Prodigal Son (11 page)

“Of course. This way.” Perky Nancy led the way into the restaurant.

*   *   *

Rafe Montana had very warm hands.

Twice now he had touched her, just small contacts to ease her this way or that, leaving a pleasant tingle behind and an aura of safety that relieved her tense muscles. He indicated she take the side facing away from the door, then waited until she was seated before sliding into the booth himself. They took the menus from the smiling waitress.

The scents of burgers and coffee wafted through the dining room, and Cara’s stomach growled. The lone cup of coffee she’d had before all the craziness had started now proved its inadequacy when she flipped open the menu. “Hey, wow. Breakfast all day.”

“Sounds good.” He opened his menu but kept an eye slanted toward the door. Moments after they were seated, two men in suits walked into the restaurant.

“That’s them. No!” He covered her hand with his on the table, not glancing up from the menu. “Don’t look. We don’t want to make them suspicious.”

“Right.” Though she enjoyed the warmth of his skin, she gently slid her hand from beneath his. No use fanning fires when she wasn’t sure she wanted to brave the flames. “Tell me again, how do you even know they’re looking for us?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time, Cara.” His blue eyes burned with intensity, as if he would make her believe him by sheer force of will. “I have a … sense … about this kind of stuff.”

“Like some kind of superhero?” She chuckled and dropped her gaze to the menu again.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” The barely banked annoyance in his tone had her looking up again. He sat very still, tension rippling over his body. She got the sudden impression of a crouching tiger, waiting to pounce.

“I didn’t say it was funny,” she replied. “I just wonder if you’re overreacting.”

“Your stepbrother is missing, and someone trashed your room and tried to brainwash you into going home. Is that overreacting?”

The reminder splashed over her like ice water, and she carefully closed the menu. “No.”

He leaned closer. To anyone watching, they probably looked like lovers murmuring sweet nothings to each other. But there was nothing sweet about the no-nonsense look in his eyes. “For some reason, someone has targeted you. Maybe they think you know where to find Danny, or maybe they want to use you for bait to lure him out. That means that until we sort all this out, everyone is a suspect.” He sat back in his seat. “Especially a couple of guys in suits following us for miles.”

Smiling Nancy appeared, notepad in hand. “Hi there! What can I get you?”

“I’ll take the pancake special,” Cara said, never looking away from Rafe.

“Bacon or sausage?”

“Bacon.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled. And a cup of coffee.”

“Got it.” Nancy jotted the order on her pad. “What about you, sir?”

“The same.”

Nancy nodded, tucked the menus under her arm and walked away, still scribbling.

Cara sat back in the seat and rubbed her hands over her face. The waitress’s interruption had given her the moments she needed to process their situation. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you are the professional. I just have a hard time believing any of this is actually happening. I mean, stuff like this doesn’t usually happen to me.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Happens to me all the time.”

She leaned in. “So you really think those guys are watching us?”

“Yeah. I can see them. Not too subtle about it, either.”

She frowned. “You can see them? But you’re looking straight at me.”

“Peripheral vision,” he said. “Yeah, they look like hired muscle.”

“Oh.” She fought the urge to glance over. “Hired? By whom? Mr. Bartow?”

“Maybe. Maybe someone else looking for your brother. You have no idea what he might have gotten himself into.”

She stiffened. “Well, maybe it’s that guy Gray. He makes me nervous.”

His lips quirked. “Yeah, me too.”

“You?” She laughed. “I can’t imagine you nervous about anything.”

He leaned across the table. “I’m really not Superman,” he stage-whispered.

She chuckled again, aware he was trying to make her relax and glad for it. “Thanks for the update.”

“But”—his tone grew serious—“I am one of the best in my field. I’ve been doing this a long time, so you should listen when I tell you something.”

Cara arched her brows. “Modest much?”

Nancy came over and set their coffees in front of them. He waited until she left before he answered. “It’s not bragging, it’s fact. Ask around.”

“I did ask.” She emptied three sugars and a couple of creamers into her coffee. “Your friend Sal thinks the sun rises and sets on you.”

He took two packs of sugar and shook them together, then tore open the tops. “You mean it doesn’t?”

“Ha-ha. You’re a funny guy.”

He dumped the sugar into his mug. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She couldn’t miss the hint of flirtation skimming beneath the words. As a distraction, it worked. “Not at all.” She stirred her coffee.

“I’m a firm believer in laughter.” He ripped open a creamer and tipped it into his cup. “Life’s too short, so laugh while you can.”

“Very philosophical.”

He shrugged. “What I do can be dangerous. I’ve learned to live for today.”

She cocked her head. “No tomorrows? No plans?”

He shook his head. “I’m an in-the-moment kind of guy.”

“I’m not.” She blew on her coffee. “I plan everything. I don’t like surprises.”

“So taking Bartow up on his offer to fly you out here to look for Danny was really out of character.”

She stiffened. “I didn’t take him up on anything. But I did think it was a good idea, so I bought the plane ticket. Bartow didn’t pay for anything.”

“Except your hotel room.”

“Yeah.” She frowned, still disturbed by the situation. “I’m not sure how that happened. I intended to stay at Danny’s place while I was here. I don’t like to be beholden to anyone. But somehow I ended up in that room, just like I ended up in the limo with Mr. Gray when I had no intention of allowing him to pick me up at the airport.”

“Really.” A frown furrowed his brows.

“Seriously, do you think Gray is the one who drugged me, hypnotized me, whatever? Seems like whenever he’s around, I end up doing things I have no intention of doing.”

“Right now, I’m keeping all options on the table.”

Nancy returned just then, balancing platters along one arm and passing them out with the other hand. “Here you go. Watch the plates; they’re hot.”

Cara sat back as Nancy slid the steaming hotcakes and eggs in front of her. Rafe smiled at the waitress, then asked for syrup. As Nancy went off to get it for him, Cara reached across the table and laid her fingers over Rafe’s hand. “I think we need to have a plan in place for when we find Danny.”

Rafe stilled. Looked from their touching hands to her eyes. The male interest burning there stole the breath from her lungs.

Time slowed, counted by the beats of her heart. Heat rose, shimmered, stretched between them. Her lips parted. His nostrils flared; his eyes narrowed.

She wanted to touch him. The craving tugged at her, urging her to taste, but she resisted. He intrigued her, and after her failed attempt at forever, “in the moment” sounded darned appealing. But she barely knew him, and she wasn’t the type to jump into anything without a lot of thought first, especially not with Danny out there somewhere needing her help. She started to slide her hand back, but he caught it, trapped it beneath his large, strong palm.

“Danny’s not the only thing we need to talk about,” he said.

The challenge hung out there between them, vibrating with tension.

The jangle of her cell phone jerked her out of the moment. Relieved, she dug in her purse for the phone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Danny. She glanced at the display, groaned, and hit the
ANSWER
button, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hello, Warren.”

“Cara, what the hell are you doing in Vegas? I’ve been calling you since yesterday.” Her ex-fiancé’s tone abraded like sandpaper on bare skin. She clenched her teeth. She didn’t need this, not with her nerves already frayed over Danny, strangers tailing her, and a potent, inconvenient attraction to a way-too-sexy bounty hunter.

“Didn’t Mitch tell you?” She kept her tone casual as she started to slide from the booth, but Rafe grabbed her wrist, shook his head.

“Stay put,” he mouthed.

She hesitated, tempted to ignore him, but his quick glance at their suspicious followers reminded her to be cautious. She stayed seated.

“Mitch told me you took off for Vegas,” Warren said. “What were you thinking, Cara? We need you here.”

She turned into the booth, her back to the dining room. “I can’t really talk right now, Warren.”

“Just tell me—what the heck are you doing in Vegas?”

She bit her lip, braced herself. “It’s Danny.”

“I should have known.” His tone rang with disgust. “Cleaning up after your deadbeat stepbrother again.”

“He’s family, Warren. I had to come. He needs me.”

“What about Apex? The company needs you, too.”

“I’m not irreplaceable.”

“I promised the Kirby account you would give them your personal attention.”

She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ve asked you not to do things like that, Warren.”

“It gets the signature on the dotted line, doesn’t it? Everyone wants personal attention from one of the owners of the firm.”

“You’re an owner, too. Promise them your time, not mine.”

“I’m not a programmer. Listen, Cara—”

“No, you listen. We’re equal shareholders in the company. You will no longer promise my services to anyone, do you hear me? Not without talking to me first.”

He stayed silent for a long moment. “I can’t believe you’re forcing me to break a promise, Cara.”

She snorted at the dramatic tone. “Well, we both know you’re good at that, don’t we?”

The instant the words left her mouth, she wanted to call them back. First rule of arguing with Warren: never show your weakness.

“Oh, I see what this is about. Geez, Cara, it’s been a year. Are you trying to punish me?”

She inhaled, slowly. “Not everything is about you, Warren.”

“But this is. You’re still angry at me, aren’t you? What did you expect me to do, Cara? It wasn’t working with us. I have dreams, needs. I couldn’t give those up. I had to move on.”

She bit back a sharp reply. She’d had dreams and needs, too. She’d just expected the man who proposed marriage to her to be part of them.

“Cara? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was thinking.”

Rafe touched her hand. She glanced at him, and he indicated he was going to the men’s room. She nodded as he slid from the booth, then watched his tight, jean-clad butt as he strolled through the dining room toward the restrooms.

She let out a long breath. The man was hot. That lean, easy grace of his led her thoughts down avenues she was trying to avoid. A tingle swept over her, firing up a libido she had thought dormant.

“Cara, are you listening to me? Cara?”

Warren’s strident voice cooled her blooming ardor like a bucket of ice water. She frowned at the phone. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said you’ve got to let me go, Cara. Obsession isn’t healthy.”

“You’re right, Warren.” She glanced at Rafe again, considered the possibilities. “Here I am, letting you go.” She closed the phone with a click, dropped it into her purse, then picked up her warm mug. The phone started ringing again.

She sipped her coffee and stared out at the dramatic desert view, her lips curving as the phone rang and rang and finally stopped.

Living in the moment didn’t seem such a bad idea after all.

*   *   *

Rafe made his way across the dining room, ignoring the table where his suspected tail sat. He had gotten way too interested in Cara’s conversation, way too curious about this guy Warren. He shouldn’t care. He
couldn’t
care. He’d brought her with him to try to protect her. Nothing more could come of it, no matter how much sizzle flared between them.

He’d been wishing he were somewhere else, longing to get away from her phone conversation and the questions it raised, when one of the guys following them got up to go to the men’s room.

He had no doubt that these two were indeed tailing them. Who they worked for, he didn’t know, and the universe wasn’t sharing. Were they connected to Danny? Or maybe they were under orders from Bartow or Gray. But to do what? Someone had trashed Cara’s hotel room, and someone had put a compulsion on her to go home. The same person or different people? How many parties were involved in this mess?

He timed it just right and bumped into the guy in the doorway just as the other man was coming out of the restroom. He gave him a quick once-over and noted the details: about five ten, brown hair, brown eyes, shoulders like a linebacker. Rafe smiled, apologized, and looked into the man’s eyes.

Nothing. No images, no facts from the universe. Zip. Just like Cangialosi. Just like Adrian Gray. What the heck was going on here?

The guy pushed past him, and Rafe used the chance to lift his wallet. As the suspect headed back to his table, Rafe ducked into a restroom stall, locked it, and opened the wallet. There wasn’t much: a wad of cash, some foreign credit cards, and ID that proclaimed the tail Evan Gerrari, citizen of Santutegi.

He tried again to see something by looking at Gerrari’s photo, but he got the same result as before—a big fat nothing.

He glanced over the credit cards, then back at the ID. Santutegi. Where had he heard that name before? It took him a moment, but then he remembered the newscast. The president of Santutegi was in Vegas, going to some convention. Rafe had been testing his abilities and looked at the foreign president on TV … and seen nothing. Just like this guy.

His senses tingled, the Hunter stirring as a suspicious pattern began to form. First Cangialosi, then the president—what was his name? Criten, that was it. Then Gray, then this guy. Out of that bunch, two of them had something in common; they were both from Santutegi. What were the odds?