Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (21 page)

“So if most of his time was spent in and out of Jersey or Delaware prisons, how did he and Noah meet? What’s the connection?”

“I wish I could answer that for you, baby. But I can’t. I’m afraid only Noah or Adam would be able to.” He spread his hands out, palms up, and she couldn’t remember seeing him this helpless. This lost for answers. “Greer, I know you don’t want to believe Noah could—”

“No.” She shook her head so hard, her ponytail swished from side to side. “I refuse to accept that he did this, Raphael. He couldn’t. Noah wasn’t some great criminal mastermind. He can’t even figure out who the villain is on an episode of
Law & Order
—couldn’t,” she corrected, inhaling a painful, shuddering breath. “Couldn’t figure out.” She pressed her fists to her eyes. “We’re talking about a man who was too squeamish to dissect a frog in biology class. I killed the bugs whenever one came around us, for God’s sake. And never—
never
would he have hit me, much less leave me out cold on an apartment floor and allow me to take the blame for his crime.”

He didn’t contradict her; he didn’t agree with her, either. Instead, he finally did what she’d longed for since she spotted him in the glass. He wrapped his strong arms around her, pulled her into the firm wall of his chest, and held her. She released her hold on the blanket and clung to him. In a world that seemed to hiss and strike with every turn, he was her barrier, her port of safety. Nothing could reach her through him.

“I can’t breathe past the pain, Raphael,” she confessed on the tail end of a sob. “I swear to God it’s eating me alive, and I can’t escape it.”

“Shh.” He squeezed her tighter, then bending a little, swept her in his arms. She was too tired, too cold, too swamped in agony to protest. And when he settled on the couch, cradling her on his lap, she burrowed against him as if she could hide from the images of Noah in her head. “It’s why I didn’t want you to walk into that room. I didn’t want you to have to carry the image of death in your head.” He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, sliding his fingers up her nape and into her hair. “I can still remember walking into Chay’s kitchen that night he killed Richard Pierce. The smell hit me first. Like a wet penny and rotten garbage. Then I saw Richard. The blood. His eyes wide open and blank. The stain in his pants where his bowels had released. That’d been the rotten garbage odor. Up until that moment, I didn’t know the body did that when a person died.”

“That’s how you knew something was wrong,” she murmured. “Why you caught the smell before I did.”

He nodded. “I’ll never forget it. And I wish you didn’t have to try.” He tilted her head back, brushed a kiss over her forehead and eyes. “If I could take this pain away from you and put it on myself, I would. I can’t, but if you’ll let me, I’ll hold you tonight, stay with you through the worst of it, wipe your tears, and watch
Lord of the Rings
with you if you can’t fall asleep.” She choked on a soggy laugh, more tears burning her eyes at his words. He fulfilled one of his promises by swiping his thumb over her cheek, catching the moisture that had spilled over. “Let me take care of you and the baby. I’ll tuck you in and fight the world back for just a little while and do my best to ease you through the grief. Will you allow me to do that for you?”

Forget for just a little while? And if she couldn’t—if the grief became too much—let him shoulder some of the burden? She’d struggled to gain independence, to stand on her own, to create a life for herself and her baby where she could provide and support them both. Could she push all that aside and allow him to take care of her?

“Yes.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Greer stepped back from the easel, paintbrush in hand, studying the canvas. And smiled.

It was…beautiful.

Early this morning she’d woken, an idea burning as bright as a lightbulb in her head. Leaving a sleeping Rafe in his bed, she’d rushed to the guest bedroom. She searched for and located the small photo album she’d brought with her, and flipped through until she found the picture. The candid one she’d snapped of Noah a few years ago when they’d spent an afternoon together at the Harborwalk. He’d been leaning on the railing, turned to grin at some lame joke she’d made, and she’d taken the picture. Those had been happier times for them.

And it’s how she wanted to remember him—laughing, grinning…alive.

She’d carried the picture to the sunroom where Gabriel had set up her supplies, pulled out her sketchpad, and gotten to work. Hours later, less than half of the canvas portrait was finished, but God… Tears burned her eyes. The painting would end up being one of her best. Oil wasn’t really her medium of choice, but this one—it would go in her portfolio for school.

“I can’t even miss you yet,” she whispered to the canvas. “Because I still can’t believe you’re gone. It’s not possible you’re not here.”

But it
was
possible. He
was
gone. And now she had to learn how to go on without the friend she’d spent more than half her life with. She blinked, batting back the stinging moisture. Turning away, she cleaned her brushes, tidied the room, and set the canvas aside for the moment. After a quick shower, she dressed quickly, glancing at the clock on the bedside dresser. 11:40. She’d been painting for seven hours. Raphael had come in at some point and told her he had to go into the office for an appointment, but she’d been so engrossed in her work, she didn’t remember the details.

Although—she smiled, shaking her head—she did catch his, “Don’t let anyone in the house, Greer. I mean it.” Which, in hindsight, surprised her since he believed the threat to her had ended with Noah’s and Adam Morgan’s deaths. Noah and Adam Morgan. In police records, in news coverage, in people’s minds, their names would be forever linked. She hated it.

The hiss and gurgle of boiling water filled the large kitchen. As she gathered the tea bag, lemon, and cup, she peeked at the kitchen clock, which revealed noon’s fast approach. Where was Raphael? He hadn’t mentioned any specifics about his appointment—or she just hadn’t heard the details—but that had been several hours ago. Maybe he and Chay had another consultation scheduled. Her phone was…somewhere, so if he’d called, she hadn’t heard the ring.

Sighing, she poured steaming water into the cup and prepared the tea. Damn, she just needed to admit it—if only to herself. She missed him. The house was too quiet without him. Too empty without his presence there. He could be downstairs in his cave and she could be in front of her canvas and still feel as if everything was okay. There was a settling in her heart, her spirit. A peace she’d never known until him. And not just because he’d tucked her in his home or guarded her. She’d sensed it the night in the bar, sensed that he would let nothing hurt her. That he would not only bring her pleasure but protect her, too. No one had protected her. Her parents definitely hadn’t. She’d shielded Ethan from their father, and even Noah had left her uncovered when she’d needed him. But not Raphael. He didn’t run, he didn’t shrink. He fought and bullied and intimidated. And covered.

And she loved him.

She stopped dipping the tea bag and slammed both of her hands on the counter.

Damn. How had she let this happen? Her number one fear in coming to stay with him had been losing herself, becoming her mother—dependent not on a man’s wealth or status but his affection, his attention, his love.

She’d had plans: baby, art school, new beginning, new life. Standing on her own two feet. Being her own woman. Being her own damn self. Finding out who that was.

Instead…instead she was in love with a man who threatened every goal, her every desire. All except one.

To be seen.

He saw her
. Not the Boston socialite, solicitous hostess, the obedient daughter, protective sister, or amiable fiancée. He saw the woman—the bruised, sometimes-scared woman struggling with her identity, desperate to be more than she’d settled for, but willing to risk it all in order to become. Rafe saw her and so much more. He looked beyond her “now” to her potential, to the strong, gifted, beautiful survivor. That’s who he saw when he looked at her.

And she loved him for it.

He didn’t threaten those goals, he helped her realize them.

She. Loved. Him.

Oh, God.

A smile formed in her heart, spreading across her chest, blooming warm and bright. But just as quickly, the clouds reappeared. What happened now? Though she didn’t believe Noah had been involved in the harassment and threats against her, Raphael did. Soon, she would leave and…nothing. While he’d held her, made love to her, he still didn’t believe their baby was his. He hadn’t made any promises. And he didn’t love her.

Damn
. She rubbed the spot on her chest where her heart beat her rib cage like a bat.
That hurt
. Grimacing, she reached up and opened the cabinet door where Raphael kept the saucers. Or probably his mother had originally placed the saucers. She’d been in his house a week and had yet to see him use—

A hard twinge twisted low in her stomach, and she gasped, clutching her abdomen. She remained motionless, inhaling, exhaling. In. Out. In. Out. The pain ebbed, and she slowly straightened. Okay. Okay. Just a cramp. Just a cr—

Another spasm, and she bent over, whimpering. The baby.
Jesus
. What was wrong? Breathing deep, she shoved away from the counter and ambled down the hallway to the bathroom. Minutes later, fear trapped her in its icy grip, thundered through her veins. Blood. Three drops of blood on her underwear. She was spotting.

No!
The denial howled in her ears as she cradled her lower stomach as if she could hold her baby, protect it.
God, no, not the baby. I love it. I want it. Please don’t take my child away from me.
Cramping, bleeding. She could be losing her…

“Stop it, damn it! Get it together. Hospital. Doctor.” The words tumbled from her lips like a to-do list. She rearranged her clothes with fumbling fingers, stumbled to her room, and located her cell phone on the dresser. Nearly running from the room, she dialed a number. The other end rang three times before Rafe’s deep voice came over the line ordering her to leave a message and number.

“Raphael,” she said, out of breath, snatching a pair of keys off the hall table. “I’m headed to the hospital. I’ve started cramping and bleeding.” A sob rose in her throat, and she swallowed it down. “I’m taking your car. Please…meet me there. Bye.” She disconnected the call, punched in the security code for the house alarm, reset it, then snatched open the hall door that led to the garage. The black SUV was gone, but Raphael’s black Dodge Charger was parked in the second spot. She unlocked the car and pressed the automatic garage opener above the visor. She cranked the ignition and backed out with inches to spare between the roof of the car and the garage door. Executing a messy K-turn, she peeled down the driveway.

And almost slammed into the car blocking the end of the lane.

“Damn.” She rolled down the window as the driver’s door of the other car opened. “Excuse me I’m in a— Aubrey?”

Aubrey smiled, strolling toward Greer, the light afternoon breeze blowing her jacket against her slim body, emphasizing the firm mound of her stomach. “Hi, Greer.”

Confused, frowned. “What are you doing here?” Then she shook her head. “Look, forget it. Can you move your car so I can get out? I need—”

“To turn the car off and get out,” Aubrey finished, the smile still in place even as she lifted a black gun and pointed it in Greer’s face.

…

Raphael hit “send” on the last unanswered email in his inbox. With a yawn, he lifted his arms above his head, stretched. The nine-thirty appointment had run longer than he’d expected. After two hours of constantly assuring their new client that yes, they could promise state-of-the-art technology for his research lab, and going over their system detail by ever-loving detail, the paranoid scientist-turned-business owner had finally left. He glanced at the clock on his monitor. 11:50.

Cool. He only had a couple of phone calls to make and then he could be out of here and return home to Greer.

Return home to Greer
.

Damn, that sounded good. Too good. I’m-scared-shitless-to-say-it-out-loud-and-jinx-it good.

Last night—confessing about Yolanda, the baby, and the pain of losing them—had been cathartic. He’d meant it when he told Greer she and Yolanda were nothing alike.

Greer was strong, courageous, funny, beautiful. So gifted and talented it was kind of intimidating. Fiercely loyal and just…good. She was
good
.

In his life and line of work, he didn’t encounter a lot of good. The one time he hadn’t been suspicious and cynical, his heart had been ripped from his chest. And all these years, though he’d convinced himself he was over Yolanda’s betrayal and the loss of a family he’d desperately wanted, he hadn’t let go of the pain.

But one woman—another socialite, but with a gladiator’s spirit—had forced him to face the part of himself that was bitter and used to it. In some perverse way, he’d lived with his anger for so long, he didn’t know if he would recognize himself without it. But damn, he longed to. For her. For them. For their baby.

She scared him. The power she wielded over his heart scared the hell out of him. He stood on this edge where he had to decide to either remain on land where his life was safe—he was alone, but safe—or step out and free-fall, believing the woman who owned his heart wouldn’t betray him.

Wouldn’t leave him.

He inhaled a deep breath. Held it. Then expelled it in a long, low rush.

He was going to be a father.

He was going to have a baby with a woman whose goodness he trusted. A woman he…loved.

Holy shit
.

A weight lifted from his chest. One he hadn’t even realized had been caving him in year after year. He’d been withholding that admission to himself—steeped himself in denial—out of fear. But he was letting go of the past.

And grabbing on like a motherfucker to the future.

“I’m surprised to see you still here.”

Rafe glanced up from his computer and smirked at Chay, who leaned against the jamb of his office door.

“I won’t be for long.”

Chay snorted, entered the room, and dropped down in the chair in front of his desk. The same chair Greer had occupied a week ago when she’d come to him for help. Damn, had it only been a week? So much had happened in that time. He’d found out he was going to be a father, aborted a kidnapping, ducked a bullet—well, bullets—found a dead body, and had fallen in love.

Yeah, he’d been pretty busy.

“So, how’s Greer doing?”

“As well as she can be, I guess.” He sighed, rubbed a hand over his jaw and as the bristles scraped his palm, realized he hadn’t shaved that morning. “She’s hanging in there. Hurting but she’ll be okay.”

Chay nodded. “Good.” Then, “I like her.” And then, “You do, too. More than like her.”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Yeah.”

“Oh, shit.” Chay groaned, sprawling in his chair, his head falling back against the headrest. “Gabe. Mal. Now you. I’m the lone survivor. Because of you, you selfish douche. We were supposed to be holding out together.”

“Sorry.”
Not
.

Chay cocked his head to the side. “So you’re finally accepting that the baby is yours, huh?”

“Truthfully, I didn’t believe she was lying to me for very long,” Rafe admitted. “It was thinking she would cut bait and leave with the kid that had me angry and resistant.”

Chay nodded, understanding clear in his eyes and small smile. “I get it. But she’s not a Yolanda. It was clear as hell to me and took some time for you to see. I’m real glad you finally did.”

“Know-it-alls suck ass,” Rafe growled and his friend laughed. A real laugh.

“So what are you still doing here?” Chay asked, dipping his head toward the computer. “Why aren’t you home with Greer?”

“I’m headed out. I had to check a few emails, return some calls, and transfer some files since I’ll probably continue working from home a couple more days.”

He glanced at his monitor and frowned. A new email popped up in his in-box. A message from Leah. In the subject line was “Adam Morgan file.” He frowned, clicked the box. The mail contained Adam/Tag’s criminal record, which he already had, and some more notes about his past that she’d managed to dig up between yesterday morning and this morning. The woman was good. Adam Morgan hadn’t always lived in Delaware and New Jersey. He’d actually been born in Boston, had attended school here through the tenth grade before leaving for parts unknown. Rafe grunted. Leah’s source must really like her because he or she had uncovered a juvenile record for Aaron Chandler, one of Morgan’s aliases, and apparently his real name. He had family here—or he did back then.
Wonder if they’ve been notified
. He scrolled down…

“Hey, Rafe.” Sara rapped on the opened door and entered, his cell phone in her hand. “This has been going off in your jacket pocket the last couple of minutes. I’m not your coatrack, you know,” she drawled, setting it on his desk.

“Noted.” He picked up the phone. Two missed calls. Two voicemails. “Snarl all you want, darling, I know you miss me,” he teased, bringing up the messages. He returned to studying the file as he navigated the voicemail.

Mother, Melissa Chandler. Father, unknown. Sister, Aubrey Chandler.

Aubrey Chandler? The woman Gavin was cheating with Aubrey Chandler?

“Hey, Rafe,” Mal’s low voice came through the phone. “I was getting ready to head over to your house but was unexpectedly called into court. I may be tied up until late afternoon. I called Gabe, and he has a meeting with his agent at 9:30, but said he’ll go to your house as soon as it’s finished. When you get this message, text and let me know.”