Close Proximity (18 page)

“What bothers me,” she cut him off, “is that you don't feel I'm worth the effort to try.”

Rafe clamped his mouth shut. He didn't think she wasn't worth the effort.
He
wasn't worth the effort.

“You've made yourself quite clear,” she continued. “There will be nothing between you and me, save our working relationship.” She shook her head. “I only wish
I was as strong as you. I wish I could tell my heart what to feel. I sure tried. After being so hurt and so disappointed by Stephen, I thought I'd completely given up on relationships. But then you stepped into my life.”

Her striking aquamarine eyes expressed utter disillusionment.

She said, “It's just not fair. It's not fair that, knowing how I feel—knowing you feel it, too—you expect me to disregard what my heart is saying.” She sighed. Then her tone turned cool. “I'll be at my father's if you need me. If you come up with anything, talk with anyone who can help our case, you can call me there.”

“What about the safety issue?”

Her gaze leveled on his. “I want you to know I gave that a lot of thought through the night. I'm not leaving here all flustered and agitated. I really have thought it through. I've decided, and you have to agree, that there hasn't been anything that's happened to me that can honestly be called personally threatening. Because of my involvement with this case, I mean. The car accident was probably just that. And my attacker simply wanted the money in my purse.”

“But what about your father's story? The threat against you…the necklace?”

“Rafe, do you have one shred of proof that the two incidents are connected?”

He could only remain silent.

“I didn't think so.” She turned and looked at the kitchen counter. “I'll pick up coffee in town.” Then she walked past him, back toward the living room. “I'll be at the courthouse all day. And tonight I'll be at my father's.”

That was all she said before the front door closed and Rafe was surrounded by quiet.

It was rare that his thoughts were anything but calm,
but the chaotic notions swimming in his head made him want to shout. He felt her leaving here was a mistake. That she was putting herself in danger. But he also had to admit that his emotions were involved in the forming of those opinions.

She had a point. The two incidents she was involved in could be explained away as having absolutely nothing to do with the legal mess her father was in. And there wasn't a bit of evidence to connect the current DMBE contamination with the e-mail David had received months ago.

This was what happened, Rafe realized, when a man let his feelings get all tangled up with reality. It was too easy to see things that weren't there. Too easy to twist facts into something they weren't. Maybe Libby was right. Their being apart was for the best. For them, personally. And so that they could better focus on building David's case.

Silently he chanted, This is for the best.

And he was going to try like hell to make himself believe it.

H
is world had made a dramatic change in the last week. Normally, Rafe thought of himself as a clear thinker with a calm and steady spirit. But since Libby had moved out of his house, his life seemed empty. His thoughts and his soul were constantly haunted by the sweet memories; the night of passion they had shared, the long talks they'd had, the sight of her dancing around a blazing bonfire, the poignancy shining in her gorgeous gem-colored eyes as the young boy had received his Mokee-kittuun name.

Inside the walls of his home, the quiet that he'd once found so soothing now drove him nearly insane. Sleep had become a mischievous child bent on playing a taunting game of hide and seek. Without Libby's vibrant energy, his house was desolate. And Rafe had taken to driving the streets seeking escape.

He'd seen her once over the last several days, talked to her twice over the phone. Both times he'd reported on
people he'd interviewed. And both times the awkwardness, crackling with static, triggered a clipped and recognizably shielded tone in her voice.

This was for the best, he kept telling himself. His mind believed this command just fine. He only wished he could get his heart to obey.

As he drove along Prosperino's main thoroughfare, he saw Margo Redfox exit a shop. One arm clutched a large package of purchases and the other grasped the hand of her young grandson. Rafe smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. When Margo tipped her chin to return the salutation, her toe caught a high spot on the pavement and she went down onto her knees. The groceries she'd been carrying scattered across the sidewalk.

Immediately, Rafe pulled his truck to the curb. The sound of the child's cries floated on the air. Rafe cut the engine, his eyes never leaving Margo. It was then that he saw an extraordinary sight.

Todd Lamb came out of the post office and walked right past the fallen woman and her grandson, right past all the groceries that had tumbled from her bag. He actually kicked a banana out of his path as he strode by.

Rafe rushed to Margo.

“How clumsy of me,” she told him. “I'm okay.” She gathered her grandson up in a comforting embrace. “Everything is okay,” she crooned to the boy. “I am fine. You are fine.”

Anger roiled in him as he watched Todd's retreating back. Rafe gathered up a can of coffee, a quart of milk, three oranges. When he went to fetch the now bruised banana, Rafe moved right on past the piece of fruit and jogged to catch up with Todd.

His hand clamped down on the man's shoulder. “Hey, man, what the hell's the matter with you?”

Lamb turned around. Rafe had never been this close to the man before, and he noticed that his green eyes were flecked with brown. A frown wrinkled Lamb's brow, his gaze registered a conglomeration of irritation and surprise.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, deftly shifting from Rafe's grasp.

Rafe was taken aback. Lamb didn't seem the least bit affected by his anger.

“Why didn't you offer the lady a hand?”

Without hesitation, Lamb responded, “What lady? What are you talking about?”

Anger turned to rage as Rafe realized that Lamb hadn't offered to help Margo Redfox because he hadn't even seen the woman. She was Mokee-kittuun. And because of that, he hadn't been aware of her existence on the street!

Then Lamb seemed to actually see Rafe for the first time since being approached. Denigration flattened the man's gaze.

In that moment, Rafe's all-consuming goal was to force Lamb to recognize him as a human being—as a man. And knocking Todd Lamb on his ass right here on Main Street with a well-placed punch square in his face would do just that.

His fist balled as he simultaneously murmured a filthy expletive that thoroughly insulted Lamb's mother.

“Rafe!”

Libby's shout nearly failed to penetrate the fog of Rafe's fury. But the sound of her high heels clipping across the asphalt street caused some of the tension in his shoulders to ease. He relaxed his hand, blinked, turned to watch her step up onto the curb.

“I've been looking everywhere for you,” she said.

Her tone sounded breathless and contained a false cheeriness. It was clear she was purposefully avoiding the ugly
scene that had swiftly been developing between himself and Lamb.

“I've got good news.” She grasped his forearm, firmly steering him around, completely ignoring the older man. “Let me tell you all about it.”

They took several steps toward Margo Redfox. Libby whispered, “What are you doing?”

“The man's a jackass,” Rafe told her. “I was about to teach him some manners.”

She hustled him along the sidewalk. “Let's go help Margo gather her things.”

By this time the Native American woman had calmed her grandson and was just putting the last of her groceries into the bag.

“I'm really okay, Rafe,” Margo said. “Thanks for stopping to help.”

He nodded, and Margo bid both Rafe and Libby goodbye.

Rafe knew Libby's gaze had settled on him, and at the same time the air around them seemed to constrict.

“What's the good news?” he asked. “Or were you just making that up to get me away from Lamb?”

A bright smile filled her beautiful face and Rafe felt as if he'd been thrown by a wild Appaloosa.

“I've got good news like you wouldn't believe. Susanna's discovered that the most damaging documents—the pages of the electronic journal—were uploaded onto the Springer's server from a remote location. She found a public IP address buried in the headers of the documents.”

“What do you mean, public address?”

“Someone used a computer that has public access. Like, say, in the local library, or a school or university.” Excitement fairly sparkled in her gaze. “Now, this information in itself won't clear Dad. But I've talked to him about
the dates and times that the journal pages were created and he says some of those days were when he was in regularly scheduled meetings. I've got to go through those evidence boxes and find documentation that verifies Dad's presence in those meetings on-site at Springer when those uploads were made off-site from the public IP address. If I can find that, then it'll prove Dad is innocent since he can't possibly be in two places at once.”

She shook with anticipation. “This is Dad's saving grace, Rafe. This is it. If all goes well, there won't be a trial at all.”

“Does Susanna believe this info—the public address—will prove who uploaded the documents?”

Libby's shoulders rounded. “No. But if we identify the location of the uploads, then we can check the institution's records of who used their computers at those times.” She refused to be daunted. She grinned. “We're close, Rafe. Very close.”

“You need help wading through those boxes of papers?”

She nodded. “Sure—”

But then she cut herself short. Discomfort crept between them.

Her eyes skittered away from his. “On second thought, maybe I should do this on my own.”

This is for the best.
The words echoed through his head like a mantra.

“Whatever you say.” But Rafe felt as if his heart was being squeezed in a hot steel clamp and he struggled to breathe normally.

Her chin tipped up. “There's something you should know.” She took her full bottom lip between her teeth hesitantly. Then she said, “I've gone to the police with our suspicions. Kade Lummus knows nearly everything. I
spent an evening filling him in. I told him we suspect Crooked Arrow was the target. I told him you overheard Springer executives say that the land must be procured at all costs. I didn't reveal Todd's name. I couldn't bring myself to do that without clear-cut proof. I also told Kade about the tipped aquifer.” She added in a rush, “But I didn't say a word about the cave.” She paused a moment. “Although I don't want you to be upset, I do think you should know I went to Kade with all this.”

So it was Kade now, was it? Something dark and swampy filled Rafe's chest. He knew what it was. Knew he had no right feeling jealous. He said, “Okay, so I know.”

Hurt clouded her countenance. Well, she could just join the crowd. He was hurting, too.

“If there's anything else I can do, you let me know.” He walked away then. He got into his truck, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. He drove away.

In the rearview mirror, he watched her watching him. His chest throbbed as if a deep infection had taken root there. Soon David's name would be cleared. Soon Libby would be returning to San Francisco. Soon she'd leave his life forever.

Hopefully, she'd find a man to love her. Give her every good thing she deserved.

And him? Well, he'd have to learn to live with memories. Of touching her. Kissing her. Holding her. Loving her. Those would have to be enough.

 

Libby heard a thump. She lifted her eyelids, but all she saw was darkness. All she heard was the quiet of midnight. The soft ticking of the grandfather clock. The barking of a neighbor's dog.

Rolling onto her back, she was cognizant of the cotton
bed sheets cool against her skin. She lay there wondering if she'd actually been awakened by a noise, or if she'd been dreaming. Silent seconds ticked by. The dog quieted, and finally lulled by a sense of safety, she decided to relax and go back to sleep.

The whisper of shoes on carpet had her eyes opening wide. Movement in the gray shadows caused adrenaline and stark raving fear to surge though her.

Angry hands were on her before she had time to scream.

She tasted the leather of gloves as a hand crushed over her mouth. There was no way she was going down without a fight. She lashed out with a tightly clenched fist, but all she hit was the shade of her bedside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. With her second attempt, she connected with the midsection of her attacker. The “Oomph” she heard was definitely male, as was the sheer strength of him.

Libby tried to kick herself free, but her feet were entangled in the blankets. Cold sweat broke out over her body as she thrashed. She attempted to bite down on the hand at her mouth, but the man was squeezing the hollows of her cheeks, his fingertips biting into her flesh, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. The gloved hand was removed from her mouth.

“N-n-no!” she said, stricken that the word had come out in such a raspy whisper. Certainly she could do better than that.

But just as she inhaled to shriek, something soft—a damp cloth—was pressed against her face. The cloyingly sweet stench filling her mouth and nostrils made her stomach roll.

Oh, Lord, help her. She was in trouble.

Blackness swirled around the edges of her consciousness, and she pitched headfirst into it.

“I
'm really not in the mood for company.”

“Well, hello to you, too, brother of mine.”

Cheyenne smiled sweetly and brushed past him, entering his living room. Jackson remained on the porch, nodding a silent—almost apologetic—greeting. Rafe inched back and let his brother-in-law inside.

“Honey,” Jackson said to his wife, “maybe we should come back some other time. It is awfully late.”

“Oh, poo.” She shooed this suggestion away. “He's up, isn't he? And he's even dressed. It won't kill him to visit with us for a few minutes.”

Jackson looked at Rafe. “We were with Alex Featherstone.”

“And we drove by on our way home,” Cheyenne added. “Saw your lights on and thought we'd stop by.”

Rafe grunted. “My house is nowhere near Alex's.”

His sister grinned. “Yes, well…let's just say I needed to come see you.”

“About what?” His question was sharp.

“My, but you're in a foul mood,” she commented.

Jackson wandered off toward the kitchen. “Mind if I have a beer? I'm parched.”

“Make yourself at home,” Rafe called.

Cheyenne took his hand and led him to the couch. “Come sit down and tell me all about it.”

“All about what?”

She shot him a knowing look.

Rafe sighed. “Okay, what have you seen?”

Her shoulders lifted and her dark eyes sparkled with joy. “Not much. But I know you're in love. And I think it's wonderful.”

He was silent, not knowing what to say. The fabric of his worn jeans was smooth against his palms. Finally, agitation got the better of him and he rose. He strode to the window.

“Your gift didn't give you enough information.” Anger sparked deep in his belly. “There's nothing wonderful about it.”

The night looked as bleak as the dark wind blowing through his empty soul. Without turning around, he said, “Why would fate bring a woman into my life that I cannot have? A woman who is too good, too kind, too loving for the likes of me? Cheyenne, if Libby and I were to be together, I'd snuff out her spirit in no time.”

His sister was quiet for so long that finally Rafe pivoted to face her. Her eyes were filled with concern.

“No human knows better than fate.” Her expression took on a gentle chiding. “Only a man with an awfully high opinion of himself—or an utter fool—would reject a blessing bestowed on him by The Great One.”

The muscle in the back of his jaw tensed so tight it hurt. “If this is a blessing,” he murmured, “I'd hate to see a curse.”

“Stop it, Rafe. Don't make jokes about something this important.”

“What's important,” he pointed out, “is that everyone comes to understand that I'm no good for Libby. Just like Curtis James was no good for Onna.”

Cheyenne sighed. “When are you going to realize that we all have free will? Mother made her choices, Rafe. And who knows? Maybe fate intended for her and my father to get together. Maybe it was the only chance River and I had to come into the world.”

He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. Rafe's faith was great. He truly believed in a Higher Being. He believed that something bigger than himself created the earth and all that was in it. He believed that blessings were gifted, that afflictions were exacted. But when his sister began to talk so esoterically, it made him a bit uncomfortable.

“You can't convince me that Curtis James was Onna's soul mate.”

Cheyenne came to him, then. She stood so close that he could smell the smoky sage of the shaman's smudge stick clinging to her clothing.

“Ridge Running Deer was Mother's soul mate. You and I both know that.” Then she asked, “Is that what's worrying you? You want to know if Libby is your soul mate?”

Dark gazes collided.

When he didn't speak, she continued, “My gift hasn't told me if Libby is your life partner. But I do know that, if taken to the sacred cave, the woman you will spend forever with will react physically to the magic found there.”

Rafe went utterly still, his heart pounding.

Cheyenne shook her head and chuckled softly. “At first I thought my vision, my feelings, were somehow confused. I've never thought of the cave in terms of being enchanted or magical. To me it is hallowed ground. But that's exactly what kept coming back to me. Magic. Enchantment.”

His knees wobbled and he didn't trust himself to speak. His mind was racing with the memories of his and Libby's time spent in the cave together. On both occasions, she'd actually broken out in gooseflesh and claimed that magic swirled in the air.

Libby was meant for him. Forever. For always.

He'd felt it deep in his bones. But until this moment, he'd been determined, in his puny human way, to ignore what instinct and his heart were telling him.

However, if The Great Spirit intended for the two of them to be together, who was he to refute the notion? He trembled as joy surged through him. The idea of actually spending his life with the woman who had stolen his heart was utterly overwhelming.

“She is a wonderful person.” His tone was blistered, parched, and he didn't know if he was speaking to his sister or himself. “I think she understands me. Knows me better than I know myself. Do you know she suggested that I change my name back to Running Deer?”

“What an amazing idea.” Cheyenne smiled. “Living with the James name, day in, day out, just might be part of your problem, brother. You're not a James. Have never been one.”

Yes, but his years as a James had shaped him in some not-so-nice ways. What about the leftover effects of his dysfunctional past? What about the bitterness and anger harbored so deep within him? What about his fears that he
might somehow suffocate all those things in Libby that made her such an exquisite person?

Then, Cheyenne's advice came back to him: Only a fool would second-guess fate.

“I know you just got here,” Rafe told his sister. As he spoke, he moved toward the closet. “But I need to go out.” He pulled a jacket off its hanger. “Like I told Jackson, make yourself at home. Stay as long as you like. Just lock up when you leave.”

Cheyenne laughed, evidently sensing his destination without his saying a word. “Don't you worry. We'll do that, brother.”

 

The tree-lined street where Libby grew up was quiet. A dog barked when he got out of his truck, but it was a halfhearted alarm at best.

There was an eagerness in Rafe's step that had him springing up the sidewalk. During the drive here he'd tried several different speeches. Would Libby forgive him for being so stubborn? For pushing her away over and over again?

Yes!
resounded through his brain and Rafe grinned. She had to.

He stepped up on the porch, raised his index finger toward the buzzer, and his smile dissolved.

The door was ajar.

For a moment, his mind couldn't seem to grasp the implication. Then utter terror skittered across every inch of his flesh.

With the back of his hand, he pushed open the door. The interior was still as death, dark as a tomb. He swiftly but thoroughly scanned the shadowy recesses of the first-floor rooms. Then he took the stairs two at a time.

Every cell in his body urged him to call out her name.
But he kept his lips pressed tightly together. If an intruder was in the house, he didn't want to reveal his presence.

His heart thundered, his blood raced.

As often as he'd worked with Libby in David's house, he'd never been upstairs. Didn't know which room she slept in.

Systematically, he entered the door at the top of the stairs. The scent in the air was faded, but definitely masculine. He snapped on the light. Took in the cherry furniture. Everything in order. He flipped off the light switch and crossed the hall. Bathroom. The third room, another bedroom, was neat and tidy.

He entered the next bedroom, listened to the silence, then felt for the switch. When he turned the light on, fear lumped in his throat. The lamp, having been knocked to the floor, threw garish shadows across the chaotic room. The bedclothes had been dragged halfway to the door. There had obviously been a struggle here.

Training had him warding off the panic that pressed in on him. In automatic mode now, he snapped off the light and went to search the remaining rooms on the second floor.

At the far end of the hallway, he slowed. Dim light glowed from beneath the closed door. Stealthily, he reached for the doorknob, turned it. Like a bolt of lightning, he opened the door and entered the room, ready for whatever awaited him.

A scream ripped through the night. And Susanna Hash jumped up from the chair she'd been perched on. Fear and anger deeply scored her forehead, and she tore the headphones from her ears.

“Rafe, what are you doing? You scared the bejesus out of me!”

“Libby's gone. Her room's a mess.”

“What do you mean?” Confusion beat out the young woman's anger.

Impatience flared in Rafe. “She's gone.” Then he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Working. Libby said there was no reason to pay for a hotel when there was plenty of room here.”

“When did you see her last?”

Susanna shook her head. “We ate dinner together, then I came up here to work. I took a break around nine. Had a shower, went downstairs for a drink of water. She was going through those boxes down there. Then she tapped on my door about eleven to say good night. I've been working ever since.”

He recalled the state of Libby's room. “You didn't hear anything? No scuffling? No screams?” Rafe tried to tame his biting tone, but the claws of panic were tearing into his chest, refusing to be ignored.

“Rafe—” apology whined in the young woman's voice “—I was listening to my music.” She offered up the headphones she held in her hand. “Who would come in here?” she demanded. “Who would want to take Libby? I don't get this.”

“I don't have time to explain.”

His mind churned. What to do. What to do.

He knew Lamb was behind this. Knew it as well as he knew his own name. But he had no clue where Todd Lamb lived. Or where he might take Libby…what he might do to her.

That last thought had dread rising in his throat, burning like acid. He nearly groaned. Calm. Calm. He needed to remain calm or he'd be no good to Libby.

Rafe needed help. But to whom could he turn?

As a kid, the treatment he'd received from the Prosper
ino Police Department had been harsh, and he still embraced his bitter feelings about that.

But you were a hooligan back then. A thief. A juvenile delinquent. You deserved the treatment you received.

Well, maybe not all of it…but some of it.

“Get yourself dressed and come downstairs,” he told Susanna. “I'm calling for help. I'm sure the police will want to talk to you.”

Rafe rushed down the steps, picked up the phone in the study and pressed 911. It took what seemed a lifetime to finally get connected to the police station. The adrenaline and frustration roiling in him had him barking out the name of Sergeant Kade Lummus.

“Well, call him at home,” Rafe shouted into the phone. “Tell him to meet me at the station. I'm on my way.”