She took a step closer, and her hair brushed his mouth as she turned her head up to his. “I’m beginning to.”
He dropped a quick, hard kiss on her lips, then led her to the couch. “I don’t particularly like coincidences. The very gallery that you had reserved for your showing got hit last night, only days before your exhibit.”
“I know,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to seem paranoid, but I couldn’t help wondering. Your suspicious nature is starting to rub off, I’m afraid. But if the vandals had really wanted to target me, why didn’t they wait until my paintings were there? Why hit the gallery now?”
“To keep your exhibit from taking place?” he suggested.
“But that doesn’t make sense,” she argued. “Up to this point everything has been designed to frighten me.”
“Or to hurt you,” he reminded her quietly. “Hurting your career is another way to get at you.”
“Maybe.” She bounced up restlessly and roamed around the room. “It’s hard to predict what’s going to happen next. It certainly never occurred to me that the gallery could be a target.”
“I’m going to call Detective Ramirez and inform him of the break-in. We’re going to assume, for now, that it’s connected with you somehow. I wanted to talk to him and see if he’s come up with anything lately, anyway.” He thought for a moment, then added, “To be on the safe side, I don’t want you delivering the pictures the way you usually do with André. It seems to me, if someone wants to stop your showing, the next logical step would be to make sure your paintings never reached the gallery.”
“But someone would have to be very familiar with my arrangements to know when and how we would be loading,” Raine argued.
“Whoever is behind this knew what gallery was hosting your exhibit,” he reminded her.
“That information has been in the papers, Macauley. The way I transport my pictures hasn’t.”
“You’d be surprised how easy some information is to get, if you ask the right questions. Let’s just be cautious, shall we?”
She rubbed her forehead tiredly. He was right, as usual. “What did you have in mind?”
“We’ve got a van at the office that can be used to carry your pictures to the gallery. You can supervise the loading and tell me how it can be done without damaging anything.”
She nodded slowly. “All right.” A permanent chill seemed to be settling inside her. She wondered how much longer they could be expected to fight an unknown harasser, trying to predict his next move and counteracting it. It was as exhausting as it was scary. The incredible irony of it was she couldn’t even look forward to the end of the threats. Because that would be when Macauley would walk out of her life forever.
# # # #
Once Raine was occupied in another part of the house, Mac took the opportunity to phone Ramirez. When questioned, the detective admitted that they hadn’t found any leads on the person responsible for firebombing Raine’s porch.
“I was going to give her a call, though,” Ramirez told him. “The postal investigator has pinpointed the general locale in which the last letter originated.”
Mac could feel himself grow tense. “What did he find out?”
After hesitating, the detective said, “I can’t discuss that with you, Mr. O’Neill. I have to talk to Miss Michaels. Is she there?”
Silently cursing the man’s procedures, Mac told him to wait and went looking for Raine. He found her in the kitchen. She looked up at his entrance.
“We are really going to have to break down and get some groceries,” she informed him. “It’s to the point where we’re going to be eating leftover leftovers. I don’t know about you, but my stomach is starting to rebel.”
“Later,” he said. “Right now Ramirez is on the line for you.”
His voice was terse, and she gave him a wary look as she hurried by him. “What’s he want?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
She picked up the cordless phone in the kitchen. “Detective Ramirez, this is Raine Michaels. How are you?”
Mac walked by deliberately and went to the office. There he picked up another phone and unabashedly listened to the conversation.
“The postal investigators have pinpointed the Los Angeles locale where the last letter was mailed,” the man was saying as Mac picked up the phone. “At this point, it will be almost impossible for them to catch the person in the act of mailing another letter. But we are trying to match prints we found on the letter with—”
“Raine,” Mac cut in smoothly. “Maybe you ought to tell the detective about what happened at the gallery.”
“Gallery?” the man repeated. “What gallery is that?”
Raine filled him in on what André had told her. “We’re not sure,” she said hesitantly after she’d finished. “But Mac thought the coincidence might mean it was linked to me.”
“When is your showing scheduled?”
“Next week.”
“Sure sounds like it could be related,” the detective said. “At any rate, it won’t hurt to be extra cautious.”
“I will,” she promised wryly.
“We did find some human hairs in the car that was abandoned after the driver ran you off the road. Unfortunately, we’re going to need a suspect before we can make any matches there. I wish we had more good news for you, Miss Michaels.”
Mac hung up the phone as they said their goodbyes. A few minutes later Raine was in the doorway.
“What’s the matter?” he asked sharply, noting her expression.
Approaching him slowly, she waited until she was next to his desk before answering. “What was that all about?”
He leaned back in his chair in a show of nonchalance, but his stomach clenched reflexively. “What?”
“You interrupted the detective as he was talking about fingerprints.”
Mac shrugged. “Sorry. Anyway, all he said was that they were checking for prints.”
“But whose prints?” she asked shrewdly. At his silence, she went on, “You might as well tell me. Detective Ramirez will eventually.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Coming to a decision, he indicated a chair near his desk and said, “Sit down, Raine.”
Not releasing his gaze, she obeyed. He looked down, studying his knuckles. His obvious reluctance alarmed her.
“What is it, Macauley? Tell me.”
Taking a deep breath, he met her gaze squarely. “I asked them to explore a possible link between the person who’s making the threats and . . . Brian Burnett.”
She went absolutely still. Not so much as a muscle twitched, but her eyes . . . God, the look in her eyes made Mac want to yank out his tongue with pliers. And then he wanted to fold her in his arms and hold her tightly enough to keep the world at bay. But he didn’t move. He knew how fruitless such a move would be.
But that didn’t stop his gut from knotting up at the haunted look on her face.
“I never told you his name,” she whispered.
“I know.” His voice was low.
“He . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “You think he lives in L.A. now?”
Mac watched her carefully. “He does.”
She was visibly fighting not to show it, but he could read her shock as reaction set in. Her hands began to tremble, and she clasped them tightly in her lap. “I never even considered him,” she whispered, as if to herself. “I mean . . . it just never occurred to me.” She stopped and collected herself. When she looked at him again, her gaze was steady. “I think you’d better tell me the rest of it.”
Watching her carefully, Mac told her how her father had hired the investigator as soon as he’d heard about the letters. Her mouth firmed, but she remained silent.
After he’d finished she said, “And you just decided to keep all of this from me?”
“I didn’t know about it until we went to see your father that day. That was the first he told me of it.”
“That was a while ago, Macauley. Are you saying it slipped your mind since then?” Her voice was caustic. “Then maybe you could explain why you kept this from me,” she lashed out. “And please don’t forget the part about how you rationalized your reasons for keeping me in the dark. I’m particularly interested in hearing you explain why it was important for me not to know the identity of who might be stalking me.”
With a frown, Mac suggested, “Let’s talk about this later.” He felt sick at causing her upset, but he’d make the same decision again, given the opportunity. There was no way of knowing, not even yet, if Burnett was involved. And he hadn’t wanted to put her through this if he didn’t have to.
“No!” At his sharp look, she lowered her voice, but her words were no less firm. “We aren’t going to put this off any longer. I had a right to know everything about this case. This is my life we’re talking about. When were you planning to tell me?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you at all,” he answered bluntly. “Burnett has been watched for weeks now. If nothing had linked him to the threats, I never would have mentioned him to you. Neither would your father. God, Raine, why would we put you through that hell again unless we were sure? If I had my way, you still wouldn’t know. Not unless and until Burnett was in cuffs.”
Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes, and her fists clenched. “Don’t do that to me,” she said painfully. “Don’t try to shield me from life and tell me you’re protecting me, that it’s for my own good. No one can do that for a person, Macauley. No one. Believe me, I know, and I won’t let anyone treat me like that again. I’ve worked too hard facing what’s wrong with my life to let someone else make the decisions for it. I’d expect this behavior from my father. He’s never going to change.” The look in her eyes was accusing. “But I expected more from you.” She got up and walked away.
“Raine.” She disappeared out the doorway. He got up and went after her. “Dammit, Raine, wait.” She continued to climb the stairs without turning, and when she got to her room, the door closed behind her with a bang of finality.
He slammed his fist against the doorjamb, scowling in the direction she’d disappeared. He’d known she would be shaken by hearing Burnett’s name, especially in connection with her case. But her reaction went deeper than that. He went to the office and dropped into his chair tiredly. He propped his elbows on the desktop and rested his chin on his clasped hands.
It wasn’t her reaction he was having difficulty figuring out. It was his own. He was too involved here, he’d known that for some time. It was hard to dispute it when witnessing her pain was like taking a punch to the gut.
His cell rang, interrupting his morose thoughts. Eyeing it balefully, he gave a second’s consideration to throwing it out the window. Instead he picked up the receiver.
“Hey, Mac, how’s it going in the easy life?” Trey joked.
“Just dandy,” Mac replied sourly. “Have you run the company into the ground yet?”
“Still working on it. Things have settled down in the last several days. As a matter of fact, I’ve just finished checking up on the list of Burnett’s cronies you got from the guy investigating him. Nice bunch of characters.” When there was no response on the other end, Trey said, “Mac? You there?”
Mac let out a deep breath. “Yeah. You were saying?”
“Like seeks out like, I guess. Burnett hangs out with a few other ex-cons, none of whom are gainfully employed or above doing something illegal for a few bucks. One’s been convicted of armed robbery. All of them are bad news.”
“So if their good buddy Burnett asked them to help him terrorize a woman he hated, they wouldn’t ask questions?”
“Only how much,” Trey answered. “What does the investigator have to say?”
“Nothing new. Burnett hasn’t been out of L.A. since the tail started on him. There’s no record in the private investigator’s log of Burnett using a post office or even a corner mail drop. Of course, there’s no way of knowing if he mails things at work or what mail goes out from his home.”
A low whistle came from the other end of the line. “Now what?”
“The police are trying to match a set of prints as we speak.”
“What are you going to tell Raine?”
Mac was silent.
“Mac? You are going to tell her, aren’t you? She’s going to have to know.”
“She knows.”
Trey digested his tone. He didn’t need to ask any more questions to be aware that something was very wrong. “I’m sure she’s upset, but she’ll be okay. It sounds like this will be over soon, and then she’ll have her life back.”
Later, contemplating the ceiling, Mac went over his friend’s words. He wasn’t sure he could believe them. He didn’t even like to think about what was going through Raine’s mind right now. Surely old wounds were renewed just at the mention of that bastard Burnett. But she was a fighter. And a survivor. He knew she’d come out of this stronger than before.
He just wished he was as sure that she’d forgive him.
Chapter 15
An uneasy truce settled between Raine and Mac for the next few days. It seemed as if she was going out of her way to avoid him, but he didn’t press the issue. He’d gone to her room looking for her one afternoon. She hadn’t been there, but he noticed a night-light plugged into the wall. He’d never seen it before and could only assume that its appearance was linked to Burnett’s possible implication in her case.
He stared at the light for a long time, his stomach churning. It seemed to represent a direct hit at her equilibrium, and he wanted to smash it, just as he wanted to smash whoever was responsible for terrorizing her. After a while, he turned jerkily away. He couldn’t help her with this, she’d made that clear. She was adamant about being responsible for her own life, but it was damn hard not to go to her and promise her that nothing was ever going to hurt her again.
Hell, he couldn’t make a promise like that to her, even if he wanted to. Life had a way of throwing nasty little surprises at a person, and ducking them just didn’t work. He felt helpless, and the feeling was unfamiliar. It was also damn frustrating.
He’d taken her to the grocery store just this morning. Not that she’d been expressing much of an interest in food lately, but she needed to eat. She was too slight to be able to afford any weight loss. He thought he’d detected a glimmer of a smile when she watched him push that damn cart around the aisles, especially after he’d rammed into a display of soup cans. But she’d helped him pick up the cans without a word.
Her silence was wearing on him. He wasn’t a man to whom apologies came easily, but there was a side of him that was uncomfortably aware she deserved one of some kind. And there was another side that wanted to possessively announce that he would continue to do whatever it took to protect her, both physically and emotionally.
He wandered into the kitchen and found it empty. Checking the clock, he judged that it wasn’t too early to start dinner. Maybe if he felt real adventurous, he’d deviate from meal choices one through four. And if supper turned out well, he might even take a bigger risk, and bring up the subject that had caused this distance between them.
Raine entered the kitchen later to find it encased in waves of steam. Macauley was at the stove, in front of a huge pot of boiling water. He was concentrating on another pan, stirring absently as he read from a cookbook he’d taken from her shelf.
She raised her eyebrows dubiously. The sight of him reading from Betty Crocker was intriguing, but she couldn’t help but be a little alarmed at what he might have thrown together. He’d bought enough groceries at the store this morning to feed a family of five for a month. They’d had a short discussion about it, which had concluded when he’d announced she needed to eat. Obviously he’d been serious.
He turned his head to look at her. “About time you showed up.” Continuing as if she’d spoken, he said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, you can help. There’s a loaf of French bread that needs to be buttered and put in the oven.”
Raine went to the counter and looked at the loaf he’d indicated. It looked as though it had been victim to a samurai warrior, and her mouth curved. The slices were smashed, and crumbs littered the counter around it.
“I’ve already mixed the garlic butter. The book says that all you have to do is butter the bread, put it in foil and throw it in the oven for a few minutes. Better hurry up. This stuff might be done soon.”
She did as he requested, and he stood aside for her to open the oven door. She rose and peered through the steam pouring off the pot.
“We’re having spaghetti,” he announced unnecessarily.
“Yes. Well, it certainly seems . . . abundant.”
He frowned at the cookbook. “They don’t tell how to figure the portions, so I just threw in the whole box.”
She firmed her mouth, which was threatening to tilt upward. “You must be hungry.”
He glanced at her sharply. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh, yes.” He didn’t look convinced, so she added, “I’m starved, actually.”
Macauley looked relieved and went back to stirring whatever was in the pan. “Good. I think there’s going to be plenty.”
Silently agreeing with him, Raine set the table.
“How do you know when this stuff is done, anyway?” he muttered, waving a hand through the steam.
Raine went over and turned the heat down under the pot. “It depends on how you like to eat it.”
“Well done.”
She turned a startled look to him. He was still concentrating on the sauce he was stirring.
“Okay,” she drawled, shaking her head in bemusement. “I’d say it’s about ready then.”
He insisted she sit down while he served her. She gave a little gasp at the amount of spaghetti he heaped on her plate, but after glancing at him she subsided. It was an interesting meal. The bread had enough garlic in the butter to ward off vampires for the next decade. And the sauce. . . Well, the spaghetti sauce was unlike any she’d eaten before.
“Did you follow a recipe when you made the sauce?” He shook his head and twirled another forkful of spaghetti. “I didn’t have time. You had a jar of sauce in the cupboard. It tasted a little funny at first, but I added some Italian seasoning to it. Why?”
“It’s . . . delicious,” she said weakly. She ate as much as she could, but when she finished it didn’t look as if she’d made a dent in the helping he’d given her.
“You aren’t finished?” he questioned when she pushed her plate away.
“You gave me enough to feed three,” she pointed out. “I’m not used to eating like this.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “That’s okay. We can refrigerate the leftovers and reheat them tomorrow.”
Smiling weakly, she got up and began to clear the table as he finished his meal. Glancing behind her to be certain he wasn’t looking, she crossed to the wastebasket and pulled out the empty sauce jar. The label read, Taco Sauce—Extra Spicy.
“What are you doing?”
She whirled around guiltily, holding the jar behind her back. “Nothing.”
He got up from the table with his plate. “Did you drop something in the wastebasket?”
“Yes. I mean, I thought I did. But I didn’t.”
He looked at her oddly and set his plate on the counter. Then, before she could guess his intention, he reached out and drew her hand forward. Taking the jar from her, he read the label, a frown on his face. “I’ll be damned. I kept trying to think of what that taste was.” He looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “Was that, by any chance, your first experience at Mexican-Italian dining?”
“As a matter of fact—” She fought against giggling and lost. “It was. But it was definitely memorable.”
He grunted and let the jar drop into the trash before clearing the rest of the table. “You weren’t even going to say anything,” he accused her. “You were just going to go on letting me believe that everything was fine.”
“Everything
was
fine,” she assured him. “After all the trouble you went to to cook a different meal, I wasn’t going to ruin your effort by complaining. Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”
He stared at her. “Didn’t want to hurt my feelings, huh?”
Still smiling, she shook her head.
“So, what you were actually doing could be interpreted as protecting me, couldn’t it? In a way.”
Her smile faded away as she interpreted his meaning. “It’s not the same thing, Macauley.” At his expression she insisted, “It’s not. I was sparing your feelings. You were trying to control mine.”
He got a dishrag and went to the table, scrubbing vigorously. “You’re right. It’s not the same. But you can’t blame me for not wanting to tell you something that would tie you up in knots. Maybe I should be sorry for keeping Burnett’s possible involvement from you, but I’m not. And if that makes me controlling, then I’m guilty as hell.”
She looked away. The days had dimmed her anger at him. It hadn’t been the first time, after all, that she’d been cosseted from life. But she’d always known that her father’s unfortunate attempts at protecting her from her past had stemmed from his love for her. Even in her most optimistic moments she couldn’t assign that motivation to Macauley. Love was the last thing he’d accept from her, and the last thing he’d offer.
Finishing his task, Mac tossed the cloth into the sink and leaned his hips against the edge of the table. Folding his arms across his chest, he said reflectively, “You know, an objective man might have told you about Burnett right from the start.” He paused for a meaning-laden instant before reminding her silkily, “I think you’ll recall exactly when I lost my objectivity. Like it or not, you can’t have it both ways. I’m involved, Raine. And I can’t apologize for trying to protect you.”
Her eyes went wide and soft at his words. He wanted to take those few steps to her side and put an end to all the torment she must have been going through for the past few days. He remained rooted where he was.
And then she spoke. “When I heard Burnett might be involved in this thing, it did bring back some memories I’d prefer to forget.” Her voice was as soft as the look in her eyes. “How do you protect someone from memories, Macauley? You can’t stop my thoughts or the flashbacks. Just as I can’t do it for you.”
She’d turned the tables on him neatly. She went to him then and laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t you think I’d like to free you from those demons that haunt you, too? But you’re the only one who can step away from them. I can only be here. And I want to be,” she said achingly. “You once told me that you’d stay as long as I needed you. Well, how long are you willing to stay? Because I’m not going to stop needing you, not even when this is all over.”
His voice was ragged. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I think I do.” She knew exactly what she was asking, and she knew how impossible a dream it was. Oh, she didn’t doubt that he felt something for her, but she wouldn’t want to put a name to it and examine it in the light of day. Guilt and regret rode the man hard, and tinged every other good thing in his life. Macauley O’Neill wasn’t a forever kind of man.
She knew all of this with her head, but the realization slashed at her heart. She’d told him once before that her love came with no strings, and she’d meant it. She hated putting this look on his face. Right now he resembled a man caught between two equally tortuous choices, and she hurt for him. Perhaps he had been partially right. Though she knew there was no way to shield him from old demons, she couldn’t deny wanting to. Yes, if it was at all possible, she’d want to protect him in any way she could.
It was this emotion that drove her to walk into his arms and reach up on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his mouth. His eyes slid shut, and his arms closed around her immediately, crushing her to him. She pulled his shirt loose from his jeans and slid her palms up his chest, needing suddenly to touch him.
“Raine.” His voice sounded choked.
“No,” she whispered. “No more words. Just us, Macauley.”
He caught her mouth with a deep, wild kiss that was tinged with desperation. Inside him a clock was ticking away each minute he had left to spend with her. She was too damn generous for her own good, offering herself and allowing him to give back only as much as he dared. When she pulled slightly away, her eyes were slumberous with desire. Knowing that he’d put that look there had the blood pooling behind his belt. She took his hand in hers and led him to the stairway. He paused at its foot for a moment, trying to remember just why this was so incredibly unfair to her. Then she walked ahead of him, her slim hips swaying, enticing him to forget all but her.
She represented everything he never thought he’d have and had assumed he didn’t want. Raine was pure and sweet, with a hidden, unexpected depth to her that caught a man unaware. Her curious blend of strength and vulnerability brought out his most primitively protective instincts, as well as his admiration. She was as far removed from the women he’d known as it was possible to be. And something about her had a hold on him he couldn’t shake. Didn’t want to shake.
Booted feet deliberate on the treads, he followed her up the stairs.
The next day André called, and Raine told him of her plans for delivering the pictures. He made his displeasure about the change obvious, but faced with her insistence, he grudgingly agreed. They arranged to meet at the gallery later in the day.
Hours later, Mac and a gallery employee were busy unloading the van. Raine carefully removed the paintings from their protective cases and leaned them against the wall to await hanging.
“What in heaven’s name were you thinking of?” Raine’s head jerked up, startled by André’s outraged voice. She hadn’t seen him enter the gallery. He took her by the arm and fairly dragged her to the other side of the room, stopping in front of the painting of Macauley. Pointing at it with a shaking finger, he demanded, “Whatever possessed you to deviate from your usual style? Not to mention the subject matter, which is completely unsuitable.”
She tried to calm him down with humor. “Unsuitable? Somehow I don’t think that will be the adjective you’ll hear used to describe this picture.”
“Well, it won’t do, Raine,” he said querulously. “I simply won’t have it. I’ll send you back home in my van and you can select another painting to take its place. Surely you have an earlier work that would be appropriate. And we’ll send
that
back with you.”