Secrets and Sins: Raphael: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) (11 page)

“Do you recognize him?” Raphael questioned, all his attention still fastened to the monitor.

She shook her head, though he couldn’t see the gesture. “No,” she croaked. Or at least she didn’t remember him. With the hole in her memories, she could’ve seen this guy before and just didn’t recall it. But she shied away from explaining all of that to Raphael, especially with Chay in the room. It was stupid to be embarrassed about something she couldn’t help, but there it was.

He tapped a button. “How about now?”

Another image popped up, and the time stamp in the corner of the screen revealed the frame was only seconds later than the first. A profile shot as the guy walked back to the cab of the van. Pimples dusted his cheek and jaw.
So damn young.
Why would he want to terrorize her? Why her? Had he fixated on her for some imagined slight? All these questions and thoughts flew through her head at warp speed.

“No,” she repeated, wishing it could be another answer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know him.”

She shifted forward, wrapping her arms around her midsection. The protectiveness of the gesture—her arms covering the baby sleeping inside her womb—didn’t elude Raphael as his hard stare dropped to her stomach. Unlike the hot lick of desire that had brightened his eyes moments ago, this guarded survey was impenetrable. She couldn’t ascertain his thoughts, almost as if he’d hidden them behind a vault only he had access to.

“Can you catch a shot of his license plate as he pulls out?” Chay murmured, breaking the tension.

“Maybe.” Raphael returned to the computer, his fingers flying over the keys once more. After several silent seconds, he grunted and reclined in his chair. “It’s covered in mud.”

“Probably deliberate,” Chay added.

Raphael nodded. “It’s definitely a Massachusetts plate. And I can still catch the first two numbers: 4 and 2. And the second letter in there may be an M.”

“What can you do with that?” she asked. She could clearly see the blue “Mass” and even the numbers he mentioned. But the rest seemed obscured by caked-on mud and dirt. Damn. This was the closest she’d come to believing the whole ordeal might be nearing a conclusion. Already Raphael had compiled more information regarding her harasser than the police. Now even that lead appeared to be petering out.

“Oh, I can do something with it,” he muttered. “It just might take a little longer than I assumed.” The
tap-tap
over the keyboard started again. “I’ll run those three characters through my Registry of Motor Vehicles program searching for any plates containing them. Then I’ll cross-reference the findings with older-model white Dodge Ram vans.”

A sliver of hope slid between her ribs, lodging in her heart even as she frowned.

“Is that legal? Can you look at the DMV’s files?”

His hooded gaze swung to her. “Princess, when it comes to finding out who’s threatening your life with a bomb, live or not, on my doorstep, I’m willing to straddle the legal fence.”

Good point. A bomb wasn’t a parking ticket. She nodded toward the computer. “Will that find him?”

Chay shrugged. “It’ll help. Once he has a large pool of potentials, he’ll cross the names with driver’s licenses. Eliminating the females and different ethnic groups will further whittle the numbers down. It’ll definitely get us closer to identifying the driver—unless the van was reported stolen, that is.”

With a final click, Raphael pushed away from the desk and rose. “It’ll run for a while. I’ll give you a call when I’m finished with the search.”

Chay dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Set it so when the results come through I’ll be notified as well.”

She glanced from Chay to Raphael.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Raphael arched a dark, pierced brow.

“We wait.”

Chapter Twelve

Greer stared out the window in Raphael’s sunroom. This late in the evening, moonlight spilled through the glass instead of the sun’s rays, but it wouldn’t have mattered if the scene beyond was washed in golden or pearlescent beams. The events of the day captured her attention, leaving no room for appreciation of the scenery outside Raphael’s home.

Waiting. It seemed her life had been in one big holding pattern for months. Waiting for the police to clear her. Waiting for the bastard stalking her to make his next move. Waiting for her future to begin.

And here she was again. More waiting. Except now she did so in the company of a man who believed her to be so desperate that she would pin a pregnancy on him. A man who had once made her burn so hot, the leather of his truck seats should’ve been scorched. A man who stared at her with no hint of feeling at all, except for the few brief flashes of heat she thought she’d caught in his eyes. Now she wasn’t so sure she hadn’t hallucinated that glimpse of desire. Not when he seemed to merely tolerate her in his home, his life. Not when she was in danger of receiving frostbite from his cold, distant manner toward her.

She should be grateful. The tender, seductive Raphael had been…devastating. To her senses, her rationale—her heart. The aloof Raphael slapped down any chance of her resolve slipping. This Raphael didn’t let her forget he considered this child hers. And as soon as this all passed, she would be out of his house, on her own. Even when his paternity was established after the baby was born, he still might not want anything to do with her. To him, she was a one-night stand who hadn’t gone away after one night. And that was fine. It’s what she wanted…

A soft whisper of sound reached her ears, and she turned. And pretended her breath didn’t catch in her throat.

Raphael leaned against the sunroom entrance, that cool stare she was really beginning to hate focused on her.

He lifted his arm, showing her the paper in his hand. “I needed to talk with you about today.”

Sighing, she lowered her head and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay,” she murmured, and glanced around the cozy room with its small couch, easy chairs, and ottomans.

“No, in the living room,” he said.

She resisted the urge to snort. Right. This room was too comfortable—in here he could possibly be tempted to—who knew?—bend. Soften. Hold her hand. Hell, hold her so she didn’t feel so damn alone. He’d banished the loneliness when he’d comforted her in the bathroom. But apparently he regretted his slip, because since then he’d shown her two sides: protective or reserved. For all intents and purposes, she was his client. Nothing more.

Pivoting on his heel, he left the sunroom and marched to the living room, not looking over his shoulder to see if she followed. He dropped down on the couch and, after a slight hesitation, she sat down beside him.

“Here.” He slid the paper along the coffee table. “Take a look at this list and let me know your thoughts on it.”

She scanned the sheet. A list of names. She clenched her jaw, her fingers gripping the paper as she spied the name topping the column. Count to ten. One. Two. Three… Nope, not going to work.

“Noah?” she asked, placing the list on the table and silently congratulating herself on maintaining her calm. “Why is his name on here?”

“Because he has possible motive,” he returned, just as cool.

Forget calm
. “Like what?” she snapped. “There is no way he is responsible for any of this. He’s my best friend.” Just the thought of him being involved in the letters, doll, and—
God!
—bomb was ridiculous. He was one of the very few people she trusted not to betray her—who hadn’t betrayed her.

“Uh-huh,” Raphael drawled. “If ‘friend’ is a euphemism for ‘wanna smash,’ then yes, he feels very
friendly
toward you.”

She drew her face up in a disgusted moue. “That’s so crude.”

In a move that sucked the air from her lungs, he leaned forward until their noses almost bumped, and she tasted the peppermint scent on his breath. “He is in love with you, and love has made more than a fair share of men lose their damn minds.” She scoffed, leaning back so she didn’t taste him with every breath she took. “Maybe he sent the letters hoping you would run to him for protection? And when you holed up at your brother’s house instead, he could’ve upped the ante to make you even more scared for yourself, the baby, and Ethan,” he gritted out.

“Not. A. Chance,” she bit back, glaring at him.

“Why?” He cocked his head. “Because he’s your friend? Because of his zip code? Because he looks sane? I have news for you, princess, stranger shit has happened.” He jabbed the paper. “Noah stays on the list. Now what about Gregory and Karen Wells, Gavin’s parents?”

Because of his zip code
. Where the hell had that come from? She wanted to argue with him, convince him he was being paranoid and just damn rude. But she swallowed the sharp retort and concentrated on his next possible suspects.

“They blame me for Gavin’s death. Like the police, they didn’t—don’t—believe I can’t remember what happened that night. It’s been several weeks, but for a while, Karen would call and leave hysterical messages on my voicemail. They were heart-wrenching…and terrifying. She’d vacillate between begging me to confess and give them peace and closure, and screaming that I’d burn in hell for what I did to her son. The rants were one of the reasons why I shut that phone off and requested a new number.”

“When?” he asked, frowning.

“When what?”

“When did you change your number?”

She shrugged. What did that have to do with anything? “Days after the murder. Between the reporters, the Wellses, and others just seeking out the latest piece of gossip, it rang constantly. I had to change it.”

“Hmm.” His frown deepened, and he rubbed a knuckle across his eyebrow. Then his expression cleared, his arm dropping to his side. “Damn, I added the Wellses to the list because it made sense—revenge is an excellent motive, almost cliché. But the screaming, threatening messages…” He shook his head. “I’ll check into them.”

“Really, I can’t imagine Karen or Gregory going around busting out windows or building bombs,” she mumbled, exasperated.

“They could hire someone to terrorize you. Believe me, no one is beneath doing some sick shit if their motive is strong enough. All kinds of reasons—revenge, love, hate, justice—could drive a person to commit the most unspeakable acts. The Wellses stay on the list, too.”

She didn’t argue. Not with the memory of Karen Wells’s high-pitched screech echoing in her ear. She glanced down at the paper again. The next name ricocheted through her.

“Aubrey Chandler,” she murmured.

“What? No reason why she couldn’t do it?”

She smiled, knew the gesture was bitter, but couldn’t help or conceal it. Aubrey had been a friend since high school; Greer had trusted her, would’ve never believed her capable of cheating with Gavin. She’d tried to apologize, called Greer nonstop the week after, begging her to talk to her. But what did a person say in that situation
? Sorry I fucked the man you intended to marry. I accidently stripped off my clothes and fell on his dick. My bad.
Even Hallmark hadn’t made a card for that occasion yet.

“I’m the wrong person to ask. If you’d asked me months ago if she would’ve been capable of screwing my fiancé behind my back, I would’ve said no then, too.” She loosed a humorless, sharp crack of laughter. “I’ve had an appallingly skewed sense of judgment lately.”

He snorted. “I don’t know whether to be offended or ask for a do-over.”

Jerking her head up, she flinched as her words bounced against her skull, growing louder with each pass. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“Uh-uh, princess,” he drawled, a cynical half smile curving his lips. “No need to backtrack. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that, right?”

“Raphael—”

“Do you think Aubrey could possibly be behind this?”

She briefly closed her eyes.
Let it go. He’s not hearing you
. “If I had to answer, I would say no. She’s called me since the night I found them together, trying to apologize. Besides, there’s one thing I think you’re forgetting in all these scenarios.”

“And that is?”

“Whoever is behind this knows I’m pregnant. The Wellses, Aubrey—they don’t know. Hell, my own mother didn’t know until a couple of nights ago. I’ve only been aware of the pregnancy for two weeks myself, and the news hasn’t been leaked to the press. Because believe me, if the media had wind of this, it would be splattered all over the papers. Just another salacious tidbit to add to the ‘murderous love triangle.’” She scrunched her fingers in air quotes. Damn vultures. They’d made her life a living hell for months.

“If that’s true, then you just x-ed off all but one person on the list.” She clenched her teeth, already knowing where he was headed.
Not this again
. “Noah.”

She surged to her feet and stalked across the room, needing space. Needing distance between him and his remote analysis of the relationships in her life. While he listed why the people she knew had reason to hurt her, she felt lonelier. And lonelier. They were more than suspects, damn it. They were people she loved or at one time had a connection with. Each word out of his mouth reminded her that she was alone. Cut off. Except for him. And he couldn’t stop resenting her long enough to show compassion. Because right now, she didn’t need his investigative skills as much as she needed…him. Just a touch to beat back the cold.

Coming to a halt in front of the fireplace, she stared into the dormant grate as if the stacked logs were the Dalai Lama, able to answer all the universe’s questions.

“Your amnesia,” Raphael said. “You remember absolutely nothing about that night?”

“Nothing after you dropped me off and before waking up in the hospital. It’s a complete blank.” A scary, terrible, complete blank. “It’s like someone took an eraser and wiped those hours clean.” Except for the nightmares that faded as soon as she awoke.

“Gavin was found inside your apartment. And from what I’ve read, the wounds were up close and personal. That means he knew his killer; had to in order to let them that close. And since you two were in a long-term relationship, it’s very possible you know his killer, too. Just because you don’t remember what happened in that apartment doesn’t mean the murderer doesn’t.” He paused. “It could be your stalker and the killer are one and the same. Maybe if we catch the one, we catch the other.”

Of course she’d exhausted herself about what information and events her mind blocked. The amnesia, in a way, was both a curse and a blessing. A curse because she felt so damn lost and vulnerable. But a blessing because…what if the amnesia was her brain’s way of protecting her from the truth?

What if the truth was more horrible than not knowing?

“What if it’s a random crazy person who fixated on me? Someone who considers me another privileged person getting away with murder? Why are you not considering that option?” She detected the desperation in her own voice—detested it. But she was grasping at rapidly shrinking straws here.

“It’s possible—I haven’t ruled out anyone. But the letters, the doll, and now the bomb? It appears personal. Smacks of it. We can’t afford to rule out anyone because you have a relationship with them.”

She didn’t reply. What could she say? Logically, he was right. But emotionally…emotionally she was weak. Wide-open like a fresh wound.

His heat warmed her shoulder and back. She stiffened, shock racing through her, punching the breath from her lungs. She hadn’t heard him move, hadn’t heard him approach. Now he stood so close behind her, only negligible inches separated them. Need dipped and rolled in her stomach, pulsed between her legs, and he hadn’t even touched her. Common sense yelled at her to shift forward, plant space and breathing room between them. But she ignored it. Right here, now, all she desired more than distance was his heat. His arms. His strength. His comfort.

She huffed out an abrupt chuckle. “It seems silly and naive, doesn’t it? I would prefer that the person behind this ends up being some strange fanatic who is obsessed rather than someone I know. Someone close to me. Especially since said strange fanatic would be harder to identify and catch.”

“Yes,” he replied bluntly. “It’s naive.”

She sighed and allowed her shoulders to slump just a little bit. As if his abrupt agreement had pricked a hole in her, creating a slow leak.
Jesus, did he ever give?

“In the past four months,” she said, suddenly very tired, “I’ve discovered a man I respected and trusted—a man who was not just my fiancé but a good friend—betrayed me. A woman I also called a friend was screwing that fiancé behind my back. And when I was accused of his murder, my parents abandoned me. They were never affectionate, but still…they were my mother and father. I expected them to at least stand by me even if it was to maintain the image of a loving family. Instead they threw me to the wolves. People I knew, loved, relied on…believed in. And they deceived me, hurt me, threw me away. Raphael, if one more person I trust turns out to be…” She didn’t finish the thought, but inhaled a shuddering breath, shaking her head. “I think it would break me. So yes, I was happy when I didn’t recognize the man on the video. Because it means one more person I love doesn’t resent or despise me.”

Silence permeated the room, her last words reverberating in the room like an echo in a cave. Closing her eyes, she dropped her chin. Why did she think he’d understand—?

His chest pressed to her back. His thighs braced hers. His arms—his strong, tattooed arms—closed around her. His sun-and-sand scent enveloped her, soothing her. She could almost believe his lips brushed her hair and ear.

He covered her—sheltered her.

Tears stung her eyes, and she shivered in his embrace as he chased back the cold…

Then he was gone, taking the warmth with him. She stood, motionless and stunned by the abrupt departure.