college, the money vibe had rippled off her like heat—the designer clothes, “in” shades and foreign cars so sleek they gave the impression they belonged in a cage. Even yesterday she’d looked like the millions of dollars she was worth.
The woman presently crouched at his feet looked like she’d just come from Goodwill. And because her face was bare of concealing makeup, the bruise on her temple was the deep purple color of a plum gone bad.
The unexpected quake of empathy that shot through him settled like a stone in Rafe’s gut. This particular woman had stirred enough emotion inside him for one lifetime.
“I didn’t expect to find you doing manual labor,” he said, the words sounding harder than he’d intended.
She flicked him a look from beneath her blond lashes. “I didn’t expect to have someone scare me half to death for the second time this week.”
Rafe’s imagination conjured up the dark form that had rushed out at her from behind the condo’s kitchen door minutes after she’d stumbled on Mercedes McKenzie’s body. He couldn’t blame her for still feeling spooked.
“I’ll make a point not to do that again,” he said evenly.
“Appreciate it.” She rose, tossed the rag on an area of the scarred wooden floor where newspapers had been spread.
Up close, he could see the ocean-blue facets of her eyes. Today, she smelled like soap. Just soap. A sharp kick of awareness left his solar plexus smarting.
Her eyes flicked over his starched shirt and slacks. “Something tells me you’re not here to strap on a tool belt and get to work.”
“No.” He knew he should just tell her why he’d shown up, get business over with, then leave. Maybe then he could get rid of the hard, hot ball of emotion in his gut. But curiosity pushed at him. “What’s going on with this house?”
“It’s owned by a foundation. We’re making it livable for a woman who got up the courage to leave her sorry husband. He thought she and their kids were his personal punching bags. All the labor is done by volunteers.”
Rafe glanced around. “You doing the painting by yourself?”
“Two of my girlfriends are helping today. They left to pick up lunch for everyone.”
“The foundation that owns this house,” he said just as the high-pitched wail of power tools drifted in through the hallway. “Is it the same one that’s sponsoring tonight’s silent auction?”
“Yes.” Using a finger, Allie inched the brim of her baseball cap higher. “Why?”
“Hank Bishop’s wife and son may show up there. I need to talk to them.”
Allie’s eyes widened. “Are they suspects in Mercedes’s murder?”
“At this point, everyone is.”
“Can’t you just go and see them?”
“I tried. They’re both angry at my client over his affair and they have little interest in helping him right now.”
“Do you blame them?”
“No. That doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to them. I understand I can’t get into the auction unless my name is on the guest list at the door.”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve been told you have a connection to the foundation.”
“And you want me to get your name on the guest list so you can get in and corner Ellen and Will Bishop.”
“Yes.”
“The silent auction is a black-tie affair, Rafe. A lot of prominent people will be there.”
In a fingersnap, cold hard tips of the anger he could never quite vanquish clawed through. “And an ex-con doesn’t fit in with that crowd,” he shot back.
She kept her gaze on his as color flooded into her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant. Your conviction was overturned—”
“You think that fixed things?” He took an aggressive step toward her. “Want to take a look at my résumé? There’s a two-year gap with nothing filled in. Makes it hard to explain when a prospective employer asks what I was up to during that time.”
She flexed her fingers, then curled them into her palms. “I told you I was sorry. I’ll tell you again—”
“I didn’t come here for a damn apology.”
Stepping away, he pulled back on every level. He stared out the open window while the thud of hammers, the buzz of saws, the whir of drills coming from other areas of the house filled the air. Dammit, why the hell had he come here? He should have known that seeing Allie Fielding again would shove all the bitter memories to the surface.
“Rafe, if I could go back and erase that night, I would.”
The unsteadiness in her voice had him looking back at her. She’d been an unwitting player in the event that had sent him to prison. She wasn’t to blame, logically he knew that. Still, it didn’t lessen the storm brewing inside him.
“What I was going to say,” she continued, “is that the Friends Foundation depends partly on the donations made during the annual auction. If you confront Ellen Bishop or her son and cause a scene, some of the donors are bound to get upset. They might decide not to make a contribution. That will hurt the people the foundation was established to help.”
Pulling in a breath, Rafe snapped control back in place. “I won’t cause a scene,” he ground out. “Most of the time I’ll be observing. Reading body language. You have my word.”
Allie’s chin angled while those stunning blue eyes narrowed speculatively on his face. “Something tells me you’d rather have been boiled in oil than ask me for this favor.”
“Make that any favor.”
Mouth pursed, she jabbed her fingertips into the back pockets of her jeans. “I’ll make a phone call and add your name to the guest list. But I want something in return.”
“What?” His voice echoed the wariness he suddenly felt.
“We’re behind schedule on getting this house finished. My girlfriends have conflicts so they can’t work here next week. How about agreeing to put in eight hours of volunteer work?”
“I’m not much for painting.”
Allie lifted a shoulder. “Pick some other job. When you work is up to you. Deal?”
Rafe glanced around the small bedroom. Thought about the abused woman and her kids whose home this would be. That, and the fact he could schedule his time when Allie wasn’t around, clinched the deal. “Agreed.”
“Great.” She pulled a cell phone out of the front pocket of her baggy jeans. “Do you plan to bring anyone with you tonight?”
It
