He was spooning cocoa powder into two mugs when his phone rang.
“I thought you were going to keep me informed.” Enzo didn’t sound annoyed, precisely, ‘impatient’ described his tone more accurately Rafe decided. He hitched the phone between his ear and shoulder and continued to stir the powder and water together.
“Since it’s nearly midnight here, it must be knocking on two in the morning over there. Why so anxious?”
“I thought I’d made it clear to you how devious Adrian can be. This sudden and apparently clumsy demand that you and his daughter get married before you’ve had time to even consider the idea is something to be concerned about. Adrian does not normally do clumsy.”
“Maybe not. But if he suddenly realised he’s about to be exposed for theft on a grand scale, even he may be panicked into acting rashly, don’t you think? After all, it occurs to me that walking out on the family when he could have had a good and secure future with the firm doesn’t smack of a rational thinking mind to me.”
“What does it suggest?” Enzo asked.”
“A man who acted before he engaged his brain. Panic, perhaps? How do I know, but I’ll ask you this.” He hesitated because the thought had only just inched into his brain.
“What?” Enzo prompted.
“When Adrian left did he help himself to a supply of cash on the way out the door?”
Sounding resigned Enzo took a moment before responding.
“He did. Why do you ask?”
“Because it would seem this particular dog is still up to his old tricks.”
“Explain.” The demand cracked across the ether and had Rafe grabbing for his phone before it slid off his shoulder.
“I can’t talk now. I’ll ring you later. In the morning.” Before he could end the call Enzo’s demands filled the room.
“You phone back tonight. Do you hear me, boy? You phone back tonight.”
Gone was his intention to remain here with Samantha overnight, in case she spent it worrying about what she’d learned this afternoon Was Enzo right? Was her father’s apparently gauche actions part of a bigger scheme? He’d have to think about it. Rafe found creamer in the cupboard and added a spoonful to each mug before returning upstairs.
He amended his conclusion that Samantha lived in a state of organised chaos when he found a trail of clothes from the doorway to her bed and Samantha lying naked on top of the comforter.
His mouth dried up, his hands shook spilling chocolate over the mugs, and his blood rushed south.
He wanted… how he wanted…
Instead, he backed out of the room, and with deliberate concentration set the mugs on the nearest surface. It took several minutes to get his libido under control and to be sure his hands would not stray before he re-entered the room.
The duvet had skewed across the bed, thankfully more off than on, which enabled him to reach across the bed and pull it over her. She wouldn’t be as comfortable as he’d like, nor as warm as she could be, but it was the best he could do without giving in to his rampant need for her. He flicked a lock of hair off her face, sighed, picked up her clothes, folded them and set them on the end of her bed, then left.
Perhaps it was as well Enzo expected him to ring back him back tonight.
No perhaps about it.
Rafe collected the mugs, returned to the kitchen, dumped the contents down the drain, and left the house without stopping to ring for a taxi.
He tried to convince himself the walk would do him good. If only he could get the image of a naked Samantha out of his head. Pulling his jacket collar up against the icy wind that whistled down the street, he flipped his phone open and like a dying man clutching a life jacket in the middle of an ocean, set off for home. He dialled his father’s number and heaved a sigh of relief when Enzo answered immediately.
“So you think the apparently rushed approach may be deliberate?” Rafe asked as though their call hadn’t been disrupted.
The home-going, late-night diners had given way to young men and women in various stages of drunkenness and chemical abuse. Shouts, cat-calls and the sound of fists hitting flesh reminded him to pay attention to his surroundings; he hoped the approaching taxi was free to take him home.
“Never under-estimate the man.”
Rafe had never heard bitterness in Enzo’s voice before, and wondered about it. Right now Samantha was his priority, so he filed the thought away to be examined later. He heaved a sigh of relief when the taxi pulled up beside him.
“Where to, mate?” the driver enquired.
While the taxi carried him home, Rafe shared the events of the afternoon with his father.
“I too, will instigate an investigation,” Enzo said when he’d finished. “This must be stopped once and for all. If you intend to marry the girl, she needs to be free of her past. And we need to be free of his contamination of our family.”
“And Adele?” He wasn’t ready yet to confirm his intentions towards Samantha with anyone, not even his father.
“She is not my concern. While in true Italian tradition she would be considered family, I can’t help thinking she must be aware of where the money comes from to give her the lifestyle she obviously enjoys.” After a moment Enzo conceded, “Of course I could be wrong, but I doubt it.”
“We shall see,” Rafe agreed. “Do you want me to advise my legal team that you will be instructing yours to begin an investigation or would you prefer to keep your end independent and under wraps for now? With Samantha’s agreement I have already instructed my own legal team to work in conjunction with her solicitor, Braithwait.”
When the taxi pulled up outside his house Rafe dug in his pocket, sorted through some notes and handed them to the driver. He stepped onto the pavement just as it began to rain. The big, fat, heavy drops that indicated a full-blown downpour that had him scurrying inside, with the phone still clamped to his ear.
“Are you still there?” His front door slamming behind him punctuated his father’s query.
“I’m still here, give me a moment.” Rafe shed his jacket and shoes before heading for the whisky decanter in the sitting room. He poured two finger-fulls into a tumbler and sipped. The fiery liquid slid down his throat. “Are you aware that Samantha is twenty-five on Christmas Eve? That gives us less than three weeks to carry out and complete our enquiries.”
“Then combining our efforts will bring the best results,” Enzo agreed.
On his way across the room, glass in hand, Rafe paused.
“Do you happen to know if Adrian is in contact with anyone who works for you?”
“You ask this because?”
“You implied earlier that he’s aware of what’s going on in the family business.”
“Adrian is too busy watching what your company is doing to worry about mine. But then, given what has been uncovered, if you succeed in your takeover, the embezzlement would come to light anyway. Perhaps that is what has motivated him to make a move now. Have you and Samantha had time to discuss the situation and come to any decisions?”
“Not yet. She’s shocked by what’s been revealed today and it’s hit her very hard, not that she’d admit it.”
“You are with her?” Did he detect disapproval in his father’s voice? He shook his head, then remembered Enzo couldn’t see him. “No, I’ve just arrived home.”
“If she is so upset, why did you not stay with her?”
No way could he tell his father that if Samantha had turned to him for comfort during the night, he’d have done far more than take her in his arms and offer reassurance. Just the image of her lying naked on top of her bed sent his blood rushing south again.
“Believe me,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was for the best.”
His father laughed.
Laughed!
“I wondered whether you’d ever meet a woman who could be your equal. How does she feel about you?”
“She lumps me in with the rest of my gender—” No need to reveal the disadvantage he’d started off with. “In other words, her independence is what matters most to her. And Adrian’s machinations have made her more determined to dig her heels in for the long haul. I’ve suggested we pretend to go along with Adrian’s demands.”
“And?”
“She won’t even consider it. She swore she’d let Adrian have the lot if it meant getting him off her back permanently.”
“And you believe her?”
“I think she believes she means what she says.” Rafe prevaricated. After all, he’d seen the determination in her eyes.
Five minutes later, the call ended, he stood under the freezing cold water cursing a blue streak.
****
The creeping cold penetrated her dream. Rafe holding her in his arms offering marriage, it all sounded so ideal. She wanted to snuggle up to him garner the warmth of his body. Suddenly the warmth vanished replaced by a blast of cold air. She shifted, shivered, and sat up when the cover fell away. She was naked! She’d never slept naked in her life. No wonder the cold had wakened her. How come she was naked? She brushed a hand over her eyes and froze. How come she could smell Rafe’s cologne? Scrambling off the bed she struggled to recall how she’d reached her room. Had the image of Rafe carrying her in his arms been part of her dream at all? The neat pile of clothes at the end of her bed had her heart almost pounding out of her chest. She needed to think, to remember… A hot drink and a shower would calm her twitching nerves and kick her brain into gear.
Hot drink?
Chocolate?
Rafe telling her to go to bed, and that he would bring her a hot drink.
Pulling her dressing gown from the cupboard she tied the belt and glanced at her bedside table. No cup.
Was he still here? Somehow she doubted it, the place seemed too still, too silent. Instinct told her no one else was in her home. The two mugs on the drainer caught her attention. Rafe had made a drink. She didn’t remember drinking it. Or had she fallen asleep before he brought it up to her? And her clothes, she normally dumped them in the laundry basket.
Did that mean… what did it mean? She shook her head waited for the kettle to boil.
It all started coming back to her, the visit to Braithwait’s office, the revelations, the anger, betrayal and sense of desolation that temporally had her thinking of caving and letting the swine continue to embezzle even more from her. And then dinner afterwards with Rafe, and coming back home together.
Home together. Why did that thought make her feel all warm and fuzzy? He’d wanted to talk about strategy, and if she wasn’t imagining it, he’d even suggested a fake engagement to give them all more time to discover the purpose behind Adrian’s actions.
She carried the steaming mug of chocolate through to the sitting room and switched on the gas fire. In a weird kind of way, his suggestion made sense. Settling on her settee, she tucked her feet beneath her and wrapped her hands round her mug. Could she do it? If she failed to convince Adrian it would all be for nothing and where would that leave her?
She leaned forward, took a deep breath and re-ran the question through her mind.
Where would it leave her? Since the arrangement would be a sham, it shouldn’t make any difference to her at all. By Christmas Rafe Santini would be history. He’d be gone from her life, with no excuse to pester her to do his portrait, and no reason to continue a fake engagement… so why did the prospect of not seeing him again disturb her?
She nearly leapt from her chair when her phone rang. Who would ring her at two in the morning?
Then, without hearing his voice, she knew.
Rafe.
Heat flamed into her face and without thinking she pulled the folds of her dressing gown over her legs.
“Hello?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”
She heard the rough edges of emotion in his voice.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, I’ve come down for that chocolate drink.” She’d heard his intake of breath, followed by a muffled string of curses.
“You were asleep by the time it was done.”
Amusement at Rafe’s obvious discomfort booted her earlier embarrassment right out the window. Not wanting to add insult to injury she stifled the laughter that bubbled up inside. Better not to go there, she decided, and changed the subject.
“What are you calling about?” Had she heard his mutterings correctly? ‘To hear your voice.’
“I intended to leave a message for you to get back to me so we can arrange a meeting.” Nothing in the cool tone of his voice indicated the frustration she thought he’d muttered, but then she probably imagined them.
“Oh, right.” Was that disappointment she heard in her tone? She must still be addled from her short sleep.
“I have a couple of overseas conference calls in the morning that I can’t cancel, but I hope to be clear by midday. Do you have any free time around then?”
Finishing her hot chocolate, Samantha rose and headed for her studio. “Give me a moment to check. I don’t think so, but I do know I have an early afternoon sitting booked. I can’t remember the time.”
She flicked on the light and stopped dead in the doorway. It wasn’t a mess, but whoever had been in here was either sloppy in hiding his efforts or didn’t care if she knew someone had invaded her inner sanctum. Paintbrushes lay scattered over her work surface and her pictures set against the wall had been shifted and not replaced in the right order.
“Samantha?”
She tried to speak and found her tongue had cleaved against the roof of her mouth.
“Samantha!” The demand in Rafe’s voice broke through her shock.
“Someone’s been in here.” With her legs threatening to give way, she folded. Dropped onto the floor where she stood. “Someone’s been in here,” she said again, this time full outrage replaced the broken whisper.
“Can you lock your studio door?”
“Yes.”
“Then get out of there, lock the door and call the police.”
Before she could respond the dial tone buzzed in her ear. A torn curtain on the other side of the room fluttered in the breeze, and broken glass glittered beneath the overhead lights. Someone had climbed up to her studio and broken a window to gain access. She wanted to scream. Instead, she took a deep breath, followed Rafe’s instructions and headed for her bedroom. A thin silk dressing gown would not keep her warm and the shock, on top of all the others was already seeping the warmth from her body. She was pulling a thick woollen jumper over her head when Rafe banged on her front door. At least she hoped it was Rafe. Convinced she couldn’t cope with any more nasty surprises Samantha ran downstairs while fastening her jeans.
With the door barely open Samantha found herself wrapped in a bear-hug. “Did you call the police?” Rafe asked as he brushed his lips across her forehead.
She nodded into his chest and snuggled closer. “They promised to come as quickly as possible.”
“How did they get in?” Rafe drew away and studied the front door lock.
“Through a studio window.”
“What is below that window?”
“How do you mean?” He’d lost her, why did he want to know what was beyond the broken window?
“Do you have a yard outside your studio, or grass, or even a flower bed.”
Footprints, of course. She’d taken up two rows of slabs in the spring, and created a narrow flower bed, and smiled when she remembered Clair’s disapproval.
“You’ll encourage damp if you have a flower bed so close to brick-work,” she’d chided. And Samantha’d replied that by the time any dampness made an appearance she’d probably be long gone. Tonight’s invasion of her studio had Samantha wondering whether departure may come sooner rather than later.
“A flower bed,” she answered Rafe, and started when the sound of heavy footsteps, followed by the peel of her doorbell had her almost jumping out of her skin.
****
Clumsiness seemed to feature high on recent events, Rafe thought. Finger prints on the glass. Footprints in the soil. And the convenience of a drainpipe they’d used to climb up to the studio. They accessed from the yard end of the building away from the full length glass wall she’d installed. Too easy?
“Either he’s and idiot or extremely cunning,” the inspector told them after SOCO lifted three perfect prints from the broken glass and taken a cast of two clear footprints in the flower bed and now scanned the rest of the studio for more information. “Do you know if anything is missing?” he asked Samantha.
Instead of answering his question Samantha pointed to the floor beneath the window where several shards of broken glass still scattered the floor. “How come there’s no trace of soil on the floor inside?” Samantha asked.
“That’s why I say your intruder is probably not as stupid as he wants you to believe. Have they entered any other rooms in the house?”
“No, I keep the connecting door locked.”
Rafe watched Samantha scan the room, saw the downturn of her mouth and knew she itched to get in there and clean away the evidence of intrusion. Beneath the apparent chaos of her tools and equipment Rafe had observed and appreciated the economy in her movements. Every action had a purpose; every item had its place. Ballet in an art studio. Remembering the thought and his repudiation of it, now through the mess left behind by the intruder Rafe understood how organised Samantha really was. In her work at least, then shook his head. In all aspects of her life, for he knew many people who’d be totally thrown if they’d found themselves in Samantha’s shoes today.
“We’ll dab for prints to see whether they tried to open the door,” he’d said and discovered unidentifiable smudges around the door handle. “Guess they did,” he added when the Scenes of Crime officer completed his task.
Before Samantha could ask, the inspector explained. “Since neither you nor any of your clients had any reason to disguise your presence in here we should have been able to lift your prints without any problem. Who ever tried that door wore gloves and smeared your prints in the process.”
“So you’re saying they deliberately didn’t wear gloves when they broke the window and climbed in but they did by the time they tried the door?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” the inspector replied with what, to Rafe, seemed like callous indifference, but was in reality, he conceded, simply experience.
The inspector, his glance scanning the room, stopped and asked, “Did you touch anything in here before you called us?” Samantha shook her head and reached out for Rafe’s hand.
“She was on the phone to me when she opened the door, so I know she remained in the doorway until I suggested she leave and lock the door again behind her.” Rafe slipped an arm round her waist and drew her close.
“Is that what happened?”
Samantha nodded in response to the inspector’s question. “Yes.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I was cold so I went upstairs and dressed.”
“You’d been asleep?”
Again she nodded. “It’s been a bad day.” She said simply, and she turned into Rafe’s arms when her voice broke. It tore at his heart to realise she was crying.
As briefly as possible, Rafe filled the inspector in on the afternoon’s revelations. “It’s possible you, or one of your colleagues, will receive a call from Ms. Brown’s solicitor tomorrow,” he explained. “He’s going back through his records to compile as much information for you as possible before he contacts you.”
“If you have his details I’ll call him now.”
“Now?”
The officer held up his hand, pulled out his phone and ordered another of his officers to check out the solicitor’s office for suspicious activity or any signs of a break-in before contacting Braithwait.
When the sound of a nearby church clock chiming four-o-clock filtered into his mind Rafe checked his watch. Given the time difference should he phone his father and update him or wait until the morning? In another two hours Enzo would be in his office. Could he manage to get a couple of hours sleep before contacting his father again?
“Do you have any friends you could spend the rest of the night with?” The inspector was frowning down at Samantha. “I don’t think you should remain here on your own.”
He felt the shudder that ripped through her. “Do you think they’ll come back?”
“No.” The inspector shook his head. “But remaining at the scene of a crime can be unnerving at the best of times, and during the dark everything seems magnified especially when you’re on your own.”
“Claire,” Samantha said, raising her head from where he cradled it against his chest. “Claire Lombard. She is George Lombard’s wife” When the inspector waited Samantha clarified, “The politician’s wife.”
“Ah, yes, Lombard. He’s a friend of mine. Do you want me to contact them for you?
“That won’t be necessary.” Rafe pushed away the unexpected surge of jealousy. “I can stay here, or if she wants to get out of here, Ms Brown is welcome to come back to my apartment.”
He didn’t like that Samantha went still in his arms. “Unless, of course,” he aimed for a light-hearted, careless tone, “you’d rather I drove you over to your friend.” He drew back a little and looked into her eyes. Vulnerability warred with longing and nearly broke his resolve not to kiss her senseless. Never had the childish saying “kiss it better” seemed so true. He’d like to take Samantha upstairs and drive the horrors of the day out of her mind.
“I’d like to see Claire, but I don’t want to leave my home.” Her voice firmed, and she straightened her spine. With a glare at the inspector she challenged him for understanding. “I refuse to let anyone drive me away,” she snapped. “Especially if Adrian is behind this.” She sliced her hand through the air. “What is he thinking? Does he believe intimidation will force me to bow to his demands? If he does, he’s about to discover he’s made a big mistake.”
Rafe felt the loss when she stepped away from him and addressed the inspector directly. “I’ll admit to feeling violated by the knowledge someone entered my home uninvited, but I’m staying put.”
Rafe wanted to sigh too and cast the inspector a sympathetic glance. “I’ll stay with her. Two women alone in the house…” He grinned, “—and I don’t supposed George would be any happier about the prospect than you or I would.”
“My thoughts, exactly,” the inspector returned the grin. “I’ll be on my way then and get in touch later this morning.” After a brief nod the inspector followed his colleagues from the house.
“You don’t have to stay.” Samantha reached up and snapped the top bolt into place across the front door, bent to the bottom bolt — giving him a close view of her rounded curves — and slid that into place, then stood and faced him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets in order to keep himself from reaching out for her.
“Seems like your mouth is saying one thing and your brain another.” Rafe indicated the bolts and offered a sympathetic smile when her cheeks turned pink. “Come on, lead me to your spare room. A couple of hours sleep is better than none at all.”
When she stopped outside the door of her guest bedroom Rafe gave into his craving and pulled Samantha into his arms and kissed her. Not as he intended, but hard and swift and… And not nearly long enough.
“You are safe from me,” he said stepping away from her before he surrendered again, and closed the door in her startled face.
No, that kiss was not nearly long enough. And Rafe doubted another cold shower would douse his gnawing hunger for her. He crossed to the window and gazed out. Street lights overpowered the stars, and car lights like white and red ribbons, streaked along the streets below. The memory of her lips against his… so soft, almost tentative, her touch when her hand snaked up to his neck and into his hair had his heart pounding against his ribs and triggered goose bumps all over his arms. The curve of her cheek beneath his hand when she rested against his chest and the softness of her belly nestled against his taut muscles… how come a woman whose head tucked naturally beneath his chin fit him so perfectly?
He’d switched his phone to vibrate when the police arrived, now he pulled it out of his pocket, flipped it open and wondered what had his father calling him at this time of the morning.
“My man says the police were called to Ms. Brown’s house and that they have only just left. What’s going on?”
Outraged, Rafe nearly forgot to keep his voice down. “You’re spying on Samantha?”
“Of course not, but I am making sure she’s safe,” Enzo snapped.
“A bit late for that. Her studio was broken into sometime during the night.”
“Is she alright?”
“Of course she’s not alright. She’s shocked. And, on top of everything else, as she explained to the inspector, she feels violated.”
“Why has she remained there and not gone to stay with friends?”
“She has me.” Would his father take his words the wrong way? He hoped not. Samantha mattered to him. So much so, if she refused to entertain marriage, he’d wait until she agreed to become his mistress. And if he had anything to do with it, she would become his wife sooner than she anticipated. “I told the officer I would stay with her tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
A movement on the street below caught Rafe’s attention. “Do you have a man posted outside Samantha’s house now?”
“I do, and I suggest you introduce yourself to him before you leave in the morning. His replacement will take over at midday.”
“It appears you have been busy. What else have you learned?”
“I will call you at your office in the morning.”
With a snarl of impatience Rafe agreed after passing on the times and expected duration of his two conference calls.
****
She’d spent what was left of the sleepless night going over and over the previous day’s events. Being banned from her studio nearly drove Samantha crazy with impatience. When she discovered who’d broken into her home… Everything pointed to Adrian, but… Was it that simple? Setting aside years of dislike for the man, who one minute claimed to be her father, and the next said he wasn’t and she should be grateful to him for keeping her and bringing her up. Remembering his idea of gratitude sent shivers down her spine and had her bouncing out of bed and pacing the floor. She didn’t know how she’d fought him off the only time he’d made a serious attempt to molest her, and her threat to scream the place down if he so much as entered her room — opened the door even — had kept him away after that. At least that’s what she’d thought, but perhaps that’s when and why he’d embezzled her inheritance instead. What he couldn’t get one way, he’d take another.
But… She crossed the room and stood staring at her reflection in the night-darkened window, this break-in seemed too brazen, even for Adrian. The notebook on her stand caught Samantha’s eye and she picked it up, pulled the wing-backed chair near the window and drew a line down the centre of the page and began making lists.
Who, other than Adrian would benefit from the embezzlement? Her head jerked up. No! The woman may never have been close but Adele had always offered an almost offhand kindness during her childhood. Sometimes she’d even intervened between her and Adrian during their many bust-ups.
She shook her head in denial then bent to the task of making another set of lists.
It wasn’t until she couldn’t think of anyone else to add to the pages that Samantha became aware of how solitary her life had been, still was. And for the first time in her life she questioned her own motives behind her actions and life choices.
At school she’d made friends easily and maintained contact with many of them until, with the exception of Claire, they either moved away or married. Was that another reason why she’d closed herself off from the thought of marriage? No, it couldn’t be. After all she’d been virtually waiting at the altar for Harold. She’d loved him, hadn’t she? At the time if asked, she’d have given a fervent “yes.” Since coming face to face with Rafael Santini that assurance had wavered.
Just the thought of him raised her heartbeat, probably pushed her blood pressure off the scale, and disturbed her dreams, when she slept, to an extent they left her wanting and frustrated upon waking. Harold had never even set her heart pounding the way simple thoughts of Rafe did. She rubbed her sweaty palms down her sleep shirt. Did she use her dislike of Rafe as a shield against these feelings she’d never experienced before? Possibly, but of course, when they’d first met the man was engaged to someone else. She had to wonder whether unacknowledged jealousy prompted her resentment towards the man. Or was there more to her refusal to do his portrait than she’d been prepared to own up to?
She set her note pad aside, not liking the direction her thoughts were taking. A sliver of silver separated the horizon from the night sky.
A new day, a new dawn, so much to do, and little time to do it. Three weeks until her birthday and two before her client expected her to complete the current portrait. The inspector better let her back into the studio soon; otherwise she could kiss goodbye to that contract and have to contend with damage to her reputation and face compensation fees, to boot.
She shot to her feet, ran from the room, and climbed the narrow stairs to her attic, Ignoring the scatter of boxes she’d stored up there since moving, she looked round and with rising excitement crossed to the north-facing window and studied her surroundings. It would do at a pinch. With a little bit of ingenuity she could recreate the setting up here, and thankfully her client was fit and mobile enough and hopefully prepared to climb the attic stairs. If it worked out, she would complete her commission on time.
Satisfied, Samantha rubbed her hands together, after a thorough investigation of the growing light and the available space, she knew it would work. All she had to do was dress, and when he arrived, persuade the inspector to let her move the necessary equipment up here. In her haste to set things in motion Samantha tripped over a box on her way back to the door and almost fell flat on her face. With a curse she shoved it out of the way with her foot then froze. How had this box got mixed up with her things? It wasn’t one of hers. She’d had to scrounge from almost every supermarket in the area to acquire enough boxes to pack her stuff into and move it from Adrian’s place to this one.
This box was purpose made for storage. Sturdy — and sealed, unlike the mish-mash of supermarket boxes she’d scrounged to pack and move her belongings.
****
He found her staring at the box at her feet as though she’d seen a ghost. “What’s going on? I thought you’d be catching up on some sleep. Didn’t you say you have a client scheduled this morning?”
“I did — I do,” she amended. “But first I need a studio, and the inspector informed me before he left I couldn’t use mine until they’ve finished in there. The schedule on this commission was tight to start with. Any delays due to the break-in means I’d fail to complete the painting. Disappoint my client and face heavy compensation charges. I refuse to let…” She cast a vague wave in the direction of the door. “—to let some stranger destroy my reputation. Not when I’ve worked so hard for it in the first place.” She kicked at the box then dropped to her knees and began tearing at the tape.
“What in the name of Hades are you at now, woman?” Samantha twisted away from him before he could grab her hands.
“It’s not mine.” Her breathless anticipation, her determination to open the box worried him.
“What’s not yours?” Dropping to his knees beside her, and sitting back on his heels, he looked at Samantha and then at the box she indicated.
“This box. Don’t you see?” She arced her hand in the direction of all the other boxes on the floor. “This isn’t mine. It’s different. It’s purpose built, if you like. When I moved I scoured the supermarkets for enough boxes to pack my stuff in.”
Rafe studied the other boxes. Some were large, firm and looked almost new. Others varied in size and condition, but all, without exception were branded with regular supermarket products. The one Samantha was attacking was indeed a “purpose built” storage box. Similar to those his company used to archive legal documents, as backups in case the digital system ever failed.
“Stop.” This time he caught her hands and waited until he had her full attention. “How did this get among your other boxes?”
“I don’t know and right now I don’t care. It’s not mine.” She tried to tug her hands free.
“Stop,” he repeated. “If this isn’t yours, then who do you think it belongs to?”
“Duh! Adrian of course.”
“Then stop tearing the thing apart and start using your brain.” It took some doing, but Rafe managed not to laugh when her mouth sagged open. “If you’re right and you start handling the contents then he can claim that as the box is in your attic you had it all the time and knew what it contained.”
Chagrin flashed into her eyes before she too sat back on her heels. “I hate it when people are right and tell me I’m wrong. What do we do?”
“To begin with I suggest you get a knife or some other sharp instrument so we can cut through the tape.” The huff that clung to the air as she left the attic confirmed what the lady said. She didn’t like being found at fault. But at least she admitted to it; not many people Rafe knew would do so. He studied the box and wondered if it was too easy, too simplistic, and stood. From the door he shouted to her to ring the inspector and ask him to come back.
“Yeah, he’s going to love that.” Whether he was meant to hear that or not, Rafe ignored it. “Ask him to bring his SOCO team with him.”
“Why?”
He stepped back sharply when she bounced up the stairs the tip of the knife pointing in his direction.
“Steady on, woman, don’t take this out on me.” Gingerly he took the knife from her and slit the tape. Samantha dropped to her knees again ready to lift the lid. “Wait.” He wondered whether she’d ignore him, but with another huff she sat back on her heals.
“We need to approach this carefully so we don’t mess up existing fingerprints.” Using a fingertip under one side of the box and the knife under the other, Rafe slowly lifted the lid and let it topple away from them when he’d raised it high enough.
Together they peered at the top sheet. A well known stockbroker’s address headed it, and an itemised list of stocks and shares filled the rest of the page— which was addressed to Adrian Brown, and dated two weeks after the day Braithwait said he couriered Samantha’s will to his house.
Rafe sent her a triumphant grin. “Much as I’d like to look at the rest of the contents I suggest we wait for the inspector.”
Samantha’s grin slid from her face, before she offered him a rueful smile. “I hate it when you’re right,” she said again. She looked down at her sleep shirt, and rose. “I don’t fancy a whole bunch of strangers seeing me like this.”
Neither did he. “Much as I like the scenery…” Unable to hide his triumphant grin, Rafe allowed it to morph into a playful leer, “this time I have to agree you are right. Let’s get to it.”
He wanted this tousled-haired Samantha all to himself. Every day, all day, for the rest of his life.
He’d never kept a mistress. Until Samantha, he’d never envisaged sharing his life with a woman. He’d had women of course, but not for some time. But if offering her the freedom of a relationship without bonds was the only way to get her into his arms, into his life, he’d offer that and hope to change her mind about marriage eventually.
With a growl, he joined her and together they left the attic and returned to their rooms.
It seemed like hours but was less than forty minutes when the expected knock on the door came and a despondent SOCO team trailed in behind the inspector. Rafe lead the way upstairs with Samantha bringing up the rear. She remained in the doorway, propped against the frame, her legs crossed at the knees, the toes of her right foot on the floor. Despite her relaxed air, to Rafe, her tightly crossed arms beneath her breasts and the groove between her eyes gave her away.
The inspector didn’t hide his suspicion when he addressed Samantha a few moments after lifting the first page out of the box. “How come you happened to find this now?”
In return Samantha presented her reasons with a strong dose of righteous indignation.
“I have contracts to fulfil with compensation clauses on both sides if either party fails to comply with the terms. Given that you maintained it would be days before I can get back into my studio I remembered this place has a north facing window. And…” she paused until he nodded. “…I thought I’d check it out in the hopes you would at least let me remove my easel, canvass and enough paints and tools from the studio to finish this contract on time.”
“And your end date is?”
“A week before Christmas, so in two weeks time.”
“Until you found this box it was a laudable idea.” The inspect rose to his feet and crossed to stand in front of her. They glared at each other like roman gladiators.
“What do you mean, ‘until I found the box’?”
It didn’t occur to him until the inspector spoke, but Rafe knew what was coming and held his breath for the explosion.
“This room is now a part of my investigation—“
“I don’t care whether it is the tower of London, I need, am legally obliged, to complete my contract in time. If your investigation delays that, I will hold your department responsible and you can pay the compensation to my client.”
When she spun away and raced downstairs Rafe ran after her, only to be halted by his phone vibrating in his pocket.”
“What?” he snapped.
“Where are you?” His secretary’s irate tone of had him staring at his watch. “If you’re not here in fifteen minutes you’re going to miss your conference calls.”
It would take him all that time, and more, to make it to the office. “I’ll be there in twenty. Explain I’m dealing with an emergency. Offer my apologies and keep them online.” Without waiting for a response Rafe rushed back up to the attic, and explained the situation to the inspector. “You said you know George Lombard. Get someone to phone his wife and if necessary to bring her here to stay with Ms. Brown.” He passed over his card. “If necessary contact my driver to collect her. He’ll be free in thirty minutes.”