Secrets and Sins:Raphael(35)

"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.