Devil in Dress Blues (14 page)

He waited while Lauren dialed her editor. Lauren picked up on the third ring.

“Lauren,” she said gratefully. “Thank goodness.”

“Sara? Are you okay?” Lauren asked. “You sound terrible.”

“Yes, I’m fine, but I have to talk to you.”

“Good. Because I need to talk to you, too. Meet me at the Singapore Bistro. I’ll buy you a drink. You sound like you could use one.”

“You want to meet right now?” Sara glanced at her watch, surprised to see it wasn’t yet four o’clock. She gave Rafe a questioning look and he nodded.

“Sure, why not?” Lauren continued. “I’m having a cocktail and I hate to drink alone.”

Sara held her hand over the speaker. “She’s been drinking,” she mouthed silently to Rafe. He shrugged.

“Maybe we should wait until tomorrow,” Sara suggested hopefully. “We could have lunch somewhere.”

“Ah, I get it. It’s that handsome devil in dress blues, isn’t it? What, does he have you tied up while he has his wicked way with you?”

“No, of course not,” Sara exclaimed, but felt her face grow hot at the pictures her imagination conjured up. She glanced at Rafe to see if he had overheard the other woman’s comment.

“Then put on some lipstick and come join me for a drink. I’m going to make you an offer that you can’t refuse.”

“Really? That sounds intriguing. Where are you again?”

“The Singapore Bistro on Nineteenth Street. I’ll be at the bar.”

Sara closed her phone and looked at Rafe. “She wants me to join her for a drink at the Singapore Bistro right now.”

Rafe glanced at his watch. “Okay, let’s go. You can call Detective Anderson on the way over. I’ll wait outside the restaurant for you. If Anderson shows up, he’ll never make it inside.”

Once inside Rafe’s car, Sara withdrew the business card that Detective Anderson had provided to her earlier that day, and dialed his number, ensuring the volume was high so that Rafe could hear everything. “Detective Anderson.”

“Yes, this is Sara Sinclair. We met this morning when my apartment was broken into?”

There was a brief silence. “Yes, Ms. Sinclair! You never came down to the station as you promised. Is everything okay?”

“Yes. I’m calling because I think I know what the burglar may have been looking for. A—a friend gave me a memory stick with some information on it that could be potentially embarrassing to some people here in Washington. Important people.”

“Okay, good. That’s excellent news, and it’s even more important that you let me help you. Do you, uh, have the memory stick with you?”

She looked over at Rafe and he nodded. “Yes,” she replied. “I have it here.”

“And where is that, exactly?” He cleared his throat. “I assume you’re not staying at your apartment right now?”

“No, I’m staying with a friend.”

“Rafe Delgado?”

Sara’s gaze snapped to Rafe’s and he shook his head.

“No, I’m actually staying with a girlfriend,” she fibbed.

“Fine. Give me the address and I’ll come pick you up.”

“Well, I’m not there right now. I’m on my way to meet my editor. I thought she should see the information and decide if there’s a story here or not.”

There was silence. “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Sara felt her heart stutter. Was that an underlying menace she detected in his voice, or just her over-wrought imagination? “Why not?”

“You should turn the data over to the authorities, Sara, and let us handle it. If someone is willing to break into your home to get the information on that stick, then there’s no telling what else they might do. There are desperate, deranged people out there, Sara. Let me send a car to pick you up.”

Rafe nodded.

“Okay, then.” She swallowed hard and gave him the name of the restaurant.

“I’ll be there shortly.”

Sara hung up and looked helplessly at Rafe. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

He pulled the car over to the curb and Sara realized they had arrived. The Singapore Bistro was directly across the street. “This is going to work,” he assured her. He glanced at his watch. “Anderson should be here in about fifteen minutes. Go find out what your editor wants, but stay inside until I come get you, okay?”

“Rafe, don’t do anything crazy, please?”

“You need to trust me.”

“I do.” Leaning across the seat, she pressed a soft kiss against his mouth. “I’m trusting you with my life.”

L
AUREN HAD DEFINITELY
had more than her share of lychee martinis by the time Sara found her at the bar.

“Finally, you’re here,” she said, signaling to the bartender for another drink. “Where’s your handsome devil? I thought you were supposed to be shadowing him for the entire week?”

Sara eased herself onto the barstool next to Lauren and accepted the fruity martini that the other woman pushed toward her. “He had some business to take care of tonight, but he’s picking me up later.”

“Fast worker,” Lauren said approvingly. “I told you that he noticed those boobs of yours. Now he’s eating out of your hand.”

“You said you had an offer for me that I wouldn’t be able to refuse,” Sara reminded her, sipping at her drink and ignoring the remark.

“I did. You enjoyed yourself at the Charity Works Dream Ball, didn’t you?”

Sara looked at her suspiciously. “Is this a trick question?”

Lauren waved her hand dismissively. “Absolutely not. But there’s an upcoming social event that the magazine wants me to cover, and I immediately thought of you.”

“Oh?”

“You’re a natural. You look fabulous in designer gowns and you have a way with men.” She waggled her eyebrows at Sara and took a noisy slurp of her martini. “You’re the perfect choice to cover this gala event.”

Sara avoided Lauren’s eyes and toyed with her swizzle stick. “What is it, exactly?”

“Diane Zachary is hosting a book launch for her good friend, the ambassador to France. Everyone who’s anyone is going to be there.” Her eyes gleamed. “Including Mr. Edwin Zachary.”

“Oh, no!” Sara protested, putting her hands up. “Absolutely not. You’ll have to find someone else, Lauren.”

Lauren pouted. “Now don’t be like that. I don’t have anyone else, and I was thinking that after you so gallantly came to his rescue the other night, he might even be willing to give you a few words for the magazine.”

Sara groaned, wishing she could get up and walk out. There was no way she could go to a party hosted by Edwin and Diane Zachary. “No, no, no! A thousand times no. I couldn’t face him again! He knows that I know he was with a call girl.”

“Which is why he’ll consent to giving you a few words. He doesn’t want you spilling the beans to Mrs.

Zachary, paragon of virtue that she is. The news would destroy her.”

“The news would destroy him,” muttered Sara. “And his career.” Which was why Sara suspected he had hired a couple of thugs to come after her. There was no way she could go to his house. She gave Lauren a pleading look. “I could never face him again. Are you certain there’s nobody else who could go? What about you? You could go—he wouldn’t refuse to talk with a senior editor at
American Man
magazine.”

Lauren gave a bark of astonished laughter and waved her hand in denial. “Oh, no. I most definitely cannot go to that party.” She gave Sara a wink and lifted her glass in a toast. “This is your gig, baby. Make the most of it.”

“When is it?” Sara asked with a sinking feeling. With luck, she’d have a commitment that she couldn’t break.

“Saturday night.”

“Lauren, that’s just days away! There’s no way—”

“This isn’t negotiable, sweetie. I need you to go to this party. In fact, I’d consider it a requirement for continued employment. Now drink up.”

Sara watched as Lauren raised her martini and tipped it back, swallowing the entire contents in one long swig.

“Can I bring a guest?” she asked abruptly when Lauren set her glass back down and delicately swiped her lips.

“Ah, the marine.” Lauren waved her hand in an expansive gesture. “Sure, why not? I’m feeling generous. He cleans up pretty nice, and he’ll provide some added clout when you ask Edwin for a few words.”

Oh, he would certainly ask Edwin for a few words, Sara thought, warming to the idea. If he didn’t kill the man first.

14

S
TANDING IN A SHADOWED DOORWAY
across the street from the Singapore Bistro, Rafe glanced again at his watch. Thirty minutes had passed, yet there was no sign of Detective Anderson, although the restaurant had a steady stream of customers going in and out. He’d parked his car in a small lot farther down the street, where it wouldn’t easily be seen if someone were looking for it. Now, as he watched the doorway of the bistro, he worried that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Anderson had gone in through the rear entrance, or maybe he’d sent someone else in his place.

Lurid images of Sara in danger haunted him, and it was all he could do to stay where he was and not go charging through the front door of the restaurant. Pulling out his cell phone, he sent her a quick text message.

R U OK?

In less than a minute, a reply came back.

Coming out.

He frowned. What the hell? He’d specifically told her to wait inside the restaurant until he came in to get her. Maybe something had happened. But there was no way he wanted her leaving the restaurant without him right there by her side. He was just leaving the protective shadows when he saw her step out onto the sidewalk. Her coppery hair was bright beneath the exterior lights, and she looked expectantly up and down the street.

Swearing softly, Rafe stepped onto the sidewalk and waited impatiently for a passing car so that he could cross to her.

“Sara,” he called. “Wait there, I’m coming over.”

She peered across the street at him and waved, and before Rafe could reach her, she stepped forward and off the curb. As if time itself had slowed, Rafe heard the revving of a powerful engine and the squeal of tires. He looked to his left to see a large, dark sedan accelerate from a side street, picking up speed as it approached. With its high beams on, it raced closer, and Rafe realized it was headed directly toward Sara. She had reached the middle of the street and now she stopped, frozen, a deer trapped in the headlights.

Rafe reacted on pure instinct, launching his body in a flying leap across the short distance, his arms locking around Sara as he tackled her. His momentum propelled her backwards and he twisted so that he took the brunt of her weight, landing heavily against the granite curb. Pain exploded along his left side and he felt a whoosh of air across his face as the enormous car narrowly missed them. He lay stunned for a moment, then slowly became aware of Sara lying heavily on top of him.

“Sara.”
She didn’t move and panic seized him. He struggled to sit up, ignoring the red-hot bolts of pain that stabbed through his chest. “Sara, look at me!”

She lifted her head and raised dazed eyes to his, and he collapsed back against the pavement, weak with relief. He lay there for a moment, dragging air into his aching lungs, his arms clamped tightly around her. She struggled to rise, but he found himself unable to let her go. But then there were people rushing toward them, hands outstretched to help, and he reluctantly released her.

“Jesus, that guy nearly killed you!” exclaimed a young man, lifting Sara to her feet, where she swayed unsteadily. “Are you okay?”

Sara’s face was pale as she pushed her hair back and stared in bemusement at the small crowd that had begun to gather. “Yes, I think so.”

“Did anyone get a license plate on that car?” Rafe asked, pushing himself weakly to a sitting position. His ribs hurt, and he knew that by tomorrow he’d be sore in a dozen different spots.

“No, it all happened so quickly,” the young man said, and leaned forward to brush his hand down the back of Sara’s shirt. “You’re covered in dirt. And you’re bleeding.”

Rafe struggled to his feet and heard several people gasp. He pushed the man’s hand away from Sara so that he could see for himself where she was injured. Her blue sweater was covered in grit, and she was bleeding from an abrasion on her elbow that extended down her forearm. He examined it despite her protests, satisfied to see it was only a superficial grazing of her skin.

Ignoring his own pain, he cupped Sara’s face in his hands. “Look at me,” he commanded. She did, her blue eyes filled with concern as her gaze drifted over his features.

“That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, staring at him. “You could have been killed.” Her pupils were huge, but at least they were the same size.

“I want you to follow my finger without moving your head,” he instructed, watching carefully as she did so.

“I’m okay,” she finally said, pushing his hand away. She glanced uneasily at the people around them. “Can we just get out of here?”

“Yeah, sure.” He put an arm around her shoulders and carefully checked up and down the street.

“Maybe you should go to a hospital,” the young man suggested.

“No, I’m really okay,” Sara assured him with a smile.

“Not for you. For him.” The young man pointed to Rafe. “You’re bleeding, too.”

Lifting his arm, Rafe looked down to see his shirt had been torn from his shoulder to his waist. Beneath the shredded fabric, his flesh looked as if it had gone through a cheese grater. Blood oozed from the wounds and he could see bits of gravel embedded in his skin. He didn’t think his ribs were broken, but they were definitely bruised.

“Oh, Rafe,” Sara breathed, her eyes growing dark with concern. “He’s right. We should get you to a hospital.”

“I’m fine,” he grated. He just wanted to get Sara somewhere safe; for all he knew the bastard in the car could be coming around the block for a second attempt to mow her down. “C’mon,” he said, taking her arm, “let’s get out of here.”

“Are you sure?” she asked as he guided her to where he’d parked his car and put her into the passenger seat. “You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well that little incident just took ten years off my life.”

It was no less than the truth. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such numbing fear as he had when that car had made a beeline for Sara. He hadn’t been sure he could get to her in time, and the images he’d had of her being hit would haunt him for a long time. He grimaced as he eased himself into the driver’s seat, pressing a hand against his ribs.

“Rafe, you really should see a doctor.” Sara leaned across the seat toward him, her face reflecting her own fear.

“I’m fine.”

He started the engine, aware that they were probably being watched and that whoever had tried to run Sara down might very well try to follow them back to Lego’s apartment.

“Do you think that car intentionally tried to hit us?” Sara asked as he accelerated onto the expressway.

“Not us,” Rafe corrected grimly.
“You.”

“Then you were right about Detective Anderson.”

Rafe doubted that Anderson had been driving the Lincoln Town Car that had nearly run her down. But whoever
had
been driving had been waiting for Sara to come out of the restaurant. He’d promised Sara she would be safe, but because of him, she’d almost been killed.

“Whoever was driving that car was there because Anderson told them where you were,” he admitted quietly. “I should have seen this coming. I should have been more careful.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Sara said in an astonished voice. “How could you even think that? You saved my life back there. When I think that you could have been killed…” She gave a visible shiver. “If anyone is to blame, it’s me. You told me to stay in the restaurant until you came to get me, but I didn’t.”

“So what did Lauren want?” he asked, changing the subject.

“She wants me to cover a social event on Saturday night at the home of Edwin and Diane Zachary.”

Rafe jerked his gaze to hers, certain she must be kidding. But her expression was so miserable that he knew she wasn’t.

“I tried to refuse,” she continued, “but Lauren insisted I had to go. Apparently the U.S. Ambassador to France has just come out with a book and the Zacharys are hosting a party to celebrate its release. Lauren suggested that Mr. Zachary might be willing to give me an exclusive interview for the magazine since I know about his, um, extracurricular activities. But I did ask if I could bring a date.”

Rafe nodded. “Good girl. But if Zachary is the one who’s trying to silence you, I’m not sure I want you in his house. If he feels threatened, there’s no telling what he might do.”

“I think there will be enough people there that I can avoid any direct contact with him.” She gave him a smile. “I’ll leave that to you.”

“Did you tell Lauren about the memory stick?”

“No. After she asked me to attend the Zachary party, everything else just became a blur.” She peered out the window. “Hey, this is the exit to the airport. Where are we going?”

Rafe glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was too much traffic to determine if they were being followed. “I’m not taking any chances with your life again,” he muttered. “We’ll ditch my car here and take a taxi back to Lego’s apartment.”

He maneuvered the car to the public parking garage, but instead of entering the garage, he pulled up to the valet-parking kiosk.

“I don’t have a reservation and I’m running late,” he told the valet. “I’ll be returning in three days.”

“Very good, sir,” the valet said, taking Rafe’s credit card.

“Hand me my jacket,” Rafe asked Sara. “It’s in the back seat.”

As the valet ran his credit card, Rafe eased his arm into the leather jacket, wincing at the pain in his rib cage. “We’ll go into the airport and then come out downstairs, where the taxis pick up,” he told Sara. “I want you to go first and I’ll hang back to ensure you’re not followed. I’ll meet you back at Lego’s apartment.”

He fully expected Sara to protest and insist that they travel together, but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded in agreement. “Okay. Whatever you think best.”

As they made their way into the airport, Rafe thought he caught a glimpse of a large, black car pulling slowly into the valet lot and he urged Sara to walk faster.

“This way,” he said, leading her along a concourse and then down an escalator. He kept an eye on the level above them for anyone who might be following them, but saw only businessmen and routine travelers.

Once they were on the lower level, they exited the airport and Rafe pulled Sara along the sidewalk to the beginning of the taxi queue. An elegantly dressed couple stood at the front of the line, conversing softly in Lebanese. Holding Sara’s hand, he spoke quietly to the couple in their own language and then thanked them when they indicated he should take the next taxi.

Ignoring Sara’s astonished expression, he handed her into the taxi and pushed some money and the key to Lego’s apartment into her hand. “Do you remember the security code?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes, but Rafe…” Her gaze moved past him to the couple, who stood watching them with interest. “What did you say to those people?”

“I just explained to them that you need this taxi. No, don’t argue. I want you in this taxi, Sara.” Leaning in, he gave the taxi driver the address for Lego’s apartment and an extra tip. “Keep the change. And don’t leave until you make sure she’s inside the building, got it?”

The taxi driver nodded, and Rafe stepped back and closed the door, thumping the roof of the cab and watching Sara’s pale face through the window as they pulled away. He thanked the Lebanese couple once more, and then walked toward the building blending in with the shadows. He scanned the airport road for any sign of being followed. Only when he was sure that Sara’s taxi hadn’t been followed did he grab a separate cab for himself.

S
ARA PACED
L
EGO’S APARTMENT
with her arms around her middle, waiting for Rafe. The incident at the bistro had left her feeling edgy and close to tears. When she finally heard a soft knock at the door, she hurried to turn off the security alarm and throw back the deadbolt.

Rafe entered, quickly closing the door and resetting the alarm.

“Are you okay?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Yes, are you?” She hovered, wanting to touch him. “Here, let me help you with your coat.”

She helped ease the leather jacket off, suppressing a gasp as she saw his back and side. Beneath the tatters of his shirt, the oozing blood had dried, caking his skin.

“We need to clean your side,” she said, adopting a matter-of-fact tone. “Can you take off your shirt, or should we cut it off?” She put her hands out to help him, but he brushed them aside.

“I can do it myself,” he said. “Let me look at your arm.”

“Rafe, it’s just a scratch. You’re the one who needs to be looked at, not me.”

But she could see from his expression that he wouldn’t be denied, and she reluctantly extended her arm for his inspection. He took it gently in his big hands and examined the scrape. “We should clean this before it gets infected. Lego keeps a first aid kit under the sink. Let me go get it.”

Sara pulled her arm back, aware that her skin tingled where his fingers had touched her. “No. Not until we take care of you.”

“Sara…” His eyes narrowed sternly.

But Sara refused to be intimidated. “I’m not kidding, Rafe. Take off your shirt.”

Rafe laughed softly. “Okay, I surrender. But I have a better idea. Let me take a shower and clean up, and then you can do whatever you like.”

“Mmm, that sounds like an invitation,” she said teasingly, but she didn’t miss how pale he looked beneath his tanned skin, and there were lines of pain etched around his mouth.

She watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, and then opened Lego’s dresser and fished through his clothing for something to wear to bed. She found a pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt for herself, and a pair of soft flannel pajama bottoms and a shirt for Rafe. She could hear the shower running as she located the first aid kit and quickly cleaned the scrape on her elbow and covered it with a bandage. She turned as the bathroom door opened, and her mouth went dry as Rafe emerged wearing nothing but a towel around his lean hips. His short hair glistened with moisture and she saw he had shaved the stubble from his jaw. Her gaze drifted over his broad shoulders and the muscular planes of his chest. Then she noticed how he held his hand to his ribcage.