Guarding Raine (Security Ops) (19 page)

“We’d have to get real lucky,” the detective said cynically. “We didn’t get one clear print from any of the others.” He studied the letter and the envelope for a second, then, looking up, he asked, “Is Miss Michaels around? I’d like to ask her a couple of questions.”

“I’ll get her,” Mac answered. He looked in the kitchen, and not finding Raine, went upstairs and tried her studio. But that room was empty, as well. Moving quietly, he went down the hallway to her bedroom, easing the door open. If she was still sleeping, he wasn’t going to wake her, no matter what the detective wanted. Her bed was empty.

Growing a little alarmed, he strode out of the room to the bathroom. “Raine?” He rapped at the door. “Raine!” The doorknob turned under his hand and he pushed the door open, confronting a very startled and very naked Raine.

She’d obviously just stepped out of the shower, and water trickled down her body in tiny rivulets. Her hand was frozen in midair, as if she’d been reaching for a towel when he’d walked in on her.

He stepped into the room without conscious volition and swung the door shut behind him. His throat closed at the sight she made. He hadn’t had a chance to really look at her the night they’d spent together, but the sunlight was streaming through the window, and every lovely inch of her was exposed. His eyes took immediate, greedy advantage. Her breasts were high, as his hands had remembered, the mounds exquisitely formed. They had the delicate shadings of the inside of a seashell, all creamy white and coral. Her nipples were small and pink. They tautened under his perusal, and his loins tightened in recognition of her response.

His eyes dipped lower, tracing each delicate rib, the sweet indentation of her waist and the curve of her hips. Her pelvis was narrow, and he wondered how she had accommodated him. She looked too fragile to lay under a man and accept him fully, but he remembered in sensual detail how she had. The dark triangle between her legs held a hint of mystery. Her legs were shapely and slim, ending in delicate ankles that he knew he could bracelet with two fingers. His eyes moved slowly upward again, as if involved in the tactile exploration he was longing for.

“Macauley?” Her voice was trembling, aching.

He stepped behind her then, picking up the towel. Slowly he wrapped it around her back, both hands keeping hold of the ends. His eyes met hers in the mirror before them as he slowly dried her.

Her breath came in little gusts, and she leaned against his chest. Her eyes never left his in the mirror, and he could read her response in the way she trembled under his hands. He went down on his knees, dragging the towel down her body to catch the tiny rivers on her skin before they reached the floor. Rising again, he wrapped the towel around her, tucking the ends together over her breast. His hands didn’t leave then, and he moved closer, giving in to the temptation to bury his face at her neck.

Her throat arched to him, and she gave a little gasp at the sharp, stinging kiss he placed there. “Macauley,” she moaned.

Abruptly, painfully, he remembered what had brought him upstairs to begin with. He drew a shuddering breath and brought his hands to her shoulders. “Detective Ramirez wants to speak to you.” His voice was raspy.

She blinked dazedly. “Now?”

“He’s downstairs.” His hands skated down her arms and up again before he dropped them reluctantly and stepped back. “Get dressed and come down. I’ll give him some coffee or something while we wait.”

She nodded mutely, and he turned abruptly, leaving the room.

Rejoining the detective, he told him, “She’ll be down in a few minutes. Can I get you something? Coffee?”

The man shook his head. “Had to give up caffeine. Doctor said it was causing an irregular heartbeat. And I can’t get used to that decaff stuff. I mean, if you can’t enjoy that jolt of caffeine, why bother, right?”

Mac grunted. He’d experienced a jolt this morning, but caffeine had had little to do with it. Suddenly he felt in need of something to drink, something a lot stronger than coffee. He wondered if the detective would find the taste of a shot of scotch more to his liking.

“Want to help me with this?” the detective asked.

Mac reached for the plastic evidence bag and held it open. Ramirez pulled a glove from his jacket pocket, put it on, picked up the letter and envelope and dropped them both into the bag. Doffing the glove, he shoved it in his pocket.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the bag. He sealed it deftly. “This one will probably go right to the postal boys. They have their own investigators for these kinds of things. They might come up with something interesting.”

Raine came into the room then. “Good morning, Detective.”

Ramirez turned. “Miss Michaels, you’re looking good. Glad to see you weren’t too badly hurt in that accident.”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, giving a quick look toward Mac.

Her hair was already drying, Mac noted. Soft curls were forming on top. She’d dressed quickly, in a pair of white shorts and a silk tank top. His eyes went to her throat, which was marred with the slightest hint of color left by his mouth.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Miss Michaels, about the car that ran you off the road.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and forced her gaze away from Mac, focusing on the detective.

“Do you think you’d be able to identify it?” the man asked. “Reason I’m asking is, we think we may have found a vehicle matching the description. It was a rental and was abandoned about ten miles from where the accident happened. Guy drove it off the road into some bushes and left it there.”

“A guy?” Mac asked, sharply.

“According to the records, a Mr. Ray Paulus rented it from the agency the day before the accident.” He shook his head, forestalling Mac’s next question. “The information on the application was all phony. And no one at the agency remembers the man well enough to describe him. He rented at an airport, so it was plenty busy there.”

“I described it to the trooper who helped me,” Raine said. “It was a blue four door. I’m afraid I don’t know enough about cars to guess at the make, but it was older. There was a lot of chrome on it, and it was big. At least twice the size of mine.”

“Do you remember anything else?” the man pressed.

“It had a hood ornament of some kind,” she said slowly. “And the chrome on the front passenger door was missing.”

“That matches with the one we’ve got,” the detective said, satisfied. “I’ll tell the boys to start going through it. We may be fortunate. It’s hard for a person to be in a car and not leave something behind.”

“Assuming, of course, that the car was thoroughly cleaned before it was rented out last time,” Mac murmured.

The other man grimaced. “Yeah, assuming that. But it’s the best lead we’ve had yet. I’d like to get this wrapped up for you, Miss Michaels. Keep your fingers crossed.”

While Raine walked the man to the door, Mac made a quick phone call. When she came back to the room, he asked her, “How would you like to go see your mom today?”

Her eyes lit with pleasure. “Really?”

“You’d have to go with me,” he cautioned. “But yeah. I need to talk to your dad, anyway. I just called him, and he’ll stay home until we get there.”

“Okay.” But still she didn’t move, just stood in the doorway and looked at him. The silence grew thick with awareness.

“Raine,” he said softly. “Unless you’re trying to tempt me to finish what I never should have started upstairs this morning, you’d better give me a little while.”

Her voice was just as soft. “And what if I wanted to tempt you?”

He closed his eyes tightly. She had no idea just how much of a temptation she was. “Then I’d be an even bigger jerk than I already am.”

She looked away, her mouth trembling.

“Go on now. Get ready to go. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

She nodded shakily, turned and left the room.

He took a deep breath. A man could be all kinds of a fool, but he wasn’t sure he could have been any more foolish than to indulge himself the way he had upstairs. It wasn’t going to make this case any easier. It wasn’t going to make it simpler to do as he’d vowed and stay away from her, reminding himself just how bad he was for a woman like her.

And it wasn’t going to make it any easier to lay in his bed, just down the hall from her at night. Sleep was only going to get more elusive.

After greeting her father briefly, Raine left the two men alone and went in search of her mother. Mac closed the door to Simon’s office behind her and then turned to look at the older man.

Simon sat behind his desk and leaned back. “Sit down, Mac. I hope you’ve got good news for me. Do the police have any information yet about the lunatic who ran Raine off the road?”

Mac remained standing, surveying the man, and didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not when his hands itched to punch the man in the jaw for the way he’d manipulated this situation from the beginning. And maybe even for more than that. Hell, yeah, maybe, he thought savagely, he’d like to get his hands around Simon’s throat for the way he’d failed his daughter all those years ago, when she’d needed him most.

Impatient at Mac’s silence, Simon quizzed, “Well? Has there been a new development, or not?”

Mac strode to Simon’s desk and placed his palms on the top. “Yeah,” he snarled, leaning across the surface toward the man. “There’s been a development. But I’m the only one it’s news to, and you know why, Simon? Because you deliberately kept it from me when you conned me into taking this job.”

Simon never blinked. “What’s on your mind, son? I told you everything I knew, which was damn little, I might add.”

Mac’s laugh was ugly. “Except that you forgot the most important detail.” He paused meaningfully for a moment. “You forgot to tell me that Raine had been attacked eleven years ago.”

The man actually paled. “How did you . . . What makes you think—”

Mac’s palms slapped the top of the desk frustratedly. “Raine told me, Michaels! But she shouldn’t have had to. I should have known, because I should have already had that information. You should have given it to me. And to the police! My God, man, didn’t it ever occur to you that the pervert who hurt her before could be a major suspect in this current sick little game?”

“Yes,” Simon replied sharply. He’d obviously recovered from his earlier surprise. “Of course it occurred to me! That’s why I’ve had someone watching him twenty-four hours a day since I found out about those damn letters!”

Mac stared hard at him. “Tell me.”

Simon heaved a sigh. “His name was—is,” he corrected himself grimly, “Brian Burnett. He was twenty when he . . . attacked Raine. He spent four years in prison and then returned to Sacramento, where we used to live. Five years ago he moved to L.A. He works in a factory.”

“Why the hell did you keep this from me?” Mac bit the words out frustratedly.

“Don’t you think Burnett was the first person I thought of when I heard Raine was being threatened?” Simon snapped. “I didn’t go through you and I didn’t go through the police, I took care of it myself! I hired a man to find him and to see what he’s been up to lately. He’s been under constant surveillance. If one thing had pointed to his being involved in this mess, don’t you think I would have done something about it?”

“What, Michaels? What would you have done? You’re not the law, so there’s damn little you could do about it. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was trying to protect my daughter’s privacy!” Simon shouted. He struggled visibly to calm himself. Then he went on in a quieter tone, “There was no reason to hand this information over to strangers. For pity’s sake, man, I have many more resources at my disposal than that detective who’s handling the case.”

“You mean money,” Mac put in cynically.

“Yes, I mean money. And the things money can buy. In this instance it bought me a background check on Burnett and weekly reports on his movements. What would the police have done? Questioned the man,
maybe
, and left it at that? If Burnett isn’t responsible for these threats, I didn’t want to take the chance of mentioning Raine’s name to him again. I don’t want him even thinking about my daughter and I sure don’t want him coming near her.”

Mac was silent. Simon hadn’t changed a bit over the years. He was the same man who’d thought the best way to help Raine get over the rape was to keep silent about it.

He shook his head. Hell, maybe he wasn’t giving the man enough credit. Simon was trying, in his own way, to protect Raine. And while Mac didn’t agree with his methods, he at least could agree with the intent. But the fact remained that Michaels might have inadvertently put his daughter even more in jeopardy by not giving this information to Mac and to the police.

“Do you have the reports from your investigator?”

Simon unlocked a desk drawer and withdrew a thick file, dropping it on the desk. “Right here.”

Mac reached across the desk for it. Flipping it open, he scanned the first few pages. Detailed logs had been kept of Burnett’s every movement, including the people he met. Mac’s eyes rose to meet Simon’s. “I’m taking this with me,” he said. “I’ll make a copy of it, then I’m handing this over to the police.”

“The hell you are!” the man thundered. He rose to his feet and leaned threateningly across the desk. “You’ll follow orders, O’Neill, or you’re off this case. I’ll fire you!”