Secrets and Sins:Raphael(23)

Facing a deranged stalker alone. Or making a fool of herself by lusting after Raphael Marcel.

Jesus, it was a toss-up.

"Here," Raphael rapped out, grim satisfaction in that one word. Chay  leaned forward, his jaw hardening, and again, she glimpsed the  similarities between the two men. "Gotcha, asshole," he murmured.

Her legs only slightly steadier, Greer pushed off the couch and edged  forward until she had an unobstructed side view of what the two men  studied so intensely.

Again, her breath whistled from between her lips, but this time it wasn't from desire. Fear. Unadulterated fear and horror.

Raphael paused the video feed so the image of his long drive, the black  mailbox, the gray, dirty van, and the man lowering a white box to the  ground were frozen on his large screen.

She studied the van first-and recognized it as an evasion tactic. She  didn't want to look at the man who may be behind this terror campaign  just yet. She needed … a few seconds. Just a few.

The nondescript older-model van could've been any delivery van, sans the  advertisement on the side panel. Dried smears and flecks of dirt  splattered the lower half as if it had been driven through a mud puddle  hours before. Nothing special about it. Nothing to identify it from  hundreds of others of vans out there in the greater Boston area.

Her heart hammered against her chest wall as she switched her scrutiny  to the slightly hunched figure wearing baggy denim and a green  sweatshirt with the Boston Celtics logo across the front. Dirty-blond  hair hung in a surprisingly young face. Early twenties, maybe. Long  bangs concealed his forehead and eyes, leaving the lower portion of his  face visible. Still, she didn't recognize him, and didn't know if that  made her feel better or worse. A stranger would be harder to identify  and catch. But if he'd been someone she was familiar with, then trapping  him would've been simpler. But also more of a knife to her heart. So  some piece of her was relieved. How crazy did that make her?

"Do you recognize him?" Raphael questioned, all his attention still fastened to the monitor.

She shook her head, though he couldn't see the gesture. "No," she  croaked. Or at least she didn't remember him. With the hole in her  memories, she could've seen this guy before and just didn't recall it.  But she shied away from explaining all of that to Raphael, especially  with Chay in the room. It was stupid to be embarrassed about something  she couldn't help, but there it was.

He tapped a button. "How about now?"

Another image popped up, and the time stamp in the corner of the screen  revealed the frame was only seconds later than the first. A profile shot  as the guy walked back to the cab of the van. Pimples dusted his cheek  and jaw. So damn young. Why would he want to terrorize her? Why her? Had  he fixated on her for some imagined slight? All these questions and  thoughts flew through her head at warp speed.

"No," she repeated, wishing it could be another answer. "I'm sorry. I don't know him."

She shifted forward, wrapping her arms around her midsection. The  protectiveness of the gesture-her arms covering the baby sleeping inside  her womb-didn't elude Raphael as his hard stare dropped to her stomach.  Unlike the hot lick of desire that had brightened his eyes moments ago,  this guarded survey was impenetrable. She couldn't ascertain his  thoughts, almost as if he'd hidden them behind a vault only he had  access to.

"Can you catch a shot of his license plate as he pulls out?" Chay murmured, breaking the tension.

"Maybe." Raphael returned to the computer, his fingers flying over the  keys once more. After several silent seconds, he grunted and reclined in  his chair. "It's covered in mud."

"Probably deliberate," Chay added.

Raphael nodded. "It's definitely a Massachusetts plate. And I can still  catch the first two numbers: 4 and 2. And the second letter in there may  be an M."

"What can you do with that?" she asked. She could clearly see the blue  "Mass" and even the numbers he mentioned. But the rest seemed obscured  by caked-on mud and dirt. Damn. This was the closest she'd come to  believing the whole ordeal might be nearing a conclusion. Already  Raphael had compiled more information regarding her harasser than the  police. Now even that lead appeared to be petering out.                       
       
           



       

"Oh, I can do something with it," he muttered. "It just might take a  little longer than I assumed." The tap-tap over the keyboard started  again. "I'll run those three characters through my Registry of Motor  Vehicles program searching for any plates containing them. Then I'll  cross-reference the findings with older-model white Dodge Ram vans."

A sliver of hope slid between her ribs, lodging in her heart even as she frowned.

"Is that legal? Can you look at the DMV's files?"

His hooded gaze swung to her. "Princess, when it comes to finding out  who's threatening your life with a bomb, live or not, on my doorstep,  I'm willing to straddle the legal fence."

Good point. A bomb wasn't a parking ticket. She nodded toward the computer. "Will that find him?"

Chay shrugged. "It'll help. Once he has a large pool of potentials,  he'll cross the names with driver's licenses. Eliminating the females  and different ethnic groups will further whittle the numbers down. It'll  definitely get us closer to identifying the driver-unless the van was  reported stolen, that is."

With a final click, Raphael pushed away from the desk and rose. "It'll  run for a while. I'll give you a call when I'm finished with the  search."

Chay dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Set it so when the results come through I'll be notified as well."

She glanced from Chay to Raphael.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

Raphael arched a dark, pierced brow.

"We wait."





Chapter Twelve

Greer stared out the window in Raphael's sunroom. This late in the  evening, moonlight spilled through the glass instead of the sun's rays,  but it wouldn't have mattered if the scene beyond was washed in golden  or pearlescent beams. The events of the day captured her attention,  leaving no room for appreciation of the scenery outside Raphael's home.

Waiting. It seemed her life had been in one big holding pattern for  months. Waiting for the police to clear her. Waiting for the bastard  stalking her to make his next move. Waiting for her future to begin.

And here she was again. More waiting. Except now she did so in the  company of a man who believed her to be so desperate that she would pin a  pregnancy on him. A man who had once made her burn so hot, the leather  of his truck seats should've been scorched. A man who stared at her with  no hint of feeling at all, except for the few brief flashes of heat she  thought she'd caught in his eyes. Now she wasn't so sure she hadn't  hallucinated that glimpse of desire. Not when he seemed to merely  tolerate her in his home, his life. Not when she was in danger of  receiving frostbite from his cold, distant manner toward her.

She should be grateful. The tender, seductive Raphael had  been … devastating. To her senses, her rationale-her heart. The aloof  Raphael slapped down any chance of her resolve slipping. This Raphael  didn't let her forget he considered this child hers. And as soon as this  all passed, she would be out of his house, on her own. Even when his  paternity was established after the baby was born, he still might not  want anything to do with her. To him, she was a one-night stand who  hadn't gone away after one night. And that was fine. It's what she  wanted …

A soft whisper of sound reached her ears, and she turned. And pretended her breath didn't catch in her throat.

Raphael leaned against the sunroom entrance, that cool stare she was really beginning to hate focused on her.

He lifted his arm, showing her the paper in his hand. "I needed to talk with you about today."

Sighing, she lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Okay," she murmured, and glanced around the cozy room with its small couch, easy chairs, and ottomans.

"No, in the living room," he said.

She resisted the urge to snort. Right. This room was too comfortable-in  here he could possibly be tempted to-who knew?-bend. Soften. Hold her  hand. Hell, hold her so she didn't feel so damn alone. He'd banished the  loneliness when he'd comforted her in the bathroom. But apparently he  regretted his slip, because since then he'd shown her two sides:  protective or reserved. For all intents and purposes, she was his  client. Nothing more.

Pivoting on his heel, he left the sunroom and marched to the living  room, not looking over his shoulder to see if she followed. He dropped  down on the couch and, after a slight hesitation, she sat down beside  him.

"Here." He slid the paper along the coffee table. "Take a look at this list and let me know your thoughts on it."