Gabriel Is No Angel Page 10

  No, she’d have to find Peter Smithfield on her own. Before MacLaren did.

  After all, a girl had her pride.

  Rae hurried home, the puppy in one hand, shopping bags in the other. She wanted to do some disappearing on her own before MacLaren came back on duty.

  This other officer, now, wasn’t nearly as competent. She’d managed to lose him twice already without hardly trying. She’d let him find her again quickly, so that he didn’t suspect a thing.

  As she stood in the hallway, fumbling with her keys, Barbara opened the door. The kids came swarming past her.

  “A puppy!” they cried.

  “His name is Tom the Dog,” Rae said, handing him over. It was love at first sight, and the whole crew gamboled their way into the living room.

  “Is something wrong?” Barbara asked.

  “No. But I’ve got a line on your ex-husband, and need to shake this surveillance long enough to get to him. Do you mind puppy-sitting for a while?”

  “Not at all.” Her brow creased with concern, Barbara put her hand on Rae’s arm. “This isn’t dangerous, is it? Because if it is, I don’t care about the money. I’ll manage some-how—”

  “It’s not dangerous,” Rae said. “Just complicated. Now, I’m going to stay at the Tropical Breeze under an assumed name. I can carry my makeup and a change of undies in my purse, but I’ll need more. So I’m fixing up a package to be FedEx-ed to the hotel. Can you take care of that for me?”

  Barbara nodded.

  “Now, there’s some money in the drawer of my nightstand. Use it for food or whatever.”

  Rae stuffed her makeup, a change of underthings, a hairbrush, toothpaste and a toothbrush into her purse. “Barbara, there’s a FedEx shipping form on the desk. Hand it to me, will you?”

  As she filled the form out, Rae came to the line marked Recipient. A crazy, powerful impulse caught her, and she found the pen moving before she had a chance to think about it.

  “Mrs. G. MacLaren,” she wrote.

  For a moment, she thought about tearing it up. But it really was a great smoke screen. MacLaren would never, but never think of looking for her under his own name.

  “They call it poetic justice,” she murmured, as pleased with herself as the proverbial cat that had eaten the canary. This, she thought, was good.

  Chapter 8

  “Find her, MacLaren,” Captain Petrosky growled

  “You’re awful damned cranky today, sir,” Gabriel said.

  “Cranky my...eye. This case is one hot potato. The moment this breaks, I’m gonna have bureaucrats coming out of the walls like cockroaches. I don’t need complications.”

  “Understood.”

  “Rae Boudreau is a complication. I need for you to make her not a complication.”

  “We’ve been on her like glue, sir. If she finds him, we’ll pull him out from under. But I’d like for you to consider letting me tell her something about the case. Maybe then she’d back off.”

  “No.” Petrosky emphasized that by chopping the air with the edge of his hand. “Now, I’ve got Eddy teamed up with DeZuniga for the gambling houses—”

  “Eddy’s my partner,” Gabriel protested.

  “For now, he’s DeZuniga’s. Rae Ann Boudreau scammed Wilson like he was some green kid, and it’ll take him years to live it down. As far as Rae Ann goes, you’re the man.”

  You’re the man.

  Gabriel knew better than to argue with Petrosky in his current mood. He left the captain’s office and walked down the corridor toward the street.

  You’re the man.

  It was slang, street talk. It didn’t mean anything more than that he was the one who’d been tapped to deal with the problem.

  One side of his mouth lifted in a cynical smile. He wanted to be the man-but he wanted to be her man. A primitive notion, that. Had anyone told him a month ago that he’d feel like this, he would have laughed.

  The man. Her man.

  She’d conned him. The minute he’d turned surveillance over to Brett Wilson, she’d disappeared. No one would call it Gabriel’s fault. But he sure as hell was taking it personally. If he could get his hands on her, he’d...he’d...

  He’d kiss her, taste her, touch her. He’d possess her as completely as a man can possess a woman. There in the cool starkness of the bathroom, on the bed, the floor, the back seat of a car, anywhere.

  Damn her. He was going to find her. And when he did, there’d be hell to pay.

  Rae sat in the lobby of the Tropical Breeze hotel, watching the entrance of the condominium building across the street. She’d been here for two days now, and hadn’t seen any activity in 4B. But she would. Certainty coiled through her like the breathless anticipation in the air just before a storm.

  Something was going to happen, and soon.

  “I wonder,” she murmured, leaning into the shaft of light streaming through the glass. “Did Sylvia really rent that place, or did somebody else? Somebody who has an interest in keeping Peter Smithfield away from the cops?”

  It was an intriguing prospect. But also one that would interest Gabriel more than it would her. Still, she liked solving puzzles. Naturally, she’d turn whatever she discovered over to MacLaren. Purely as a public service, of course. And to gloat.

  Her reverie vanished as someone crossed her peripheral vision.

  There was something familiar about that movement, something...

  MacLaren.

  He sat in the chair opposite hers. Rae swiveled to face him, her breath suddenly too swift and shallow. Oh, he was mad. The rugged planes of his face had settled into grim lines, and the set of his mouth promised trouble.

  Angel Gabriel, she thought, come down to exact retribution. She pushed the thought away hastily. Besides, no angel could possibly look so aggressively male, so... tempting.

  “Hello, Rae,” he said. “Or should I say, Mrs. MacLaren?”

  “I thought it was a nice touch.”

  His mouth thinned. “I’ve got to give you credit, honey-child. You’re good. You made that other detective look like a complete fool, and it’ll be years before he lives it down.”

  “Gee, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “How did you find me, by the way?”

  “Remember your lovely neighbor, Marlene Britton?”

  “How could anyone forget Marlene?”

  He grunted, remembering the way the woman had all but thrown herself at him once he’d gone into her apartment. “She happened to see your houseguest carry out a large Federal Express package. I called FedEx—”

  “Pulled rank. Again.”

  “—and got the address of this hotel. You lied to me, Rae.”

  She gaped at him. “I never did.”

  “You led me to believe that some guy was staying with you. Instead, I find out it’s Barbara Smithfield and her kids.”

  “I led you nowhere, MacLaren,” she said. “You went there all on your own. You jump to conclusions, and it’s my fault?”

  Gabriel considered a number of answers, but all ended with him kissing her senseless, and that would only distract him. Besides, his time was coming. Soon. Very, very soon.

  “It’s almost dinnertime,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Why don’t you join me?”

  Rae studied him with narrowed eyes. Logic told her to run, and run fast. But crazy as it was, she just wanted to be with him for a while. That was her heart talking. She knew better than to listen to her heart. But knowing better did her no good. Simply, she needed to be with him. The need was powerful and raw, whirling through her with hurricane force. It overwhelmed her rationality and her willpower, leaving her adrift in his eyes.

  “Sure,” she said at last. “Why not?”

  He rose with lithe power. She turned toward the hotel dining room, overly aware of his presence beside her. Other women seemed to be aware of him, too; she noticed a few heads turning as he passed. And why not? she told herself sternly. He was a supremely arrogant male, and that always attracted wo
men who didn’t know better.

  She did know better. She just didn’t know how to keep from letting him get to her.

  The dining room echoed the hotel’s tropical theme. The maitre d’ obviously mistook them for a couple, ensconcing them in a palm-shrouded booth. She noticed that Gabriel maneuvered so that he sat facing the door. It was a cop thing.

  “I don’t want my back to the door, either,” she complained.

  “Bet I’ve got more enemies than you do,” he countered.

  “Now that, I wouldn’t dispute.”

  “You could sit by me,” he offered, patting the seat beside his. “Nice and cozy.”

  Rae shook her head. Cozy was not the ticket, definitely, absolutely. “Uh-uh.”

  “What’s the matter, Rae? Don’t you trust yourself?”

  He’d hit it straight on the head, but she would have died before admitting it. “Just be sure you yell something before everybody starts blasting, so I can get out of the way.”

  The waiter came to take their drink order. Rae watched Gabriel as he scanned the wine list. Her heart hadn’t settled down yet. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe she’d spend the rest of her life with an accelerated heart rate and an overactive libido where he was concerned.

  “What would you like?” he asked, glancing up at her.

  Their gazes met. Rae felt a jolt down to her toes, and saw a matching reaction in his eyes.

  This was bad.

  “Mmm, just some mineral water,” she said.

  He handed the wine list back to the waiter. “A cup of coffee for me, thanks. Black.”

  That disturbing crystalline gaze returned to Rae. She tore hers away with an effort, concentrating on her silverware instead.

  “Barbara Smithfield wouldn’t talk to me,” he said “Any reason why?”

  “She’s smart,” Rae retorted. “She knows that once the police find her ex-husband, she won’t have a chance of collecting the support she needs.”

  He was silent so long that Rae looked up at him. He’d leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his expression thoughtful.

  “Why did you take her in?” he asked.

  “Well, she’d been kicked out of her apartment. What was I supposed to do, let her and those kids sleep on the street?”

  “A lot of people would.”

  “A lot,” she agreed.

  Gabriel winced inwardly. Her tone implied that he would, and that hit a sore spot. Barbara Smithfield hadn’t even opened the door to him, but he hadn’t missed the hostility in her voice. And he couldn’t help but think she had a right to it.

  “Is that a criticism?” he asked.

  “Take it any way you want.”

  They glared at each other for a long, frozen moment. But beneath the annoyance in his eyes, Rae saw desire simmering, ready to break free at any moment. She realized then that she should never have agreed to spend time with him. Anger would not be enough to keep her safe. Her instinct for self-preservation seemed to have deserted her the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

  The waiter appeared, depositing a basket of soft bread sticks and a tray of butter pats on the table. Apparently unaware of the tension in the air, he flipped open his order pad. “Are you ready to order, miss?” he asked.

  Rae nodded. “A steak, thick and rare,” she said. “Baked potato, plain. Salad with Italian pressing.” Pinned by a vivid, visceral memory of the last meal she’d shared with Gabriel MacLaren, she added, “And no dessert.”

  “How do you know you don’t want dessert already?” the waiter protested. “We have the most delicious chocolate—”

  “No chocolate,” she said. “Chocolate is dangerous.”

  The waiter’s brows soared. “Dangerous?”

  “That stuff will kill you,” she said.

  After a moment of helpless indecision, the waiter turned to Gabriel. “And you, sir? What will you have?”

  “Ptomaine,” Rae muttered.

  That got her another startled look from the unfortunate waiter. Gabriel’s teeth flashed in a grin a wolf would have envied.

  “I’ll take another steak, thick and rare,” he said. “And don’t worry about her. She’s taken her medication today.”

  The waiter shot them a look over his shoulder as he scurried off. Obviously, he thought they were both crazy.

  They probably were.

  “Now,” Gabriel said, “tell me why you’re here.”

  “I’m on vacation,” she replied. “Stress.”

  “You’ve got a lead on Peter Smithfield.”

  She batted her eyelashes at him. “Don’t be silly, Officer. How could I have found a lead when all you smart, powerful policemen haven’t?”

  Ordinarily, that remark would have infuriated Gabriel. But he still had his proverbial ace up his sleeve, and smart as she was, she hadn’t figured it out yet.

  “Have a bread stick.” Taking one himself, Gabriel leaned back in his chair and studied her. There was something beneath the defiance and sassy mouth, something that bothered him. If he had to guess, he’d say that she was nervous.

  Of course, that might be because he’d found her. He hadn’t gotten the impression, however, that Rae had ever been intimidated by anyone or anything, including the police.

  So it had to be personal.

  Maybe he’d gotten to her just a little. He was surprised not to feel more triumph. Instead, however, he simply wanted her. He hungered for her, passionately and with his soul. He hungered to know her, to be allowed past the steel-hard fortress she’d built around herself.

  “Is that how you keep people away?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The wisecracks. It’s your way to build walls around yourself.”

  She made a face. “That’s pop psychology, MacLafen.”

  “Really? You’ve been divorced how long?”

  “Nearly three years,” she said.

  “And how many relationships have you had since then?”

  “I’d think it would be worse to have a lot of ephemeral relationships.”

  “Worse than what?” he asked.

  Rae was sorry she’d let herself participate in this conversation. He was too quick, and he saw too much. Time to divert. “I’ve decided to have wine after all,” she said.

  “Later,” he said, smiling. “Have you been involved with anyone since your marriage?”

  “That’s none—”

  “Of my business. Right. Answer the question, Rae.”

  She glared at him, resenting his intrusion, resenting her lack of defense against him. The past three years had been an emotional wasteland for her, as though her life had been on hold until Gabriel MacLaren entered it. She resented that, too.

  “Why do you want to know?” she countered.

  “Because.”

  “That’s a childish response,” she said.

  Completely exasperated, Gabriel reached across the table and captured her hands. “There’s nothing childish about the way I feel about you. Make no mistake about that.”

  Desire burned in his eyes, a need hot enough, wild enough, to consume them both. Rae wanted to look away, to escape. But there was no escaping, because his passion matched hers. Her heart began to pound so fast she thought surely it would beat its way right out of her chest. No man had ever looked at her like this, as though he wanted to eat her up, devour her body, mind and soul.

  “Excuse me,” the waiter said.

  Rae glanced up. The young man stood beside the table, a large metal tray balanced in his hands. Aromas of steak and potatoes and fresh asparagas assailed her nostrils.

  Relieved that the tense moment had been shattered, she disengaged from Gabriel and sat back. With a flourish, the waiter set her plate in front of her.

  “Steak, thick and rare,” he said.

  She wouldn’t have noticed if it had been shoe leather. Her senses were consumed by Gabriel. Her opponent. He tilted his head as he looked at her, and her heart did a curious, almost painfu
l flip-flop.

  “Are we going to do the normal-conversation thing now?” she asked.

  He cut a juicy red slice of beef. “I’ve decided that thee’s nothing normal about you, and there’s no point in trying. At least you haven’t stooped to telling doughnut jokes.”

  “You get a lot of those?”

  “All cops do,” he said. “Goes with the territory.”

  “Like risking your life.”

  He shrugged. “Serving summonses on folks who don’t want them isn’t all that safe, either.”

  “True.” Rae poked at her baked potato for a moment, then set her fork down. “Every day, I do something different. I have to cope with new circumstances, new people. It’s exciting. When I’m heading out to what looks to be a difficult service, I get this adrenaline surge that’s like nothing else on this earth.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I know exactly what that feels like.”

  Rae swallowed hard. Of all the things she didn’t want to feel toward him, kinship neared the top of the list. “It can create problems for relationships,” she said, and nearly clapped her hand over her mouth. Hadn’t it listened at all to what her mind was saying?

  “Are you asking if I’ve ever been married?”

  “No,” she said. Yes, whispered her heart, treacherous thing that it was.

  He smiled, and she knew how badly she’d betrayed herself. “I’ve never been married. But the job has messed up a couple of relationships for me. They couldn’t handle the hours, the distraction and, most of all, the danger.”

  “It’s even worse with men,” she said. “The protective thing, you know.”

  “It’s natural for a man to want to keep his woman safe.”

  His woman. It was a powerfully evocative phrase, and sent tingles running up her spine. “How primitive,” she said, striving for sarcasm.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is. A man can be as rational as he wants about many things, but when it comes to a threat to those he loves, his reaction is anything but rational.”

  “Instinct over intellect.”

  “Never underestimate instinct,” he said softly.