Close Proximity (6 page)

“With all due respect,” Rafe firmly interrupted, “I have to tell you that I think you know more than you're admitting. How can Libby and I help you if you don't tell us everything?”

David's mouth drew into a rigid line.

Rafe softened his tone. “David,” he began, “any father would want his daughter protected. I understand that. But there was desperation written all over that paper you handed me the other day. Enough desperation that you didn't want Libby to see it.” He leaned forward a fraction. “I'm going to ask you again. What's going on? Something is obviously causing you a great deal of anguish.”

Hesitation hovered over David like a miasma. But finally the fear he'd worked hard to conceal focused at the surface. The man's shoulders slumped, and he dipped his head and tossed a quick glance toward the door where an officer stood guard.

“Libby's in terrible danger,” David said, his voice low. “And so am I. I'm in trouble, Rafe. Deep trouble.”

“From whom? From what?”

David lifted his hands to the tabletop, lacing his fingers tightly, resting his forearms on the metal edge. “I don't know. I don't know who…but I do know why.”

Remaining stock still, Rafe listened.

“Back in November, around Thanksgiving,” David continued, “I received an anonymous correspondence. I have no idea who sent it. But the message indicated that several barrels of DMBE were missing and it was inferred that the chemical might be illegally dumped.”

The older man scoured his jaw with an agitated hand. “Whoever sent that message to me had to be a Springer employee. And this person was frightened enough that he—or she—didn't want to come forward.”

Rafe asked, “Did you tell anyone about the note?”

David shook his head. “Not a soul. And I didn't launch a full-fledged investigation because I didn't know for certain that any wrongdoing had taken place. But I did start
looking into the matter. Asking some questions.” He paused. “And apparently I must have hit a nerve.”

A torrent of apprehension seemed to swirl around David. His brown eyes glistened with fear, his throat tightened with trepidation.

“I received a package in the mail,” he continued. “Inside was a necklace that belonged to Libby. A gold pendant she'd inherited from her mother. With it came a warning for me to back off, to forget about the DMBE.”

A tiny tremor quivered the man's chin and it took him a moment to rein in the terror that so obviously threatened to overwhelm him.

“Rafe, whoever sent the necklace and the warning had been to San Francisco.
This person was inside my daughter's house.
”

He looked away then, the hand he lifted trembling.

“Heaven help me, but I let the whole thing go unreported.” David's gaze was wide, haunted. “I let the matter drop. I hoped and prayed it was an isolated incident.” He swallowed. “Rafe, Libby is all I've got in this world. I couldn't let anything happen to her. I just couldn't.”

His sigh was shaky. “So I deleted the note I was sent and I never asked another question about it.”

Rafe knew that, for an honorable man such as David, letting something like this go wouldn't be easy. The man must have spent the last few months feeling wracked with anguish.

“There was nothing else I could do,” he said. “But now the situation has turned even more dire. More of the contaminant is missing and Libby is still in danger.” A single tear welled in the corner of his eye and he dashed it away with a swift swipe of his knuckle. “And those poor kids at Hopechest sick. God, Rafe, how I've agonized over this.”

He raked shaky fingers through his auburn hair. “Why would anyone want to destroy our water supply? I just can't understand it. It had to be an accident. An accident that someone at Springer wants to blame me for. If they make me the guilty party, then the company could save millions in clean-up costs and punitive damages.” He shook his head. “It's the only motive I can think of. The only reason that makes any sense at all…”

David's voice petered out, and the man gazed off across the room.

As Rafe tried to take in everything David had said, there was one point that seared his thoughts. David thought the dumping had to have been an accident. Well, Rafe felt differently.

The pollutant that had seeped into the ground, oozed into the aquifer, had been no accident.

“I should have come forward,” David whimpered. “My God, I should have told someone.”

“David, the chemical had already gone missing,” Rafe reminded him. “It probably had already been dumped by the time you were alerted.”

“But I could have warned them.”

“Who?” Rafe hoped this most rational question would calm David.

“Those kids at Hopechest, that's who. I could have warned Blake Fallon. I could have warned the whole town of Prosperino.”

He desperately wanted to reach out to comfort David, but breaking the no-touching rule would only capture the attention of the guard who stood by the door.

“How could you know where the chemical was dumped? How could you know those kids would get sick? You couldn't. You know you couldn't. When someone
dumps illegal chemicals, they don't do it where it'll be detected. They go somewhere that's isolated.”

Rafe had spent many sleepless nights wondering just where someone might have dumped the DMBE.

The clouds shadowing David's dark eyes lifted. But only a little.

“Libby can't know, Rafe. She can't know.” Anxiety ticked in the older man's cheek. “What would she think of me? How would she feel knowing that her father was aware that someone made off with a dangerous contaminant and he didn't do anything to find out who or why or when?”

David's agitation had the officer on duty skimming his gaze their way.

Rafe said, “Listen—”

“She'd be ashamed of me. I couldn't stand that. I don't want you to tell her any of this, you hear me? Besides that, I don't want her feeling afraid. I've spent the last several months in cold, stark fear. It's been awful, I can tell you that. I want you to stick with her. I want you to protect her.”

“I will,” Rafe promised. “I won't let anything happen to your daughter, David.”

Libby's angelic face appeared in his mind, her fiery tresses, her milky skin, and Rafe felt his insides grow warm.

David's sigh was ragged. “Maybe I should just take the fall for this whole mess. Maybe I should just say I did it. At least then Libby would be safe.”

The fury that rose up in Rafe seemed to come out of nowhere when he heard this suggestion. For years he'd been a victim. For years he'd taken the role of fall guy in order to protect his mother and brother from Curtis James's
drunken rages. Never again would he be weak. Never again would he be a victim.

And he wouldn't allow David Corbett to be a victim, either.

“You're not going to do that, David.” The edge honing his tone made the elderly man lift his gaze to Rafe's. “You're not going to be held responsible for something you didn't do. I'm committed to clearing your name. And so is Libby. I don't want you to worry about her. I'm going to watch out for her. I'm going to keep her safe.”

Taking a small pad of paper from his breast pocket, Rafe asked, “Now, I need some names. When you found out about the DMBE, who did you talk to? And who might have found out that you suspected there was a problem?”

As David began to spout off names, Rafe took meticulous notes and asked many questions.

H
e saw her standing outside the door of the police station. Her gaze searched up one side of the street and then down the other. She glanced at her wristwatch. This was the first time he'd spotted her where she wasn't either surrounded by lawyers and clerks at the courthouse, or shadowed by that damned Indian she'd hired.

Even though he hadn't gone near the place, he knew she'd been staying at her daddy's house. He didn't want to get caught within a mile of David Corbett's home. Not now. Not while everything was working out so well. Everything Corbett had worked for was about to be destroyed. And best of all, with plans falling so neatly into place, Corbett would spend a good many years in a cold, stark prison cell.

A thin fog hazed the afternoon, and the gray sky was beginning to spit rain.

He'd read in the papers how Libby Corbett had staked
her career on clearing her daddy's name. She had moxie, he had to give her that. But she'd best be careful. There was a fine line between spunk and nosiness. She just might get herself hurt. Or worst yet, killed.

Charlie O'Connell had crossed that line. Once.

Pleasure coursed through him, and amusement curled the corners of his cruel mouth. Without thought, he lifted his hand, swiping his fingers against his lips as if to obliterate any outward sign of humor. The pleasure, he allowed himself to enjoy. It was inside. Safe. Unobservable.

David Corbett may be stupid and weak, but he sure had sired a beautiful daughter.

The image of her sleeping was one he'd never forget. He'd been annoyed that he'd had to travel all the way to San Francisco. But the trip had been well worth his effort.

Her hair had spilled across the pristine white pillowcase, the moonlight streaming through the window turning it to night fire. Her skin had looked like velvet, her lashes fanning against her creamy cheeks. Her long body had been laid out on the bed for his eyes alone. He'd spent long moments in the quiet enjoying the sight of her.

The curve of her shoulder. The swell of her breasts, the dusky disks of her nipples creating shadows against the soft white satin of her gown. He'd actually salivated and grown rock-hard in his trousers.

Had he been a sexual deviate he might have acted on the urges that had pulsed through him that night. But he was no pervert.

He'd focused on his goal, then. Taken what he'd come after—the necklace that had shut David up—and then he'd turned to leave. But not without a final look.

He remembered how innocent she'd seemed. And that was what he'd derived the most pleasure from. She had lain there sleeping, dreaming, never for a moment imag
ining her home had been invaded or that danger was so near. That the course of her whole future was, in that instant, at the whim of someone else. Someone more powerful than she.

Exasperation skipped across Libby Corbett's beautiful features as she stood in the foggy mist. Whoever she was waiting for was late. Should he offer her a ride? Interacting with her might prove interesting.

But when he saw her being approached by a woman he knew to be a reporter for the local paper, he was glad he'd remained in his car. He lowered the window several inches, hoping to overhear their conversation, but he was too far away to hear clearly. An errant phrase here and there was all he could make out.

“Environmental Protection Agency…attempted murder charges…chemical contamination…water treatment… DMBE…David Corbett.”

Suppressing another smile, he let the warm contentment settle over him. This was just what he'd worked for. He wanted Corbett's name attached to all those horrible and derogatory things. The people of Prosperino might have thought of the high and mighty Corbett as an upstanding citizen. Until now.

His whole body froze when he heard the name “O'Connell” float to him on the heavy, humid air.

Who had uttered it? Libby Corbett or the reporter?

A silent but filthy expletive exploded in his brain.

O'Connell's death had been ruled an accident. That fervor had died down weeks ago. What the hell was Libby Corbett doing bringing it up? Is that why she'd visited the police station?

Fury, white and searing hot, roiled in him. Pain shot through his head. Red splotches burst behind his eyelids. His gaze narrowed. When he glared at Libby Corbett, he
no longer saw a spirited beauty. He saw a meddling bitch who deserved to die an agonizing death.

 

“Look,” Libby told the woman, trying hard to keep a handle on her anger, “I don't have anything else to say.”

“But wouldn't your father like for the people to hear his thoughts on what's going on?”

Libby actually laughed. “Good try.”

But the woman refused to relent. “What about the rumor of these new charges?”

“I don't comment on rumor.” Libby didn't bother trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. “And neither should you. In fact, if you print information based on such a rumor, I will issue a formal complaint with the publisher of your paper. No new charges have been leveled on my client. If my client is charged with something else, I'll be happy to talk to you about it. Now I'd really like it if you'd just leave me alone.”

She wheeled away from the reporter and started off down the street. Home wasn't all that far away, she decided. Her shoes felt squishy from the rain, and she realized now that she should have grabbed a slicker from the closet rather than this sweater that sat damp and heavy on her shoulders.

Where was Rafe? He'd promised to pick her up. She was agitated. And she'd been addled by the reporter broaching the subject of O'Connell's death. How had she known that Libby had gone to the station to ask questions about the man's fatal accident?

Lord, the newspapers were going to have a field day if the media suspected that her father might be accused of the premeditated killing of the EPA employee.

Maybe the reporter hadn't really heard anything. Maybe she had simply been grasping at straws. Maybe she'd made
a wild guess. Reporters were known to do such things. In fact, a journalist's ability to anticipate a story before his or her colleagues was what separated the good correspondents from the mediocre ones.

In Libby's line of work, she'd dealt with her fair share of media persons, and she knew in her heart that the reporter who had just accosted her would keep nibbling and grinding away until she had herself a story.

An aggravated sigh rushed from her. She was annoyed with Rafe for not returning to the station for her when he said he would. She was annoyed with the reporter. And she was annoyed by the information she'd discovered about Charlie O'Connell's death.

Sgt. Kade Lummus had been open and frank with Libby. O'Connell's car crash had been ruled an accident. However, there had been plenty of questions surrounding the whole incident—questions that, to this day, remained unanswered.

She wanted to discuss the information with Rafe.

Rafe. The thought of how he was making her walk home in the rain made her smolder all the more. And she was still fuming minutes later when she pushed the key into the dead bolt on the front door.

She was wet. She was tired. Her feet hurt like the dickens. And the grumbling of her stomach reminded her that she'd skipped lunch. She kicked off the sopping leather pumps and slid out of her soggy sweater. Deciding she wasn't in the mood to cook, she made up her mind to go out and pick up some burgers for her and Rafe's dinner.

He'd feel bad enough for having stood her up at the police station. Once he found out she'd gotten drenched while walking home and then turned around and driven out to pick him up something to eat, he'd feel like a real heel.

A grin threatened to soften her anger when she imagined the contrition she just might witness in Rafe's intense dark gaze. Most often those mahogany eyes of his were hard as flint and he looked as if he was harboring a thousand secrets.

Solving the puzzle that was Rafe James intrigued her to no end. Even though she had no desire whatsoever to be captivated by him—or any other man for that matter—she'd be lying to herself if she said the urge to figure him out, crack the shell he seemed to be hiding in, didn't intrude on her thoughts, on her dreams.

He was fiercely proud of who he was. Of where he'd come from. But something tormented him. Something in his head, in his past. She could see it, feel it, and it made her wonder…

Libby shook her head to clear her thoughts as hunger pangs rumbled in her belly. She slipped her feet into dry shoes and grabbed a rain slicker from the hall closet. She'd expelled enough energy on Rafe. Right now she wanted to satiate her appetite for food.

Luckily, she'd closed the door of her sedan just before the sky opened, dumping a torrent of rain from the steely clouds. She backed out of the drive and headed out of town in the direction of her favorite burger place.

To an out-of-towner, Jake's probably looked like a real dive. But many people of Prosperino knew that the tiny restaurant was always filled with luscious aromas and friendly faces. In this day and age of healthier eating choices, she wondered how Jake's, with its greasy hamburgers smothered with thick slabs of cheddar cheese, stayed in business, but somehow it did.

She'd order two of the special sirloin burgers with the works and an extra large serving of the trademark seasoned baked potato wedges. The restaurant was a bit out of the
way, but the food was well worth the drive. Rafe would be getting a treat tonight.

The wiper blades slapped a steady, lulling beat, and she began thinking about the hot shower and dry clothes that were waiting for her when she returned home. About the glass of red wine she'd enjoy with her burger and spicy fries in front of a toasty fire. About how she'd razz Rafe for leaving her stranded in the rainy March chill…

When the car that had been following her pulled out and made to pass her, she murmured, “Idiot kid.”

No one but a young, inexperienced driver would try to pass in weather like this. The rain made the oncoming cars nearly impossible to see. Instinctively, Libby took her foot off the gas pedal, allowing gravity to slow her car. But the driver of the dark automobile cut back into her lane much too soon, its brake lights blaring bright red.

Her foot stomped the brake pedal and she cut the steering wheel hard to the right. The roar of sound and vibration seemed to block out all thought.

The squealing of the tires. The rumble of loose gravel. The nauseating motion of the rear of her car sweeping violently, veering out of control as she careened off the road, bumping over uneven ground.

The impact caused the air bag to burst out from the steering wheel. Then pain knifed through her skull when her head hit the side window.

Dazed, Libby sat there a moment before she realized it was over. All was still. The jarring, disjointed sounds had ceased, and all that could be heard was the relentless beat of the rain against the roof of her car, the steady thump of the wiper blades on the windshield.

The deep, slow inhalations she pulled into her lungs helped to calm her. But her whole body felt weak and glutinous, as if all her muscles had turned to warm rubber.

She pulled the handle of the car door, but it only opened about four inches before metal grated sharply against metal. Rain pattered against her face, and when she turned her head, a dull pain throbbed up through her temple. Nausea swam in her stomach.

A car pulled to the side of the road and Libby heard the sound of a car door slamming shut as someone got out. A face peered through the crack of her door and a woman shouted, “You okay?”

Libby tried to nod. “Are the others okay?”

“Others?” she asked, pushing her nose a little closer. Only a slice of her features showed. “You're not alone?”

“I'm alone,” Libby said. “I mean the people in the other car. A dark car. A kid was driving.” Her stomach rolled, and she murmured, “Must have been a kid.”

“There's nobody here but you. Now you sit still. Help is coming. I've already called 911 on my cell phone.”

Libby glanced out the windshield and saw that whatever she'd hit had made her hood fly open. And the driver side of the car was mangled to the point that the door wouldn't open.

She sighed, resting her aching head against the seat back.

“All this for one of Jake's sirloin burgers.”