Blind Rage (47 page)

She dug out a garbage bag from under the sink and tossed it to him before he closed the bathroom door. “For your jeans. Wash them or toss them when you get home. Just don’t let them mess up my bathroom floor.”

“Gotcha,” he said, shutting the door.

She realized he’d forgotten to take his clean duds into the bathroom with him and reached to grab them off the kitchen chair. Too late. She heard the shower running.

WHILE GARCIA
cleaned up, she pulled off her sweatshirt and smoothed the T-shirt she had on underneath. It was good enough attire for this casual evening. She opened up a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. Sipping, she inventoried the refrigerator’s contents. The chicken breasts could be broiled. Baked potatoes would take a while, but that might not be a bad thing. They could pop in a movie.

“Don’t do it—you’ll be sorry.”

Startled, she put her hand over her heart and slammed the fridge shut. She pivoted around and saw him standing in her kitchen. “Ruben,” she whispered. “Get out of my house.”

“You’re half-hoping he hits on you.” The shower stopped, and Creed looked toward the bathroom door. “I’ve got a news flash. He’s planning on it.”

She set her wineglass down on the counter. “Baloney.”

“Why do you think he
forgot
his clothes out here?”

Garcia wouldn’t be that manipulative. Creed was trying to make trouble. “I invited him to dinner, and that’s all.”

“You should make
me
dinner for taking care of your two assailants.”

Her eyes narrowed while she processed what he was saying. “The bums in the basement?”

“Do you think you fought them off by yourself? Why do you think they stayed in the basement?”

“How did you keep them down there?”

He raised his hands over his head. “Boo.”

She stifled a laugh. “My hero. Thank you. Thanks for the tip on the Araignee twin, too.”

He took a deep bow. Then he stepped up to her and put his bony finger in her face. “But if you continue this after-hours socialization with our superior—”

The bathroom door popped open, and Creed looked toward it. Vanished.

Bernadette retrieved her wineglass. She didn’t know if she should laugh or scream.

Garcia stepped out wearing boxers and a tank top, with a towel draped around his neck. “You forgot to give me my…” His voice trailed off as he looked at her expression, and his eyes swept the loft. “He was here just now, wasn’t he? That August Murrick character was here.”

She gulped the remainder of her wine. “Creed.”

“What?”

Cupping the empty wineglass between her hands, she propped her back against the edge of the counter for support. “Ruben Creed has been…accompanying me.”

“Stalking you?”

“He showed up at the restaurant yesterday. That was the first time I’d seen him outside the office.”

“That’s why you looked ready to puke when I came back from the can.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want you to think I was loony tunes.”

“How can he be…offsite?”

She took some weird comfort in Garcia’s businesslike description of Creed’s behavior. Her dead partner was “offsite.” “I’m what’s haunted, not the office.”

“Is that possible?”

“That’s how Creed explained it. He says—” She looked down at the empty wineglass in her hands.

“Spill it.”

She looked up. “He says he scared those bums away for me.” She smiled weakly. “A good thing, right?”

Garcia went up to her, put a hand on her arm, and walked her out of the kitchen, taking the wineglass out of her hand as they went. “I’m staying the night.”

Garcia’s offer came too quickly, and it made her nervous. “No, you don’t have to stay. I mean, not for protection…Ruben wouldn’t hurt me. He’s been helping me.”

Garcia set the wineglass down on the coffee table. “You don’t sound too convinced of that yourself.”

Bernadette dropped onto the couch. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

He pulled off the towel and rubbed his head with it. “I don’t like this one damn bit. I’ll get dressed and make us dinner. I can crash on the sofa.”

“It’s my own fault. I let him hang around the cellar. He even started helping me. Doing computer work on the case.”

He sat down next to her. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

“Don’t be mad. I really need a friend right now. Believe it or not, you might be my best friend. How pathetic is that?”

He threw an arm around her shoulders. “I feel the same way, except not the part about it being pathetic.”

Laughing, she looked up at his damp face and tousled hair. She opened her mouth to continue describing Creed’s office appearances and suddenly felt Garcia’s lips over her own. She put her hands on his chest to push him away but instead savored the feel of the hard muscles under his shirt.

Groaning, Garcia peeled his mouth off hers. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Yes, we should,” she said hoarsely.

Garcia kicked the coffee table away from the couch. Together, they slipped off the cushions and went down on the floor, with him on top of her. “Am I too heavy? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I won’t break,” she said.

He cupped her breast through her T-shirt while his mouth went to the side of her neck. She put her hand over his and moved his fingers under her shirt. He trapped her nipple with his large rough palm. “You feel so good under my hands. So beautiful,” he murmured, his mouth gnawing her breasts over the thin cotton.

Cradling the back of his head, she pressed him closer and arched her body into his. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

Garcia’s body tensed. He raised his torso off hers and looked down at her with half-shut eyes. “I am so sorry. This is a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

He gently disengaged her arms and rolled off her. “Son-of-a-bitch,” he said to the ceiling, and got to his feet.

She propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. “Where are you going?”

He scooped his clean clothes off the kitchen chair. “I’ll get dressed and get out of here, if you feel safe. If you’re sure Creed won’t do anything.”

She ran a hand through her hair and got to her feet. “I want you to stay.”

“That’s why I need to leave, before this turns into an even bigger mistake for the both of us. For our careers.” Hugging his clothes to his chest, Garcia went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

She sat back down on the couch, unsure of what to do. She hadn’t seen this coming, but Creed had. Could he look into the future, or was he simply a good judge of the male character? Both possibilities were annoying.

The bathroom door popped open, and a fully dressed Garcia walked out carrying the bag of dirty clothes. “I’m so sorry this happened. This was my fault entirely. A big mistake.”

She followed him to the door. “Stop calling it that. You’re making it sound like a—a checkbook overdraft.”

He spun around. “I want you so bad it hurts. I haven’t had a serious thing since my wife died, and I have a feeling we could—”

“We could!”

“I gotta go home and take another shower.” He turned around, opened the door, and left.

“We could,” she said to the closed door.

Bernadette shuffled back to the couch, dropped onto the cushions, twined her arms around her torso, and bent in half.

“I told you so.”

She didn’t bother looking up at him. “I was hoping you’d say that. It’s just what I need right now.”

“You’re going to get in trouble, missy. By becoming attached to each other—”

“We aren’t attached. We’re both lonely and in need of a good lay. Stop reading so much into it.” She got up from the couch, marched into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator.

“I could go for a beer,” he said to her back.

She exhaled an exasperated surrender and reached inside for two bottles. “St. Pauli?”

“St. Pauli is great.”

PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY

Copyright © 2008 by Missing Persons, Inc.

All Rights Reserved

Published in the United States by Doubleday, an imprint of The Doubleday Broadway Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.doubleday.com

DOUBLEDAY
and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Persons, Terri

Blind rage / by Terri Persons.—1st ed.

p.  cm.

1. United States. Federal Bureau of Investigation—Officials and employees—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3616.E815B56 2008
813'.6—dc22          2007041278

eISBN: 978-0-385-52667-8

v1.0