Downright Dangerous Read online

A loud thump at the back door halted Elsa midsentence. Startled, she gasped. Rafe tensed immediately, his gaze riveted to the door.

  "It's just the morning paper. The guy drives down the alley, and half the time he hits the door when he tries to hit the porch." Heading toward the back door, Troy said, "I'll get it."

  "No, wait." Rafe held up a restraining hand. "Let me."

  "Heck, it's just the paper."

  "Probably, but let's be sure."

  "Yeah. Okay," Troy said. "Better safe than sorry. But you could get hurt, too. You don't even have a gun on you."

  Rafe ignored Troy as he walked over to the door, pulled back the curtain on the window and glanced outside. Troy's heartbeat accelerated. He looked at Elsa and noticed her face had paled. His tough, in-control sister was scared.

  Rafe opened the door, surveyed the area, then glanced down at the porch floor. Troy could see the morning paper there in front of Rafe's feet. So why didn't the guy just pick up the paper and close the door? The frigid morning air was sucking all the heat out of the kitchen.

  "Hey, man, get the paper and close the door," Troy said. "You're letting out all the heat."

  "Call the police," Rafe said calmly, then closed the door without getting the newspaper.

  "What's wrong?" Elsa rushed toward Rafe, coffee splashing over the side of her mug.

  He grabbed her, stopping her from reopening the door. "There's a warning written out on the porch floor." Keep­ing his hold tight on her shoulders, he called out to Troy. "Call the police. Now."

  "What does the message say?" Elsa asked.

  Troy dialed Chief Fleming's number, which Elsa had written down on a magnetic pad attached to the bulletin board by the wall phone.

  "The message reads D-E-A-D. And the writer didn't use paint."

  Troy's hand trembled as he clutched the phone. Chief Fleming answered and Troy told him who he was and that he needed to come to their house immediately, that Elsa had received a death threat. "Blood?" Elsa asked.

  "Yeah, blood would be my guess," Rafe replied. "Rat's blood."

  "How do you know it's rat's blood?" Troy asked. "Because the writer left behind the bloody rat."

  Chapter 6

  It was just another scare tactic," Frank said as he crossed one leg over the other and reclined on the leather sofa in Elsa's office. "Using a rat's blood to spell out the word dead and then leaving the bloody rat on Ms. Leone's back porch was a warning, but no real danger to her."

  "I agree." Kate sat beside Frank on the sofa, the e-mail reports from headquarters that she'd printed out a few minutes ago stacked on the coffee table in front of them. "The phone call last night and the bloody message this morning are aggravating and nerve-racking, but not in and of themselves dangerous to you." She looked directly at Elsa. "Whoever is behind these threats isn't in any hurry to kill you."

  Rafe stood protectively behind Elsa's chair where she sat at her desk. His hands gripped the soft leather at the top of the chair. "This person—whoever he or she is— wants to frighten Elsa, not necessarily kill her. At least not yet. Perhaps as a last resort."

  "That truck came damn near close to killing me Tues­day night," she told Rafe, Van Fleming and the other two Dundee agents assembled in her office.

  "Close, yes," Van said, "but I agree with Mr. Devlin and his associates. I don't think there's been a real attempt on your life."

  "Not yet," Rafe repeated. "But it's only a matter of time, unless Elsa backs off on the investigations into Honey Town."

  Cocking her head to one side, Elsa glanced up at Rafe, who was glaring at Chief Fleming. "Why would this per­son try scaring me first? Why not just kill me?"

  "Good question." Kate tapped the stack of e-mail in­formation. "From these preliminary reports, we have noth­ing to go on. On the surface, everyone of any importance in Maysville is exactly who and what they seem to be."

  "My guess is that our man. . .or woman. . .isn't a killer by nature, so he or she is hoping to scare you into giving up your quest to clean up Honey Town," Frank said.

  "That's one possible explanation," Rafe agreed. "But there is always the possibility that whoever is behind these threats knows Elsa personally, perhaps even likes her and therefore will choose murder as a last resort."

  "If that's the case, then you really haven't narrowed down the suspects," Van said. "Just about everyone in Maysville likes our Elsa."

  Elsa felt rather than saw the tension that gripped Rafe's body. Odd, she thought, how she instinctively knew he hadn't liked the way Van had said "our Elsa." Why was it that Rafe and she connected on some basic level that really didn't make much sense to her? And probably didn't make any sense to him, either. They could both deny it all they wanted to, but there was a strong, underlying chem­istry between them and had been from the first moment they met. From the very instant that Rafe appeared out of nowhere on the St. Camille waterfront last year and told her attackers to let her go.

  "Maybe we haven't narrowed down the suspects, yet," Rafe said. "But we will. Eventually. Dundee's will dig deep." He glanced from Kate to Frank, grinned and then focused on the police chief. "We're not a law enforcement agency so we're not restricted by the same rules you guys have to follow."

  "I hope that's not your way of saying that Dundee's is above the law." Van rose from the chair across from the sofa and faced Rafe. "I'll allow y'all only so much lee­way, even in this investigation."

  "I take that to mean you're a straight shooter and play by the rules," Rafe said.

  Van gritted his teeth as if forcing himself not to say something he would later regret. "I try my best, Mr. Dev­lin, to be a good policeman."

  "Yeah, sure." Rafe came out from behind Elsa's desk and offered Van his hand. "Thanks for everything. We appreciate your personally coming over to Elsa's this morning to check out the crime scene." He glanced back at her and said, "Don't we Elsa?"

  There it was again, that hint of possessiveness in Rafe's voice and manner, Elsa thought. Was it just her imagina­tion or had Rafe notified Van, in a subtle way, that Rafe and she were "together"?

  "Uh. . .yes, yes, Van, thank you." She offered the chief a warm, gracious smile.

  Van returned the smile. When he finally shook hands with Rafe, the smile vanished. "If there's anything else I can do, just let me know." He said this directly to Elsa.

  "Just give me a call if you find out anything from the

  CSI boys who went over things this morning," Rafe said. "You've got my cell number."

  Van nodded. "Yeah." He said his goodbyes hurriedly to Frank and Kate and left.

  After the door closed behind Van, complete silence per­meated Elsa's office, then Frank Latimer made a comment that surprised Elsa.

  "The police chief is a nervous man. My gut instincts tell me that he's hiding something."

  "Mmm-hmm. I get the same feeling," Kate said.

  "Van Fleming may consider himself a ladies' man," Elsa said, ' 'but his career as a law enforcement officer is spotless."

  "That could well be, but even squeaky-clean lawmen can have an Achilles' heel." Rafe glanced at the reports on the coffee table. "Anything at all on Fleming?"

  Kate sighed. "Nothing out of the ordinary. The prelim­inary report states that he and his wife have undergone marriage counseling twice in the past five years, but we haven't found out who he might have been fooling around with—''

  "What does Van's personal life have to do with my case?" Elsa stared at Rafe.

  "Probably nothing," Rafe replied, apparently aware that even though Kate had made the comment, he was the one who actually suspected Van of something immoral and possibly illegal. "But it depends on who he's been did­dling."

  Elsa groaned. Frank chuckled. Kate rolled her eyes up­ward, as if to say, "Men."

  "I think it's possible that Chief Fleming suspects some­one in particular in Ms. Leone's case," Frank said.

  "Or maybe he knows who's behind the threats to Elsa." Rafe's confident gaze met Elsa's outraged gaze head-on
.

  "You're reaching," Elsa said. "Grasping for straws." She glanced at the reports. "I don't think we should be accusing anyone of anything until we get some solid proof."

  "Wrong," Rafe said. "By then it could be too late." Elsa's mouth opened on a silent gasp.

  Elsa Leone had to be stopped. The scare tactics he'd chosen to use against her simply weren't working. And now the Dundee Agency was involved, which complicated an already complicated situation. He'd heard from his as­sociates this afternoon and they were not happy. It seemed that Dundee's had begun an investigation into the lives of numerous Maysville citizens, his included. He assured his business partners that he had covered his tracks well, that it was highly unlikely Dundee's could dig deeply enough to discover the connection between him and the Dixie Ma­fia.

  Unlikely but not impossible.

  "Arrange for Ms. Leone to die," his associate had told him.

  "Not yet. Give me a little more time. I believe I know something that will enable me to control her."

  "You have until Monday midnight. Either you take care of Ms. Leone or we will."

  He didn't want to order Elsa's death. He wasn't a killer. He was, for all intents and purposes, a law-abiding citizen. But the MGS, Elsa's brainchild, would eventually threaten his livelihood, not to mention his life. His organized-crime ties would, if ever revealed, destroy him. If his associates didn't eliminate him first. And that was a real possibility.

  He was a fool for waiting. Okay, so he had a thing for Elsa, had even considered her as worthy wife material. But maybe what he needed to do was screw her and get her out of his system. Then killing her might not be such a problem. It was always the unknown that fascinated him, the forbidden fruit that was the most tempting.

  He lifted the telephone and dialed the cell number of the professional killer he'd called back from Memphis to harass Elsa. A bloody warning on her porch should have gotten some sort of reaction from her, but apparently her bodyguard had dismissed it as little more than a prank. Rafe Devlin now stood between him and his objective—to control Elsa. Perhaps Devlin should be eliminated.

  Focus, he told himself. Don't wander off on a jealous tirade. Deal with Elsa now. Devlin can wait.

  "Yeah?" the voice on the other end of the line said harshly.

  "I have a new assignment for you."

  "Something more interesting than stupid messages writ­ten in rat's blood?"

  "Elsa doesn't seem to be afraid for herself, especially now that she has a personal bodyguard, so it's time to use another tactic."

  "Which would be?"

  He sighed, pleased by his own brilliance. Why hadn't he thought of it before now—what did Elsa care about more than anything, more than her own life?

  "Elsa has siblings. Three. Two sisters and a brother."

  "I get your drift."

  "We'll start with the most vulnerable. She has a teenage sister who is mentally retarded. The girl lives at the Bauer Academy in Memphis. I want a special gift delivered to her tomorrow morning."

  "Just give me the details and I'll make it happen."

  "You'll need a trustworthy accomplice," he said. "An unidentifiable lady."

  "That can be arranged."

  "Good. And once Elsa sees how serious I am, perhaps it won't be necessary to move onto her other siblings."

  The MGS monthly meetings took place in the small au­ditorium connected to the Maysville utilities department, across the street from the fire department and the police station. Rafe watched Elsa closely, guarding her, doing his job, from the moment they exited her car and walked up the sidewalk to the front entrance. A large crowd had al­ready assembled, and en masse they swooped in on Elsa when she arrived. Rafe was glad he'd foreseen this pos­sibility and had requested Kate and Frank join them to­night. Within seconds the other two Dundee agents took over crowd control, being as diplomatic as possible in keeping everyone at least an arm's length from Elsa, while Rafe escorted her inside the building and straight up to the raised stage at the opposite end of the large room.

  They stood on the edge of the empty podium while the auditorium quickly filled to capacity. Hundreds of Mays­ville citizens swarmed into the room, hurriedly taking the folding chairs that provided seating for about seventy-five. The others stood, forming a U-shape around the outer walls and the back wall that connected to the utilities de­partment next door. Rafe suspected that at most meetings the crowd never surpassed the seventy-five mark, if that, and usually at winter meetings the room was never warm. Tonight, thanks to the sheer mass of body heat, the tem­perature probably hovered close to eighty on this cold Jan­uary night. A trickle of perspiration slid down Rafe's neck.

  Breathless, her big brown eyes wide with bewilderment, Elsa clung to Rafe's arm as if he were her lifeline in a stormy sea. "I've never seen anything like it. Everyone wanted to talk to me, to touch me, to. . ." She shivered. Rafe slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close to his side. "They kept shouting things, telling me not to give in, not to let anyone scare me off."

  "They're not thinking of you," he told her. "They're thinking about moving forward in their efforts to clean up Honey Town. And you're their leader, whether you see yourself that way or not. It's the reason you've been tar­geted. The person out to get you believes that if he can eliminate the chief, the warriors will scatter. It's an old war tactic, but you'd be surprised how often it works."

  "What am I going to say to them tonight? They'll ex­pect me to—"

  "Don't make your decisions on what other people ex­pect from you. Do what you know is right—for you and the situation you're in. Listen to your gut instincts. We human beings have those instincts for a reason. It's called self-survival."

  Elsa looked at him as if he'd suddenly shed all his clothes and stood before her naked. For a split second he felt oddly vulnerable and just a bit shaken. Why the hell was she looking at him that way?

  "What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

  A smile played at the corners of her full, soft lips and he had the irrational urge to kiss her. God, if he didn't know how inexperienced she was, he'd swear she was playing him. Coming on to him. Luring him into her se­ductive web. Hell, maybe she did it instinctively, without realizing the effect.

  "Nothing's wrong," she told him. "It's just that for the first time, I realize you and I have something in common."

  He eyed her skeptically. "And that would be?"

  "We're both survivors."

  "What makes you think—"

  "I'm not asking for your life story. Sometime if you'd like to tell it to me, I'll listen." She squeezed his arm.

  "All I did was make an observation. Call it an educated guess."

  "You're a little too smart to suit me." He glanced down at his arm where she held on to him so tightly. Not only was she too smart, but she was much too appealing.

  When the other officers of the MGS took their seats on the podium, Elsa joined them. Noting that there wasn't an extra chair for Rafe, she requested one of the folding chairs be brought in for him. He quickly nixed her request and took a position several feet away, toward the back, in the shadows, so that he could not only watch over Elsa, but keep an eye on the massive crowd. As he studied the au­dience, his gaze connected with Frank's and then with Kate's, the two agents stationed on either side of the room at the back, Frank near the entrance and Kate near the emergency exit.

  Having studied the photographs in the initial Dundee reports, Rafe immediately recognized Ellison Southwell Mays, who walked up to the microphone and cleared his throat. He guessed Mays to be close to fifty, a well-preserved fifty. Tall, fair, elegant, his dark blond hair streaked with gray.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Mays said loudly.

  The roar of the crowd quieted gradually as Mays con­tinued speaking, welcoming everyone there and thanking them for their support.

  "My aunt Nella and I are here tonight to offer Elsa Leone our unqualified support in this dark and dismal time, when her very life has been
threatened."

  Rafe groaned silently. Obviously, Ellison Mays was a windbag. The man continued his flowery speech, praising his aunt—which made Rafe wonder if the old biddy held the purse strings in the family—and singing Elsa's praises. Mays punctuated his monotonous rambling with warm, sidelong glances at Elsa and looks for approval from the elderly woman seated in the front row. Rafe assumed the woman was Aunt Nella. A tall, rawboned lady, decked out in the best money could buy. Classically fashionable attire, subtle pearl jewelry that had probably belonged to her grandmother, and a minimum of makeup. There was some­thing oddly familiar about Nella Southwell, something that hit a chord in Rafe. The old woman reminded him of his paternal grandmother, who'd died when Rafe was eleven. Vivian Devlin had epitomized the Southern grande dame. Along with a few of her closest friends, she had ruled Knox County society for several decades.

  "And now, without further ado, I'll turn tonight's meet­ing over to the Maysville Good Samaritans' founder and president—" Ellison Mays gave a dramatic sweep with his long arm "—Ms. Elsa Leone."

  The crowd went wild. Clapping. Stomping. Yelling. Elsa received a resounding standing ovation. Rafe watched as she stood, noting that she seemed slightly unsteady on her feet. He reined in his instinct to rush forward and help her, knowing it was the last thing on earth she'd want. She drew in a deep breath, then walked forward toward the microphone. The cheering continued as she stood before her admiring audience and motioned for them to be seated.

  "Please," Elsa said. "Please, take your seats."

  Rafe doubted that anyone heard her. The crowd's cheers reached a fever pitch. Rafe walked forward and around the outer edge of the podium, then stepped down to take a position so that he could watch Elsa's face, as well as keep an eye on what lay behind her and all around her. She looked at him, her eyes pleading with him for help. He grinned at her and nodded, hoping she understood that he was telling her she was perfectly capable of handling this situation without his assistance.

  Elsa grasped the microphone and started talking. Even Rafe, who was less than ten feet away from her, couldn't hear her. But she kept talking, and slowly the noise level dropped as person after person began listening instead of cheering. Within a couple of minutes the entire room had fallen into a quiet hush, only an occasional murmur erupt­ing here and there.