"I'm gonna open this door, and you're gonna walk out easy and slow. Head toward the rear exit. One wrong move and I'll blow a hole in your spine. You got me?" He jabbed the weapon in her back, emphasizing his threat. He waited for her to nod, then slowly released her arm. A soft whisper swished behind her, and the pale, freckled hand that grabbed the handle clutched a black knit ski mask. "Don't look behind you. And remember. If I even think you're trying to run for it, I'll leave you and your bastard bleeding on the floor."
A chill skittered over her skin, and again she nodded.
Then he opened the door.
…
Raphael tugged open the door to the restaurant where he'd dropped Greer off. He grunted and glanced down at his watch. At least an hour and a half had passed. She should be ready by now. And if not … A feral grin curved his mouth. Well, he would just have to join her. Oooh. Fun.
"Can I help you, sir?" A young, no-way-in-hell-is-that-color-real blond man greeted him. Rafe had to resist the urge to offer him a hamburger as his one-step-above-emaciated frame rounded the reservation stand. Or desk. Shit. The thing appeared to be constructed of black marble. He spared a glance down at the baggy black jeans, scarred boots, and long-sleeved knit shirt he'd thrown on this morning. Then contemplated the attendant's tailored slacks and shirt made of some material that probably cost more than his whole outfit. Jesus, this was the kind of place Greer ate at for lunch?
"Sir, do you have a reservation?"
"Nope," Rafe said, brushing past the greeter and his offended gasp as he spotted Ethan at a table near the middle of the room.
Greer's brother glanced up as Rafe dropped into a seat, the frown creasing Ethan's forehead still in place. "Hello, Raphael," he murmured, glancing toward the rear of the restaurant where a discreet sign directed customers to the restrooms.
"Hey. Where's Greer?"
"She went to the bathroom almost ten minutes ago and hasn't returned yet."
Rafe arched an eyebrow. "Morning sickness?"
Ethan shook his head, anger flickering across his face. "No. But she was … upset."
Not waiting for an explanation, Rafe shot from his chair and strode toward the bathroom. Unease skipped up his spine, settling into an edgy dance at his nape. "Upset" could mean anything. A pregnancy hormonal attack. The lunch not agreeing with her stomach. Feeling fat. Yet after nearly a decade in the security field, he'd learned to rely on his intuition. And right now that sixth sense insisted something was up. That he needed to hurry.
He stepped into the hallway, scanning the long corridor. No sign of Greer, just a large man in a black jacket headed in the direction of the rear exit. Rafe skimmed the doors on either side of the corridor. The woman's restroom with its tasteful gold W on the door stood on the left. He neared it, noting a sliver of space between the door and the jamb. As if someone had very recently exited, and the door hadn't had time to catch yet. A swift glance at the men's room across the hall revealed a securely latched door.
He returned his scrutiny back to the man who'd nearly reached the heavy steel back entrance. As the guy lifted an arm to push the bar and open the door, Rafe caught the sleeve of another coat. Black with a white button on the cuff. Just like the one Greer had worn to the appointment this morning and when he'd dropped her off here.
Shit!
"Let her go, motherfucker," he snarled, charging the son of a bitch. The guy's head snapped around, his eyes widening and mouth parting in shock. That's when Rafe glimpsed the gun in his hand. Pointed right at Greer's back. Double shit.
Rafe drew up short. I can't risk her or the baby being shot. Damn.
But either the dumb bastard didn't realize he'd just regained the upper hand, or his self-preservation trumped finishing the kidnapping Rafe had interrupted. With a blistering curse, he shoved Greer to the floor and slammed into the exit. And disappeared.
In two short strides, Rafe dropped to a knee beside Greer's sprawled body.
"Baby, you all right?" He brushed a palm over her head, down her cheek. Her big green eyes, damp and dark with horror, stared up at him. Her bottom lip trembled, but she bit down onto it, nodded. More blistering fury poured into him, and a lava pit boiled in his gut.
"Yes, I'm … fine." She pushed up, sitting. "Call the police."
Right. He didn't hesitate. Rafe leaped to his feet in one motion and hurtled through the exit. The door opened into a glass- and garbage-littered alley. The POS who'd assaulted Greer had almost reached the mouth of the passageway.
"Tag!" Rafe roared. The hunch to call that name hit a bull's-eye, because the fleeing ferret skidded to a stop, stumbling several steps, throwing Rafe a surprised glance. Black hair tumbled into wide brown eyes before he disappeared around the corner. Rafe tore after him, but by the time he reached the end of the alley, the other man was nowhere in sight. "Damn it," he muttered. "Damn it to hell."
He pivoted, striding back to the restaurant and Greer, already reaching into his pocket to dial Chay's number.
It seemed Rafe had located the mysterious Adam Morgan, aka Tag the Dealer.
And he'd graduated from threats and bombs to kidnapping.
Chapter Eighteen
Greer set down the sketchpad and pencil on the bed next to her hip. A quick glance at the digital clock on the nightstand revealed the time in red block numbers: 12:13. She'd been drawing for two hours, and sleep continued to remain in a galaxy far, far away.
Sighing, she tossed the covers back, climbed from the bed, and stood still, taking stock of her body. No nausea. For the second night in a row. Maybe the morning sickness was finally passing. Sending up a little prayer of thankfulness, she left the room, tying the belt of the robe she'd slipped on. The slap of her padded feet echoed in the silent hallway. The kitchen, den, and living room were dark and quiet; for once the television that seemed to blast 24-7 was off. That was a quirk she'd learned about Raphael in the three days she'd been in his home. He appeared to enjoy noise. The radio broadcasting sports news, the stereo playing the rock and metal he seemed to prefer … the man exhibited an aversion to silence.
At the moment, she wasn't so gung ho about it either. Too much quiet was a permission slip for her brain to kick into hyperdrive. God, she'd lived through being accosted in a bathroom by a masked gunman, an attempted kidnapping, extensive questioning by the police, and another trip to the hospital. She didn't want to dwell on it and wallow in it. Not tonight.
Cupping her elbows, she drifted through the large first floor, eventually coming to the slightly ajar door leading to the basement-and Raphael's office. She hesitated for a brief moment before opening it and descending the stairs.
She hadn't seen him in a couple of hours. Not since the doctor Rafe had insisted she see had pronounced her fine and they'd returned to his home. She'd been in her room drawing ever since. Which wasn't very odd for her. When she was happy, she drew. When she was upset, she drew. When she was lonely, she drew. Art was her escape, her friend, her confidant, her comforter. It was her … normal.
But tonight, it wasn't enough.
She paused at the bottom of the staircase, suddenly unsure. Raphael had been solicitous, but he'd returned to the aloof, distant man from his office several days ago. She wasn't so sure of her welcome from that man. Still, she scanned the long, wide room. Like a homing beacon, her attention zeroed in on Raphael behind his desk, his focus riveted to the mounted plasma television where one of the Die Hard movies blared. Her breath snagged in her throat, her heart dancing a quick step in her chest. A coil of heat knotted, then loosened, in her belly, spreading upward to tingle in her breasts, and beamed south to pool in the flesh between her legs. This purely physical reaction should be old hat to her by now. During their first meeting in his office, he'd fascinated her so much, she'd had to be extra cautious Gavin wouldn't catch her sneaking awed glances at his tall, powerful frame and stunning face. Even the conservative black suit he'd worn on that day hadn't managed to squelch the animal magnetism and sensuality that seemed to pulse from his skin. In the bar a week later, she'd been a goner. Gavin hadn't been holding her back any longer, and she'd willingly dived in and drowned in the dark, consuming desire Raphael had unleashed on her.