Devil in Dress Blues (5 page)

“Oh,” she breathed, and released his jacket, smoothing the bunched leather with her fingers.

Rafe took a step back. Several people walked past and smiled at their public display, no doubt thinking he and Sara were lovers. The woman was safe. Mission complete. If he was smart, he’d turn and walk away—but he made the mistake of looking at Sara. As he watched, she raised her hand and touched her lips with her fingertips, as if she could still feel him there. She appeared dazed, and her hair was tangled from where he’d buried his hands in it. Her breathing was uneven, and she looked exactly the way Rafe felt.

Unbalanced.

“I’m not sorry,” he finally said, his voice sounding a little rough. “I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you at the charity ball.”

“Oh.”
Her eyes widened just a bit, and then she pushed herself away from the wall and stepped past him, continuing along the sidewalk. “Is that why you followed me? Because you wanted to kiss me?”

Rafe knew he should tell her about his suspicions that the men in the alley had wanted to harm her, but something made him bite his tongue. He had seen the troubled expression in her eyes when he had directed her attention to the two men, and he suspected she knew why they had been following her. Even now, she couldn’t prevent her eyes from scanning the street. Her involuntary response, more than anything else, convinced him that she was in danger. And she knew it.

“Yeah, something like that,” he muttered.

She gave a soft sound of disgust. Rafe fell into step beside her. She ignored him as they crossed the street toward a parking lot. He felt her glance flick over him.

“So what is it you really want?” she finally asked, coming to a stop next to a small silver sedan and turning to face him. “After what you said earlier, I have a hard time believing you came back just to—to do that.”

Rafe had a hard time believing she had no idea how appealing she was. “There was another reason,” he finally said, lying through his teeth. “I’ve reconsidered doing the interview.”

She peered at him, clearly suspicious. “Why?”

He shrugged. “If
you
know I was involved, it stands to reason that others do, too. It’s only a matter of time before some journalist decides to run the story, so I’d rather have it done in a way that gets the facts straight while protecting the lives of my men.”

He saw the skepticism on her face. “Really? You’re willing to let me do the story?”

He paused, considering what he had witnessed earlier. He was convinced the two men following Sara had wanted to hurt her, maybe even kill her. They were probably still lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for an opportunity to finish whatever it was they intended. Sara wouldn’t stand a chance against them.

“Yeah,” he finally responded. “I’ll give you the story—on one condition.”

“What is it?” Her voice was wary.

“You need to shadow me 24/7 for the next week. If, after the week is over, you still want to write that story, then I’ll tell you everything that happened in Pakistan.”

Sara stared at him as though she thought he’d lost his mind, which apparently he had. He didn’t want to get involved with this woman, didn’t want to get to know her or care about what happened to her. But his gut told him that unless he kept her close, something very bad was going to happen to her.

She tipped her head and considered him doubtfully. “What do you mean…24/7?”

He didn’t dare meet her eyes for fear she would see the wolf that lurked just beneath his skin, because he realized that suddenly, he desperately wanted her to accept his offer. So he looked out over the parking lot, keeping his expression bland and his voice neutral. “It means for the next week you’re with me day and night. You go where I go.”

Her eyebrows shot up and an astonished laugh escaped her. “Why? I don’t see any benefit to that. None.”

He turned his gaze back to her and shrugged, forcing a nonchalance he was far from feeling. “I just thought that if you spent a week shadowing me, you’d see what I really do, and you’d realize that I’m no hero. Besides, how could you write a story about someone you know nothing about?”

Sara’s lips compressed. “How do I know this isn’t some devious plot to get me alone so you can—you know.” She gestured back toward the alley. “Kiss me.”

“You don’t.”

Considering that he’d just waylaid and accosted her on a public street, the question was more than valid. He could just ask her if there was any reason why someone would want to follow her and perhaps hurt her. But if there was one thing he’d learned in his years of hunting the bad guys, it was never to trust anyone—especially not pretty women with big, blue eyes—without first knowing all the facts. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t step in to keep her safe.

She chewed her lip, considering his words, and then began rummaging in her purse. “Can you give me a moment, please? I can’t just commit to spending a week with you. I have a job, a life! You have no idea what you’re asking.”

He waited while she punched a number into her cell phone and turned partially away from him, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “I must be nuts.” He had to agree with her.

He heard snippets of her conversation and guessed that she was talking with her editor, mostly arguing why spending a week in his exclusive company was a bad idea. A very bad idea. But he could tell by the resigned stiffening of her slender shoulders that he had won. She hung up the phone and turned back to him.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll do it. When does this one week start?”

He smiled grimly. “Right now.”

5

S
ARA NAVIGATED THE STREETS
of the capitol, acutely aware of the dark sports car that followed her. This had to be the nuttiest thing she’d agreed to do in her entire life. Just the thought of spending the next week in Rafe Delgado’s company caused a wild churning in her stomach. She’d called Lauren to tell her that she could get the interview, but that it would require her to meet Rafe’s unorthodox conditions. Part of her had hoped that Lauren would balk and tell Sara that they didn’t need the story that badly.

And part of her had hoped that she wouldn’t.

In the end, Lauren had insisted that Sara do whatever she needed to in order to get the story, adding that the additional time in Sergeant Delgado’s company would help give the article an authentic, personal touch. Instead of looking triumphant over his success, Rafe had looked grimly determined.

“The agreement is for you to be with me 24/7,” he’d reminded her. “No exceptions.”

“Yes, I understand,” she’d said stiffly. “But I’ll need to go home and pack a bag and at least let my neighbor know that I’ll be gone.”

And now she found herself driving to her apartment with a dark, dangerous Special-Ops soldier on her tail, and something told her that even if she had a change of heart, she wouldn’t get rid of him so easily.

As she turned onto her street and parked on the curb by the front entrance, she wondered what Sergeant Delgado would think of her tiny apartment. Washington rents were obscenely expensive, and even living in a rundown building on the outskirts stretched her finances. A fourth-floor apartment in an old brownstone might not be glamorous, but Sara considered herself fortunate to have it.

She’d moved to the nation’s capitol after college, leaving her family and Pennsylvania for the first time in her life, determined to follow her dream of becoming an investigative journalist. Her parents visited every few months, and Sara returned home for most holidays. But the more time she spent in Washington, the less connection she felt to her small hometown. She realized that now Washington had become her home. She’d made friends here. She had a routine, a life. Someday, maybe, she’d be able to afford more than her small apartment, but for now it was sufficient for her needs.

“This is it,” she said to Rafe after he pulled in behind her and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “My apartment is on the top floor. There’s no elevator.”

His eyes gleamed. “I think I can handle four flights of stairs.”

Looking at him, Sara had no doubt he could handle forty flights without so much as breaking a sweat. The guy was in supreme physical condition, and if the way his jeans molded his thighs were any indication, he was pure muscle.

“Okay, then,” she said.

She was acutely aware of him behind her on the narrow staircase, and found herself a little winded by the time they reached the top.

“Here we are,” she said unnecessarily as they reached the fourth floor. Sara stopped outside a door at the top of the stairs and knocked lightly. Seeing Rafe’s questioning look, she whispered, “I just want to let my neighbor know that I’ll be gone, otherwise she’ll worry.”

The door opened a crack, and a tiny woman peered out at them, her gray hair in frazzled disarray around her head. When she saw Sara, she smiled and opened the door wider.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hi, Mrs. Parker.” Sara gestured toward Rafe, who stood just behind her. “This is Sergeant Delgado. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going away for a few days, and I was wondering if you might keep an eye on my apartment for me.”

“Why, of course.” The woman cast an appraising look at Rafe and her faded blue eyes grew brighter. “Are you going on a romantic getaway, then? If you ask me, it’s been far too long since you’ve been on a proper date.”

“Mrs. Parker,” Sara protested with an embarrassed laugh, “I’m sure Sergeant Delgado has no interest in my love life.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” mused Rafe, his dark eyes gleaming as he considered Sara. “I think the subject might be…revealing.”

“Trust me,” she muttered, “you’d be bored to tears. Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I expect I’ll be back in a week or so, but you have my cell phone number if you need to reach me.”

Once the older woman had closed her door, Sara proceeded down the hallway to the next apartment and fitted a key into the lock. “Here we are,” she said, pushing it open.

She deliberately kept the door open, partly because she felt so jittery being alone with him, mostly because his sheer size made her tiny apartment feel even more cramped and claustrophobic than usual.

“Make yourself comfortable while I throw a few things together,” she invited.

She was unaccustomed to having guests, and the sight of Rafe prowling through her small living room gave her a distinct sense of unease. She paused in the doorway of her bedroom and watched as he stood in front of her bookcases and studied the titles there. Did her collection give him any insight into her personality? Her books tended to be a mixture of classics and biographies, with a smattering of self-help titles.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to bother you,” interrupted a woman’s voice.

Both Sara and Rafe turned to see Mrs. Parker peering into the apartment.

“Please, come in,” Sara said, crossing the living room toward her. “What is it?”

“Well, I forgot to let you know that the landlord sent a repairman over to the building today to fix your balcony.” She smiled sweetly. “He was the nicest young man, and he hardly made any noise at all. Why, I probably wouldn’t have seen him if I hadn’t stepped out onto my own balcony to water my flowers.” She laughed and clapped a hand to her chest. “Oh, he gave me a start! I didn’t even realize he was there on a ladder until I nearly dripped water on his head.”

Sara frowned. “He came to fix
my
balcony? Are you sure?”

Mrs. Parker nodded. “Oh, yes. Well, I just thought you should know. Have fun on your getaway,” she called, as she stepped back into the hallway and pulled the apartment door closed behind her.

Sara frowned, and walked over to the sliding doors at the far end of the living room, which opened onto a small, wrought-iron balcony. “That’s odd. I had no idea there was anything wrong with the balcony.”

She unlocked the doors and slid them open, and was about to step onto the balcony, when Rafe caught her arm. “Wait. Do you use this balcony frequently?”

Sara looked down at his hand on her arm and then up to his face. “I usually have my coffee out here on the weekends, but other than that, not really.” She gestured to the tiny café table and matching chairs. “As you can see, there’s barely enough room to stretch out your legs, and the view’s not exactly spectacular.”

Sara’s apartment was at the rear of the building, and overlooked a narrow road with a loading dock and several Dumpsters. On the other side of the road was the back side of another apartment building, with iron fire escapes decorating the brick façade.

“Do you mind if I take a look at the repairs before you go out?” Rafe asked.

Bewildered, Sara shook her head. “Not at all. Be my guest.”

Rafe poked his head out the door, and examined the balconies to either side of hers. One of them was overflowing with boxes of pink geraniums. “Is this Mrs. Parker’s balcony, on the left? Do you think she would mind if I stepped out onto it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Sara began uncertainly, but it was too late.

In one smooth movement, Rafe swung himself out the sliding door, holding onto the narrow frame above the sliders. His feet never touched the balcony as he easily levered himself across the space and onto Mrs. Parker’s balcony.

“Oh, my God,” Sara exclaimed, clutching the door frame and peering out at him. “What are you doing? You could have been killed!”

“Stay where you are,” he warned, flicking one glance at her. He crouched down and peered through the railings at the underside of Sara’s balcony. He was silent for a long moment, before he stood up and crossed the distance back to her balcony, again using the door frame to support his weight. Only when his feet were safely planted on her living-room floor did Sara breathe again.

“You’re absolutely crazy, you do realize that?” she demanded, fear adding sharpness to her voice. “What if you had fallen? You could have been killed! What normal person risks their life to verify a repair job?”

To her astonishment, Rafe just shrugged. “I guess it’s just ingrained in me. ‘Trust but Verify.’”

“So?” She waited expectantly. “What did you see? The repairs are fine, right?”

For just an instant, she thought she saw something in his eyes—something dangerous—and she shivered. But in the next instant it was gone. “I wouldn’t use the balcony until you have your landlord check the work. I think one of the bolts needs tightening, and you wouldn’t want to do anything to loosen it more than it already is.”

“Is it unsafe?”

“Possibly. More likely the loose bolt will just cause the mortar to break apart, but the balcony could be unstable. Better just to avoid using it until your landlord checks it out.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

But as Sara retreated to her bedroom, she couldn’t dispel the feeling that he was hiding something.

R
AFE WATCHED
S
ARA
close her bedroom door, and raked a hand through his hair, disturbed by what he had seen beneath her balcony. Someone had done some work on the supports, there was no question about it, but their intent had not been to stabilize the balcony, but to undermine it. Two of the supporting bolts had been sheared off, leaving just two bolts to support the balcony. If anyone stepped onto the tiny veranda, the remaining bolts would likely snap, plunging the unfortunate person forty feet to the street below. Just thinking about what could have happened caused Rafe to go cold inside. The fall would have seriously injured Sara—or killed her outright.

Closing the sliding doors, Rafe turned the handle into the locked position, and then dragged her small kitchen table across them, blocking any access to the outside. Hopefully, that would prevent anyone from inadvertently stepping onto the balcony before repairs could be made.

There was no doubt in his mind now that someone was trying to harm Sara. Keeping an eye on her closed door, and his ear cocked for any noise, he moved silently through her apartment, looking for anything that might hint at why her life was in danger. Silently, he opened the drawers of her little antique desk, but found only bills, how-to manuals for her personal electronics and stacks of old Christmas cards. He took care to replace items exactly as he found them. Despite his thorough search, he found nothing to indicate she was involved in anything shady.

In fact, everything in her apartment pointed toward a life that was excruciatingly quiet. A basket of knitting sat next to her sofa, and there was a stack of books and newspapers on the coffee table. She had framed photos everywhere—on the walls and on every shelf and available surface. There were pictures of Sara with babies, children, college friends, and elderly people. However, there were no photos to indicate she had a boyfriend, and Rafe took a quiet satisfaction in the knowledge.

A yoga mat and a Pilates ball were tucked into a corner of the room and she had several exercise DVDs next to the small television. Everything was scrupulously neat and organized. Even her refrigerator was tidy, containing mostly fruit, yogurt and fresh vegetables. The delicate wrought iron wine rack on her counter was empty, and if she had any hard liquor in the apartment, he found no evidence of it. He was beginning to suspect Sara Sinclair had absolutely no vices until he discovered one drawer that contained a substantial stash of expensive gourmet chocolate bars, and he couldn’t help smiling.

When her bedroom door finally opened, he was pretending to study a framed photo of her and an older man, sitting under a grass Tiki hut with the blue waters of the Caribbean in the background, holding fruity drinks in their hands.

“That’s my dad,” she offered, taking the picture from his hands and replacing it on the desk.

“Here, let me take that for you,” he said.

She carried an overnight bag over one shoulder, and her pocketbook and a laptop case in her other hand.

“It’s okay,” she demurred, “I’ve got it.”

Ignoring her protests, he took both the overnight bag and the laptop from her and then pretended to stagger beneath the weight. “Christ,” he muttered, “what do you have in here?”

Her overnight bag wasn’t large, but it weighed a ton.

“Just a few essentials,” she said breezily. “This will only get me through the next few days. I didn’t want to pack an entire suitcase, so I figured I’d come back in a couple of days to pick up some new clothes.”

“Sure,” he grunted, wondering what she could possibly have in the bag that would only get her through a few days. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she’d packed a flak vest, combat boots and a loaded ammunition belt in that little bag.

She preceded him to the door of the apartment, stopping when she saw the kitchen table pushed up against the sliding doors. She didn’t say anything, but when she turned to look at him, he saw she’d gone a little pale.

“It’s just a precaution,” he assured her. “I didn’t want you to forget that it’s unsafe and mistakenly step onto the balcony.”

“Thank you.”

When they stepped outside, it was almost dark. Sara began walking toward her car, and Rafe stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Leave your car here. You can ride with me.”

She whirled back toward him, twin spots of color riding high on her cheekbones. “Okay, you know what? This is beginning to feel less like a journalistic opportunity and more like enforced captivity.” She gestured impatiently toward her car. “Why can’t I just bring my car and park it at your place? I need my car, Sergeant. I don’t mind shadowing you for the next week, but I absolutely refuse to be dependent upon you. What if our arrangement doesn’t work out? What if I want to leave?”

Her entire stance was defensive, as if she fully expected him to argue with her. Rafe noted the small telltale signs that signaled her willingness to fight him on this issue, or turn and walk away from him altogether. Even in the indistinct light he could see how her pupils had dilated, turning her blue eyes almost black. Her respiration had increased and her hands curled into fists at her sides. Every muscle in her body was tightly coiled. If he gave her the slightest argument, she’d run.