Devil in Dress Blues (13 page)

“Are you okay?” he asked, tipping her face up so that he could search her eyes.

She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at him. “I’m okay. I just can’t believe that someone broke into my apartment and worse, that someone planted those—those
bugs
. Who would do that?” She looked at him now. “And how in the world did you know they were there?”

Reluctantly, Rafe released her and started the car. “Let’s go for a drive.”

He maneuvered the car onto the expressway and drove for several miles until they reached a major shopping district. Only then did he pull off the highway and follow the signs toward a large mall. He sensed Sara’s curiosity as he pulled the car into a parking garage, checking his mirror frequently to ensure they hadn’t been followed. Driving to an upper level, he pulled into a vacant parking spot and turned off the engine.

Sara raised an eyebrow. “We’re going shopping?”

“Not exactly. We’re just going to do an exchange of merchandise.”

Rafe got out of the car and carefully began inspecting the undercarriage and wheel wells. Sara got out and crouched beside him as he reached beneath the car and felt blindly with his hand.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

His fingers closed around a small disk and with a grunt of effort, he peeled it from the undercarriage and rocked back on his heels, opening his hand to reveal what looked like a chunky memory stick.

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s a mini GPS tracker.” He angled his head to look at her. “Somebody wants to keep tabs on us. Or on you.”

Sara’s eyes narrowed. “But that means…did the detectives put that there?”

“Yeah, that’s my guess.”

“Why are they interested in knowing your whereabouts?”

“Sweetheart, they’re not interested in me. It’s you they want, but they’re in for a big disappointment,” Rafe said, and leaning over, he clapped the tracker to the undercarriage of the car parked next to them. “Now let’s get out of here.”

He maneuvered the car out of the parking garage, using an alternative exit that put them on a different expressway than the one they’d come in on. He kept an eye on his rearview mirror, but he couldn’t detect any signs that they were being followed. After several miles, he allowed himself to relax fractionally.

“I thought I recognized one of the detectives, but I couldn’t recall from where,” Sara mused. “But it just came to me.”

“He was one of the men in the alley the day I kissed you,” Rafe said grimly.

“That’s right. What about the other guy? Detective Michaels?”

“Also in the alley.”

“I don’t get it.”

Rafe shook his head. “I don’t either. My first thought was that they’re not real detectives, but all their equipment is real. My guess is that they’re working for someone, and they’re after your laptop. Any thoughts on why?”

He glanced over at Sara to see her digging through her pocketbook. She withdrew her hand and held a small memory stick. “I think they might be after this.”

Frowning, Rafe took it from her. “Where did you get this?”

“Juliet gave it to me. She called it an insurance policy. I tried to open it, but it’s encrypted. I have an idea what’s on this stick, but I can’t confirm it.”

On a sudden inspiration, Rafe veered off the expressway.

“Where are we going?” Sara asked. “This isn’t the way to your place.”

“We’re not going to my place.” He glanced over at her. “Those two clowns—whoever they are—will have run my license plate. By now, they know who I am and where I live and they’ll be watching the house.”

“So where are we going?”

“I have a buddy who’s deployed right now. We’ll stay at his place until we figure out what’s going on.” He glanced over at her. “He’s a computer whiz, and he has the equipment we need to read this memory stick.”

“Will we be safe?”

Reaching over, Rafe closed his hand around hers and squeezed her fingers. “I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

13

S
ARA GAZED OUT THE WINDOW
as they drove through the city, thinking about what Rafe had said. Someone had hired the detectives to follow her, to ransack her apartment. She knew what they had been looking for. The memory stick that Rafe had tucked into his pocket. She even knew who had hired them.

Edwin Zachary.

She shivered. The man had enough money to buy his own country and enough political clout to run it. Rafe had promised to keep her safe, but she wasn’t sure anyone could protect her from someone like Edwin.

They’d been driving for almost twenty minutes, and the neighborhoods were becoming more affluent. She didn’t know where Rafe was taking her, but the thought of spending another night under the same roof with him unnerved her. She’d spent most of the morning replaying the events of the previous night and wishing she could do them over. She’d quit the magazine if it meant she could spend just one more week with him. She’d tell him that if he had to deploy, then she’d wait for him to come home.

“Are we going to stay at your friend’s place overnight?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. There’s plenty of room.” He glanced over at her. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I’m just surprised that you still want to help me. To be with me.”

“You think I don’t want to be with you?” he asked, looking at her in astonishment.

“Well, after last night…”

He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “After last night, I can’t think about anything
but
being with you. As often as possible.”

Sara stared at him, and warmth flooded her veins. “But I thought—you despise journalists. You all but said so.”

“I said a lot of things last night that I shouldn’t have.” He glanced at her, his expression rueful. “My only excuse is that I wanted to spend more time with you, and I was angry and frustrated by the fact that you were being so damned
rational
.”

Sara swallowed hard, pushing down the small bud of hope that threatened to blossom inside her. “I want you to know that I didn’t sleep with you just to get the story.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said drily.

They fell into silence again, and soon pulled off the main road and onto a tree-lined side street of nineteenth-century brownstone buildings. Sara peered out the window, taking note of the street name. Rafe parked along the curb and peered up at one of the brick buildings.

“Here we are,” he announced.

“Wow. This is a pretty posh address,” Sara commented. “Exactly who is your buddy related to that he can afford to live here?”

Rafe chuckled. “Trust me—he’s not living beyond his means.”

“Is he a soldier in your unit?”

“Yeah. He’s a total pain in the ass, but he occasionally comes in handy.”

“Like now. Will he mind that we’re using his place?”

“Definitely not.”

Clutching the ball gown over her arm, Sara followed him up the steps. Putting down her suitcase, he fished through his set of keys and inserted one into the heavy front door.

“Lego has the penthouse apartment,” Rafe said with a grin, taking the ball gown from her and tossing it over one broad shoulder before picking up her suitcase again. “But there’s no elevator.”

“Imagine that,” Sara said with a small smile.

But when they reached the penthouse, Sara wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry. “You’re kidding. We can’t stay here.”

Rafe laid the gown over the arm of a nearby sofa, before moving to a security system beside the door and punching in a coded number. “Why not?”

“Rafe, it’s a studio apartment.” She gestured around the open space. “There’s absolutely no privacy. There’s not even a separate bedroom. I really think we should just go to a hotel.”

As studio apartments went, it had plenty of room, but there was no question it was a bachelor pad. A mountain bike was hung upside-down by its wheels on one wall and pair of skis and a snowboard leaned against a corner. The wall opposite the sofa was dominated by an enormous flat-screen television, and small, expensive speakers had been mounted around the room for maximum sound effect. A large desk stood against the far wall, sporting an array of high-tech computer equipment. Over the desk was an enormous, framed poster of Jessica Simpson. Her impressive breasts were shown to full advantage in an American-flag-patterned bra, and she wore a pair of camouflage army fatigues that were unbuttoned and peeled downward to reveal her star-spangled bikini underwear. Sara gave a soft huff of laughter. Definitely a bachelor pad.

“I can protect you better here,” Rafe said absently, throwing the deadbolt on the door and walking over to close the shades on the enormous windows. “Besides, a hotel wouldn’t be any different, since I wouldn’t let you have your own room. At least here there’s a kitchen, and Lego keeps a stash of weapons under the floorboards. The couch opens into a bed,” he continued. “There’s a decent bathroom. I’ll pick up some food and a bottle of wine. What more could you want?”

Sara gave him a disbelieving look. “A stash of weapons under the floor? Really? You’re kidding, right?”

He threw her a swift grin. “No. But we won’t need them.”

Because you have me.
He didn’t say the words, but they hung there in the air between them. She knew instinctively that he would use his own body to protect her, if necessary. The thought that she might have put him in danger caused her stomach to tighten into a sick knot of anxiety.

Misreading her expression, he came to stand in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “It’ll only be for a couple of days.”

“So I guess that fact that I don’t have any pajamas with me won’t be a problem,” she said, slanting him a smile.

Rafe groaned and his hands slid around to frame her jaw. His eyes traveled hungrily over her face until they came to rest on her mouth. “Definitely not,” he said, his voice husky, and dipped his head to cover her mouth in a kiss that was both tender and possessive.

Sara leaned into him, sliding her hands along his ribcage and reveling in his hardness and strength. Too soon, he pulled away.

“I could easily get sidetracked with you,” he murmured, stroking his thumb along her cheek, “but there are a few things we need to figure out first. Like what’s on that memory stick.”

Pulling her scrambled thoughts together, Sara stepped out of his arms. “Right.”

Rafe switched the computer on, and Lego’s screen saver appeared. Sara moved closer to see the crosshairs of a rifle move across the screen until it came to rest on the silhouette of a man. As soon as the crosshairs centered on the figure, the screen erupted in a series of simulated explosions and a coating of red blood slowly dripped over the screen. Then it cleared and the process started all over again.

“Gross,” Sara murmured. She suspected that Lego was younger than Rafe. But he certainly knew computers. His system was expensive and he had several peripherals that Sara couldn’t even identify.

Rafe pulled a second chair over to the computer and gestured for Sara to sit down. She watched as he inserted the stick into the port and with several deft keystrokes, opened the file.

“You make it look so easy,” she said. “I swear, when I tried to look at the information, it was nothing but a scrambled mess of letters and numbers.”

Rafe nodded. “That’s why I suggested we use Lego’s system.”

There was one file on the memory stick, entitled simply Client List. Sara held her breath as Rafe opened it, and then sat back in dismay. The list contained hundreds of names, in alphabetical order. Beneath the names were the dates of each alleged Glass Slipper encounter, along with the name of the girl and how much the client had paid for her services.

Sara’s eyes widened as she scanned the list. The names included some of the most powerful and influential men in Washington, both in the White House and the Pentagon, as well as in some of the nation’s top financial investment firms. They were politicians and CEOs and high-ranking military officers. Some of the men had paid tens of thousands of dollars to the Glass Slipper Club. Some had been members for years. Sara felt slightly ill.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Rafe breathed. “No wonder someone wants this.”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Sara muttered, pushing to her feet and pacing the small apartment. Why had she ever accepted the memory stick from Juliet? If she’d had any idea of what the stick contained, she wouldn’t have touched it with a ten-foot pole. No wonder Juliet had feared for her life. Sara struggled to think coherently.

“Sara, listen to me,” Rafe said urgently, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her to face him. “Nothing is going to happen to you, I promise. I’ll protect you with my own life if I need to.”

“God, Rafe.”

He led her over to the sofa and made her sit down. “Who knows you have the memory stick? Did you tell anyone about it?”

Sara shook her head. “No.”

“Did anyone know about your meeting with Juliet?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t remember!”

“Think, Sara. This is important.”

Sara fought to collect her thoughts, going back through the events of that day. “I told my editor about seeing Edwin Zachary with Colette, but not about the black book.”

“Did you tell her about Juliet?”

“No. Lauren was so sure there was no story there, but I
knew
there was. I wanted to follow it on my own, to show Lauren that I could be a true investigative journalist and give her a story that was even bigger than your rescue of the aid workers.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s good,” he assured her. “The fewer people who know about what you’ve found, the better.”

“Rafe,” she said urgently, laying a hand on his arm, “I called Juliet’s phone! I identified myself by name and even taunted Juliet about the black book and how I could identify each of the clients. I did everything but threaten to expose the men involved, and it was only later that she told me her phone was probably bugged. Whoever was listening to that phone call definitely sees me as a threat.” She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “The worst part is that I only have myself to blame.”

“Listen, I have a plan,” Rafe said, gently tugging her hands away and giving her a reassuring smile. “Juliet was right about this stick being your insurance policy. Right now, it’s the only thing that’s keeping you safe. Whoever is after this information won’t risk killing you without knowing where the memory stick is.”

Sara wanted to throw up. Images of being kidnapped and tortured flashed through her mind. She was in way over her head, and Rafe was her only lifeline. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“We’ll put the stick somewhere safe, where nobody can get their hands on it. Then you’re going to call Detective Anderson and tell him that you think you know why someone broke into your apartment.”

“You want me to tell him about the jump stick?”

Rafe smiled. “Yes. But I want you to tell him that you’re going to meet with your editor and share it with her before you do anything else. He’ll try to persuade you to bring it to him right away, even offer to come and get you. Don’t agree to anything.”

Sara drew her breath in. “But if Detective Anderson really has been hired to silence me, won’t that make him a little anxious to get the job done?”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Rafe said grimly. “If we can lure him out, then I’ll take it from there. We need to find out who hired him.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Sara fretted. “I feel like bait.”

“He won’t be given a chance to hurt you, I promise,” Rafe said. “But right now, he’s our best shot at finding out who’s behind this.”

“So I’m going to meet with Lauren in a public place, and you believe Anderson will follow me there?”

“If my hunch is right, then I know he will. He has to believe that you’re ready to go public with the information, and he’ll need to act quickly to stop you.” He tipped her chin up and looked directly into her eyes. “But he won’t get the chance.”

“I believe you,” Sara breathed. “Do you really want me to tell Lauren about the memory stick?”

Rafe was silent for a minute. “That’s up to you. If you go public, you’ll uncover one of the biggest scandals ever to rock Washington.”

A story like this could change her career. She could become the most well-known journalist in the country. The words weren’t spoken, but they hung there in the air.

“Okay,” she murmured. “I understand. When do you want me to call Detective Anderson?”

“Right now.”

She didn’t know who moved first, but in the next instant she was in Rafe’s arms. Her hands smoothed over the big muscles of his back as she burrowed into his warmth, breathing in his scent and savoring the feel of his hard body against hers.

“I’m sorry,” she said against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry that I disappointed you.”

He framed her face in his hands and bent down to look directly into her eyes with exasperation. “What are you talking about? First of all, I chose to get involved. I
wanted
to get involved. Second of all, we both said things last night that we didn’t mean. I get that. But it doesn’t mean we can’t start over, right? Third, you did
not
disappoint me.”

Sara drew in a shaky breath. “Really?”

“Absolutely.” He searched her face for a long moment and when he spoke, his voice sounded rough. “You blew me away.”

Sara felt as if he were looking into her very soul, and her breath caught. Her gaze drifted over his face, taking in the chiseled cheekbones and strong jaw, and the mouth that could go from hard to sensual in a heartbeat. His eyes were black velvet.

“Rafe…”

With a soft groan, he bent his head and covered her mouth with his own. His lips were warm and demanding, and Sara leaned into him, sliding her hands around to his back to press him closer.

He pulled away first, but his eyes were hot when he looked down at her. “Save that thought,” he said on a husky note. “Call Lauren and set up a time to meet with her. Choose a public place, and then call Detective Anderson.”