by Maggie Price
Rafe nodded slowly. “You were desperate. So you went back to Mercedes’s condo.”
“Not to kill her. To try to talk her out of going to Hank. The bimbo laughed at me. Said how Hank thought I was pathetic.” Guy’s voice broke. “I grabbed her throat, squeezed until she told me she’d recorded our conversation on a thumbdrive. Hid it in her purse.”
“After she was dead, you went upstairs and dumped out her purse,” Rafe added. “It wasn’t there.”
“Or in any of the other damn purses in her closet.”
“You didn’t know she designed purses, did you?” Rafe asked. Dammit, he needed an opening. Needed to keep Jones talking until he saw a way to get Allie clear.
“Not until the silent auction. That’s when I found out.”
“You hired Slater to break in here that same night.”
“You shot him!” Jones shouted. “I just needed a damn break. Now it’s time to make my own.”
When his arm tightened against Allie’s windpipe, panic and nausea swirled inside her, rolling up the back of her throat.
“I’m taking her with me.” Guy jerked her back one stumbling step.
“I don’t think so.” Rafe’s voice had gone cold. Unemotional.
“Think again, Diaz. You try to stop me, I’ll snap her neck.”
A jolt of sheer terror made Allie’s heart almost freeze in her chest. Tears stung her eyes. He had killed once out of desperation. She had no reason to think Guy would spare her.
“I’m warning you, Diaz.” He yanked her back, her feet tripping over his. “Stay where you are or she dies.”
Allie tightened her fingers on the scissors. With prayers screaming in her head, she swung her arm, stabbed the tip into Guy’s thigh.
He howled. Staggering sideways, he loosened the vicious grip on her throat. Rafe’s hand locked on her arm. He tugged her forward. To safety.
Trembling, gasping for air, Allie leaned against her design table. She heard a dull, sickening thud. Her chin came up in time to see Guy land backward across the pinning platform, blood gushing from his nose. Rafe stepped into her line of vision, fury glinting in his dark eyes.
In one smooth move, he grabbed Guy Jones by one shoulder and slammed his fist into his jaw.
For Allie, the following hours passed in a hazy blur of activity. She remembered Rafe carrying her to the love seat, his eyes looking tormented while he checked her neck for injury. Recalled how the cops summoned by his 911 call swarmed into her shop, followed by a stricken Claire, who gripped her hand while an EMT checked the bruises on her throat. Could readily picture Liz in official cop mode, standing across the dressing room, talking to Rafe in quiet tones. And finally riding with Liz to police headquarters for an interview.
That done, Allie had called Claire for a ride home. Wanting nothing more than to be alone with her own thoughts, she assured her friend she was fine and planned to go to bed.
Instead she’d changed into a tank top and shorts, poured a glass of wine and made a beeline for her boathouse’s back deck. The pale moon lit the river flowing silently by in subdued shades of gray and black.
She lifted the wineglass off the table beside her chair just as footsteps sounded. When Rafe stepped around the corner of the boathouse into a patch of moonlight, her heart kicked once, hard, and she faltered, the glass partway to her mouth.
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.”
He didn’t really need anything from her, Allie thought with tears stinging her eyes.
Slowly, she lowered the glass. “Well, it’s been an interesting day, all the way around.”
“True.” Rafe gazed down at the woman he now accepted that he loved. The woman he had stupidly pushed away.
Her skin looked sheet pale in the moonlight. Just as pale as it had been earlier when Jones loomed over her, his arm locked around her delicate throat. That image started Rafe’s hands trembling, so he stuffed his fingers into the back pocket of his jeans.
“I wanted to check on you. Had to make sure you’re really okay.”
Her throat impossibly dry, Allie took a sip of wine before setting the glass on the table. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Go away. The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t say them. Not when she wanted only him. Without the courage to send him away, she gave him a curt nod. “Liz says she thinks the DA will work a deal with Jones.”
“Makes sense. He didn’t take a weapon with him when he went to Mercedes’s condo. Because cause of death was strangulation, a good defense attorney will claim there was no premeditation on Jones’s part.”
Allie stared out at the dark river. “Liz said they found the thumbdrive hidden under the lining in the clamshell purse. Remember my telling you that Mercedes came to the warehouse hours before she was murdered?”
“I remember. You said Bishop had just told her they were leaving for Paris that night. She was frazzled. Rushed.”
Allie grazed a fingertip across the bruises on her throat. “I had the items for Katie Jones’s trousseau on one of the worktables. Mercedes asked me who they were for. I told her, even mentioned that there were more items being sewn, but we had two months to go before the wedding.”
“That told Mercedes the thumbdrive would be safe in the purse until she got back from Paris,” Rafe said. “Could she have slipped it under the lining without anyone seeing?”
“Yes. I had to deal with another matter upstairs. She could have taken the purse then, slit the lining, restitched it, then replaced it on the worktable without anyone noticing.”
“When Jones’s daughter told him today about that particular purse, he knew it was possible that was where Mercedes had hidden the thumbdrive.”
“So he headed for my shop.” Allie shoved back a frisson of the danger that still clung to her senses. She was safe now. The terror was over. As was her relationship with Rafe.
She stood, walked to the deck’s railing and stared out at the dark water. “I haven’t thanked you yet for helping me get away from Guy. I’m grateful.”
It was worse, Rafe realized. That cool, polite tone was worse than a shouted curse.
“You don’t have anything to thank me for.” He stood, moved to the railing and leaned his back against it so he could see her face. His chest had gone tight. “You did a damn good job with those scissors. Jones will be walking with a limp for a while.”
“Either way, it’s over. Everything’s over.” She gripped the wooden railing and looked away. It took too much to look into his eyes. “Thank you for dropping by to check on me.”
She was done with him. The thought put a chill in Rafe’s blood every bit as sharp as that he’d felt when she’d been in danger. He couldn’t lose her. She had to listen to him. She had to understand.
“Allie, I need to explain something to you.” His voice was as soft as a whisper on the night air. “I need you to let me explain.”
“You don’t need to tell me what I already know. You want total control over your life, your emotions.”
“I thought I did. For a long time, that’s what I thought.” His hand settled on hers. “I grew up wanting to be a cop. That’s all I ever wanted to be. When I got arrested, that dream didn’t just fade. It got yanked away and smashed before my eyes.”
Allie pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. She wanted to move her hand away from his, but she couldn’t make herself do it. His voice was steady, yet raw. As raw as the emotions churning inside of her.
“In prison, I lost the freedom to make choices. The only thing I could regulate was my own emotions. I got good at controlling them. That was the only way to escape where I was. By not allowing myself to react. To feel.”
“I understand.” He had to leave, she thought. He had to leave now, before she crumbled. She tugged her hand from beneath his, shifted to face him. “It must feel good to have cleared Hank Bishop. I’m sure he’ll send more clients your way.”
&nbs
p; To keep from reaching for her, Rafe curled his fingers into his palms. His throat ached. He couldn’t clear it. “Do you think my getting more clients matters?”
“Yes, I do. I think your job, the life you’ve made for yourself matters a great deal to you.”
“I thought it did, too. Just like I thought I had everything figured out. Planned.”
It was Rafe’s turn to look away. There was ice in his belly—he was terrified he’d already lost her.
“But none of it matters more than you. Since the day I first walked into your shop and saw you again, I’ve felt like I was sinking in quicksand. I thought if I could just keep things under control, that I would regain my footing. But each time I saw you, I sank a little deeper. Today when we were together, when we made love, I went all the way under. Fast. Hard. And deep. I was terrified.”
She blinked. “Terrified?”
“That I no longer had power over anything. My life. My emotions. It felt like I’d been tossed back in prison. I panicked. I hurt you by making you think I didn’t want to want you. What I don’t want is that life I had so carefully orchestrated because you’re not a part of it. The only life I want is one with you in it.”
He stepped toward her, skimmed a fingertip along her jaw. “I’m sorry I hurt you. Sorry I walked out.” His palm cupped her cheek. “If you tell me to go, I will. But I’ll be back. I love you, Allie.”
“You—” She had to take a step back, had to press a hand to her heart. “You love me.”
“You don’t have a lot of faith in relationships. Considering what you saw while growing up, I don’t blame you. But I’m asking you to give ours another try. I think together we can beat the odds.”
Her head was still spinning. He loved her. The pressure in Allie’s chest all but burst her heart. “Rafe…”
Could she do it? Open her heart to him again? Take the scariest chance of her life?
He moved in, gathered her to him. “Please don’t tell me it’s too late. That I’ve ruined things between us.”
She looked into his dark eyes and saw a vulnerability there that reassured her more than words ever could. If he was willing to take the risk, so was she. Her legs trembling, she slid her hands up to cup his face. “You think you’re the only one with control issues, Rafe Diaz?”
He inched his head back to gaze down at her. “You have control issues?”
“Damn right. I love you. I didn’t want to. Don’t want to. But I do.”
Gently, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Think maybe fate took a hand in this?”
“Maybe.” She smiled up at him. “It’s for sure each of us had our futures mapped out, or so we thought.”
“Want to agree to let go of the reins and hold on to each other instead? Let fate take us where it will.”
“Together.” She lifted her head, found his mouth waiting. “As long as we’re together.”
“Forever.”
Epilogue
The bride was stunning—tall and regal in white lace, her face luminous in the dazzling glow of crystal chandeliers as she danced with the man who was now her husband.
As it had been two months ago for the silent auction, the luxury hotel’s ballroom was filled with light, food and flowers. Champagne flowed freely. Dozens of chairs had been arranged in corners and along the art-covered walls. The terrace doors were thrown open to allow the guests to spill out into the crisp fall night.
It didn’t take long to change lives, Rafe mused while watching the newlyweds sway together to the soft music. A few moments, a few words.
“Liz and Sam look so happy,” Allie said beside him. “It was a beautiful wedding.”
Rafe gazed down at the woman who’d played a major hand in changing his life. Twice. Her gold hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders. Her long, rose-colored dress flowed around her. He felt a longing so deep, so intense, he could barely keep from reaching for her.
Later, he promised himself.
“A gorgeous wedding,” Claire Castle agreed. Her dress matched Allie’s, except for its misty blue color. She smiled up at her tuxedo-clad husband. “I guess all weddings are gorgeous in their own way.”
“If you say so,” Jackson said, meeting his wife’s gaze over the rim of a crystal flute.
Rafe took a sip from the one glass of cold, frothy champagne he’d allowed himself. “It’s the first wedding I’ve been to where the bride almost raced down the aisle to get to the altar.”
“You caught that, did you?” Allie asked, grinning. “Liz was engaged before. She never could force herself to walk down the aisle and marry the guy. I think tonight she was determined to get to the front of the church as fast as her legs would take her.”
“They look so happy.” Claire’s voice shook as she gestured her glass of ice water toward the dance floor. “So in love.”
Rafe spotted the tears in Claire’s eyes at the same instant Allie gripped her friend’s hand. “Claire, what is it?” Allie asked.
“Nothing.” She sniffed. “I’m just so…Oh, I wasn’t going to say anything. Yet.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Jackson said softly as he slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “Shall I spill the rest of the beans, or do you want to?”
“What beans?” Allie asked.
Claire gripped her friend’s hand. “We didn’t want to take any attention away from Sam and Liz, so we planned to wait until they left on their honeymoon to make our announcement. But I just can’t hold it in any longer. We’re going to have a baby!”
While the women who were as close as sisters embraced, Rafe shook Jackson’s hand. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Jackson gazed at his wife, his eyes filled with an emotion that months ago had been foreign to Rafe.
But Rafe had recently discovered something. He understood now what put that bedazzled look in Jackson Castle’s and Sam Broussard’s eyes when they looked at the women they loved. Rafe now knew what caused a man to fall so deeply in love it never ended.
It was finding the unique woman, and what knowing her could do to your heart.
He had found that woman, and tonight he was taking the big plunge. He had a diamond ring in his pocket and champagne chilling at home. Just like Jackson and Claire, he’d planned to wait until the newlyweds left to propose.
But he had the ring, and there was enough champagne flowing around them to fill a swimming pool. No time like the present, he decided.
Linking his fingers with Allie’s, he leaned closer. “Want to step out onto the terrace with me?”
She sent him a sassy, under-the-lashes look. “Are you going to make it worth my while if I do?”
“I’m going to try.” He pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “For the rest of my life, I’m going to try.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2800-3
THE REDEMPTION OF RAFE DIAZ
Copyright © 2009 by Margaret Price
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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