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“I know.” Nikki wasn’t a bad sort—a bit dim, and with all the backbone of cotton candy, but nice enough. Charlotte found a smile for her. “Come on, let’s get on the floor before I’m fired.” She moved out into the kitchen, Nikki trailing behind.
“I guess you’re worried that the baby will show if you tie the apron around your waist, huh?”
She froze. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”
“Oh, c’mon. I mean, you’re not showing much, but there’s that little bulge, isn’t there? And when Serena sneaks a smoke in the kitchen, you turn green. My sister Adrienne was the same way when she was carrying my nephew.”
Charlotte got her breath back, but couldn’t make herself turn around. “Zeno’s allergic to cigarette smoke, and I’m pretty sure he isn’t pregnant.”
Nikki giggled. “If he was, he’d be having triplets, wouldn’t he? How far along are you?”
Sighing, Charlotte turned around. Her cover had been blown by a pink apron. “Five months. Please, if Zeno finds out, he’ll—”
“As if I would! Tell Zeno? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Sorry. I can’t help worrying. I need this job.”
“Then we’d better get moving.” Nikki gave her a gentle shove and they headed for the stairs at the back of the kitchen. The restaurant’s seating was on ground level, the kitchen in the basement. She’d be going up and down those steps a hundred times tonight.
“I guess it’s scary when you’re on your own,” Nikki said. “Did the father walk out on you?”
Was flying to the other side of the country the same as walking out? Maybe not, since he didn’t know about the baby. All at once Charlotte was dead tired. Everything was wrong, and she couldn’t seem to make any of it come right again.
Not everything, she reminded herself. At least she knew Brad was safe. Probably. As long as no one knew where he was. “We shouldn’t talk about this here,” she said. “Maybe you won’t say anything, but if someone overheard…”
“Like that Serena.” She nodded, making her platinum curls bob. “She’d split on you in a second. Good thing she never looks past her mirror.”
Charlotte pushed open the swinging door. “True. Which station do I have tonight?”
“Four. Serena’s on two, I’ve got one, and—hey, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She hoped. “The tall guy with the shaved head and Cubs cap in my station. The one talking on a cell phone. Have you seen him in here before?”
Nikki cocked her head. “Don’t think so. Why?”
Idiot. Why had she told him where she worked? “He said he didn’t like teensy blondes,” she muttered.
“Who, that guy? He’s kinda cute.” She cocked her head and smiled. “Maybe he likes tall blondes.”
Had it been coincidence that he’d been there when the car nearly ran her down? He’d seemed nice, in a rude sort of way. But he’d insisted on walking with her, and now here he was…. Panic flared. She didn’t know what to do, whether she should run or stay. Charlotte took a deep breath.
She had her backpack. If she had to—if he seemed too interested, or acted funny—she could be out the back door in a flash. “Want to swap stations? You could find out if he likes tall blondes better than dinky ones like me.”
For the next half hour she tried to keep busy. But her nerves were jumping, and each minute jerked into the next in a painfully slow way. Her admirer—if that’s what he was—didn’t make any effort to talk to her. So why was he here? He wasn’t a regular, and he hadn’t spoken to Zeno, so he wasn’t here to bet on the horses, or whatever.
Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. After delivering a French dip, a pastrami on rye and two hamburgers to the third table in her station, she went up to Mr. Cubs Cap.
“Okay,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding. “I want to know why you followed me here.”
“Didn’t.” He pounded on the bottom of his ketchup bottle. “Your ego’s showing again, sister. I was here, I was hungry, I decided to eat. Hey, you think you could get me some more ketchup? This one’s about dry.”
Automatically she took the bottle he held out. “I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t care. You going to get me some ketchup or not?”
A hand landed heavily on her shoulder. “Never mind, Dix. I’ll take it from here.”
In her dreams Charlotte had sometimes plummeted in an out-of-control elevator. That was what this felt like now—the stomach-dropping second of disbelief sliding into greasy fear and guilt. And, God help her, mixing with the swift kick of desire.
Her eyes closed. “Rafe,” she whispered.
“Got it in one.” His voice was cordial—and achingly familiar. His grip on her shoulder was tight. “I guess that means you haven’t forgotten me entirely, even if a few other things have slipped your mind.”
Slowly she turned. His hand fell away.
His trench coat was long, black and leather. His jeans had probably come from a discount store, but the dark blue shirt would be the finest Egyptian cotton because Rafe liked the way it felt. He’d told her that once. His wavy brown hair was too long, as usual, wild and shaggy. It looked as if the wind had been playing with it.
Or a woman. That, too, would be as usual.
He doesn’t belong here, she thought with a rising sense of panic. He wasn’t supposed to be here, not in a place like this. He was too blasted perfect for a place like this.
The thought gave her courage. Maybe it was a fool’s version, born of anger and untainted by common sense, but she’d take what she could get. She straightened her shoulders. “I suppose you want to talk to me, but it will have to wait until my shift is over.”
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t think it will.” He took her hand and started for the door, dragging her with him.
“Rafe.” She tried to pull her hand free. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t go with you now.”
“Sure you can.” He didn’t slow as he wove through the crowded tables.
People were staring. She set her feet firmly so he couldn’t keep tugging her along like a reluctant puppy, and for a moment it worked. He gave her a hard look over his shoulder and a sharp jerk on the hand imprisoned in his.
She nearly toppled. It was either stumble after him or fall to the floor. He dragged her another few steps. “Dammit, you’re going to get me fired!”
“Do you think I give a flying—”
“What the hell is going on here?” Zeno planted himself in front of Rafe, glower firmly in place.
Charlotte had never imagined she would see Zeno in the light of a savior. “This idiot is dragging me out the door!”
“I don’t want any trouble here,” Zeno said, sparing her a condemning glance, as if it were all her fault this madman was trying to abduct her. “Whatever your problem with her is, you’ll have to settle things when she’s not working.”
“She won’t be working for you anymore after tonight,” Rafe informed him calmly.
“Yes, I will.” She gave one more hard tug, but only succeeded in hurting her wrist.
Rafe went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “She shouldn’t be working here now, not in her condition.”
“What condition?” Zeno demanded.
Don’t tell him, Charlotte chanted mentally. Don’t tell him, please…
Rafe’s eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t know that she’s pregnant?”
“She’s what?” Zeno rounded on her. “Why, you lying little bitch. Is that why you’ve been wearing those puke-ugly sweaters?” He grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulled it tight, and put his hand on the bulge of her stomach.
Rafe dropped her hand. And swung once, clean, short and sharp, his fist connecting with Zeno’s jaw with a solid thunk. The older man’s eyes opened wide in amazement just before he collapsed.
Rafe rubbed his fist. “No touching,” he growled. Then he grabbed Charlotte’s hand and towed her out of there.
Two
“Have you lost your mind?” she shrieked as he dragged her out the door. “You just punched out my boss!”
“Something tells me he isn’t your boss anymore.”
It was fully dark now—as dark as this corner of the city ever got, at least. The air was cold, the night punctuated with horns and headlights. Neon draped its tawdry glitter over buildings, cars and faces. Those faces were fewer than before and their owners moved more slowly, the ones in groups laughing too loudly, those alone wary and watchful. Or simply empty. The women’s skirts were shorter, their lips brighter red. And none of the night people crowding the sidewalk seemed inclined to take exception to the man in a black leather trench coat who bullied his way through them, or the way he dragged his unwilling victim along.
She tried again to reason with Rafe. “It’s cold. My coat…my things…you have to let me get my things.” Her backpack, especially. She couldn’t lose it.
“My car’s just up the block. The heater works.”
“You can’t just drag me off this way! It—it’s illegal.”
“Yeah?” He stopped and turned so abruptly she plowed into him.
She landed with her free hand bracing her against his chest, preventing her from falling up against him, body to body. The leather coat was cool and supple beneath her hand. His chest was hard. So were his eyes, and the sarcastic curl of his lips wasn’t a smile. She remembered the feel of that mouth on her and hastily pulled back.
“If you think I’m doing something illegal, you should yell for a cop.” The curl grew into a sneer when she remained silent. “That’s what I thought. Come on.”
How Rafe had managed to find a parking spot right where he needed one, she didn’t know. It was typical of the man, though. Luck, skill, karma—whatever force you credited, Rafe had more of it than any one man should. He had everything, from wealth and good looks to a successful career and a loving family. He should have been spoiled, shallow, dull. He wasn’t. He was fascinating. Unaffected, unconventional, outgoing, generous.
The man’s sheer perfection was the most irritating thing about him.
The hubcaps were still on his car, she noted as he shifted his grip to her arm and unlocked the door. But the car itself was not what Rafe Connelly was supposed to drive. He ought to have a dangerous, low-slung sports car, not a dark blue domestic sedan.
That was the second most irritating thing about Rafe—he never did what you expected him to do.
“Get in,” he ordered as he swung the door open.
She sighed and did it. There was no point in arguing. He’d already gotten her fired, so she had little left to lose. They might as well get this over with. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. She knew that. But she’d made it through a lot of life’s unpleasant moments. She’d get through this one, too.
His car might not be the sports car that fit her image of him, but it was new and expensive. And familiar. She passed a hand over the cool leather of the seat and tried not to think about the only other time she’d ridden in Rafe’s car.
He slid behind the steering wheel, slammed his door and started the engine. Sound poured from the speakers—some kind of rock with screaming guitars, lots of bass and a pounding beat. Cold air poured from the vents. No doubt his car did have a great heater, but the engine wasn’t warm yet. She shivered and hugged herself for warmth.
With a flick of his wrist, he cut the stereo off. Silence fell. He glanced at her, grimaced, flung his door open again in defiance of the traffic, got out and shrugged off his coat. He tossed it at her and climbed back in without saying a word.
Charlotte drew the coat over her like a blanket. The lining held the heat from his body, and the warmth released scents that drifted up to tease her. Leather and man and memories… How unpredictable he was. First he dragged her along willy-nilly, then he gave her the coat off his back.
His voice was quiet. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
He wasn’t talking about the coat. Charlotte closed her eyes, but that petty escape didn’t help. He was here, he was asking, and she had to face both him and the facts. “Yes.”
He smacked the steering wheel with his fist. Hard.
She jumped.
“Did it at any point occur to you that I’d want to know? That I had the right to know?”
“I was going to tell you. When—when I could.”
“And when would that have been? When my son graduated from high school, were you going to send me an announcement? Maybe hit me up for college tuition?”
She looked down. Beneath the enveloping coat, her hands were clasped tightly together. “It might be a girl,” she muttered.
“What?”
Her head came up. She scowled at him. “It might be your daughter who graduates, not your son.”
“Girl, boy, what does it matter? The point is, you’re carrying my child. So of course you ran off and took a job at a dive so you could live hand-to-mouth, stay on your feet for hours, then walk home late at night. In this neighborhood.”
Her mouth twisted in bitter humor. She’d grown up in neighborhoods like this one. “I can take care of myself.”
“And one helluva job you’ve done of it, too. Considering that the mob is gunning for you.”
She swallowed and didn’t reply.
“Damn shame the way things worked out for you.” He turned in his seat, leaning against the door so he could survey her. His hand tapped the back of the seat in a quick, restless rhythm. “Selling out my father should have netted you a nice chunk of change, but you’ve ended up on the bottom of the food chain, haven’t you?” He shook his head in mocking sympathy. “You should be more selective about your business partners in the future.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, low-voiced.
“No? You want to tell me what it was like, then?”
Her lips felt stiff, numb. She’d known this would be unpleasant, but she hadn’t realized how bad it would be. She hadn’t known he would assume she’d done it for money.
But why wouldn’t he? It was absurd for her to believe he should have known better. Illogical. “I told the police. That’s why there’s a contract on my life.”
He sighed and his hand stopped its restless tapping. For a long moment he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.
She tilted her chin up and looked right back at him. And found herself caught, trapped in the fascinating topography of his face.
His eyes were so deep-set the lids hardly showed. In this light his eyes looked black, as dark as the thick slash of his eyebrows, which were much darker than the medium brown of his shaggy hair. His beard, too, grew in dark, and there was a rakish trace of stubble on his cheeks tonight. His nose was straight and perfect, with that fascinating little dip beneath that inevitably led her eyes to his mouth. Oh, that mouth…it was a mouth made for smiles and kisses, the upper lip a perfect match for the lower. But it was entirely too sensual for the aristocratic nose, too wide for his narrow face, too frivolous for those dark eyes.
Rafe was composed of too many unmatched pieces. His parts shouldn’t have added up to such an enticing whole, and she resented mightily that they did.
One corner of that enticing mouth kicked up. “You’d stare down a cat, wouldn’t you?” He ran a hand over his head, further messing his hair. “Dix said someone nearly ran you down this evening.”
Dix? Oh. Her surly Good Samaritan. “The man in the Cubs cap. He called you. He’s working for you.”
