Kitabı oku: «Daddy With A Badge», sayfa 2
As she emerged and straightened, Rafe felt his world tilt. It was Danni. And she was pregnant.
A driving rain stung Danni’s face and obscured her vision as she struggled to balance two bulging grocery sacks, and the large shoulder bag that served as both a briefcase and purse. Ducking her head deeper into the slicker’s hood, she edged crab-like toward the curb, only to have a sudden gust of wind bang the cab’s door against her hip.
“Thanks for all the help,” she muttered in the direction of the grossly overweight cabby with really bad body odor who had refused to leave the protection of his equally smelly cab to help carry the groceries to her front door.
“Fact of life, lady,” he said with a shrug. “I get paid to drive. Anything else costs extra.”
Extra she didn’t have. “I’d hate to have your karma,” she muttered before ducking her head against the stinging drops.
Struggling against the wind, she finally made it to the safety of the curb, then turned awkwardly to slam the cab door. As she did, one of the sodden bags tore, spilling the contents into the muddy water surging along the gutter. Cold spray hit her shins as cans thudded onto the pavement. A large can of tomato juice smashed her toes, sending pain shooting through her foot.
She jerked back, only to lose her balance. With a cry, she dropped the other bag, and reached out desperately to keep herself from falling. He came from nowhere, a large man in a dark suit moving fast. An instant later, she was wedged against a chest as hard as granite, her head tucked against a bronzed throat. Steely arms held her steady while his wide back sheltered her from the rain and wind.
“Easy, I’ve got you.” The voice came from far above her head, a deep baritone with a faintly hoarse quality. She smelled soap on damp skin and felt the edge of a starched collar against her cheek. Heart thudding, she clutched at the strong arms supporting her.
“Don’t be frightened, Daniela, we’re Federal agents.”
Federal agents? Men in Black, or in this case a lovely charcoal gray? In safe and solid Mill Works Ridge, the same community known affectionately as Maternity Row? Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat. She fought it down. Later, she would fall apart.
“If you’re IRS, you’re wasting your time. The old blood and turnip thing. I’m the turnip.”
She thought he chuckled before she remembered that government types had no humor. “Good thing we’re Treasury, not IRS, then.”
He loosened his hold but kept his arms around her. After straightening carefully, she pushed back her hood so that she could see his face. At the same time he lowered his head so that his gaze met hers, and for a moment she felt as though she were poised at the top of a ski run, with a pristine slope of freshly-groomed powder falling away in a dizzying drop below.
She knew that face. Oh, how she knew it! Once she’d held it in her mind so that she would fall asleep thinking of him. After he’d left her, his image had tormented her in dreams for months.
The proud angles and strong planes were more sharply chiseled now, but still breathtaking. Beneath slashing brows the color of sun-washed sand, his eyes were an unusual sage green with sun crinkles at the corners and dense lashes. His chin was solid, with a hint of a cleft, his features boldly drawn, as though with swift, angry strokes on an imperfect canvas—all but his lips which had the smallest of curves at one corner. Like the beginning of the sweetest of smiles.
It wasn’t really a smile, but a scar, one she’d put there herself when she’d been six and he’d been eight. He’d caught her crying because her brothers had gone fishing and left her behind, so he’d taken her to his own favorite spot along the Little Applegate.
Instead of a steelhead, she’d hooked him, then in her dismay jerked hard on the line, slicing his mouth as the hook pulled free. Blood had spurted like a fountain, and she’d gotten hysterical. He had ended up comforting her.
“My God, Rafe?”
His mouth slanted. That same cleanly defined mouth that had brushed hers in her first real kiss. “So you do remember. I’m flattered.”
Remember? How could she forget? Suddenly cold to the marrow, she shivered violently.
His face changed, growing hard. “Give me your hand. You need to get inside.”
Somehow she drew herself taller, pitting her five foot four inch admittedly out of shape form against six feet three inches of hard-bitten, decidedly intimidating muscle. “I’m not moving an inch until you tell me why you’re suddenly on my doorstep after twenty years.”
“We’ll talk inside.”
“Oh no we—”
His gaze narrowed, acting remarkably like a whiplash. She refused to be afraid. “Inside, Daniela. Maybe you’re immune to pneumonia, but I’m not.”
Without waiting for permission, he slipped the strap of her briefcase from her shoulder and slung it over his own, before tucking a big hand beneath her elbow. She started to turn, only to have his hand tighten.
“Gresham!”
Startled by the sudden bark of command, she glanced up to find him looking over his shoulder. As though conjured by Rafe’s will alone, a tall, dark-haired man appeared, his suit blue instead of gray, his tie knotted in the same full Windsor Mark had preferred.
Ice blue eyes in a tanned, aristocratic face met hers with frank curiosity as he inclined his head a polite two inches then waited while Rafe performed a perfunctory introduction.
“Dr. Daniela Fabrizio, meet Special Agent Seth Gresham, of the Greenwich Greshams.”
The young agent’s mouth curved into a boyish grin. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“Agent.” Her voice came out too thin, and she took a fast breath. Heart thudding, she willed herself to calm down. Adrenaline wasn’t good for the baby. It wasn’t all that good for the baby’s mom, either, she realized, as the dull headache that had gotten worse while she stood in the checkout lane took on a sharper edge.
“I need to get Dr. Fabrizio inside,” Rafe informed his partner curtly. “Make sure that rubbernecking cabby’s not thinking about calling out 911 on us, then get the damn groceries.”
“Yes sir.” Gresham shifted his gaze to her, then asked politely, “Ma’am, are you square with the driver?” His voice was Eastern, the diction perfect.
“Unfortunately, yes, the jerk.” She drew back to glare at the cab driver who was leaning forward, staring white-faced through the passenger’s window. “Took my tip, then refused to move his fat…self to help me.”
Rafe’s gaze flicked toward the cab. “Might be a good idea to rattle his chain a little, make him rethink the way he treats his paying passengers.”
“Be a pleasure,” Gresham said, his grin flashing white again before he turned away. The wind blew his coat back, revealing a gun in a holster hugging his side.
“Are you sure he’s old enough to carry a gun?” she muttered, feeling more ancient by the moment.
“He’s old enough.” Rafe tightened his grip and helped her up the two short steps to the brick walk.
Grateful for his support, she concentrated on sidestepping the puddles formed by the walk’s uneven surface. Water from the gutter squished in her sodden shoes, and her last pair of panty hose were now spattered with mud. To add insult to injury her mashed toes hurt like the very dickens, making her limp.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded after only a few steps.
“I was attacked by a can of tomato juice,” she shot back impatiently.
“Why the hell didn’t you say so?”
“Because it’s silly and—” Her voice ended in a gasp as she was suddenly swept off her feet and into his arms.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re supposed to take care of yourself when you’re pregnant?” he grated close to her ear.
Only everyone from her father and her doctor, Luke Jarrod, all the way down to Bruno of automotive repair fame, she thought peevishly. “I am doing my very best, I assure you,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.
Behind her, she heard the cab roar away, leaving more foul air behind. Though it wasn’t quite six-thirty, the gloom had caused the streetlights to wink on. The rain was coming down harder, now, driven sideways by the wind.
“Is your daughter home?” he asked as they neared the small porch with its rose-covered trellis.
“No, Lys is…” She stopped abruptly and narrowed her gaze suspiciously. “How did you know I have a daughter?”
“It was in the file,” he said as he climbed the three steps to the porch.
“What file?”
“Later.” As he swung her around, her sleeve brushed one of the lavender roses climbing the terraces, and she caught a whiff of its perfume. Roses in the rain, her favorite scent.
“Where’s your house key?”
“In my briefcase. If you’ll just put me down, I’ll—”
“Gresham, get your butt over here and unlock the damned door!”
She winced. What did he have to be so angry about? She was the one whose life was imploding. Reminding herself that she was a responsible, mature adult and not an hysterical six-year-old, she drew back her head and treated him to her coolest shrink look. “Wouldn’t it be more sensible if you just put me down and let me unlock the damned door?”
“Probably.” He flicked her an impatient glance. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re still shivering.”
She hadn’t actually, but she noticed now. Noticed, too, that her head was splitting. Even more annoying for a woman who prided herself on her coping skills, it was becoming a struggle to keep her mind from wandering off on odd little side trips. Like remembering the last time she was smashed up against that muscular chest.
They’d both been naked and…
Oh God, don’t think about that now, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut. It had taken years—years—before she stopped remembering every touch, every kiss, every fevered word they’d spoken to each other in the heat of passion.
“Sorry, had to get the rest of the oranges,” Gresham said as he vaulted up the steps. “Sneaky little suckers rolled halfway down the block.”
Remembering the sodden bags, she started to ask him how he’d managed when she saw the dark blue tote bag slung over a shoulder that wasn’t nearly as broad as Rafe’s. A stalk of celery protruded through the open zipper. Grateful for the distraction, Danni burst out laughing, then winced as pain crashed through her skull.
Rafe jerked his attention to her face. He’d spent time recently in the sun and the same rays that had burned his tan to a golden bronze had bleached his brows to a tawny hue. “What’s wrong now?” he demanded impatiently.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She sighed. “Even I don’t want to know all the things that are wrong in my life at the moment.”
His mouth softened, and time seemed to spin backward to the innocent days when she had run to him with all her problems, confident he would make everything better. “Put your head on my shoulder, Daniela,” he commanded in that oddly hoarse voice.
“No, I’m fine.” But suddenly her eyes were stinging.
“You always were part mule,” he grated.
“Like you weren’t,” she muttered, but suddenly her cheek was resting against his shoulder and her eyes were drifting closed. Just for a minute, she told herself firmly. Until her head stopped clanging.
Vaguely, she was aware of Gresham unlocking the door. She heard the faint creak of the hinges as he entered. She frowned when Rafe didn’t immediately follow. “If you’re waiting for a polite invitation, consider it extended,” she murmured in a voice that seemed oddly slurred.
“Shut up,” he ordered brusquely.
Before she could answer, his companion returned. “It’s clear.”
She blinked. “What’s clear?”
“Just checking your house for intruders, ma’am,” Gresham said, smiling at her. “All part of the service.”
Narrowing his gaze, Rafe shot his partner an impatient look. “You want to make sure you got all those canned goods?”
Gresham’s boyish smile faded. “Yes sir.”
As Rafe carried her inside with the same loose-jointed stride that could cover twice as much ground as her short legs, Danni roused herself to lift her head. “Okay, we’re inside now. What’s going on? Why are you here?”
He looked down at her. “To ask you a few questions.”
“Questions about what?” She stared at that hard shuttered face and felt an inexpressible feeling of loss. Why hadn’t he loved her? she wondered before ruthlessly pulling her mind back to things she could control.
“Not what. Who. Jonathan Sommerset.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Do you know Jonathan?”
“I know him.”
Hope flared, and her heart gave a leap. “Do you know where he is?” she asked with a pathetic eagerness she hated, yet couldn’t seem to disguise.
“No, that’s why we’re here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. First you need to get out of those wet things, and I need to make a phone call.” He set her down gently, keeping one hand on the small of her back until she settled firmly on both feet in the center of the square foyer.
“But—”
He cast a lazy glance at her sodden suede pumps. “You’re dripping on the rug. Pretty nice rug, too. Looks expensive. Be a shame to ruin it.”
He was right, damn him. “Then get your big feet off of it!” she shot back before turning around to climb the stairs.
“Mind if I make some coffee?” he called after her.
“You lay one hand on anything in this house, and I’ll sue!”
Chapter 2
After peeling off her sodden tunic and skirt, Danni couldn’t seem to stop shivering. Even wrapped in her thick terry cloth robe, she felt frozen inside. Deciding a bath would help, she hurried into the bathroom and turned on the hot tap. As soon as the tub was full, she slipped out of the robe and into the steamy water. A blissful sigh escaped her lips as she sank to her chin and closed her eyes.
In her mind’s eye she pictured a meadow with wildflowers. Nearby, a clear, sun-gilded stream rippled a soothing tune. The sun-warmed water was soothing and soft, bubbling around her bare ankles, and the rocks were smooth under her feet.
Secure in her safe place now, she took slow, even breaths, filling her lungs with steam-warmed oxygen until she felt her heart rate slowing to a normal rhythm. One by one she relaxed her muscles until the tension drained away. Relaxed and in control once more, she allowed herself to think of the man downstairs.
His father, Enrique, had been field foreman of Mancini vineyards since before she and Rafe had been born. His mother Rosaria had helped Danni’s mother in the house until Mary Elizabeth Mancini had died of complications a few weeks after Danni’s birth.
Alone with four children under the age of eight Eduardo Mancini had brought Mary Elizabeth’s spinster sister Gina to Oregon from her home in New Jersey to live in the big house and look after Danni and her three older brothers. With only Rafe to demand her attention then, Rosaria had become housekeeper, cook and, in many ways, Danni’s second mother. It was only natural, she realized now, that she and Rafe—only two years apart—had become playmates.
Little by little they’d grown up tussling like bear cubs, fighting and making up like all siblings do, going to school together, running through the fields like gypsies during the summers and holidays. Year by year Rafe had gotten taller and stronger, until finally by the age of fifteen he’d towered over everyone but her two big brothers, Eddie and Vito. Little by little his bony shoulders filled out, then thickened with muscle. Naturally athletic, he made both the varsity soccer and football teams his freshman year.
Danni was changing, too. Finally, after being the ugliest of ugly ducklings, she became a swan—with breasts. Gloriously full, rosy-tipped breasts like all of the Mancini women. She’d also had curvy hips and a tiny waist that was the envy of all her girlfriends.
The boys in school started noticing. Her brothers began driving her crazy with warnings about the things boys would try to do to her if she wasn’t careful. A perceptive woman, her aunt Gina had seen the way Danni looked at the tall, deeply bronzed boy with the look of a Nordic warrior about him and warned her brother-in-law of danger ahead.
Papa had just laughed. Both Rafe and Danni knew the way things worked on Mancini land. She lived in the big house, Rafe lived in the workers’ camp near the river. They were friends, yes, but nothing more. It was good for her to test her woman’s powers on someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her.
Besides, Danni had been promised to Marco Fabrizio in her cradle. Everyone in the valley knew they would marry on her eighteenth birthday, uniting two proud families.
Still, on her sixteenth birthday, Papa had sat her down and told her about her family bloodlines and her responsibility to keep herself unsullied for Mark.
Danni had listened, but she hadn’t really heard. She only cared about Rafe, who, despite her developing body, treated her with the same brotherly affection as always. And then one hot August day it happened. She’d been washing Papa’s new Mercedes, wearing only skimpy cut-offs and a halter top. Rafe had spent the day pruning vines and had stripped off his shirt in order to duck under the spray to cool off. They ended up fighting over the hose and her top had gotten soaked. The thin fabric had clung to her breasts, revealing nipples that stood out like hard pebbles.
Rafe’s breath had hissed in, and he’d stood transfixed, the hose still in his hand. The laughter in his eyes had given way to a heated look that had made her mouth grow dry. It had taken her a moment to notice the distinctive bulge behind the fly of his worn work jeans.
As soon as he’d seen the direction of her gaze, he’d turned a fiery red, thrown down the hose and stalked off toward the river. After that everything was different. Instead of teasing her mercilessly the way he had for years, he’d taken to turning red every time she came close. When he’d tried to talk to her, he’d actually stammered.
That summer big, tough Rafe Cardoza started bringing her wildflowers. Lord, but she’d gloried in her new power.
All that changed when he kissed her for the first time. Then she’d been the one whose words hadn’t come out right. The one who turned red with a melting heat that made her restless inside. She’d learned then that kisses were addictive. Like all addictions, however, she soon craved more. So, it seemed, did he.
They’d met in secret at first, usually in the grassy, sun-dappled spot beneath a corkscrew willow where Rafe had taught her to fish. No one in their families had known how things had changed between them. Not until Rafe had asked her to his senior prom. She’d been wild with excitement. Not even Mark Fabrizio’s anger when he’d found out had dented her bliss.
The night before the prom had been unseasonably hot. The big old farmhouse hadn’t been air-conditioned in those days, and the fan by her bed only served to move the steamy air around in a thick circle. When Rafe had thrown pebbles at her window to get her attention, then suggested a moonlight swim, she’d been more than ready.
Instead of taking her to their spot by the river Rafe had decided to go to the pond instead because the path to the river was treacherous at night, even when the moon was high. In the pond, hidden behind a thick tangle of blackberry canes, they’d played in the cool water like kids, splashing and ducking one another.
Realizing that sound carried, Rafe had stifled her giggles with his hand first and then his mouth. Those playful kisses soon grew more passionate, their mutual touching more intimate. Soon his hands were sliding into the cups of her bathing suit to massage her breasts, and hers were tugging at his trunks.
Bathed in silver, they explored one another awkwardly, driven by their wild need for one another. They’d made promises, spoken words of love that seemed shiny and new. She’d explored his body with a frank interest that seemed to arouse him even more, until finally something seemed to snap inside him.
It happened fast then, the two of them kissing frantically as they stripped off their suits. His eyes had grown hot when he’d looked at her naked body for the first time, and his hands had trembled as they’d explored her with a touching reverence.
With each virgin touch, new sensations had thrummed through her, until she’d been writhing beneath his hand, desperate for something she couldn’t quite understand.
She’d been sobbing in pleasure and need when he’d parted her thighs. There would be pain, she knew, but it would pass, and then he would be inside her. Eagerly she reached for him, opening her legs wider. She remembered a feeling of moist warmth and then his body was covering hers. She braced for the invasion—and then he had rolled away from her, his breath coming in harsh gasps and those big fists clenched tightly.
He must have explained, but the words were lost to her now. Or perhaps she simply hadn’t listened. The terrible feeling of humiliation and hurt, though, she remembered vividly to this day.
The next morning, with her eyes swollen from the copious tears she’d shed and her throat raw from the sobs she’d swallowed so that no one would hear, she’d found out that they’d been seen. By whom, she’d never known for certain. One of her brothers, probably. It hardly mattered. The damage had been done.
Her father’s brown eyes had been filled with disappointment and sorrow when he’d told her that her brother had confronted Rafe with the truth and insisted that he marry her. Danni had felt a rush of joy, only to have her heart ripped in two when Papa had added in a tight, angry voice that Rafe had left the valley instead. If there was a baby, it was agreed between her father and Tonio Fabrizio that Mark would claim it as his own.
At first no one believed that she was still a virgin. But when her period arrived on schedule, they’d given her the benefit of the doubt. Or so she’d thought, until Mark had been visibly shocked on their wedding night to discover her untouched. Humiliated and angry all over again, she’d cried into her pillow after he’d gone to sleep.
She’d never seen Rafe again.
Both Rosaria and Enrique were careful never to mention him in her presence. On the rare occasions when she happened to run into one of his brothers or sisters, his name never came up. But he was always there, a silent, invisible presence.
Once the family star, he’d become a pariah overnight, his name erased from the tattered Bible that had been one of the few family possessions Enrique’s father had brought with him from Mexico after his parents had been killed in a flash flood in their small village near Oaxaca.
Not only had Rafe shamed his family by violating the daughter of their patron, but he’d also added to his sins by refusing to restore her honor by marrying her. As far as Enrique was concerned, the son he’d once adored was dead. He was not to be welcomed into their home if he returned. No one was to speak his name or pray for him on Holy Days.
Rosaria was forbidden to cry for him. But she had, Danni knew. Sobbing into her apron in the pantry of the old farmhouse where no one could hear.
Danni had cried too. Buckets. She’d lost weight because she couldn’t eat and cut her hair short because Rafe had loved it long. She burned her scrapbooks and photo albums and everything he’d ever given her. Nothing had helped.
It’s just puppy love, cara mía, Papa had said, holding her while she sobbed.
It was better this way, she’d see. Rafe would never have felt comfortable in the big house on the hill and she hadn’t been raised to live in a trailer in the migrants’ camp. Rafe would never be able to provide for her the way she deserved. The best he could hope for was a job as foreman like his father, or maybe a job as a mechanic, if he really worked hard. No, it was better for everyone that he’d left.
Only now, it seemed, Rafe Cardoza had come back. Bigger, tougher, with eyes that looked as though they’d forgotten how to laugh and a dangerous edge to his personality.
A man of substance, Papa, she thought, breathing in steam. A man who wore beautifully tailored suits as though born to them and carried himself with a steely confidence. And unlike the last time she’d seen him, a man who was clearly accustomed to being in charge.
Of Agent Gresham, perhaps, she thought lifting her chin in a way her brothers would have recognized. But not of her, she vowed, reaching for the soap.
Once she would have willingly thrown away her heritage and her honor and her family’s love for him. Now she simply wanted him to ask his questions and go away again. For good, this time.
Rafe opened cupboard doors until he found a serious looking coffeemaker. His spirits rose a notch as he pulled it out and plugged it in.
He’d given up his pack-a-day cigarette habit while he’d been in the hospital. Not that he’d had a choice, given the reality of life in Intensive Care. But once they’d weaned him off the ventilator and his lungs had learned to handle decent air again, he’d made it a permanent life change.
Caffeine was his only addiction now. He figured it would take another stint in ICU to wean him off the dozen or so cups of black coffee he drank every day.
“You want coffee?” he asked his partner who stood near the built-in pantry at the end of the work surface, dealing with Danni’s groceries.
“Yeah, with a heavy shot of Kahlua.”
“You wish, rookie.”
Laughing, Seth dipped into his duffel and pulled out another can. Using the towel he’d found hanging on a peg by the sink, he wiped off the mud before putting it on the shelf.
“Did she tell you when the daughter was due home?” he asked as Rafe hung his suit coat on the back of a Shaker style kitchen chair.
“Started to, then got sidetracked.”
One by one he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled back his sleeves. He hated suits, but tolerated them the way he tolerated service politics and dumb-ass restrictions put on field personnel by ACLU types who hadn’t a clue how rough it was out there on the streets.
“Have to say the lady’s got great legs for a shrink. Nice ass, too.”
Rafe felt his temper flash before he yanked it back. “We’re here to pump her for information, not ogle her butt,” he said in the steely tone he used when the rookie needed his attitude adjusted. One thing about Gresham, he was quick, Rafe thought as his partner’s expression went blank.
“Think she still loves the bastard?” Gresham asked a few minutes later as Rafe filled the pot at the sink.
“Who can tell with women.”
Rafe hadn’t let himself think about more than the bare facts of the case. Seeing her softly rounded tummy had slammed him back hard, and he was still reeling. Thinking of Danni as a victim of fraud and forgery had been safe. Something that was familiar, part of his job. Imagining Danni in bed with that piece of slime, though, that would be a mistake.
Rafe didn’t like mistakes.
Consequently he did the extra work required to make sure he didn’t make many. In this case, that meant keeping the past blocked off and his mind focused on the job they’d come to do. Caffeine would help.
After conducting a methodical search, he found a bag of coffee grounds in an antique canister marked ‘Lump Sugar’ and measured out enough for a full pot.
Watching him, Gresham filched a chocolate chip cookie from a bag that had already been opened. Apparently Danni snacked as she shopped. “Think she’ll ask us to stay for dinner?” he asked as he chewed.
“Jeez, Gresham, don’t you ever think about anything but food?”
“Yeah, but you won’t let me talk about my sex life.”
Rafe shot him a look as he switched on the coffeemaker. “Talk about it all you want—as long as you don’t blur the lines between private and personal when you’re on the job. Mistake like that just might get you killed.”
It was advice he would do well to remember, he thought as he tugged his tie free of his collar and slipped open the button.
Daniela was just one more victim. He was a government cop determined to bring down one more bad guy, so he would ask his questions, make concise notes with cross-references and annotations, give her his card, and walk away—this time on his own terms.
This time without regret.
This time without tears in his eyes.
