Chapter Thirteen
The sound of Sara’s voice drew Rafe out of his room early Sunday morning. He hadn’t slept the night before, tossing and turning for more reasons than he cared to think about now. Needing coffee, he headed for the kitchen and found her sitting on a kitchen chair, fully dressed for the day in white jeans, a loose purple tank top and bare feet.
She held the telephone to her ear.
He didn’t have to make coffee since a fresh pot sat on the counter. A warm, fuzzy feeling crept into his chest before he ruthlessly squelched it. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t making herself at home and enjoying his place; she merely needed his protection, and he’d offered her a safe place to stay. End of story.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and left it black, needing the hard jolt of caffeine, before settling into a chair at the table.
“I’m fine. What has the blogger said now?” Sara asked whoever was on the other end. “Break it to me gently.”
As she listened to the reply, her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a perfect circle. “That’s so wrong! It’s an invasion of privacy, that’s what it is.” She sighed and waited a beat. “No, you’re right. I can’t get worked up about what I can’t control.”
Rafe drew a long sip of the coffee. At least she’d made it strong, just the way he liked it.
“I’ll keep in touch. Bye, Dad.” She disconnected the call and hung up the phone, turning to face him. “My father,” she said needlessly.
“Everything okay at home?”
She nodded, glancing at him warily, obviously trying to judge his morning mood.
He wasn’t in the mood to give his feelings away. “What’d the blogger say that had you so upset?”
“Something about how smart we are using a festival to cover for our secret rendezvous,” she said vaguely.
He narrowed his gaze. “And? There had to be more considering how upset you got.”
She sighed. “Fine.” Rising, she picked up her coffee cup and walked to the sink to rinse it out. “The blogger said from the looks of things at the dance the other night, we’d found love, and she highly recommends the upstate New York air to whoever is looking for the same.” She slammed the water faucet off and dried her hands, not turning to face him as she spoke.
“I guess the blogger doesn’t know everything,” he said and let out a dry laugh.
“I guess someone at the dance reported in.” She ignored his sarcastic comment.
“Probably. I’m sure Angel wouldn’t have done it again.”
Sara nodded. “I agree. My father said he’d keep me updated with any new blog posts.”
“Good.”
Silence descended.
Not the comfortable, relaxing silence they normally shared, but an awkward, tense quiet.
They had at least twenty-four hours before the town emptied out and they could go out knowing he’d recognize someone who didn’t belong, and Rafe couldn’t stand being cooped up in the house with this kind of tension.
“What’s your father like?” he asked, curious about the man she’d been speaking to. The single father who’d raised her to be so afraid of commitment.
She relaxed her shoulders at his neutral question, and a soft smile curved her lips. “He’s big and gruff, and on the outside, he looks like your typical old-time, don’t-mess-with-me kind of cop. But on the inside, he’s a big softie.”
They obviously had a good relationship. “You said he raised you after your mother left?”
She settled back into a chair at the table. “He did. The house went from constant yelling and battles to easy silence. Dad isn’t a big talker, but when he has something to say, it’s usually important.” She leaned her elbow on the table, relaxing as she gathered her thoughts. “I think he taught me the value of silence,” she mused.
“It’s an important asset for a cop.”
She nodded. “Of course I was the opposite. I chattered nonstop, talking about anything and everything. I’d come home from school and tell him about my day, from schoolwork to girl issues and then boys. He learned pretty quick that he had to pay attention or I’d call him on it.” She laughed. “Eventually we began to balance each other out.” She stared into space, obviously thinking, remembering.
Wanting to hear more, he took his cues from her and kept quiet.
“I’d have thought my father would have been sad after my mom left, but he wasn’t. He was happier, came out of his shell more. And I think, by seeing that, I came to associate being alone with being happy.” She blinked hard and suddenly focused on him, looking a little wary, as if she’d revealed too much.
He wanted more. “What about relationships? Did your father date?”
She nodded. “He’d get involved with someone, I’d hear her name for a while, then suddenly he’d stop mentioning them. I’d ask, and he’d say it had been time to move on.” She shrugged as if things had been that simple. “Eventually he’d find someone else, and things would follow the same pattern. His women never interfered in my life, never even made a dent in our everyday pattern of living. To me, it seemed like an ideal life for a cop.”
To Rafe, it sounded lonely as hell. Never allowing for intimacy or feelings to come into play, always moving on before you got too close.
She’d dug deep and shared her memories, giving him more insight than he’d hoped for. He now understood how Sara’s views on marriage and relationships had been formed. Grounded in her childhood experience, marriage equaled misery; short and sweet relationships sufficed.
He could no longer blame her for wanting to keep things simple between them and, when she started to feel things, panicking and building walls. But instead of discouraging him, the fact that she was feeling things gave him hope. If they were back in New York, she could break things off, return to her apartment and her solitary life. But she was stuck here until the threat was over or it was time to testify at the trial. Which meant she had nowhere to run and hide from her feelings.
Rafe had one shot to get through to her. He needed to make her feel things over and over until it was time for her to leave.
Then, when she returned home to her life in New York, he had to pray the loneliness sent her running back into his arms.
Good luck, he thought wryly.
Rafe had spent many hours alone in his house, enjoying the peace and quiet that came with the cabin. But Sunday was the longest day of his life, thanks to Sara’s mere presence. She curled up on the couch with a book, pulled a light blanket over her legs, and read silently. She shouldn’t have been a distraction, but she was.
She’d showered and smelled like a combination of Sara and his shampoo, so every inhale left him more aware. Each time she shifted positions, he looked up from the newspaper he was trying to read. He then ended up staring at the way the light from the windows bounced off her blond hair, which led to thoughts of running his fingers through the strands, and of course taking her to bed.
By the time the phone rang and his mother reminded him they were expected at Sunday night dinner, he almost viewed the obligation as a relief.
“Let me talk to Sara and get back to you,” he said to his mother and hung up before she could cite all the reasons Sara would want to share a meal with his family.
Mostly because his mother would probably be right. Sara had taken a liking to his family that surpassed being polite. She enjoyed each and every one of them, from his mother and father, who had surprisingly given her space and not pressured her about her relationship with their son, to his sisters, whom he’d seen her talking to during the festival the other day. He supposed it was easy for an outsider to view his large family as a novelty to enjoy. Although he had to admit, he wasn’t as bothered by them as much as he used to be.
With age came understanding, he thought wryly.
“Talk to me about what?” Sara asked, placing her book on her lap.
“Mom called to invite us to dinner.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, I’d love to go. Do you think it’s safe?”
“Whoever’s after you just wants you not to testify. I don’t think there’s a problem going to a family dinner where we know everyone.”
She nodded. “I agree. So, what can I bring?”
“Yourself. My mother doesn’t expect you to show up with anything.”
Sara flung the blanket off her legs and stood up. Rafe hadn’t realized she was wearing shorts.
Short shorts. Cutoff, fringed, fuck-me shorts.
And he wanted to do just that.
“After I showed up uninvited last time, I want to bring something. Mind if I go through your kitchen cabinets?” she asked.
“Knock yourself out. What are you looking for?”
“Basic cake-making supplies,” she said, already poking around the cabinets, pulling out assorted things like flour and sugar before moving on to the refrigerator for milk and eggs. “You have everything I need.” She sounded surprised.
“My mother keeps this place stocked, and if I tell her I’m coming, she brings in the perishable things, too.”
“Lucky you!”
She opened another cabinet and shut it again, then repeated the process a few more times, obviously not finding what she was searching for.
“What are you looking for?”
“I need cake tins.” She called over her shoulder.
He raised an eyebrow. “Umm…I have disposable tins like these.” He opened a high cabinet and pulled out aluminum pans he used when he marinated steak to make on the outdoor barbeque.
“That’ll do. Thanks!”
If he thought he was distracted before, he was nearly crazed by the time she was finished baking a cake in his kitchen, making herself at home with his things, humming as if she’d done this a hundred times before.
“I know you were helping Angel make pies, but I didn’t know you baked on your own, too.”
She met his gaze with a humorous one of her own. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. My father wasn’t good in the kitchen, so I took over. And since he rarely remembered to buy birthday cakes, I used to bake them myself, and it became our tradition. Of course, this one’s going to be unfrosted.”
She perched her hands on her hips and frowned at the cake in the oven. “Unless we pick some up at the store on the way.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Not a problem.”
“Good. Thanks.” Sara turned and began cleaning up the kitchen, needing the distraction from Rafe’s constant presence.
The cake had been an inspired idea and had kept her busy, unlike the book, which she’d tried unsuccessfully to read for hours. She kept realizing she couldn’t remember a thing and had to turn back to where she’d started. All because Rafe had been sitting in the same room, restlessly moving around, alternately reading the paper and watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking.
Ever since their talk this morning, his mood had changed. No longer angry, he seemed more contemplative. It was as if he was looking for something that would explain her to him.
She couldn’t figure herself out. How did he expect to?
She rinsed the items she’d used to cook and loaded them into the dishwasher, then cleaned off the countertops. The cake needed another half an hour, and she set the timer to remind her.
Finally finished, she let out a satisfied sigh. She turned, surprised to find Rafe standing right there.
In her breathing space.
His gaze was deep and dark, his expression giving nothing away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Everything. You, me, being in the same house, the same room, pretending we’re not looking at each other. Wanting each other.”
Her mouth grew dry. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“I wasn’t the one who pulled away,” she reminded him.
He scowled. “Not physically, but you sure as hell put on the brakes when you made that toast.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. She couldn’t argue with the truth. But he wanted more than she was capable of giving.
“I want to propose an idea.” He ran his hand down her nose. “Flour again,” he said, holding up his finger.
She shivered under his touch, her breasts growing heavy, her nipples taut. “What was your idea?” she managed to ask.
“I suggest we go back to the way things were without any discussion that’s bound to throw things off balance.”
Hmm. That stumped her. Sex with no discussion about what it meant. Sex without strings. That’s the way they’d started out, and she’d really been enjoying it, but ever since she said those words out loud, friends with benefits, she’d had a knot in her stomach larger than her fist. And now that he’d actually stated he’d go along with her request, something inside her wanted to cry.
Then he kissed her, and she only wanted him.
The kiss started in the kitchen, and she didn’t care if they finished there. She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She opened her mouth, and he slid his tongue deep inside, swirling around and around until her knees went weak. He took her hand and pulled her to the couch. They shed their clothes along the way.
He lay down and pulled her over him, and soon he was entering her, sliding high, far and deep. She gasped, feeling him connect with her completely. Every roll of his hips, each thrust as he penetrated deeper, took her higher until climax was just moments away.
And then he slowed down, kissing her endlessly, focusing on her mouth, making love to it with his tongue, mimicking what his body had been doing to hers seconds before. Her body was on heightened alert, ready to go off, and now the tension eased, still beautiful, still there, waiting for him to start again.
He slid his hands between them and cupped her breasts, massaged her nipples with his palms.
She moaned. The friction felt so good she began to move her hips in circles, seeking harder contact again. She wanted him to thrust harder. Needed to feel him pulse inside her and make her come.
He gripped the back of her hair with one hand and wrapped the other around her back, and did just that. He drove into her, faster, harder, and she accepted each deep plunge until he took her up and over into spiraling oblivion.
Rafe knew the moment she came, freeing him to let go, and he did, gliding in and out of her, pumping his hips against her body until he couldn’t think or hear, only feel as, skin to skin, he came inside her.
He barely remembered collapsing beneath her on the couch, or her falling over him. As awareness came back, he heard her ragged breaths, the sound like music in his ears.
“I must be heavy,” she finally said.
“Couldn’t tell you. I can’t feel anything.”
She jumped off him, and he laughed, reaching for her but missing. “I’m kidding. Get back here.”
She shook her head. “Shower. And then I have to get ready for dinner at your mother’s.”
“I’ll be right in.” He laid his hand over his head and groaned.
Every time he thought he had a solution to his problems with Sara, he only ended up sucking himself in deeper. Because that hadn’t been sex. Because he loved her.
The truth hadn’t snuck up on him, and he wasn’t surprised. That special kernel of feeling had been planted a long time ago, back when they were partners. It had merely grown since then, often slowly. Sometimes it had even gone into hibernation, but it had been there all along.
Unfortunately, whether it went anywhere was out of his control.
Apparently, dinner at Rafe’s parents’ house was always a big event. Any family member who wanted to come over was welcome. Today’s group included Pirro, Aunt Vi and, to everyone’s surprise, Nick and Angel. Everyone was so happy to see them together, nobody asked any questions, afraid of bringing up a subject that might cause trouble between them.
Sara’s homemade cake had been a success. Later, after everyone had finished coffee and dessert, different groups gathered in various rooms to talk.
Sara pulled Angel aside, wanting to catch up with the other woman. She started by reassuring her again that she wasn’t angry about the Bachelor Blog incident.
Toni bounced into the kitchen, her ponytail bobbing in time to her walk. “Sara, guess what?”
“What?” she asked the teen.
“I have a boyfriend!” she said in a squeal. “Pete asked me out, and I said yes! Thank you for your advice!” She wrapped her arms around Sara’s waist and hugged her tight.
A warm—dare-she-think-maternal—feeling filled her at the young girl’s gratitude and easy hug. “I’m happy I could help,” she said, her voice thick.
The chirping of a cell phone interrupted them. “It’s him!” Toni said. “Gotta go somewhere private and take it.” She bounced out of the room, leaving Sara a little overwhelmed, in a good way. “What does asking someone out mean these days?” Sara asked Angel.
“From what I hear, it means they’re going steady, rarely talk in person, text on the phone, and break up within a week or so.” Angel shook her head, laughing.
Sara chuckled. “Glad I don’t have to deal with a teenage girl.” Realizing what she’d just said, Sara’s hands flew to her mouth, horrified. “I’m sorry. I mean—You can’t—I didn’t mean—”
“Relax, I know you didn’t! I told you, I’ve moved on and accepted,” Angel reassured her.
Sara wasn’t convinced, but she wanted to put her foot-in-mouth moment behind her. “Looks like you two are getting along,” she said, changing the subject.
Angel nodded. “I’m cautiously optimistic.”
“And I’m happy for you!”
“Thanks.” Angel glanced around to make sure they were alone. “He agreed to go for marriage counseling.”
Sara nodded. “I think that shows you how much he wants to make things work. I hope that means you’ll meet him halfway?”
Angel shrugged. “We both agreed to try. I’ll call tomorrow for an appointment, and then we’ll see. So, what’s going on with you?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject again. “The fire department investigators told me they have no leads. Did you find out anything more?” Angel’s big eyes were filled with concern.
“Nothing new. My captain hasn’t heard anything, either, so for now, I just have to be cautious.”
“Maybe it was just a random act, kids playing with fire. Stupid and dangerous, but random.”
“Maybe,” Sara hedged. It was better for Angel to believe her own words.
“So…where do things stand with the two of you?” Angel tipped her head toward Rafe, who was sitting beside his mother, talking.
As if he realized they were talking about him, he glanced over and treated Sara to a sexy wink before turning his attention back to his mother.
She swallowed hard. “We’re fine.” If she considered the wall between them fine.
Except this time the wall hadn’t come from Rafe; it came from Sara herself, who was confused as to why getting what she wanted didn’t feel as good as it should.
“Vague and unacceptable.” Angel grinned. “Spill.”
Sara drew a deep breath. “The truth is, I don’t do relationships. I never have. I don’t believe in happily ever after without a whole lot of work and aggravation, and when you factor in the stress of us both being cops…” She trailed off. “Look, the majority of relationships don’t work. My entire family tree is a prime example. Rafe and I don’t see life the same way. We don’t want the same things.”
“What is it you want?” Angel asked without judgment, and Sara was grateful for her understanding. Obviously, Angel knew firsthand that the work-and-aggravation part were true in an ordinary marriage.
“You know, I never really gave it much thought except to know I always wanted to be a cop. It’s in my genes. But my bad knee might make the one thing I always took for granted impossible.”
“Which means you may have to reevaluate your future.” A sympathetic expression settled over Angel’s face. “I know I did when I lost the baby.” She lowered her voice. “Actually, I’ve had two miscarriages, but the family only knows about the one. The first one happened so early, we hadn’t even told them I was pregnant yet.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. But my point is that I always thought I’d be a mom. I can imagine how that sounds to you, but that was my dream. And then one day it was gone. The doctor said I probably couldn’t carry to term, and suddenly my future looked empty. Sound familiar?” she asked.
Suddenly the notion of not being able to return to active duty seemed trivial compared to the end of Angel’s dream.
Sara glanced down at her feet, embarrassed. “You must think I’m ridiculous. Here I am mourning the potential loss of a job when you can’t have children.” Sara pressed her hands to her burning cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t you dare be sorry!” Angel said, clearly affronted. “Nobody’s dreams are any more or less important than anyone else’s. I’m just trying to tell you that when things look their darkest, you can find opportunity and even end up happy again.”
“Thank you,” Sara said, touched that Angel would dig into her deepest pain to help her. “You and I talked just now, right? So maybe you could do the same with Nick?” she asked tentatively.
“It’s different talking to someone who doesn’t share the grief.” Angel cleared her throat, obviously emotional.
“Say no more. I understand.” Sara quickly let the other woman off the hook.
Angel reached out her hand. “I don’t know about you, but I need a good hug.”
Sara smiled and pulled the other woman into a sisterly embrace.
To her surprise, the simple human connection made her feel better.
A little while later, Sara and Angel were helping Rafe’s mother clean up in the kitchen when Rafe poked his head into the room.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
Sara glanced at Mariana, not wanting to leave her alone to dry the pots and pans.
“Go,” the other woman said. “I’ll finish up in here.” She waved Sara away. “You, too, Angel. Go find Nick,” she said pointedly.
Angel rolled her eyes but did as her mother-in-law suggested.
Sara followed Rafe into a small hallway. “What’s going on?”
“Pirro announced he’s going to play poker, and Aunt Vi wants me to follow him.” He groaned, telling Sara what he thought of that idea.
“Is there any chance he really is playing poker?”
Rafe cocked his head to one side and nodded. “There’s every chance. But until we do this a few times and reassure her, this will never end.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?”
“When Pirro leaves, I’ll say it’s time for us to go, too. I can’t follow him directly—he knows my car, and it’ll be too obvious, but I know all the men in his poker game. We’ll wait a few minutes and drive by each house until we find his car, snap a picture on my cell and be done with it.” He sounded more amused than annoyed by the plan.
“Works for me.” In fact, Aunt Vi’s drama was just the excitement and distraction she needed from the chaos of her own life.
Pirro was in no mood for poker or his friends, but the only way he could spread news was through their game. Jonah Frye had the perfect location for poker in the summertime, a barn in his backyard that he’d converted into a hangout for the boys. The fact that they hadn’t been boys in years didn’t seem to bother any of them as they gathered together to eat, drink and play.
Pirro waited until they’d played a few hands and everyone was relaxed to make his announcement. “My supply’s going to decrease for a while.”
Ernie slapped his cards onto the table. “That’s unacceptable. I’ve been courting Mary Braunstein. It’s been a year since Sydney passed on, and she’s almost ready for that next step. I can’t have my pecker at half-staff!”
Ernie just loved using the word pecker, Pirro thought. “What happened to the last batch of pills I gave you?”
Ernie flushed red in the face. “Gone. I had to take ’em every time we went out for dinner. You know, just in case she decided it was time to open the door.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to stall her.” Because Pirro wasn’t meeting with his supplier as scheduled.
“Why can’t you get us the pills?” another of his friends asked.
Pirro groaned. Lies upon lies. “Because my supplier’s out of them,” he lied. “As soon as I can get my hands on some more, I’ll let you know.”
“Fine,” Ernie said, and the rest of the men grumbled.
Pirro had a hunch not all of them needed the pill; it had just become an insurance policy for all of them, so they could get it up no matter what. Well, they’d have to make due.
Meanwhile, he needed to lie low and keep stalling those nasty men. He couldn’t even think the words drug dealers without wanting to gag. They’d bought his quick-thinking excuse, but he still needed to figure a way out of this mess.
He’d contemplated talking to Rafe. The cop had dealt with men and situations like this before, but Pirro wasn’t blameless. He’d known what he was doing wasn’t totally aboveboard. But he wasn’t a bad man. He’d made sure all his friends had taken a physical and had their tickers checked out before giving them the meds. Now he was forced to look at how Rafe might view his dealings, and he was embarrassed by what he found.
“Pirro, it’s your turn,” Ernie yelled. “You going deaf?”
No, but he might be going to jail.
As a cop, Rafe might have no choice but to arrest him, a thought that made Pirro panic. He was getting on in years. He was soft. He couldn’t possibly go to the slammer.
He played his hand in a fog, hoping he could come up with a plan to save them all.