Secrets and Sins:Raphael(21)

Plain white cardboard. Beige packaging tape across the seams and flaps.  Cautious, he hunkered down next to it, arms braced on his thighs. His  name and address written in bold black letters on the top. No return  address or postage. No stains or discoloration. Lowering to his hands  and knees, he sniffed. No odor. And no sound.

He rose to his feet, crossed his arms. Studied the box. As part of their  training, everyone in the office had taken a course on recognizing  suspicious packages, more specifically those containing biological  agents or bombs. Chemicals usually came in envelopes, but not always.  But bombs, most were delivered in boxes. Some of the identifying  markers-oily stains, protruding wires, excessive postage,  "Fragile-Handle With Care" messages, peculiar smells-were missing. Yet  since the package appeared to have been hand-delivered instead of  mailed, some of those might not apply.

He stroked a knuckle over his eyebrow. If he had only himself to  consider, he'd open it. But he didn't. Greer was only yards away in the  house. He couldn't risk it.

"Do you know what it is?"

He stiffened, slowly pivoted. "I thought I told you to stay in the house."

"You were out here without shoes on," Greer replied, holding out the  black boots he distinctly recalled being in his bedroom closet. She'd  been inside his room. Shit. That thought should not send a surge of lust  through him. Not with a could-be-bomb less than two feet away. He  gritted his teeth, ordered his dick to behave, and concentrated on the  direct instruction she'd ignored.

"And that's a good enough excuse to come out here and place yourself in a potential danger zone?" he growled.

Her chin notched up, her features assuming the who-the-hell-are-you  expression she probably learned at birth. "You were out here," she  pointed out coolly. "I guess I should cower inside while you put  yourself in danger for me?"

"Ex-fucking-actly," he gritted out. "Go back to the house."

"No."

"Greer-"

"Forget it."

You cannot throw the pregnant woman over your shoulder, nor can you  snatch her up by the hair and drag her back to the house, he reminded  himself as he aimed a furious glare at her.

"Okay," he bit out. "If you don't give a damn about your safety, what about the baby?"

Surprise, anger, then chagrin crossed her features like a slide show.

"Point taken," she murmured. Without another word, she whirled around  and strode back to the house. Once she disappeared behind the front  door, he grabbed his cell phone from his front pocket, pulled up a  number, and dialed.

In record time, members of the Boston PD bomb squad arrived. They  cleared the area and moved the package into a pressurized container by  robot with a promise to call as soon as they discovered the nature of  the box.                       
       
           



       

Now hours later, Raphael restlessly paced the living room floor, waiting  for his phone to ring. Fury simmered in his chest. And every time he  glimpsed Greer's pale face, the simmer flared brighter, hotter. Whether  the box enclosed an explosive device or not, the need to strangle the  person responsible damn near choked him. Goddammit, the waiting had him  so helpless. Powerless. And he hated it.

Finally, his cell phone rang, and he answered it before the first verse of Aerosmith's "Love in an Elevator" had time to finish.

"Raphael Marcel."

"Mr. Marcel, this is Sergeant Derrick Rhodes with the Boston Police Bomb Squad," the deep voice on the other end greeted.

"Hello, Sergeant. Thanks for calling me back so quickly." Quickly hell.  It'd been four hours since they'd left. But the rational part of his  mind acknowledged it would've taken them that long to open and possibly  defuse an explosive if one was inside the package. "Did you find out  anything?"

"Yes, sir," Rhodes said. "The package did contain a hazardous device."  Oh, shit. Rafe's stomach plummeted toward his feet. He shot a glance at  Greer who studied him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. The loud roar  howling in his ears almost made him miss the rest of the officer's  explanation. " … wasn't a live device."

"I'm sorry, what?" Rafe asked, uncertain he'd heard correctly.

"The device wasn't live," the officer repeated. "The mechanism that  would've caused the bomb to detonate when opened was missing." He  paused. "I know it's early in the investigation, and I usually wouldn't  give an opinion at this point. But my belief is the detonator was  purposefully omitted."

A hard kernel of fear and foreboding knotted his gut. A bitter cold  invaded his veins, freezing him from the inside out. Except for the  pounding of his heart against his chest.

"Mr. Marcel, a note was included with the box and device. It  said"-another pause, and when he spoke again, a grim note had entered  the sergeant's voice-"it said, ‘Boom.'"





Chapter Eleven

Greer wrapped her arms around her stomach, but barely restrained herself  from rocking back and forth on the couch. That veered too close to  padded walls and an extra-long white jacket with buckles.

Boom.

An image of Raphael's furious expression as he relayed the phone call with the officer filtered through her mind.

He's letting us know he can get to you any time, anywhere he wants.

Those chilling words echoed in her head like a death knell. All the  worse because she agreed with him. Raphael had warned her the day before  in his office that whoever was stalking her would only escalate after  going from letters to vandalism to a mutilated doll. And he'd been  right. This-a diabolical taunting-was definitely an escalation.

A potentially deadly escalation. She shivered.

"How're you doing?"

She blinked, tipped her head up and focused on Chayot Grey's solemn  angel face. His pretty hazel eyes studied her closely even as sympathy  softened his stare.

"Fine," she said numbly.

"Translation: Someone just threatened my life with a bomb. How do you  think I'm doing?" His faint smile was self-deprecating, wry. "Can I get  you something? Water? Juice?" He scanned her huddled frame. "A sweater?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay. I'm going to sit here with you while Rafe ties up the interview with the police."

She nodded, appreciative of his kindness, and if she could loosen the  vise gripping her throat, she would've thanked him. Her gaze slid past  Chay to the huge window beyond where Raphael stood outside, arms  crossed, speaking with a police officer. As if he sensed her regard,  Raphael turned his head in the direction of the house. Chances were he  couldn't see inside, but her view of his masculine beauty was  unhindered. His wide mouth turned down at the corners, emphasizing the  sensual fullness. The early April breeze teased his hair, and the dark  waves grazed his hard jaw and the strong column of his neck. The  late-afternoon sun glinted off the hoop in his eyebrow and those in his  ears. He frowned at something the officer said and rubbed a knuckle over  his unpierced brow. A habitual gesture she'd noticed that night in the  bar and in his office yesterday. The unconscious act made him seem  softer, more … vulnerable.

A breath shuddered out from between her lips. The lethal gift at the end  of his drive this morning drove home just how vulnerable, how exposed  he truly was. And she'd brought the threat directly to his doorstep.                       
       
           



       

Jesus, if he came to any harm because of her, she would never forgive herself.

"Thank you," she finally murmured to Chay.

"Feeling slightly better?" he asked, settling into the chair Raphael had  occupied the night before after comforting her. An image of his bare  chest and beautifully tattooed arms rose up like a ghostly specter.  Haunting her. With a mental head shake, she cleared the picture from her  mind. Too bad the slow curl of heat in her gut couldn't be shaken like a  martini.

"Yes, thank you. And thank you for coming out here for"-she waved a hand  toward the window and the driveway blocked by two police  cruisers-"this. You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did," he replied. "Rafe's my best friend. Though it's not  written in the code, I'm pretty sure the fine print includes showing up  for support when suspicious packages are delivered on his doorstep."

The dry wit caught her off guard; she expected that kind of retort from  Raphael. But Chay, with his closed expression and gentle tones? She was  beginning to understand why the men were so close as well as business  partners. They might be more alike than different.