In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) (15 page)

“Got a friend to hack into my account. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m stealing from myself.” She sank to her knees and soaped his legs.

“Bridget. Babe. We really should be concentrating—”

He lost his train of thought when she took him into her mouth. He braced both hands on the side of the shower as he felt the slide of her hot, wet mouth on him. When he couldn’t take anymore, he pulled her up and kissed her hard on the mouth. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he backed her up against the wet tiles and slid into her. Hot water coursed over them as he sought her mouth and lost himself in her taste. He lasted longer than he thought possible, and his legs were trembling when he finally emptied himself into her. She cried out his name at the same time, pulling him deeper into her.

“I changed my mind. We stick together,” he managed to say between gasps for air. It would be easier if he could convince himself that he needed to stay with her because of the mind-blowing sex. The truth was it made him crazy that she was in danger, and there was next to nothing he could do to help. And the worst part? Bridget presented the main obstacle to him protecting her. Maybe it had nothing to do with her not trusting anyone. Maybe she thought him inept.

“No, what you said made sense about leaving separately,” she said. “We have to assume someone is outside waiting for us, and they’ll spot us more easily if we stick together.”

“I don’t like it. Look, if it’s the FBI then we have nothing to worry about because we haven’t done anything wrong.”

Bridget snorted. “Except break out of jail. And what about those passports they found? They’ll find a way to use those against me.”

“What are you saying? They’re your passports?”

She folded her arms over her breasts. “Armand got them for me. I’ve used them once or twice.”

He felt as if the ground shifted under his feet. He couldn’t keep up with her lies. It was stupid talking in the shower to camouflage their conversation when everything she said was a lie, anyway. She’d probably be feeding Armand information as soon as she walked out of here.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving.” Angry, he cranked off the water and grabbed a towel. He was done here. He wasn’t interested in hiding. He’d much prefer to pound the shit out of someone right about now. Bridget was driving him crazy, or he was letting her drive him nuts. Even though he was falling in love with her, he was going to have to let go, because she didn’t really need him. He had a feeling it would be a long time before he got over her.

He marched into Honey’s bedroom. She had extra clothes for her male friends stashed somewhere. He only hoped he didn’t find Izzy stuffed at the back of the closet while looking for them. If whoever had bugged the apartment had interrupted Izzy working here, God knows what could have happened. First phone call would be to her to make sure she was all right.

And the second—had he had enough? One call would end all of this.
All of it.

He found a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but no Izzy, thank God. He dragged on the clothes while trying to ignore Bridget as she slipped into jeans and a shirt. Ready to leave, he moved toward the door, but Bridget caught his arm and pointed at the ceiling.

“What?” he mouthed.

She moved over to the bed and pulled the covers back. “We’ve done it everywhere but the bed. Come to bed with me, Lover Boy.”

Slack-jawed, Rafe stared at her. Really? Again? Now? Then it hit him. For their effing audience.

“Nothing I’d like better than spending the day in bed with you, Sweet-Cheeks.”

Bridget swatted him on the arm as they tiptoed out of the room. Okay, “Sweet-Cheeks” was maybe going too far, but despite his frustration, spending the day in bed with Irish was at the top of his wanna list, although he was still mad at her.

Bridget grabbed her few possessions, and they quietly slipped out the door. He hoped his friend, Marianne, hadn’t changed her routine. She rarely left her apartment, and a few months ago when he’d learned she’d broken her ankle, he’d taken it upon himself to check on her every few days when he was in town. And, yeah, he helped old people cross the street. That’s just the way he was made.

Wearing a green satin lounging suit and a turban, Marianne answered the door almost before Rafe finished knocking. Her features were too irregular for her to be called a beautiful woman, but there was something about her that made people stop and take a second look. She’d once told Rafe she’d been married three times, each man richer than the last. Condos went for half a mil in this building, so Marianne’s last husband must have been loaded. He kissed her lined cheek and introduced Bridget, all the while ushering them inside her apartment. He felt exposed in the hallway.

Marianne exclaimed over his bruises and did her flutter thing, darting around like a hummingbird and touching on ten different topics at once until Rafe took her hand and asked her to sit. Her crowded condo was the opposite of Honey’s spacious, half-empty living space, and he had to clear a stack of magazines off the cluttered sofa for her. Keeping it simple, he explained that he and Bridget needed to sneak out of the building.

Marianne eyes grew wide. “Izzy said strange men had been in Honey’s apartment.”

“She hasn’t shown up the last couple of days.”

“She was here, cleaning my place today. She’s worried Honey will come home to a dirty condo.”

“Could you give me her number? I’ll call her to tell her when it’s okay to clean the apartment. Why didn’t you or Izzy call the police, Marianne?”

“They told Izzy they were installing a new mini theater system. It sounded plausible to me. Honey’s always talking about getting a big screen.”

She opened a drawer in the end table beside her, pulled out an address book and pen and paper and wrote down Izzy’s number. She passed it to Rafe. “Are you coming back?”

“Ah…probably not. Marianne, I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but if you have a key to Honey’s apartment, don’t go over there until I give you the all clear, okay?”

“So, they’re not installing a home theater system?”

“I don’t think so. To be on the safe side, call the police if you see any suspicious activity over there and don’t go in her apartment. Understand?”

She scrunched up her nose, her eyes twinkling. “You’re different.”

Rafe smiled. “You think that because of the bruises. But I’m not.”

She looked from Bridget to him and winked. “About this escape. I have an idea.”

A half hour later, Rafe sat back from the table in Marianne’s dining room, his stomach full. She was right. Food did fuel the brain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He hadn’t been interested in the greasy fried chicken they’d given him in jail. Now, if he could just catch a couple hours of sleep, he’d be on top of his game.

Listen to him,
top of his game
. Who did he think he was? 007? He didn’t have a game except to shake the bastards who were hounding Bridget.

He gathered up the dirty dishes and headed for the kitchen where Bridget and Marianne discussed which of Marianne’s wigs would be right for Bridget’s coloring.

When the women went into Marianne’s bedroom to find some clothes for Bridget—if he hadn’t been so irked at Bridget he might have been curious to see what Marianne unearthed in her eclectic wardrobe—Rafe decided now was a good time to check his messages and see how his sister was doing. He hoped she’d have time to go to the market and pick up the MG he’d left there at the crack of dawn.

Sophie answered on the first ring, as if she’d been sitting on top of the phone. “Hey, Soph. How you doing?”

“RAFE,” she wailed his name.

His heart plummeted. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t find Vince. He’s working undercover, and they don’t know where he is.”

Probably in the coffee shop across the street from Honey’s. “Sophie, slow down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She hiccupped in his ear. Hiccups weren’t a good sign. They usually meant she was on the edge of becoming hysterical. And she wasn’t the hysterical type.

“I’m spotting. I don’t know what it means. Should I go to the hospital, Rafe? Can you find Vince for me?”

He clamped a hand on the pounding that reverberated out from his forehead. Think, man. Spotting was code for bleeding. Pregnant women shouldn’t bleed. “Are you lying down?”

“No. But I will. Maybe I should call a cab. Or an ambulance. What do you think?”

“Is there much blood?”

“No.”

“Do you have any pain?” He took a quick turn around the living room, the phone glued to his ear. Where were these questions coming from? He didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“Once in a while.”

“Is there a neighbor or friend close by you can call?”

“No.” Her voice sounded like it was fading. Damn Gage for isolating her out in the damned suburbs. If Sophie lived downtown, she’d be surrounded by friends.

““I’m downtown, baby, but I’ll call a cab to pick you up and take you to Mass General. I’ll meet you there. It’ll be quicker this way rather than me going all the way out there and bringing you back into town. Okay?”

“Will you phone me when you get to the hospital? I called your cell, but it says it’s out of service.”

“I lost my cell. I’ll call you,” he promised. “Hang tight. I’m going to hang up and order the cab now. You okay?”

“I’m okay. I was just freaked out because I couldn’t get you or Vince. Call the cab. I’ll be waiting for it. You’ll be at the hospital when I get there, right?”

“Promise.”
Damn it, damn it, damn it
.

“What’s wrong?” Bridget stood with Marianne by the door to the living room.

“I need to get a cab to pick up my sister. She’s pregnant and…something’s going on. She’s got pain and some bleeding.”

“Here.” Marianne handed him a card from a cab company. “I use them all the time. They’re very reliable.”

Bridget crept into the room and slipped her fingers through his as he gave Sophie’s address to the dispatcher.

“Where’s Gage?” Bridget asked.

He couldn’t look at her as he hung up the phone. “Working undercover somewhere, apparently.”

“You’re meeting her at the hospital.”

He looked at her finally. No green in her eyes today. Just a deep, hazel brown. “She’s scared.” So was Bridget if the shadows behind her eyes were any indication.

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll distract them. When you get down to it, it’s probably just me they want, anyway.”

He pulled her closer to him. “Come with me. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“No.” She had steel in her voice now. “Sophie needs you more than I do. It’s better this way. We were going to have to split up eventually.”

“Leaving you doesn’t feel right. I’ll call DeMarco and tell him to contact Gage. Surely, they can find him.”

She reached up and feather-kissed his mouth. “You’re making this more difficult than it already is. Go. Take the number of my phone. Call me when you can.”

“What will Armand do if he catches up to you?” His stomach clenched as her soft expression shut down. She was hiding again.

“Nothing, because he needs my help. I’ll be fine. No one’s going to catch me.” She spun away and smiled across the room at Marianne. “Especially wearing the wig and outfit Marianne picked out for me. Even you wouldn’t recognize me.”

“I don’t like leaving you alone and not knowing where you’re going or when I’ll see you again. Are you sure you won’t come with me?” He was still mad she’d lied to him, but he couldn’t shake his fear that Armand might hurt her. Even knowing she could probably take better care of herself than he was capable of, he felt an irrational need to protect her.

Bridget blinked several times before he realized she was fighting tears. Aw, hell. She was right. He didn’t have a choice about what he needed to do.

Marianne crossed the room, took his arm and guided him toward the door. “Don’t worry about Izzy. I’ll call her. You go take care of your sister. And, Rafe?” She waited until he shifted his gaze from Bridget to her. “Come back to see me soon. Promise?”

“Of course. Thank you for all your help.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you for letting me help. Now go. Bridget and I have work to do.”