had crashed head-on into a warehouse, shattering several windows and layering the street with shards of glass that glittered like a crimson sea in the fire’s light.
Rafe closed his phone. “Police and fire are on the way.”
Allie remembered the call she’d made. “Liz, too, probably.”
“Liz?” Rafe asked as he slid his phone into a back pocket of his black jeans.
“My friend, Liz Scott. She’s an OCPD sergeant. I was on the phone with her when I saw the car try to run you down.” Suddenly aware of the stinging pain in her hands, Allie glanced at her palms and saw skinned flesh.
Rafe clamped a hand on her elbow. “Doesn’t look like you’re totally okay.”
“They’re just scrapes,” she said as he steered her to a grassy spot on the edge of the street.
“Sit. I’ve got a first aid kit in my car.”
“Fine. Can I borrow your phone? I dropped mine when all the excitement started. I need to call Liz and let her know we’re safe.”
After handing her his phone, Rafe jogged off.
With the odor of gas hanging thick and oily in the smoky air, Allie settled onto the curb. Careful of the nicks in her palm, she dialed her friend’s number.
“Are you okay?” Liz shouted. “It sounded like all hell broke loose. I’ve been calling your cell for the past fifteen minutes. When you didn’t answer, I pulled on some clothes and jumped in my car.”
“I’m okay,” Allie said, then briefed her friend on what had happened.
“Stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Allie said before ending the call.
With the shock from the explosion having cleared, a myriad of questions formed in her head. Who was the dead man lying in the street? Why had he tried to run Rafe down? And why the heck was Rafe even there?
Her gaze went to the main entrance to the warehouse facility. Where was Detective Young or the police officer he said would meet her? Why had Young called to tell her a burglar had kicked in the door to her warehouse and set off her alarm when it didn’t appear either had happened?
She was still trying to come up with answers when Rafe reappeared, a metal first aid kit gripped in one hand. Two water bottles dangled from the other. Towering over her, dressed totally in black, with the fire leaping in the background, he looked lean and fit and a little on the dangerous side.
“Thanks for the phone,” she said, handing it to him when he settled on the curb beside her. “Liz is on her way.”
In the distance, a siren sounded. “We’ll have a lot of company soon.” He twisted the cap off one bottle and handed it to her.
Holding it by her fingertips, Allie took a sip. The tepid water felt like nirvana against her parched throat.
After taking a long swig from his own bottle, Rafe popped the lid on the first aid kit. “Hold out your hand.”
“You’re going to a lot of trouble for a couple of scrapes.”
His expression grim, he tore open a packet containing an antiseptic wipe. “You wouldn’t have those scrapes if you had stayed back like I told you to.�
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Allie winced when he swabbed her palm. “If I had, it might have taken you longer to get that guy as far from the car as we got him. Meaning, you’d have been closer to the explosion.”
Rafe kept his head lowered while he positioned a bandage over the deepest scrape. “Maybe.”
“Probably,” she countered, still gritting her teeth against the sting of antiseptic.
He opened another packet and went to work on her other hand.
When he tilted her palm toward the illumination from one of the security lights, she had a close-up view of the strong, tanned column of his throat. Of the way his thick, black hair grazed the collar of the black T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders, revealing an awesome array of muscles. She was helpless to control the shiver that raced beneath her flesh.
Only moments ago she’d almost gotten blown to bits. Then there was the dead body lying a few feet away. The fact that she could get turned on in the midst of all that sent a gut-clenching uneasiness through her. Her mind skittered back to the hot, steamy dream she’d been trapped in when her phone rang. Even now she could picture Rafe positioned over her, their bodies linked while his hands glided across her sweat-slicked flesh.
Suddenly, the night seemed to press in on her, bringing to the surface a reminder of the vow she’d made long ago to draw an invisible line and never allow anyone to get so close that they mattered too much.
She had broken that vow with the friendship she’d formed with Liz and Claire. But her parents had taught her well and she wasn’t prepared to cross that line with a man. Any man. Ever.
She tugged her hand free from Rafe’s and shifted her thoughts to the here and now. “You asked me if I knew the dead man. Why?”
“Do you?”
“I’ve never seen him before. You’re the one he tried to run down. Don’t you know who he is?”
“No.”
“Then why did he try to kill you?”
“I don’t know.” Rafe closed the lid on the first aid kit. “I also have no idea why he followed you here tonight.”