Internal Affairs. Alana Matthews
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“Don’t worry, I’m not the scrawny kid you knew in college.”
She laughed. “Believe me, I noticed.”
She squeezed him tighter, then pulled away, her look telling him that she suddenly felt awkward about this whole situation. They both needed to step back for a moment, evaluate this unexpected reunion, then proceed from there.
But Rafe hoped she wouldn’t mind if he called her. “Is there a number where I can reach you?”
Their gazes connected for a moment, then Lisa moved to a table along the wall, opened a drawer and scribbled something on a scratch pad. Tearing the top sheet off, she folded it twice and handed it to him.
“My cell,” she said. “But whatever you do, don’t let Oliver get hold of it. Otherwise, he’ll start texting me day and night.”
“It’s safe with me,” Rafe said, then looked across the room at little Chloe, who was stirring on the sofa. She was indeed a beautiful child, a reflection of her mother.
Too bad her father was scum.
Rafe nodded toward the girl and said, “My grandmother always told me that children are God’s way of granting us eternal life. You’re a lucky woman, Leese. And I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother.”
She smiled wistfully. “Thank you, Rafe.”
He gestured to Harris and they went back into the foyer. And as he turned at the front doorway for one last look at the girl he had once loved, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.
“ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR MIND, Franco?” The words flew out of Harris’s mouth before he even had the cruiser’s engine started. “You think you’re just going to walk up to Oliver Sloan and tell him what’s what?”
Rafe shrugged. “You have any better ideas?”
“Damn straight I do. Walk away and leave it alone. There’s a reason we’ve never been able to pop this guy. Rumor has it he’s even got the mayor in his pocket.”
“I’ve never been big on rumors,” Rafe said.
“Well, I hope you aren’t too big on your job, either, because this guy can ruin your career with a snap of his fingers.”
Rafe chuckled. “You watch too many crime shows.”
“What I watch is my back, and you’d better watch yours, too. But if you are stupid enough to confront this clown, leave my name out of it. I don’t need him knowing I’m alive.”
Rafe wasn’t surprised by Harris’s lack of internal fortitude, but it grated on him nevertheless. “Come on, Phil, are you a cop or a glorified Girl Scout?”
“I’m a guy who knows his place in the world. And until somebody with more juice than me puts this stinker behind bars, I plan on doing my shift and keeping a low profile. I’d suggest you do the same.”
“Sorry, no can do.”
Harris shook his head in disgust and finally started the engine. “I don’t know what that lady means to you, but after what I saw, I’ve got a pretty good idea. And if you don’t start thinking with the brain in your head instead of the one in your pants, you’re gonna be knee-deep in trouble.”
Rafe supposed he had this coming, but it wasn’t like that at all. He was just doing his job.
“Doesn’t matter how many times you say it, Phil, I’m not going to change my mind. I don’t see any harm in having a nice, civil talk with the man.”
Harris huffed and put the cruiser in motion. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, hotshot. Say hello to St. Peter for me.”
BACK AT THE STATION HOUSE, Rafe typed up an incident report on the shooting at the garage and dropped it off on Kate’s desk. It had taken considerable effort to concentrate on the task, his mind continuously drifting back to Lisa.
Had Phil been right?
Was he thinking with his libido?
The scene in Lisa’s living room kept replaying through his mind. Seeing her on that sofa with a sleeping child in her arms. Thinking how time had a way of expanding and contracting. How three years seemed like an eternity—and had been when you considered the changes they’d both been through. Yet as he had pulled her into that hug, it felt as if no more than a handful of minutes had passed since he’d last held her.
The feel of her body pressed against his had been so familiar, so comforting—so electric—that he’d had a hard time letting her go.
He thought about the dream he’d had. The one that continued to haunt him. Lisa holding him by the hand, urgently pulling him along a tree-lined trail toward a house near the water.
“Where are we going?” he had asked.
“I want to show you something. Something wonderful. Something glorious.”
She continued to pull him along.
“What?” he said. “What is it?”
She threw her head back, the air around them coming alive with the music of her laughter, a high, sweet trill that had always filled him with joy. “It’s a secret, silly. But you’ll find out soon enough.”
Before they reached that house, however, the house that held the secret, the sound of his alarm had jarred him awake. He had opened his eyes feeling cheated, the remnants of the dream swirling though his head, leaving him with a vague, undefined yearning in the middle of his chest.
In the middle of his heart.
It had been an effort to shake it off and go to work, but he’d done his best, never suspecting that he was about to walk right into that dream. To feel Lisa’s touch again, after accepting long ago that she was gone for good.
Was he some kind of psychic?
Was it fate that had brought them together again?
Rafe didn’t know or much care. It had been a shock, and a delight, and maybe Phil was right. Maybe he was letting his emotions, his desire, override his reason. But he had been trained to protect and serve, and who better to protect than someone he knew? Someone he had loved?
Oliver Sloan was a bad man—worse yet, a bad man with connections—but if Rafe didn’t confront him about Lisa, who would?
Rafe had seen Sloan’s type time and again, and he knew full well that unless someone called him on his behavior, it wouldn’t change. Unless Sloan was told, in no uncertain terms, to leave Lisa alone, he would be back, and the violence would escalate.
It always did.
So when Rafe finished his report and dropped it on Kate’s desk, he didn’t bother to shower, didn’t bother to change out of his uniform. He ran a quick address check, then went straight to the department garage and signed out a new patrol car.
Then he headed across town to talk to Oliver Sloan.
Chapter Seven
Sloan despised himself sometimes.
It didn’t happen often, and it was never because of the things he’d done—and he had done quite a few sketchy things in his life.
No, this occasional self-loathing came down to one thing. How he felt. About Lisa, in particular.
His entire life, Sloan had never had trouble getting women. He was, after all, a good-looking guy—something he’d been well aware of since his second birthday.
His mother used to dote on him, call him her little movie star. The girls in middle and high school used to stare at him as he walked the halls, hoping he’d grace them with a glance of his piercing blue eyes. And if you were to put him in a lineup with Brad Pitt and George Clooney, well, let’s just say those two cretins would have to fight for