[Cutthroat Business 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Page 20

  “I’ll walk you up.” He had the engine shut off and his door open before I even realized we’d pulled up to the curb.

  “You don’t have to...” I began, but it was too late; he was already out and coming around to open my door. “Really, I don’t mind going up by myself.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind, either.” He extended a hand and hauled me out of the car.

  Scratch Plan A. I let him walk me up the stairs to the second floor and tried again. I had barely managed to turn to him and open my mouth when he was already talking. “Keys?”

  “Wha… what?” I stammered.

  He grinned. “What if you can’t get in? Let me see your keys.”

  I dug the key chain out of my handbag and held it up. He arched an eyebrow and nodded to the lock. Scratch Plan B, too. I sighed and unlocked the door. “Happy now? You’ve walked me to the door and I can get in.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Ain’t you gonna ask me in for a nightcap?”

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” I said primly.

  “Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

  “In your dreams,” I said.

  He smiled, but didn’t speak. It wasn’t necessary. I didn’t speak, either, because I wasn’t sure what to say. The idea that I was starring in Rafael Collier’s pornographic daydreams was more than a little disturbing.

  As I stood there, dumbly, his eyes dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and I felt a stab of abject panic. God, he wasn’t going to kiss me, was he?

  It looked like he was. His eyes flicked back to mine — deep and dark; the kind of eyes a girl could drown in if she wasn’t careful — and he leaned closer. I could feel my own eyes go out of focus, and I thought I was going to pass out from the sheer terror of it.

  He grinned and dropped a kiss, not on my mouth, but on my forehead. His voice was amused. “You’d think I was Jack the Ripper. You can let go now, darlin’.”

  I blinked and started breathing again. “Huh?”

  “My jacket. You can let go.”

  “Oh.” I realized I was clutching the soft leather with both hands and moved back as if I had burned myself. He laughed.

  “Makes you wonder what’d happen if I got you into bed.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I managed, “because that will never happen.”

  “You sure about that, darlin’?”

  I nodded. I was positive. If the thought of him kissing me scared me so much I almost passed out, there was no way I’d even entertain the idea of him taking me to bed. In fact, from here on out, I was more determined than ever to have absolutely nothing at all to do with him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My cell phone rang, and I excused myself with a cowardly feeling of having just been saved by the bell. “I’d better get this. Just in case it’s... um... a client or something.”

  Yeah, right. Fat chance of that.

  Rafe nodded politely. I dug in my handbag and pulled the phone out while he turned his back and wandered a few steps. In the opposite direction of the stairs. He obviously wasn’t finished with his agenda for the evening. I might yet get that kiss I didn’t want.

  I put the phone to my ear. “This is Savannah.”

  Silence, and then a dejected voice said, “It’s me.”

  “Who?”

  “Me. You know...”

  “Alexandra?”

  She sniffed. “Yeah.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  Sniff. “I need a ride.” She sounded pitiful.

  “What about your dad?”

  Her voice rose. “I can’t call him! He’ll kill me. He thinks I’m staying over with my friend Lynn. Plus Maybelle’s probably there, and she’ll treat me like I’m five years old. Please, Savannah...!”

  I sighed. “Where are you?”

  “Maurice’s house. On Reinhardt. Loud music. Lots of cars. I don’t remember the number.”

  “I’ll find it,“ I said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Just try to stay safe.” I turned the phone off again. Rafe had turned around and was looking at me, hands in his pockets.

  “Problem?”

  “A girl I know. Alexandra Puckett, Brenda’s daughter.”

  “The one in the black dress at the funeral? Fancy hairdo? Looked about 22?”

  “She’s actually just sixteen,” I said. “Her boyfriend lives on Reinhardt, and apparently something happened. She wants a ride.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “No, really. I’m just going to go get her and take her home.”

  “That’s what you think.” He didn’t waste any more time arguing, just headed for the stairs. I didn’t have any choice but to follow.

  Ten minutes later (traffic being sparser and Rafe being a less cautious driver than I), we pulled into Reinhardt Street. By now, I was thankful I wasn’t alone. Reinhardt is in the same area as Potsdam, but appeared even more alien, especially after dark. It was full of two-story townhouse duplexes and a few small 1950s brick ranches, all of them with security-bars across the windows and iron security doors. There were no streetlights; or rather, they were there, but unlit. Some of the local kids may have shot out the bulbs, or maybe Metro had given up and stopped turning them on. Most of the houses were dark, too, with an occasional blue flicker of a television here and there, behind tightly closed curtains. There was no sign of Alexandra.

  “Over there.” I pointed to a townhouse about two thirds of the way down the street. The lights were on, spilling out onto the dead grass in the tiny front yard, and rap-music was thumping. “She said there was loud music and lots of cars.”

  Rafe drove down to the end of the cul-de-sac and turned around before he slid to a stop at the curb on the other side of the street. I thought about asking why, but then I decided against it. If he thought we might need to make a quick getaway, I’d just as soon not know. Instead I opened the door and swung my legs out. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  He leaned across the gearshift and grabbed my shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  I gestured. “I’m going to get Alexandra.”

  “Like hell you are.” He opened his own door and came around the car. “Stay here. I’ll get her.”

  “She’s my responsibility.”

  “No, she ain’t. She came here on her own.”

  “She called me for help.”

  “That don’t make her your responsibility.”

  “But I promised...!”

  “I ain’t saying we should leave without her, darlin’. Just that I’ve a better chance of walking away with her than you do.”

  “But...”

  He put both hands on the roof of the car and leaned down until his nose was less than three inches from mine. “Look,” he said, “I’ve got plans for you. And I don’t want nobody getting in ahead of me. So stay!” He pushed off from the car.

  “I’m not a dog!” I threw after him. (Plans? Oh, God!)

  He tossed me a grin over his shoulder. “Just do it. I’ll be back.”

  He disappeared across the street. I tucked my legs back into the car and closed the door. For good measure, I locked it too. And at least partially, I put that barrier between myself and Rafe. At the moment, he scared me more than whatever else was out there. I’d have to unlock the doors when he came back, but for the time being, I felt better putting something between us.

  All right, so I know this wasn’t the first time he had made some off-handed, flirtatious remark about taking me to bed. The implication had been there all along, if not in words, then in his demeanor. But this was the first time he had gone beyond the joke to tell me that he planned to do something about it. And whereas the joke was scary enough, the thought that he might actually act on it at some point, was terrifying.

  Ever since separating from Bradley, I had kept myself to myself. I had gone out on a date occasionally, like with Todd
or for that matter with Rafe himself, but it had never progressed beyond a goodnight kiss outside the door. I had never wanted it to. Mother brought me up to believe that a man isn’t going to buy what he can get for free, and that a proposal is the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Add to that Bradley’s assertion that I was frigid and the fact that I had never enjoyed our sex-life, and it won’t surprise you that I hadn’t felt the need to hop in the sack with anyone since I got divorced. Sex is totally overrated, if you ask me, and I didn’t miss it at all. I was certainly not going to ruin my reputation by jumping into bed with Rafael Collier. The thought was, if not actually abhorrent, at least disturbing. Unsettling. Terrifying.

  I was so busy with my own scattered thoughts that I neglected to keep an eye on the house and what might be happening there. The music was thumping so loudly there was no way I could have heard voices even if they had been screaming at the top of their lungs, although I believe I would have heard gunshots. I didn’t, so I assumed there were none. Whatever had happened to upset Alexandra, it didn’t seem as if Maurice was going to put up a fight to keep her.

  There was a peremptory rap on the window, and I jumped. Rafe had Alexandra by the arm, and was making motions for me to unlock the doors. I did. “Sorry. I forgot I locked up.”

  “No problem.” He shoved Alexandra into the back seat and closed her door. While he opened his own, I turned around in my seat and contemplated her.

  She looked just as shaky in person as she had sounded on the phone. Her make-up had run, giving her the look of a raccoon, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She was shaking, and looked pale and scared. “Did he hurt you?” I asked. Rafe, just getting in, glanced over at me. Alexandra shook her head, lips quivering. “Offer you drugs? Force you to do something you didn’t want? Cheat?”

  Alexandra shook her head on everything. I turned to Rafe, who had put the car in gear and was easing out from the curb. “What happened?”

  He was taking it slow, and it didn’t seem like he was worried about anything happening to us. There was certainly no sign of pursuit from the house.

  He answered without looking at me. “Not much. She’d locked herself in a bathroom and wouldn’t come out till she saw you outside.” We slid to a stop at the corner. Alexandra drew a shuddering breath.

  “We’re going to have to take her home,” I said. “She lives on Winding Way.”

  Alexandra stirred, but didn’t object. Maybe she had realized that it was futile, or maybe she wanted the comfort of being home, in her own room, surrounded by her own things, after the ordeal she had been through. Whatever it was, it must have been traumatic, to leave her so shaken.

  “You’re gonna have to give me directions.” Rafe looked both ways before turning onto Dresden. We were working amazingly well together, I thought, considering our differences.

  “I forgot. You haven’t been in town that long, have you? Where was it you used to live, again? Memphis, was it?”

  He glanced at me. “Who told you that?”

  I said it was Sheriff Satterfield in Sweetwater, and he smiled. “I did tell him that, didn’t I?”

  “You mean it’s not true? So where do you live?”

  “Right now? A room in south Nashville. Left or right?”

  I told him to go left on Potsdam, and turned around in my seat. Alexandra was snuffling softly, with tears pooling in her eyes. I forced myself to be firm. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

  She shook her head.

  “You can’t just call and ask me to come bail you out, and then refuse to tell me what’s going on. That’s not fair.”

  She sniffed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’re going to have to talk about it when we get to your house. So if there’s anything you don’t want me to say in front of your dad, it would be better to tell me now.”

  Rafe glanced over at me, and I could see amusement in the curve of his mouth. The argument must have been effective, however, for Alexandra sniffed again, and took a deep breath. “I found something.”

  “What?” My mind started racking up possibilities, from what I’d seen on TV and read in books. “Drugs? Weapons? Lots of cash?”

  Alexandra shook her head.

  “Pornography? I hate to be the one to tell you, but that’s not unusual. A lot of men seem to enjoy dirty pictures.”

  Rafe looked at me, but didn’t speak.

  “A check,” Alexandra said miserably.

  A check? “What kind of check? For how much? From whom? To whom?”

  She sniffed and started digging in the little black bag she kept in her lap. After a few seconds, she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it over the seat to me. I smoothed it out, and felt my eyes widen. Rafe glanced down, too, and for just a second the car swerved before he righted it. “That’s a lot of money,” he said evenly.

  I nodded. “Where did you find it?”

  Alexandra explained that it had been in Maurice’s underwear drawer.

  “What were you doing in Maurice’s underwear drawer?” Alexandra must be a lot more forward than I had been at her age. Or for that matter than I was now. It would never occur to me to go through a guy’s underwear. A ghost of a smile tugged at Rafe’s mouth, and before he could offer to explain it to me, I added quickly, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. So it was in his bureau. Hidden?”

  Alexandra nodded. “Underneath everything else.”

  “So you don’t think he intended you to find it?”

  She shook her head.

  “What do you think it means? Take a right at the light, Rafe.”

  Rafe turned right as Alexandra answered, “Isn’t it obvious? She paid him to stop seeing me. And he took it!” She subsided into another bout of angry and/or distraught tears. Rafe and I exchanged a look, and the same thing was probably going through both of our minds.

  The check was for $5000, payable to Maurice Washington. It was drawn on Brenda’s personal business account; the one she didn’t share with her husband, because the name at the top said only Brenda Puckett, Realtor, and was signed by her. The date was for last Saturday, the day she died, and the memo line said simply, Alexandra.

  * * *

  “We’re here,” Rafe said ten minutes later, pulling the car to a halt in front of the massive Tudor house on Winding Way. It was the first time any of us had spoken in what was left of the trip. He looked around and added, “Nice spread.”

  I smiled in wry appreciation of the understatement. “Thanks for driving. I know I said you didn’t have to come along, but I’m glad you did.”

  He grinned. “Always happy to oblige. You want I should wait?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no telling how long this will take. I’ll get a ride. Or call a cab.”

  I had thought he might insist, but he didn’t. “I’m off, then. Nice to meet you, Alexandra.” He turned a melting smile on the girl, who revived enough to give him a shaky smile.

  “Thank you, Rafe. You’re my hero.” She gave him her hand through the car window. He kissed it before he gave it back to her, lingering over it a second too long. Alexandra blushed. I rolled my eyes.

  “Go away, Rafe.”

  “You got it, darlin’.” He put the car into gear and rolled off down the driveway, but not before he had blown me a kiss.

  “He is so hot!” Alexandra sighed, holding the hand he had kissed against her chest.

  “He’s a cocky bastard who thinks that all he has to do is smile at a girl and she’ll fall into bed with him,” I corrected, but without much heat.

  Alexandra giggled weakly. “If I were a few years older, I’d fall into bed with him.”

  “If you were a few years older, he’d probably let you. As it is, stay away from him.”

  I turned toward the front steps. Alexandra did the same, as the Town Car’s taillights disappeared in the distance. She sent me a sideways look.

  “Um... Savannah?”

  I nodded.

>   “Do I have to tell my dad everything?”

  I hesitated. “What do you want to leave out?”

  “Well, um... I know I’ll have to own up to going to a party instead of spending the night with Lynn...”

  I nodded. There was no hiding that. Her hair and clothes smelled of cigarette smoke, and somewhere along the way, someone — maybe Alexandra herself — had spilled beer on her top. And then there was the sparkly make-up, faded and smudged now, and the dangling rhinestone earrings, and the high heels, and the short skirt—

  “...but do I have to tell him about Maurice?”

  “Don’t you think he knows already? Surely your mother told him?” My mother would have been the first to tell my dad something like this.

  “He hasn’t said anything about it,” Alexandra said.

  “Well... I guess maybe you don’t have to, unless he brings it up. Parents can be awfully difficult about boyfriends. Especially boyfriends they don’t approve of.”

  Or men they think are boyfriends, but who aren’t. If Steven Puckett was anything like Dix, I’d prefer keeping the truth from him, too, if only so I didn’t have to sit through the same lecture I’d already listened to regarding Rafe. And we weren’t even involved, while Alexandra was going through Maurice’s underwear drawer.

  “Thanks, Savannah.” She managed a smile.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I warned. “We don’t know whether he’ll bring it up. And if he does, you’ll have to tell him the truth. I won’t lie to him.”

  “Right.” She squared her shoulders and turned toward the front door. “Let’s go.”

  We went.

  * * *

  It was obvious that Steven had thought Alexandra settled for the night, because when we walked into the foyer, he scrambled out of the sectional in the living room, looking very surprised and somewhat disheveled. Maybelle surfaced a second later, and although she didn’t exactly button her blouse, I got the impression that it was a near thing.