The Black Sheep and the Hidden Beauty (27 page)

“See? You already can't play by the rules.”

He lifted his hands, held them up. “Sorry. I'm working on it. You're very compelling.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We have a deal, then?”

“I don't want you to walk out of my life, so you have leverage.”

“Good to know.”

He moved an infinitesimal bit closer, hands still raised. “But so do I. Have leverage, I mean.”

“Rafe, I mean it—”

“No, no. Hands off. I'll follow your rules.”

“Good,” she said, looking entirely unconvinced. “We have much more important things to worry about and I can't afford to have you muddle me up.”

“Understood. No muddling.”

She cocked her head. “I see wheels spinning already. It's the pit bull part of you. I don't trust that part.”

“You should—it's what makes me reliable.”

“Reliably relentless and incorrigible.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I thought you liked that about me.”

“I'll like it even better when we put it to use figuring out who that guy is outside.”

T
he intercom beeped, then Kate's voice filled the room again. “Okay, this is what I've got. His card says he's Stephen Johansson with Intrepid Insurance and Securities. Drives a bronze Ford F-250 pickup, North Carolina plates.” She read off the numbers. “He won't say why he's here, other than it's private business and that Elena is expecting him. He's still pacing in my outer office. I've given him coffee and told him I'm trying to track Elena down, that she might be out on a trail ride. What else can I do?”

“Nothing,” he said at length. “Thanks, Kate. I'll take it from here. Just—don't let him leave.”

“I'll do my best.”

Rafe strode over to his desk and sat down, spinning his seat over to the computers, where he immediately began rapidly tapping out something on the keyboard.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, walking over to his desk.

“See what else I can find out about our Intrepid Mr. Johansson.”

“Intrepid Insurance doesn't sound familiar to me.”

“That's because it's not one of the companies listed in the reports.”

Elena's eyebrows lifted. “Meaning?”

“Meaning he's either a phony, or there's another policy at play here.”

“On Geronimo?”

“That's what we need to find out.”

He was pretty focused on whatever he was typing in, and she didn't want to interfere, so she turned and walked to the other side of the office. Only, one look at the couch they'd just been sprawled on and she wanted to drag him onto his desk and finish what they started. So much for her hands-off rule.

She snuck a surreptitious glance in his direction. His expression was set, his fingers flying over the keyboard, his attention so tightly focused on the monitor that she doubted he'd notice anything short of a house fire.

Something shifted inside her, as she continued to watch him. It was that focus, that intensity, that she so readily responded to. Sure, it was an obvious thing to react to physically, but now, standing here, thinking about it more clearly, she began to understand the depth of the connection she was forming with him. He was like that with everything that interested him. Whether it be her body, or just the discussion at hand. He was alert, always, to every nuance, every word, every sound, breath, scent, and texture of the world around him. No wonder he scared the living hell out of her. It was intimidating to be on the receiving end of such focused attention.

But she also identified with it. She was much the same, only she'd felt hers was more an intuitive connection. With her horses, anyway. People she didn't deal with as much. Maybe that was why she couldn't seem to keep her head around him. He was the first person who called to that intuitive part of her. He didn't let her get away with anything. No subterfuge, no avoidance. And he gave the same.

She paced to the other side of the office, and tried not to think about what would happen when this was all over. If she wasn't in jail, or worse, that is. She wanted to go back to the career she'd spent a lifetime working to build. Working here was great—rewarding, even, in ways she hadn't expected. But what she wanted, what she craved, was that thundering excitement that only came with working around young thoroughbreds pounding their hearts out along an oval track. She couldn't get that here.

Oddly, the rush she always felt when she thought about that, when she imagined her return, allowed herself to want it, think about how much she missed it, didn't come.

She turned to look at him again, sitting there behind his beautifully appointed desk, in his personally designed office, dressed, even casually, like he could pose for a menswear ad just by looking up and smiling into the camera. This man who grew up with nothing, who had fought to put beauty into his life, who respected, above all else, the need to nurture the soul, his as well as others…he made her heart pound.

She sank down onto the couch. She shouldn't be so stunned by the revelation, but she was.

Ducking her head, she fumbled her cell phone from one of the pockets of her pants and flipped it open.
Focus, dammit
. She needed to feel productive, and at the moment she was anything but. She punched in Kenny's number, then frowned as the line continued to ring and no one picked up. She finally flipped the phone shut again.

“Who are you calling?”

She looked up to find Rafe staring at her. “Kenny. With all this going on, it's past the time I told him I'd call to check in on Springer.”

“And?”

“No answer.”

Rafe frowned. She didn't want him to frown. She wanted him to shrug it off and go back to tapping the keyboard and finding out why an investigator from a heretofore unknown insurance company suddenly had such a dire need to speak to her.

“He's a practicing vet, right?”

“Right. He's probably with a client.” Except Kenny had texted her early this morning with his surgery and appointment schedule for the week and promised her that he'd keep his phone on him twenty-four/seven so she wouldn't worry.

She glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. He didn't have any surgeries today. And his last appointment had been several hours ago. She supposed he could have been called out on an emergency. She checked her phone, but, as she already knew, no messages awaited her. She was just being paranoid. For all she knew, he was in the shower.

She glanced back at Rafe, but his attention was back on his monitor. She tried to take that as a good sign, and worked at shoving aside the panic fluttering in her stomach. Other than Rafe, Mac, and Kate, no one from Dalton or Charlotte could possibly know where she'd stabled her horse. It was just all the jumbled nerves caused by the investigator showing up. And the fact that she'd been half naked on this very couch not twenty minutes ago.

“Finding anything?” she asked, rising from the couch and walking back over to the desk.

“Come here, look at this.”

She walked around the desk and stood behind him. “What am I looking at?”

“Aerial shots of Charlotte Oaks. Before.” He clicked the mouse. “And after.”

She'd seen them before—they'd been all over the news back when it was news. “Okay. I don't see anything new or different. The stables are there, then they're gone.” She still flinched at seeing the black, scorched earth, and her heart squeezed at such a tragic end to such a great champion.

“Right. Now, look at this.” He clicked again, and another photo popped up.

She bent over his shoulder to get a closer look. “Wait, that looks like—but it can't be. If the investigation is still going on and the claim hasn't been decided on, then how…?” She let the sentence trail off as she studied the aerial shot again. But no matter how long she looked at it, the facts didn't change. New stables had been built on the burn site. In fact, everything from the fences to the scorched earth itself had been replaced and rebuilt. “With the new design and different paddock layout, you'd never know it was the same spot.” She peered even closer. “Are you sure that's the same spot?”

He clicked a few buttons and the screen zoomed out slightly. He pointed. “See, there's the main stables, the track.” He shifted his finger. “The main house. The orchards, the vineyard.”

She nodded. “Wait, where did these photos come from? Some new media report?”

“There are Web sites now that let you access satellites and zoom in on pretty much anything you want, as long as you have an address.”

“No way.”

“Way.” He clicked open another screen and typed in the address for Dalton Downs. Fifteen seconds later, a very distant topographical image popped up. With a few clicks, he zoomed in closer, then closer still, and
voila
. There was the house, the stables, the whole thing.

“That's just…well, it seems wrong, doesn't it?” she said, peering closer. “Like you can just spy on anyone.”

“Well, most of these sites, the photos are archived, so you're not seeing things live, or even all that recent, in some cases. Just a snap from whenever the satellite last passed over the spot, or even longer ago than that. Usually months, at least.”

She pointed. “But there's my truck, on the far side of the employee barn. I never park it there, but I did today because I wanted to load a few things to take to Kenny's this week.” She gasped and pointed to the main stables. “And there's the investigator's pickup truck. Rafe!”

He looked over his shoulder, up at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I said
most
Web sites. We happen to have access to something a bit more…immediate.”

“I know Finn is loaded, but you don't have your own satellite, and with all the heightened security in our country, I sincerely doubt the government allows—” Her eyes widened. “You are not jacking into some government satellite, are you? Because I don't care how much trouble I'm in, that's just—”

“Calm down. I assure you, it's all legit.”

“But how?”

“Let's just say when you mentioned Finn's capacity for wealth, you might have overestimated what a decent satellite costs these days. Or, for that matter, leasing a private company that puts them up there for a living.”

“Overestimated? How could I possibly—” She cut herself off and straightened. “Never mind. I don't think I want to know.” She turned her attention back to the screen. “So, the new barn. How could they rebuild if there are still ongoing investigations?”

“That's just it. As far as I can tell, there aren't any. The reason Mac couldn't find anything new is because there isn't anything new.”

“Files closed, then? They paid the claim?”

“It would take me a day or two to get copies, but it looks that way, yes.”

“Then who is that guy presently wearing a path in Kate's office carpet?”

“I don't know.”

“Did you find anything out about his company?”

“It exists, but from what little digging I could do in this short a period of time, that's all I can tell you. Nothing pops up on this guy personally. I will find out more, but it will take a little bit more time. Nothing is coming up linking this firm with anything else we have to date, either. No connection to Charlotte Oaks that I can find, or Geronimo.”

“Can you find out who hired him or his company? Or do you think he's just doing this on his own? Maybe he's freelance investigating for some media outlet.”

“Possible, but that's not where my gut is headed with this one.”

“If the police have signed off on the case, and are unable to prove arson, and the insurance companies have called it a day, then what else is there to look into?”

Rafe looked up at her, and dread filled her.

“The only thing left is someone finding out about Springer,” she said.

“I hate to say it, but it's the only thing that connects them to you, and the only thing that wouldn't be covered under any of the previous investigations.”

“But how? Who?”

“I don't know.”

She stepped around him to look at the photos again. “They sure built this pretty fast. Wouldn't you all have found something about the claims being paid?”

Rafe frowned and looked back at the monitor. “You know, you have a point.”

“What if the claims weren't paid? I mean, what if they just decided to go ahead and rebuild? It's been months and months—maybe they got tired of waiting. Gene isn't the most patient guy in the world, and maybe he stopped caring about the payoff.”

“Possible. Were those stables in demand?” he asked.

“Actually, no. They weren't in use the entire time I was there, until Geronimo came. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of any reminders of the fire. He is all about image.”

“True.” Rafe continued to study the photos, zooming in closer. “The other reason to rebuild is if you're afraid they'll find some evidence.”

“After all this time and that many people digging, surely they'd have found anything that was left to find.”

Rafe lifted a shoulder. “Just thinking about—”

“—all the angles,” she finished for him.

He looked up and they both shared a brief smile. Then he shoved back and stood, taking her in his arms and leaning against his desk.

She raised her eyebrows, but he was unrepentant. “Screw the rules. Things aren't looking so hot and I feel better when you're right here.”

She let him tug her further between his legs. “I have to admit, you have a point.”

He pushed her hair back and looked into her eyes for a long moment, then sighed and tugged her the rest of the way into his arms, so she was tucked against his chest.

“Now what?” she asked quietly. “Do we go talk to him?”

“I'd feel better if we knew more about why he was here.”