Close Proximity (15 page)

A gray cloud descended on Libby. So the senior partner of her firm, like her own father, didn't believe she was capable of handling this case alone. Plastering a smile on her mouth, she told the girl, “Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.”

On the way to the car, Rafe said, “I thought they were
sending a skilled specialist. You sure this…um, young woman is experienced enough for what we need?”

Libby lifted one shoulder. “Apparently she's the best. Graduated from MIT top of her class. I was told if anyone could root out computer sabotage, she could do it.”

“She seems like just a silly kid to me.” Rafe started the engine.

Chuckling, Libby said, “Me, too. Let's hope we're both wrong.”

 

Her naked skin tasted honey-sweet. Her silky hair, the mass of it fanned out on the ground above her head, glowed like shiny new pennies in the firelight. She arched her back, lifted her bare breasts as an offering, and he took one dusky nipple between his teeth. A moan gathered in the back of her throat, and he was certain he would lose all control.

Her tone was a rich and husky whisper. “Rafe.”

With a gasp, he opened his eyes and sat up, breaking the bonds of sleep. Sweat chilled his skin. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and donned a pair of loose flannel pajama bottoms.

These dreams were going to be the death of him.

The sun hadn't yet risen above the horizon, so when he opened his bedroom door, the smell of coffee surprised him.

Padding down the hall, he wondered why Libby was up already.

She was sitting at the table, her fingers cradling a mug of coffee.

“Morning,” he greeted, stifling a yawn. “You feeling okay?”

“Bad dream.” She lifted the mug to her lips.

His dream had been bad, too. Very bad. But he sus
pected it wasn't the same kind of bad of which Libby was speaking.

“Want to talk about it?” His back was to her as he pulled a mug from the cabinet and picked up the coffeepot.

Exhaustion was expressed in her heavy sigh. “A train was coming and I was standing right in the middle of the tracks. Dad was there, too. Behind me. And I knew I couldn't save him.”

Something in her soulful inhalation had him turning to face her. Even in the dim, rosy light of predawn, he could see tears gathering in her eyes.

“The worse thing about it was, Dad knew I couldn't save him, too. He wanted to step off the tracks. But he didn't. He gripped my arm and held on to me for dear life. He kept saying, over and over, ‘Don't you think we ought to get off the tracks?'”

The need to be near her propelled him forward. Rafe went to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Wonder what brought that on.”

“I don't know. Probably something stupid. Something…stupid.”

These bouts of vulnerability she suffered pulled at the very deepest part of his emotional being.

“Sounds as though you're talking about a particular something stupid.”

Her jaw worked. Then she blurted, “Why would the senior partner of my firm offer to send me help? It's a huge office. I've only met the man a couple of times at the annual Christmas party. He barely knows me. Why would he think I can't handle this? Why can't anyone have any faith in me?”

Rafe set his coffee aside. Quietly he asked, “Why do you automatically assume that the offer means the man has no faith in you?”

He knew there was more to this than merely an offer of help from her boss in San Francisco. Libby's father was the one standing on those tracks in her dream, not some senior partner. Rafe knew her doubts were caused more by what she thought her father was feeling than by anything else.

Her nightmare might have blossomed due to the offer of help, but the core of her doubt was rooted in David's opinion. It wasn't Rafe's place to reveal David's fear. But he could offer Libby another angle from which to view the offer she'd received via Susanna from her boss.

“It could be that this Mr. Adams wants you to have all the help you need.”

“Why would he think I need help?”

He chuckled then. “Libby, honey, we all need help. His offer does not necessarily mean he thinks you're incompetent. It could be just what it sounds like—a friendly offer of help.”

The urge to touch her, hug her, pull her tight to his chest, was strong. But he didn't.

In these past days he'd slowly been coming to the conclusion that he'd lost his heart to this woman. She was everything a man could want. Everything a man could need. She was beautiful. Soft and yielding. Strong when she needed to be. And intelligent, too.

She was sweet and wonderful.

A chill crawled across his skin. Yes, she
was
sweet and wonderful. She was deserving of happily ever after. And Rafe couldn't give her that.

But there was something he could give her. Something she needed. Badly.

“Listen,” he told her, “how about if we cook up some of your Dad's favorite foods and take him lunch today? Have ourselves a nice visit.”

A hug would do her wonders, he knew. And since he couldn't give it to her, he'd take her to someone who could.

“But will the guards allow us to take food in there?”

“Just let 'em try to stop us.”

Her face cleared then, and she smiled. And Rafe felt as if the sun had risen up and flooded the whole darned room with bright, warm light.

W
hen her father reached for his third piece of fried chicken and a second biscuit, Libby smiled. The handmade clay pots in Rafe's kitchen worked perfectly for keeping the hot food hot and the cold food cold.

“Libby, Libby, Libby.” David groaned with epicurean pleasure. “These green beans are delicious.”

“Sautéed in olive oil and garlic,” she said proudly. “Just like Mom used to make.”

“Yes, but your mom's biscuits weren't this flaky.”

“Shhh.” Libby shot a glance heavenward. “We wouldn't want her to hear.” But pleasure curled the corners of her lips. Contentment settled over her like a warm and loving shawl when she realized that her dad was thoroughly enjoying her efforts.

“The cole slaw's delicious, too.” Rafe reached for the bowl of shredded and dressed cabbage. “I was surprised by your secret ingredients.” When David looked at him
questioningly, Rafe revealed, “A big dollop of sour cream and a teaspoon of sugar.”

For a while, they ate in companionable silence. Finally, David set his fork across his plate and dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin.

“I'm stuffed,” he proclaimed. “Filled to the gills. Thanks, sweetheart.” He covered his daughter's hand with his own. “I haven't eaten this well in weeks.”

“You need to thank Rafe. It was all his idea.”

David expressed his gratitude, and then beaming at them, asked, “You two spent the entire morning cooking?”

“
I
cooked,” Libby told him. “Rafe continued to read through the evidence.”

They discussed the case for a bit: Rafe's theory that someone meant to contaminate Crooked Arrow, the paperwork that documented David had visited the Mokee-kittuun Elders to ask for use of their land, the refusal of that request and finally the electronic diary that made David look as if he had some twisted vendetta against Springer.

“But we have a computer expert working 'round the clock now,” Libby said to David. “And she's confident that she'll dig up something that will help our cause.”

“I sure hope so.”

Dejection rounded David's shoulders.

If he again suggested that they consider giving up and pleading guilty to a lesser charge that might be offered, Libby was sure she'd scream in frustration.

“We're going to be okay, Dad,” she said in a rush. “I
do
wish you'd believe that.”

She hated the jitteriness of insecurity. Yet, she'd wrestled with that anxiety more in the past few weeks than she had during her whole career as a lawyer. She guessed that
was because so much was riding on her getting her father out of this horrible predicament.

Her gaze connected with Rafe's, and she could tell he discerned her lack of confidence. The idea of looking weak had her eyes sliding from his.

“David, I think it's time you tell Libby the truth.”

Rafe's quiet statement had her head swiveling back toward him. She looked from Rafe to her father and back again.

“The truth?” David sounded truly bewildered.

“I know you didn't want to say anything, but she's been spending far too much time fighting off the discouraging idea that you doubt her ability as a lawyer. That you don't want her representing you.”

“What?”
Now her father looked shocked. He frowned at Libby. “Why would you think a thing like that?”

Speechless, Libby blinked. When she'd confessed her consternation and doubt to Rafe, she had never thought he'd betray her. Seconds ticked by, and still she said nothing.

“
You
have her thinking a thing like that.” Rafe balled up a paper napkin and dropped it onto the top of the metal table next to his plate. “I know you haven't meant to.” His tone became peculiarly intense as he stressed, “I know you haven't.”

Obviously, he was privy to something. Libby curled her spine and relaxed against the back of the cold folding chair.

Then he added, “Several times now you've suggested that Libby accept an offer of a lesser charge if the opposing counsel should propose one. Your daughter has taken those suggestions as your having doubt in her ability to represent you.”

The older man's brown eyes expressed myriad emotions: astonishment, dismay, sorrow, regret.

“Oh, Libby.” David whispered the words. “My dear, sweet Libby. I didn't realize. I didn't know what I was doing to you.”

Libby hadn't realized she'd put her elbow up onto the table, that she'd begun to worry her lower lip with her knuckles.

“Why, then, Dad?” she asked softly. “If you didn't have reservations about my ability…and you're truly innocent of this crime…then why would you want to plead guilty to
any
charge. I don't understand.”

David and Rafe exchanged glances, and Libby saw that Rafe was silently encouraging her father. Yes, it was clear Rafe knew something she didn't.

Reaching to take her hand in his, David told his tale of finding evidence of missing DMBE some months ago, of receiving the necklace along with the anonymous threat against Libby if he went public with what he knew, of becoming so fearful for Libby that he destroyed the electronic post he'd received alerting him to the problem.

“Mom's necklace,” she breathed. “I thought I had lost it.” The idea that someone had been inside her apartment in San Francisco made her shiver.

“Whoever took it—” her father's words grated with emotion “—broke in while you were there.” His tone lowered. “While you were sleeping.”

Icy fear and disgust solidified in her stomach. “How can you be sure I was at home?”

“The threat…the letter I was sent had a description of your room.” A tremor warbled his indrawn breath. “Of the white satin nightgown you were wearing.” He shook his head. “I just couldn't stand the idea that you were at risk because of me. I nearly went insane with worry,
Libby. I destroyed the paperwork I found. And the e-mail. Everything. I just wanted the whole incident to go away. I wanted you to be safe.”

“Oh, Daddy.” She hadn't called him that in years. She squeezed his hand lovingly.

Her father's eyes were soulful. Rafe's gaze was piercing.

“You two believe the missing DMBE back then is connected to the contamination now?” Libby asked.

“There's no way to be completely sure.” David rested the fleshy part of his free hand on the table edge.

Rafe said, “In light of your accident, and the fact that you were attacked at Jake's—”

“But we can't be certain that those were actual attempts against me.” Libby released her father's hand. “That driver never even touched my car. It could very well have been an inexperienced kid behind the wheel. The police think so. And if that purse snatcher meant to hurt me…if he meant to stab me, why didn't he just do it?”

“He took a swipe at me,” Rafe reminded her.

Libby remembered how scared she'd felt when she realized Rafe had been wounded. She also remembered the night of heated passion that had followed.

Pushing the erotic thoughts from her mind, she said, “I think that man hadn't meant to hurt anyone. I think you surprised him, is all.”

“Then why did you agree to come to the rez?”

She hardly noticed the irritated accusation in his tone. What she focused on was the question. Why had she agreed to move to Crooked Arrow with him if she really hadn't believed she was in danger?

Because you simply wanted to be near him, a small echo breezed though her mind.

Rafe's sharp jawline was taut. Then he sighed. “You believe what you want. I don't want to fight about this.
My only intention in bringing this up was to dispel the uncertainties you were having.”

“Sweetie—” her father took her hand again “—I'd trust you with my life. You've got to know that. It was fear that made me balk. Fear for your safety and nothing more.”

Emotion lodged in her throat, thick and cloying. She didn't want to cry. Tears would make her look pathetic. However, moisture burned the backs of her eyelids. She swallowed.

“I love you, Daddy. And I'm glad you told me.”

Later in the parking lot of the jailhouse, Libby opened the trunk so Rafe could load in the box filled with clay pots, dirty dishes and utensils.

He straightened his spine and she closed the trunk with more force than was necessary.

“I guess I should thank you for what you did in there.”

Was that humor tugging at the corner of his mouth? The sight ruffled her ire even more. After all he'd done for her, she shouldn't feel irritated with him. But she did.

“Is there anything else you know that I don't know?” Her brows drew together. “You've kept me in the dark about a lot of things, Rafe. And I have to tell you, it's not fair.”

His mouth became a straight line, and Libby was struck with the notion that lips so sensual shouldn't ever take on such sternness. She jerked her gaze from his face. Get a grip, she silently chastised herself.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I explained to you that I hadn't told you about Cheyenne's vision because I didn't feel I could betray my sister's gift. And your father told me his story and asked me to protect you. He also asked me not to frighten you by telling you of the threat he'd received. I was honor bound to remain silent.”

With his arms swinging easily at his sides, he rounded the car, leaving her standing there in the lot.

So that was it? No apologies? No expression of regret?

The man was enough to make a woman want to grind her teeth right down to the gum.

She watched him get into the car, the sunlight glinting on the long, dark river of his hair, and the embers of her anger died. What remained was a knotty mass of emotion.

She'd already come to the conclusion that Rafe was a man full of dense complexities. Solving the maze of who he was, what he thought, why he did the things he did, would take a lifetime, she guessed.

He was attracted to her, that much she knew. Just as she was attracted to him. And they had surrendered to their desires for each other in one unforgettable night of passion. However, Rafe had been quick to tell her that their night together had been a mistake, that a relationship between them was impossible.

Libby had thought she never again wanted to offer her heart to a man. But after getting to know Rafe…

She sighed. You can't give what has been stolen from you. Rafe possessed her heart already, and there was little she could do about that.

He'd brought her to visit her father in order to allay her doubts about herself. And in doing that, he'd brought about a new understanding between herself and her father. Why would he do something so wonderful?

The man was an enigma. A cryptic labyrinth that seemed unfathomable. Filling her with a host of conflicting emotions. Rejecting her cruelly one moment, making her life bright with warmth and confidence the next.

Squaring her shoulders, Libby walked up to the driver's side door, surrendering to the confusion reigning supreme in her brain.

 

Rafe stepped up onto the porch of the house. The brass plaque beside the front door read Hopechest. The building served as both office and living space for the director of the ranch, his best friend, Blake Fallon.

He hadn't seen Blake in weeks, Rafe suddenly realized. Ever since Libby arrived in town and his life went topsy-turvy. However, Rafe knew that, no matter how long they had been apart, when he saw Blake it would seem as if no time had passed at all. That was how it was with best friends.

The reception area was decorated just so and the fire burning in the hearth invited visitors into the cozy setting. Blake's secretary, Holly Lamb, stood and offered him a warm smile of greeting.

“How are you, Holly?” he asked.

The slender woman's eyes were nearly obscured by the glasses she wore. Her light brown hair was long and straight, her face devoid of makeup. At first glance, a man would dismiss Holly as plain. But her skin had a glow, her features the shape that one would deem classically beautiful. However, Rafe sensed that, for some reason, this woman was hiding her good looks.

Blake had often bragged about how efficient his secretary was. And more than once Rafe had wondered if the charming young woman might be harboring feelings for her boss. Not that she'd ever done anything outwardly telling. It was just a feeling Rafe had.

“I'm just fine,” she told him. “How about yourself?”

“I'm great, thanks.”

Sorrow oozed up into his chest, burning his throat. If Todd Lamb—Holly's father—was behind the contamination…

“That's good to hear. You here to see Blake?”

“Sure am. Is he busy?”

“Now, you know he's never too busy to see you. Go right on in.”

Common courtesy had Rafe rapping his knuckles on the door twice before turning the knob and entering the office.

“Rafe!” Blake's gray eyes shone with pleasure. He rounded his desk and wrapped Rafe in tight bearhug. “How've you been, buddy?”

“Great.” He hugged as good as he got.

Over the years Blake and Rafe had been through a lot together. Yes, as teens they had gotten into trouble with the law. But there were things they had shared, dark secrets as well as joys and dreams, that was rich fodder for the deep-rooted brotherly love they felt for each other.

Blake offered Rafe a seat on one end of the bottle-green leather couch and he sat down on one of the two matching wing chairs.

“I came to see how things are going.” Rafe settled his elbow on the armrest.

“Things are looking good,” Blake told him. “Evacuating everyone was a little hairy, but it's for the best. I've got lots of paperwork to catch up on.” He grinned. “But I'm not complaining, believe me.”

“It's good of Joe and Meredith to put up the kids. They didn't even hesitate. Just opened their home.”