The Redemption Of Rafe Diaz. Maggie PriceЧитать онлайн книгу.
make sure everyone knows what a bastard I’ve been to her.”
Both men looked across the office when the door swung inward. “Hank, you wanted to see this invite?”
“Yeah, Guy. Come in.”
Rafe studied Guy Jones as he approached. He was short and burly, his dark hair thinning at the crown. His pleated khaki slacks, striped short-sleeved dress shirt and black brogans were a far cry from the tailored suit and polished Italian leather loafers worn by his partner.
“That’s it,” Bishop said, checking the invitation. He told his brother-in-law why he wanted it, then introduced Rafe.
Guy offered a hand. “Diaz, I hope to hell you can get Hank cleared of the murder charge.”
“I’ll do my best,” Rafe said. The man’s grip was like a can crusher.
The piece of heavy card stock Bishop handed Rafe was an invitation to a silent auction. Rafe’s gaze narrowed on the small pair of ornate shoes embossed on the card’s upper center. He’d seen those embroidered, bejeweled shoes earlier on a velvet-covered pedestal at Silk & Secrets.
Rafe glanced up from the invitation. “The Friends Foundation. What does it do?”
“I’m not sure.” Bishop flicked a hand as if batting away a cobweb. “Ellen and I receive piles of invitations and I never pay attention to the who and the what. I just sign the checks and she deals with the details.”
Guy Jones shrugged. “Seems like Allie Fielding is somehow involved with this foundation. I know for sure you need more than the invitation to get in the door. You also have to have your name on the confirmed guest list. I can ask my wife to make some calls and try to get you in, but she’s busy planning our daughter’s wedding so I can’t guarantee she’ll get around to it.”
“I’ll get myself in.” Rafe stabbed the invitation into the inside pocket of his suit coat. He needed to talk to Bishop’s wife and son. Period. At this late date, the only way he could ensure getting into the auction was to use Allie Fielding’s connections.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured her cool, perfect face framed by silky blond hair, heard the echo of her sultry voice, and felt all over again something tighten inside him. It was that intense man-to-woman response that had kept his gut in knots since he walked out of her shop.
Then there was the memory of her faint, expensive perfume, which had been the best thing he’d smelled in years.
He shoved away the thought. Next time he saw her, he’d be prepared. Next time, he wouldn’t allow her to get past the wall of control he’d built around himself.
Paint roller suspended in one hand, Allie narrowed her gaze across the small bedroom. “Rafe Diaz shut down an entire street gang?”
“Not single-handedly,” Liz Scott replied while using a small brush to dab pale blue paint near the room’s sole window. The pane was open, letting in a breeze heated by the bright morning sunshine.
“But Diaz got the ball rolling,” Liz added. With her long coppery hair piled on top of her head, and the tube top and baggy overalls she wore, she in no way resembled the kick-ass cop she was.
“Wouldn’t that have put Rafe in danger?”
“After spending two years in stir, taking on a street gang probably seemed like a walk in the park.”
“I suppose so.” Allie closed her eyes. Seeing Rafe yesterday had forced the sharp-edged guilt she’d harbored for years to the surface.
She opened her eyes when Claire Castle settled a hand on her arm.
“Having Rafe walk into your shop yesterday must have been a shock.” The owner of the antique shop next door to Silk & Secrets had dressed for a day of voluntary labor in tattered jeans and a faded khaki shirt. The house they toiled in was being readied for a woman who’d escaped her abusive husband and had been living in a shelter with their kids. With help from the Friends Foundation, she was getting a fresh start.
“A total shock,” Allie agreed, and squeezed Claire’s hand.
One of the best things about having close girlfriends was knowing you could count on their support. Allie had opened her shop on the same day Claire finalized her purchase of Home Treasures. They’d met Liz that same night when she’d encountered them on the sidewalk outside their shops, drinking champagne toasts and attempting a tipsy ceremonial burning of a photo of the sexy federal agent Claire had walked away from.
After hearing Claire’s tale of love gone bad, Liz torched the picture herself. Since then, the friendship among the three had flourished.
Now, Claire was married to the sexy Fed and Liz was engaged to a gorgeous detective, who’d transferred from the Shreveport PD to the Oklahoma City force.
In Allie’s experience and twenty-seven years of observation, she had only ever witnessed love go bad, crash and burn. Seeing her friends genuinely happy in their relationships was an ongoing learning experience.
Turning back to the wall, Allie put more muscle into wielding the paint roller. “In fact, when I looked up and saw Rafe, I thought I was dreaming.”
“When you called to tell me Diaz had shown up, you sounded more like you’d had a nightmare,” Liz commented. “Which is why I checked him out.”
“How did he manage to take down a gang?” Claire asked.
“He’d finished getting his college credits while in prison, so he had a degree in accounting when he was released,” Liz replied. “His uncle owned a restaurant and needed a bookkeeper. Apparently he was uneasy about having his nephew do the job, but in the end he agreed.”
Allie replenished the paint on her roller. “Why was the uncle uneasy? Because Rafe had been in prison?”
“No. The uncle was being forced by a street gang to launder drug money through his business in lieu of paying them for protection. It didn’t take Rafe Diaz long to figure out what was going on. His uncle admitted the same thing was happening to other business owners in the area.
“Diaz got them all to agree to let him install surveillance equipment in their shops. Then he taped various gang members picking up payoffs. He took the recordings and the account books to the cops, and worked a deal to get immunity for the business owners on the money laundering. Between white-collar crime and the gang unit, they put away every member of the gang.”
“Impressive,” Claire said while positioning tape along the top of a baseboard.
“Word of mouth about what Diaz did was a boon to his PI business,” Liz added.
“He wanted to be a cop,” Allie said. “That’s one of the things I remember about Rafe. His conviction ended that.”
“But it was expunged, right?” Claire asked. “Doesn’t that mean the slate was wiped clean?”
“That’s what it’s supposed to mean,” Liz answered. “In truth, cops don’t like ex-cons. There are some cops who’ll always view Diaz as the guilty party, who caught a break and walked. That’s not right nor fair, but it’s the cold, hard truth.”
“Which is totally wrong because none of what happened was Rafe’s fault,” Allie said, frustration honing her voice to an edge. “He was innocent. But the evidence the police had seemed to point to his guilt.”
“What happened to Rafe was awful,” Claire said.
“It sucks,” Liz agreed. She stepped back and scowled at her work area. “So does my paint job. I’m sure there’s some technique to this, but all I know how to do is slop the stuff on and wait for it to dry.” She sent a look across her shoulder. “Al, why don’t you just pronounce me a failure? Then I’ll slink on home.”
Glad for change to a lighter subject, Allie stepped across the room to get a close-up view of Liz’s work.