“And the second?”
His expression hardened. “If we’re gonna get technical, that relief
technically
belongs to the Jamaican government. I know you never filed the necessary paperwork to excavate that cave.”
Lisa’s stomach tightened. How long had he been watching her?
“Hey, Mr. Sullivan!”
Rafe’s gaze flicked over her shoulder. His face softened as he waved toward a group of teenagers climbing aboard a nearby yacht.
It was all she could do not to tear into him right there and then.
He waited until their laughter disappeared inside the massive forty-eight-foot powerboat three slips down before swinging his gaze back toward her. “We’re not going to do this here.”
“You expect me to go somewhere with you?”
Boredom ran across his face. “Look, you want the marble back or not?”
He was suddenly going to give it to her? Just like that? Suspicion ran through her, mixed with relief that he was at least admitting he still had it. “Where is it?”
He tugged keys out of his wet pocket. “Not here.” He cast her a tight look. “Take it or leave it,
querida.
You wanna see your goddess, you gotta trust me.” He stepped past her and headed for the end of the dock. “I know it’s a stretch.”
Trust him? Was he serious?
A pathetic laugh slipped from her lips, and she turned to look after him. “How do I know you’re not going to drug me again and this time, rape or murder me?”
He turned. “If I’d wanted to do either, I already would have. You didn’t exactly put up a fight.”
She drew in a calming breath. At her side, her fingers dug into her palms. The son of a bitch was right. She’d been primed and ready when she’d been in that hotel room, and if he’d told her he was a thief at that moment, she probably wouldn’t have cared. And that fact only infuriated her more.
He headed for the end of the dock again. “Pick up the pace, Maxwell. I don’t have all day.”
The bad-tempered mood settling over Rafe was a hell of a lot easier to deal with than a woman who didn’t want to
have anything to do with him. A woman who looked hotter in a pair of low-slung denim short pants and a tight-fitting tank top that accentuated her full, round breasts than most of the women parading around Key West did in their skimpy bikinis.
Hell, he was a man. He noticed things like that. And she’d worn that outfit to tease him. He was sure of it.
But did she have to wear those strappy beaded sandals that showed off her tiny feet and red—hot-red—toenails? He hadn’t pegged her for red. And damn, if that little surprise hadn’t triggered a flash in his brain back there, stripping off her clothing piece by piece to see what other surprises she had underneath, starting with those sandals so he could lick and suck on her sensual toes as he slowly moved his way up her tantalizing body.
Oh, hell. He ran a hand over his face. One look at the curvy archaeologist and he’d nearly forgotten why he’d scammed the woman in the first place.
Family. Future. A chance to make up for the past. Don’t forget it, Sullivan.
He wouldn’t. Now that he was back in control, he could handle anything. Seeing her less than a week after their last sultry meeting was just a shock to his system. Those emerald eyes of hers had reminded him exactly why he’d almost tossed this chance away—all for one night of sex. He blew out a breath. Good thing there was no chance of that happening again.
With a grunt, he jerked open the passenger door of the Tahoe. “Get in.”
“I am
not
getting in your car.” She fisted her hands on her hips, tilted her chin up at him in a clear challenge. “I have a rental that works perfectly fine. I’ll follow you.”
He hadn’t expected the fight in that tiny body. Heck, he hadn’t expected her to track him down so fast, either. It wasn’t like he’d covered his tracks all that well. He hadn’t, and on purpose. The truth of the matter was he still needed her, but he’d expected to use her on his schedule, not hers.
And being waylaid by her on the docks had
not
been part of his plans.
“Your rental’s fine here. Get in. We’re not going far.”
When she didn’t respond, he pinned her with a look. “Don’t make me ask again.”
She leveled him with a measuring gaze. He could see the indecision swirling in her eyes, could practically feel the anger pumping off her in waves.
Good. That would make this easier all around. He wanted her to think he was a prick. Better for both of them.
With a scowl, she climbed into the vehicle. He snapped the door shut and walked around the Chevy. Tamping down the frustration, he eased into the driver’s seat, clicked his seat belt and turned on the ignition.
“You’re an ass,” she muttered when he pulled out onto the street, her gaze fixed ahead.
A smile curled his lips before he could stop it. No, she definitely hadn’t tracked him down because she’d missed him. On the contrary, it looked like she wanted his head on a platter.
“You’re not the first to tell me that,
querida.
”
“I have a name,” she said, looking out the side window.
He turned down Olivia Street. “Right. Lisa.”
“Dr. Maxwell, Slick.” She glanced his direction with steely eyes before looking back out the window. “Don’t forget it.”
Like he ever could.
He pulled into the drive of his small house and killed the ignition. She opened the car door and slipped from the vehicle before he even released the latch on his door.
Bitchy. Probably a good thing nothing more had happened in that hotel. Domineering, obnoxious women weren’t his type.
“Oh, there you are, Rafael.”
He tucked his keys in his pocket and looked up at the sound of the frail voice. “Hey, Mrs. Kimbel.”
Scissors in one hand, Anita Kimbel stood near the small
picket fence and wiped her other hand down her long-sleeved cotton shirt, leaving a smudge of dirt in its wake. “Do you think you could take a look at my ice maker again? The ice is getting all stuck inside. You know I just can’t drink my lemonade without my ice.”
He shot a quick look at her front porch where her worthless grandson, Jimmy, sat in a plastic deck chair, shirtless in the afternoon sun, sipping a beer and scowling their direction. The punk was sucking the old woman dry of cash and beer and food. And she was letting him.
He glanced back at his elderly neighbor and tried to smile for her sake. He hated that she was being taken advantage of. She was a nice old lady who’d never done a thing wrong in her life, except help some whacked-out kid who didn’t deserve her generosity. And her situation rang just a little too true for his liking. “Sure thing. I’ll do it later.”
A grin brightened her face, and she straightened. “Thank you.” Her gaze flicked in Lisa’s direction. “Hello, deary. I see you found him.”
He looked toward Lisa. Found him? She’d already been here?
Lisa’s eyes widened. Her lips parted as if she were going to respond. Hell, he didn’t need her opening her big mouth out here on the street. After that little show she’d put on at the marina, he could only imagine what would come pouring out.
He ushered her up the porch steps before she could toss off some flip answer. “I’ll come over later, Mrs. Kimbel.”
“Oh. Okay, Rafael. You are such a sweet boy.”
As he unlocked the door, he heard Lisa harrumph behind him. Her opinion of him didn’t matter in the least, so why did he have this overwhelming urge to defend himself?
He pushed aside the ludicrous thought, pulled the screen open and waited while Lisa stepped inside. She flicked an irritated look his direction before moving into the entry of the house.
Cool air washed over him when he followed, and he closed the door, blocking out the heat and humidity. Lisa ran a hand over her sweaty brow. For a moment, the aggravation dissipated, and she closed her eyes, tipped her face up toward the ceiling fan and drew in a long breath. “How the hell do people live in this heat?” she mumbled.
A sucker punch hit him low in the gut—the memory of her writhing beneath him on that great big bed, offering him her throat just like that in that faraway hotel room. With her face flushed, eyes closed and chin tipped up, she’d begged him to take her.
Hurry, Rafe.
Carajo.
He ran a hand over his face. He needed to get a grip. A golden opportunity had dropped right into his lap when she’d shown up. Common sense told him if he were going to find Tisiphone, he’d need to string Lisa Maxwell along a while longer.
And not in a sexual way. Although he could think of a thousand different ways he’d like to string her up. By her arms, naked and wet, moaning while he licked every part of her. By her feet, to the end of his bed, spread wide and waiting while he drove her to the edge again and again.
Holy hell. This was going to kill him.
He cleared his throat and stepped around her toward the living room. “In here.”
His mouth dropped open when he walked into the main room. The wicker couch was tipped over, cushions slashed, the stuffing strewn across the floor. The coffee table was a pile of smashed glass, lamps nearby broken and lying on their sides. A glass cabinet to his left sat open, his sports memorabilia shattered, pieces missing.
“¡Me cago en nada!”
Wide-eyed, he turned a small circle, taking in the damage.
Lisa skirted a broken ceramic bowl on the floor and a smattering of seashells thrown across the carpet. “Let me guess. Maid’s day off?”
A hot rush of blood pumped through him, dousing whatever
idiotic arousal he’d felt before. He whipped toward her and fought the urge to pick her up and hurl her across the room. “Find what you were looking for?”
Her eyes grew wide. “You think I did this?”
“Who else would break in and trash the place?”
“I don’t know. How many other women did you hustle this week?”
“Obviously one too many.” He shook his head and tried to rein in his temper before he lost it for good. “You think you’re getting her back now?”
Fury flashed in her eyes. “You really are delusional if you think I did this. Why on earth would I bother coming back here with you if I’d already trashed your pathetic little house?”
“Because you didn’t find it. And because you wanted to gloat.”
She let out a smug laugh. “I don’t need to gloat, Slick.” She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “But since you brought it up, tell me. How does it feel, being duped?”
Anger coiled in his stomach. He took a step toward her.
A rap at the door made him stop short.
“Sullivan? You in there?”
His gaze darted to the entry.
Lisa moved toward the window and peeked through the curtain. A superior grin slid across her features. “Looks like I don’t have to call the cops after all.”
“Ah, pues bien,”
he muttered, walking toward the entry-way. He jerked the door open and frowned at both the rush of humid air tumbling into the house and Officer Hailey Roarke’s amused expression. “Yeah?”
Hailey’s blue eyes narrowed. She hooked her thumbs in her gun belt. “Heard there was some trouble down at the docks.”
“You heard wrong.”
She glanced around the door into the living room, let out a low whistle, then stepped around him, her curly blonde ponytail wagging behind her. “Well now. This definitely doesn’t look like trouble.”
He slammed the door. Great. Might as well invite the whole damn neighborhood over, while they were at it.
Hailey stopped in the doorway to the shambled living room. “What did you do, Sullivan? Throw a wild party?”
He shot Lisa a look across the room. Her feline grin said she was enjoying every moment of this, just waiting for him to sweat. The realization had amusement trickling through his system, drowning the surge of anger.
Hailey’s gaze finally settled on Lisa, and she lifted her eyebrows in question. Rafe cleared his throat. “Lisa Maxwell. Officer Roarke.”
“Is she the one who was causing all the trouble down at the marina?” Hailey looked his direction. Her eyes shifted from his damp clothing up to his face. “The one that got you all…wet?”
“Yeah. Same one.”
Lisa’s victorious grin faded. “Hold on—”
“Wanna press charges?” Hailey cut in.
“Hell, yes,” Lisa exclaimed.
Hailey glanced back at Lisa and held up a finger. “Not you.” She turned toward Rafe. “I can run her down to the station if you want.”
Lisa’s eyes grew wide. Unable to bite back a smile, Rafe slipped his hands into his wet pockets and rocked back on his heels. “If you strip-search her, can I watch?”
Lisa’s mouth fell open.
Oh
, querida,
if you knew what I wanted to do to that mouth, you’d close it, right now.
Hailey slanted a cheesy grin his direction. “You never change, Rafe Sullivan.”
Her words pulled him back from the fantasy taking root in his mind. “What made you think I had?” He turned for the kitchen. “I need a beer. You want one?”
“Gosh, yes. I had the day from hell.” Hailey stopped near an overturned wicker chair. “Are you planning to report this? ’Cause if so, you can’t touch anything yet.”
Rafe scowled and looked toward Lisa. “I already know who did it.”
“And?” Hailey asked, waiting.
“And pull up a chair. If you can find one that hasn’t been busted to hell and back.”
Hailey righted a chair and plopped down onto the seat with a grunt. “Fine by me. Saves me a bunch of work. I’m pooped.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I swung by the marina on my way home. Tim Kelly said you went for a swim at the docks.” She laughed and shook her head. “I would have paid to see that.”
Rafe frowned at the mess in the kitchen as he searched for a bottle opener in the drawer. “Timmy-boy needs to get a life. It wasn’t all that exciting.”
“Dammit, Rafe,” Hailey exclaimed, lifting a ripped blue throw pillow off the floor. “My grandmother made this.”
He walked back into the room with three longnecks, handed her one. “She made that? Are you sure? I thought you took all that crap with you.”
Hailey frowned as she slipped her fingers around the beer he offered. “She made it for you, you big jerk.”