Secret Light (5 page)

his face and Rafe saw it there, he might need to leave, and fast.

Rafe asked coolly. “Do you visit with all the people whose homes are vandalized,

Ben?”

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That yanked Ben back to earth with a thud. He clasped his beer in both hands and

tried a bit of humor.

“All part of the service.”

“That must take a great deal of your free time.”

Ben finished off his beer in three large swallows and rose from the couch. “I’m

afraid I’ve taken up enough of yours. Thank you very much for the beer.”

Rafe put his pipe down and stood. “You’re welcome.”

Rafe had grown formal so quickly Ben wondered if he’d click his heels. They made

their way to the foyer, but in the end, Rafe only inclined his head, ever so slightly, in

dismissal.

“You’ll let me know if anyone gives you any more trouble?”

“I will. Thank you for your concern, Ben.”

Once they reached the door, Ben turned. “It’s possible I’m a damned poor detective,

but I’ve been in your home twice, and I haven’t seen a single photograph. You’re here

alone on a Saturday night. There was one plate, one cup, and one fork in the sink.”

“So I haven’t done my dishes yet.” Colman thrust his hands into the pockets of his

trousers. “I don’t believe that’s a crime.”

“Everything here”—Ben indicated Rafe’s living room—“is like movie set or an

elaborate doll’s house. It feels cold. I guess when I met you, I thought you might be

lonely.”

“I see.” Rafe was unreadable. In the face of his indifference, it was plain Ben had

come to an erroneous conclusion. Still—Rafe hadn’t moved. He hadn’t reached out to

take the knob in his hand, hadn’t conclusively opened the door to usher Ben out.

Ben’s heart contracted with fear, and his mouth went dry. If he was wrong about

this… If he was reading things incorrectly—if he had Rafe Colman all wrong—there

could be terrible consequences.

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“I just thought…” He turned and oh so casually brushed Rafe’s forearm with his. It

was the lightest touch a big man like him might deliver, and he was aware of every

minute detail. Even through his suit jacket, he felt the warmth of Rafe’s body. When the

bare skin of their wrists connected, the touch was so electrifying he nearly gasped.

Surely Rafe must feel that
? He let his hand linger for the briefest second, just enough for

his little finger to brush Rafe’s, a seemingly accidental curl and slide along the skin, and

gone.

The entire business was over in less than a second—just long enough for someone

with experience, someone like-minded, to take his meaning and make a choice.

Ben watched Rafe’s face carefully, discovering to his dismay that he’d been clumsy

again.
Or worse
. Rafe’s pupils had dilated, either with arousal or fear, but whatever it

was, the reality wasn’t pleasant for him. He appeared shocked. He appeared revolted.

“Don’t.” Colman drew back with a gasp.

Oh, Colman understood all right. Knew what Ben was and what he’d intended by

that.
Christ.

“Excuse me.”

Rafe rippled with strong emotion. “What makes you think…?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said stiffly. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Rafe’s voice dripped ice. “I think you understand perfectly.”

In a panic now, Ben stepped toward Rafe. He was a cop. He wasn’t going to let this

get out of hand. If he had to intimidate—if he had to crush whatever threat was boiling

up here, he’d do it—to hell with the consequences.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rose to his full height, and even then

he was only taller than Rafe by an inch. The difference was all bulk and attitude. “What

exactly
are you accusing me of?”

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“Nothing.” Rafe swallowed. His accent thickened, and his face had gone pale. Even

Mooki sensed a change; she’d dropped into a wary crouch and slunk closer to her

master. “It’s nothing. Go. I wish you a pleasant evening, ja?”

After that exchange, Ben hated himself more than he usually did. “Good night, Mr.

Colman.”

Rafe closed the door with shaking hands and leaned against it. His heart raced, and

his chest ached. He couldn’t get enough air.

Mooki danced nervously along at his heels when he finally pushed away and

stumbled to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a good three fingers of whiskey. He

got himself under control by about the third big sip, determined to rid himself of the

sick, lingering aftertaste of terror.

It would pay to remember that Ben Morgan was a
cop
. Astute, intelligent, and

highly curious. He planned to become a detective, but he was currently a rank-and-file

member of the Los Angeles Police Department, where the unwritten policy with regard

to unnatural men was entrapment. It would pay to remember how painfully—and at

what tremendous cost—Rafe had learned that lesson.

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Chapter Four

December 6, 1955

Rafe was brooding at his desk when Ash Gallagher knocked. He’d smoked an

ashtray full of Dunhills and left his phone calls for later. An unattractive, unhealthy

miasma hung like a fog in the air. When Gallagher opened the door, he waved his hand

to disperse it.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“What?”

“I haven’t seen you like this since the Fahey deal fell through. Is this work, or are

you suffering from the oldest malady in the world?"

“Prostitution?” Rafe shot Ash a half smile.

“That’s the oldest
profession
. You
catch
the oldest malady; you don’t buy it. What

happened with that little waitress from Cinnabar? Did she turn your head and give you

the heave-ho?”

“No, of course not.”

“I get it. You’re a gentleman, so you don’t kiss and tell. But I heard you were so

busy with her you didn’t notice someone burning your house down.”

“My garage.”

“So what gives?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ll bet. Well, come with me, anyway. I need to drink lunch—even if you don’t

want to talk about what’s eating you.”

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Rafe threw his pen down and rose, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. “All

right.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Not Cinnabar.”

“Oh ho. The plot thickens.”

Rafe gave him a small shove. “I plan to eat, and Cinnabar doesn’t serve food. I’ll

drive, as I’m going to want to get back to work in one piece.”

“Have some faith,” Ash teased as they got into Rafe’s car. “Cinnabar has peanuts,

and I’m sure we could get back all right; I hear the waitresses are very

accommodating.”

“You malign the poor girl. She merely offered me a lift.”

“But what—exactly—did she lift? You lucky son of a bitch.”

“She wasn’t…” He edged out of the parking lot and saw a black-and-white parked

across the street. A shiver raced up his spine before he could help it, and he cursed

under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Ash glanced back. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No.”

“I’ve seen some jumpy people in my day…”

“I’m not jumpy. One of the patrolmen who investigated my fire believed I set it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. He knew my car wasn’t in the garage, and he believes I left it out so

it would be safe while I burned the garage down.” All of this was technically true but

not why Rafe wondered if it had been Ben’s patrol car sitting there, or if Ben was

somehow keeping tabs on him.

“And you wrote all that Nazi garbage on your own door?”

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Rafe glanced in the rearview mirror. The patrol car didn’t move. “Apparently I’m a

clever enough bastard to throw suspicion elsewhere.”

“You need a drink, then, too.”

“I have an appointment later. I’ll have to pass.” Rafe headed for a local burger joint,

hoping it wasn’t too packed to grab a meal before he had to take Ash back and head

out.

Once there, they opted for a seat at the counter, squeezing between a woman with

stiff hair and a bottom that draped over the sides of her seat like a toadstool, and a man

in work clothes.

Ash pushed his menu back at the dark-haired girl when she gave it to him. “Burger

and suds, honey.”

“Sure, okay.” When she glanced at Rafe, a delicate blush tinged her cheeks. “Oh,

hiya, Rafe.”

“Hi.” Rafe didn’t remember her name, but she was familiar. Because of its

proximity to his work, decent coffee, and forty-cent cheeseburgers, he ate there quite a

lot. He glanced at her nametag. “Ruth.”

“You want the usual?”

“Yes, please.” A thirty-five cent hamburger and an equally affordable hot fudge

sundae. Not as good as C.C. Brown’s but better than most. Great for a pick-me-up at the

end of a tough day.

Ash lit a cigarette and thanked the girl when she brought his beer. She put water

down in front of Rafe. They sat in silence, watching people until she dropped their

plates in front of them.

“If you’re good and eat your food without complaint, I’ll buy you a sundae,” said

Rafe.

“Does that go with beer?” He took a long swig and dug into his burger.

“Everything goes with beer.”

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Ash grinned with his mouth full, but in seconds, his face fell. Rafe turned to see

what caused his expression to falter and saw Ben Morgan enter the building with his

partner. Rafe’s burger turned to dust in his mouth.

“That’s the same… Are they following you?”

“It would appear so.” Rafe picked up his napkin and wiped his hands carefully, all

the while watching Ben Morgan approach him in the mirror.

“Mr. Colman.”
Sheiβe
, this was
Officer Morgan
addressing him—not Ben.

“Yes. This is my friend, Mr. Gallagher,” Rafe introduced Ash. At least they would

know he wasn’t alone. That he couldn’t simply disappear without
someone
knowing

he’d been picked up by the police. He had a witness—a credible family man. For all his

foolishness, Ash was highly regarded at work.

“We were coming to your office to tell you the good news when we saw you leave. I

hope you don’t mind, but we followed. We’ve detained a couple of local boys who

admit they vandalized your home. They’ll be dealt with in juvenile court, but the case is

solved. Your neighborhood should be safe from further problems—from those two,

anyway.”

“That’s tragic. But it’s what I expected,” said Rafe. He glanced up, but Ben didn’t

look him in the eye.

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know.” Ben studied his shoes.

Morgan’s partner, who had remained mostly silent, reached over, picked up Rafe’s

burger, and took a large bite. “Mmm. Good.”

Ben gaped at his partner while Rafe tossed his napkin down and reached for his

wallet. He used the exact same voice he used with Mooki when she was about to step

out in front of a car. “Komm, Ash, time to go.”

“No kidding,” Ash muttered. He picked up his beer and downed it. Then he placed

some cash on the counter. Under his breath, he said, “What did you do to earn the

scrutiny of the LAPD?”

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Rafe left a dollar and turned toward the door. Before he could leave, Ben stopped

him. “Mr. Colman, please. I’m sorry for my partner’s behavior. It was completely

inexcusable.”

“Officer Morgan. I am very familiar with the abuse of power. Be aware, I am no

longer a boy to be sent from a fight by my Mutti.” Rafe knew he’d turned a brilliant

shade of red. That was the curse of fair hair and a light complexion.

“You don’t understand…” Morgan tried to step in front of his partner, but Calhoun

pushed him out of the way.

“I think he understands perfectly, Morgan.”

Rafe was livid. “I
will
be filing a formal harassment complaint.”

“Yeah?” Calhoun glared at him “You think you can take me on,
Herr
Colman?”

“I know it.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Calhoun raised an eyebrow.

Rafe stepped forward and spoke so only Calhoun could hear him. “I am not

without resources, and I am not ruled by my passions. I’ve faced far worse than you,

and
I’m still here
.”

Ash hurried between them and pulled Rafe toward the door. Officer Morgan

grabbed his partner’s arm so he couldn't follow.

“I’ll be seeing you.” Calhoun gave a wave.

“Count on that,” Rafe shot back before they headed out to the parking lot.

Once they were safely back in Rafe’s car, Ash gaped at him. “What the hell was

that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps I am so handsome they think all the girls will be taken?”