Till Justice Is Served (5 page)

"Stay put." He pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt and disappeared out the sliding glass door. Chills raced up her arms.

His sharp command hadn't offended her. He was all business and here at her invitation. His touch had been tender and caring when he'd inspected her for injuries. Even with his scruffy appearance, he was compelling. So much so that she'd caught herself leaning toward him.

She filled two mugs and then sat at her small dining room table where she could watch both the front and back doors. A scream sent her scrambling to her feet. Her knees banged into the table and sent hot coffee sloshing over her hand.

Rafe appeared, a dark shadow through the glass, dragging a man by the collar.

He shoved open the door, pulled the man inside, and dropped him on the floor. "Here's your intruder."

"Where'd you find him?" she asked, noticing how the man's forearm hung at an odd angle.

"In a tree." Rafe checked his watch. "You called the cops?"

"No, I waited for you." One corner of his mouth quirked upward, sending electrical charges through her system.

"Call them."

The intruder's face was bright red. His lips were stretched tight over yellowing teeth. He struggled to upright himself, moaning loudly. Erin stepped back.

"Yeah. Call the police. I'm filing charges for assault and suing you for destruction of private property."

"That piece of shit camera was ten years old. You shouldn't have dropped it."

Erin picked up her cell, paused, and looked at Rafe. He gave her a curt nod.

"Tell them to send a car for this garbage. This asshole was on your private property. Tell the operator you're holding a pervert who fell out of a tree while taking your picture."

"He broke my arm," the photographer whined.

"I was helping him down from the tree." Rafe shot her a wink. "He lost his balance."

His playful demeanor sent heat rushing through her veins. Erin turned her back and dialed the phone, keeping her report to the 911 operator short and to the point. When she turned around, Rafe was sitting in her chair and drinking from her mug. The cameraman remained on the floor with his back pressed against the wall.

"This was for me, right?" Rafe sipped the lukewarm coffee.

"Yes and no."

"Come again?"

"I fixed enough for two, but you're drinking out of my cup."

"Too late now." He took another sip and sighed. "I needed that."

The man on the floor leaned forward. "You two want to cut the chitchat and get me to a hospital?"

Rafe's expression hardened. "Shut up, before you fall and break your other arm."

Two police cars stopped in front of her house. Rafe strolled over and opened the door as if he lived there. He introduced himself, passed his ID to the cops, and then turned them over to Erin. Without hesitation, she explained the situation.

One uniformed officer took notes. After a few questions, he closed the pad and said, "You'll have to come down to the station if you want to file charges."

Her sudden burst of laughter drew everyone's attention. "Sorry. The irony of that statement caught me off guard. Just get him out of here. If he comes back, I'll file for sure."

Rafe's hand rested at the small of her back while the intruder was ushered to his car. The possessive move on his part was more than confusing to Erin. Heat sizzled up her spinal cord. She moved away from him.

"You should've pressed charges."

"If I never have to go inside the police station again, I'll be happy. Besides, he didn't really hurt anybody."

"If you don't mind your picture being splashed all over the media, why'd you call me?"

Now this was the Rafe she remembered. "Obviously, I made a mistake. The flashing lights scared the crap out of me, and I fell." Erin rubbed her right wrist. Odd, she hadn't noticed it throbbing until now.

"You're hurt?" Rafe's tone mellowed into something that sounded like concern. "I didn't notice any swelling earlier."

"I'm fine."

He caught her by the elbow, gently lifting her arm. His strong fingers massaging her skin felt intimate and personal. Could he tell she welcomed his touch? It made her feel stronger.

She tugged.

He didn't surrender.

"Wiggle your fingers."

"They worked just fine when I dialed your number."

Standing so near, she became extremely aware of his size. He'd always had broad shoulders, but those had belonged to a boy. The man had matured, his chest had thickened, his muscular biceps rippled with movement. His scent, clean and woodsy, filled her senses. Now was not the time for her knees to get weak, so she concentrated on the bruise forming on her arm.

"I knew you'd remember the 666." He grinned, and his face changed from handsome to heart-stopping.

Erin extracted her arm from his grasp. "I appreciate you coming. I hated to call Jeff. He and Lotty have done so much for me already."

"You should stay with them until this is over."

She shook her head. "I plan on visiting today, but I'm not bringing my problems to their house. She's doing better, but she's not well enough to deal with reporters and cops. Associating with me right now is like swimming in a sea full of hungry sharks."

"I'm a good swimmer. If you're uncomfortable being alone, I can stay here."

"I'll pass. Why give my neighbors and the reporters more to gossip about?"

"Like I care."

"Easy for you not to give a damn what people think. I'm betting you don't plan on ever coming back once you get your dad's affairs settled."

"That would be a safe bet." He strolled to the door, hesitated, and then turned to face her. "Call me if you need anything."

Again, his smoldering eyes seemed to see into the depths of her soul for a second. Could he see the desire his nearness had created? God, she hoped not. He turned on his heel and sauntered away. The knot of nerves coiled low in her stomach slowly uncurled.

C
HAPTER 5

Tagging along behind the news van had proved fruitful. Uniformed cops stationed in front of a large brick home had kept traffic moving. The Monroe name on the mailbox provided the information Casanova needed.

He should have anticipated one of Penny's friends would do something stupid. Sara Monroe was a self-centered, spoiled, malicious brat. Just like the rest of the pack.

She would die for lying.

Casanova dragged his hand across the stubble on his chin. A shower and shave were in order, but he had too much work to do. It was critical he learn which bedroom belonged to Sara, which meant he'd have to get close enough to the house before everyone turned in for the night. Pulling this off would be tricky at best.

With his car parked four blocks from the Monroes' house, he cut down the alley and jogged the distance without breaking a sweat. Being in good physical condition paid off.

He circled to the back of the property, thinking how stupid the family was not to have blinds. Thanks to the sheer panels, he located Sara sitting in the middle of a bed texting on her cell. The purple and green colors splashed throughout her space hinted at school spirit. The pom-poms and cheerleading trophies on the shelves spoke to her physical ability. Nothing in her room reflected her true self, a vicious spreader of lies.

He made his way back to his car and drove home, taking care not to draw attention to himself. Once inside his bedroom, he quickly changed clothes, donning black jeans and a hooded jacket. He knelt down, loosened the screws on the grate covering the air conditioning recirculation vent, and removed the shoebox holding his cache of equipment. 

The weight of the hunting knife felt good in his hand. The stainless steel blade bore remnants of Penny's blood. Proof he'd taken action to silence her lies.

He slid the knife into its leather sheath before placing it in his jacket pocket. This method was messy, but it was designed to send a message. His leather gloves were stiff and covered in dried blood, so he eased them on and flexed his fingers until they moved freely.

Tonight, he would make a statement. A louder, clearer declaration than the one he'd made with Penny. People had to understand. If anybody told lies about his Erin, heavy consequences would be levied.

****

Sleep had evaded Rafe last night. He'd returned home from Erin's too stoked to rest. His brain had refused to shut down. Was it the trouble she was in or his ego that had given him insomnia? She'd been so sexy standing there, wrapped in that robe while he rubbed her wrist. One tug of the tie might have opened new doors for them both. She'd smelled of soap, shampoo, and Erin. He'd gotten out of there just in the nick of time.

His X-rated thoughts of Erin, coupled with being home, had been the perfect recipe for no rest. Why would sleeping in his old bed make him feel like an outsider? Who was he kidding? He
was
an outsider. He'd let too many people down to ever belong here again.

He fished his toiletries out of his bag and headed to the bathroom. Normal, everyday tasks such as personal hygiene felt odd. Yeah, he'd been undercover too long. A shower helped wash the funk from his brain. He wrapped a towel around his waist and tackled the job of scraping the excess hair off his face.

Rafe stared at the half-shaved man in the mirror. Nick looked back at him. Or did he? Would they still be the spitting images of each other at thirty years old? They'd hadn't looked like brothers when they'd buried Nick. At twenty-four, his pencil-thin body hadn't remotely resembled Rafe's healthy, robust form. The dark circles under Nick's eyes and the needle tracks on his arms had painted the picture of a life out of control.

Coming home to Westbrook Hills had released a flood of memories for Rafe, some good and some bad. After Nick's overdose, their dad had never looked at Rafe quite the same. There'd never been any overt accusations that he should have been able to stop Nick from using. Behind his dad's eyes, a hint of blame had been noticeable. Rafe's trips home had been limited after that. The military and then the FBI had consumed his life. Once he was squared away here, he had no reason to stay.

He rinsed the razor and continued shaving.

What the fuck had he gotten himself into by agreeing to help Erin? Better yet, what had she gotten herself into? The idea that a handful of teenagers would lie and seek revenge against a teacher didn't surprise him, but the drug aspect worried him. If the girl had been pushing as well as using, the narcotics squad was probably already working on the problem.

Like it or not, some small towns were hotbeds for drug dealers. More than a few states had declared heroin use by the younger generation an epidemic. It had become so widespread because of its easy availability and price. Rafe decided to ask his partner, Colton Weir, to reach out to a few of their contacts. Surely, Westbrook Hills was on the DEA's radar.

Erin's frightened eyes flashed through his memory. Serious, yet defiant, they seemed able to burrow into his thoughts. Her skin, creamy and soft, was flawless. Well, except for a small mole at the upper right corner of her upper lip. Too bad that sensuous mouth held a rapier tongue. He wasn't the smartest guy on the block, but he knew the dangers of touching an open flame.

Rafe slipped on a pair of jeans, a blue pullover, which smelled clean, and his best pair of boots before wandering into the kitchen. For a split second, he expected to find his dad standing at the counter pouring a cup of coffee. He had to give the old man credit. He'd done his best to raise three boys without a wife.

Would Nick have kept his head on straight if he hadn't been the one who found their mother lying on the couch, dead of an overdose of tranquilizers? Hell of a thing for a kid to have seen.

This house seemed to pull mental images and thoughts from deep in Rafe's subconscious. He ignored them and left a message for Colton to dig around quietly and see what he could learn.

Rafe grabbed his keys and walked out of the house. Jeff's SUV pulled into the drive, his window rolled down, and he waved frantically for Rafe to hurry.

"What—"

"Damn the sonofabitch who's doing this," Jeff blurted out. His color rivaled that of a white sheet. Jeff's knuckles gripping the steering wheel, the twitching nerve in his jaw, and the anger pouring off him were all warnings. The man was a ticking time bomb. "Get in."

"I'll drive while you calm down. Then you can talk." Rafe opened the driver's side door, waiting until Jeff moved to the passenger's seat and had buckled up before saying another word. "Where to?"

"Erin's. We may be too late."

"Too late for what?"

"Warning her that another girl was murdered. I called, but she didn't answer."

"I hadn't heard, but then I don't watch much TV." Rafe pressed his boot harder on the accelerator. "You called her attorney?"

"Shit." Jeff fished his cell out of his pocket, stared at it for a second, then pressed a button on the dash. "I forget I have all this newfangled technology available."

Rafe kept his eyes on the road, while listening to the conversation between Harold Penza and Jeff. The judge had already heard about the second murder.

"What can we do?" Jeff asked Harold.

"Remind Erin not to talk to the police. Unless they find hard evidence, they shouldn't be able to convince a judge to issue an arrest warrant. I'm due in court this morning, but if by chance, they take her into custody, call my assistant, she can reach me. I'll meet Erin at the police station as soon as I can."

Jeff disconnected and started calling people, leaving messages for some and speaking with a few of his friends at the sheriff's office. Rafe picked up bits and pieces, while he maneuvered through the small neighborhood. When Jeff ended the last call, he said, "That wasn't much help. All we know is the girls were killed the same way."

Rafe parked Jeff's SUV behind a TV station's van, effectively blocking it in. More than a few vehicles would have to move for the asshole to get out. By the time the engine died, a group of vultures were blocking his and Jeff's path. "You ready for this?"