Internal Affairs (7 page)

“The guy who kept calling me G.I. Joe? Yeah, I remember.”

“Wasn’t he a fed or something?”

“Narcotics detective,” Frank said. “And come to think of it, he tried to get in to see Mr. Sloan without an appointment, too.”

“You ever find out what happened to him?”

Frank shrugged. “Last I heard, the brace was off, but he was still in physical therapy.”

Now they both turned their gazes on Rafe, their faces abruptly hardening, their eyes full of quiet menace. These were two men who took their jobs very seriously and answered only to one master.

And it wasn’t Rafe.

He said, “Come on, guys, why the hostility? All you have to do is open that door and step aside and let me talk to your boss. I’ll even apologize for the ‘dropout’ crack.”

Rafe knew he was wasting his breath, but he was simply waiting for one of them to make the inevitable move. They were done talking and ready to introduce Rafe to their fists, and he was trying to decide which one would take the lead.

As is turned out, they moved simultaneously, like a well-choreographed dance duo, one reaching for Rafe’s jacket as the other took a swing.

But Rafe hadn’t spent the past few years just lifting weights. A month after joining the department, he had signed up for a self-defense class, led by a guy who specialized in Krav Maga. He had gotten so good at it that he now led the class himself, every Tuesday and Thursday night.

It took four precise moves to put Frank out of commission and pin his partner to the floor, all without breaking much of a sweat.

Now Frank was unconscious and the other one was looking up at Rafe with eyes that were no longer filled with menace, but with the kind of desperation that only a man fearing for his life can produce.

But Rafe wasn’t a sadist. He gave the guy a polite warning, then released him and stepped toward the hotel suite doors.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll announce myself.”

* * *

R
AFE HAD BEEN EXPECTING
more thugs inside the suite, but was pleasantly surprised when no one came rushing forward.

The suite, which was triple the size of his apartment, looked like something out of a lifestyle magazine, with a flawless white carpet and a handcrafted sofa and chairs that were clearly more expensive than the pieces he sat on at home.

Off to his right was a full kitchen featuring a state-of-the-art espresso bar. Being a Franco, Rafe was a sucker for a good shot, so it immediately caught his attention.

To the left were two open doorways that he assumed led to bedrooms. And judging by the sounds emanating from one of them, and the long trail of male and female clothing leading directly to it, his assessment was accurate.

He didn’t doubt that it was Sloan in there. The guy had worked up an appetite with Lisa and was now quenching it with someone who would give him what Lisa hadn’t been willing to. They were making quite a racket, those two, so Rafe went to the espresso bar, made himself a shot, then settled in on the sofa to wait for them to finish up.

Chapter Nine

“Who the hell are
you?
” Sloan barked.

He stood naked in the bedroom doorway, his muscular body bathed in sweat, a scowl on his face as he stared at Rafe with eyes full of rage. He was about thirty-five, with short dark hair, and held a pair of boxer shorts in his right hand—which he had scooped up from the floor before realizing Rafe was there.

Lisa had said he was drunk when he came to her house, and the effects of the alcohol—and whatever else he was ingesting—didn’t seem to have worn off.

Rafe set the espresso cup on the coffee table and got to his feet, nodding to the scattered clothes. “You want to get dressed, Mr. Sloan? I can wait.”

But Sloan obviously wasn’t embarrassed by his nakedness. He made no move to cover himself. “How did you get in here?”

“Your guards let me in.”

“What?”

“I was as surprised as you are,” Rafe said. “I guess my people skills are a lot better than I thought they were.”

Sloan finally started pulling the boxers on. “Do you have a warrant?”

“For what? I’m not here to search the premises. I just want to talk.”

Sloan scooped up a pair of dark slacks. “Then make an appointment. I want you out of here. Now.”

Rafe smiled. “You know, it’s funny. I’m pretty sure that’s what Lisa Tobin wanted when you paid her a visit early this morning. Yet it took a shotgun to get you to leave.”

“Lisa?” Sloan said incredulously. “You’re here because of Lisa?”

“You assaulted her, Mr. Sloan. Physically.”

Sloan scowled again. “I didn’t do any such thing.” He started jabbing his legs into the pants, angrily punctuating his words. “My ex-wife is a pathological liar. And you’re an idiot if you believe a word she says.”

“Oh? What about the housekeeper? Beatrice. Was she lying, too?”

Sloan scoffed. “Do you know I hired that ungrateful witch? She’s as nutty as Lisa is.”

“Maybe so, but Ms. Tobin seemed very upset, and I have a hard time believing she was lying about what happened.”

“Lisa Tobin is very good at manipulating men into thinking she’s some kind of victim. But what she really does is use them, then discard them when they’re no longer useful to her.”

“Or maybe she just doesn’t like being cheated on,” Rafe said. “By men who brutalize their mistresses.”

Sloan was in the middle of buttoning his shirt now, but stopped abruptly and looked at Rafe. “You’re gonna want to watch your step, deputy.”

“Or what?”

Sloan moved toward him and Rafe instinctively dropped his hand to his Glock.

“How old are you?” he said. “Twenty-five, twenty-six? You’re barely out of diapers and you think you know it all, don’t you? Think because you wear that fancy uniform and that star on your chest that you can barge into a man’s home and make accusations about his character.”

“You can’t be that clueless about your reputation,” Rafe said.

“My reputation? I’m a businessman.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Sloan raised his right hand and held his thumb and forefinger in a pinch, leaving less than a quarter-inch of space between them. “You’re that close to getting your butt kicked, hotshot.”

“By whom? Frank and his girlfriend in the hall? They’ve already tried and it didn’t work out so well.”

Sloan studied him a moment. “I’ve got to admit you’ve got brass in your pants, deputy. But I can’t help wondering why you’re really here.”

“Just to tell you to back off. Leave Lisa alone.”

Sloan smiled. “So it’s Lisa now, is it? Did she bat those baby blues at you and get you all aquiver inside?” He paused. “Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe she gave you a little taste of the goods and you came up here to play knight in shining armor.”

“You really like to hear yourself talk, don’t you?”

Sloan shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to spend the day.”

“Well, maybe you should listen for a minute. If you think you can walk into a house, a house with your own child in it, and—”

“My own child?” Sloan chuckled. “You don’t know
anything,
do you?”

“I know it’s my job to butt heads with jerks like you,” Rafe said. “And if you think you can terrorize women without consequences, keep pushing, buddy. I’m all too happy to push back.”

Sloan stared at him and Rafe returned the stare, the tension between them palpable. Volatile. Part of Rafe hoped that Sloan would make a move. Give him a reason to bring out the cuffs.

But Sloan was no dummy. He suddenly relaxed. Finished buttoning his shirt. “As I said, deputy, I didn’t go anywhere near that house this morning. I’ve been in this suite since ten o’clock last night, and I’ve got half a dozen witnesses who’ll vouch for me. Including the little gal you just heard moaning and groaning.” He grinned. “And she wasn’t faking it.”

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

“Be that as it may,” Sloan said, “I live in a world you can only dream about, and that gives me certain privileges. You made a big mistake coming here, hotshot. I figure by this time tomorrow morning you’ll be looking for a way to pay your rent, and you’re usefulness to my ex-wife will have come to an abrupt, unceremonious end.”

“Or I could just beat the crap out of you and claim self-defense. Arrest you for attempted assault on a sheriff’s deputy.”

Sloan smiled again. “Ah, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? I know your kind. You’re Deputy Dudley Do-Right, who helps damsels in distress and believes in the letter of the law.” He tucked his shirt in and turned, heading toward the doorway he had emerged from. When he reached it, he turned back, still smiling. “I think you can find your way out, deputy. And when you go, be sure to tell Frank and Bobby that their services are no longer—”

“Hey, baby, what’s the holdup?” A naked woman with tousled blond hair appeared in the doorway behind him. “Do you want another toot or not?”

She was carrying a baggie full of white powder, her pinky extended toward him, the hollow of her long, scarlet-colored fingernail loaded with the stuff.

Rafe couldn’t believe his good fortune. Fate once again stepping in when he least expected it, giving him an excuse to draw his weapon and point it at Sloan and the woman.

“Down!” he shouted. “On your knees! Now!”

The woman yelped in surprise, dropping the baggie as Sloan gave her a murderous look, then threw his hands in the air and sank to the carpet.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” she cried, quickly mimicking Sloan.

As she dropped to her knees, Rafe reached for the radio still clipped to his shoulder and flicked it on. “Dispatch, I’ve got a 190 in progress and I need backup.”

He gave them the address, then gestured to the clothes that remained on the floor and told Sloan’s companion to put them on.

Sloan looked up at him, fire in his eyes. “Better start getting that resume in order, hotshot. And I sure hope you’ve got experience cleaning toilets, because when I’m done with you, that’s about the only job you’ll be able to get.”

“Stop,” Rafe said. “You’re scaring me.”

But as he looked into Sloan’s eyes, he could see that this was far from over.

Chapter Ten

Lisa wasn’t able to go back to sleep that morning.

After Rafe and his partner left, Beatrice had scooped up Chloe from the sofa and carried her upstairs, announcing that she was headed back to bed.

“I bought some eggs if you want breakfast,” she said. “And the coffeemaker’s set on automatic.”

Lisa knew Bea wasn’t happy with her. Her words had come out in a clipped monotone that telegraphed her displeasure. Bea felt that failing to press charges against Oliver was a mistake. That he had gotten away with too much in his life because people were afraid of him.

And maybe she was right. Maybe Lisa
should
have pressed charges. But, until tonight, Oliver had never laid a finger on her and she knew that much of what had happened here had been fueled by the drugs and alcohol.

There was actually a time when Oliver had been sweet to her. Kind. And despite that sense of menace she felt around him now, despite the episode with that other woman—the one that had led to their divorce—Lisa had a hard time equating the man she had married with the picture Rafe and his partner had painted.

So when it came time to pull the trigger—to use one of Oliver’s favorite phrases—she couldn’t bring herself to do it. A mistake, perhaps, but it was
her
mistake and she would own it, just as she owned all the others she’d made.

Her inability to sleep, however, had nothing to do with Oliver. The significance of what had happened with him in this room paled in comparison to what had followed.

Lisa had long ago given up on the thought of ever seeing Rafe Franco again, had convinced herself that he no longer mattered to her. She had assumed that he had stayed in California and was spending his weekends on the shores of Malibu or Zuma Beach or one of the other sun-and-fun hot spots they’d seen on television.

But suddenly here he was, the man she had loved so fervently. The first—and only—real love she had ever known. He was no longer a confused, idealistic college student, but a grounded sheriff’s deputy who commanded a room when he entered it.

The transformation Rafe had undergone was startling to Lisa, but in a good way. Three years ago, when they parted ways, she had been convinced that he was too young and restless to commit to her. That trying to tie him down would be a mistake, even if she loved him more than anyone she’d ever known.

It was
because
of that love that she had let him go. Had even pretended that she, too, was restless. That she,
too,
wanted to explore the possibilities of life. They had talked about going their separate ways many times in that last year of college, and she knew that Rafe needed time to find himself.

So she had given it to him, even after she found out she was pregnant.

When the doctor sprang the news, Lisa’s first instinct had been to try to contact Rafe. To tell him he was about to be a father. Rafe was just the type of guy to drop everything, to put his life on hold and do the right thing. To marry her and help her raise their child.

But the last thing she wanted was a marriage based on obligation. Her parents had married because of
her,
and they had been miserable for as long as she could remember.

So she had never picked up that phone, had never sent him that email. Had convinced herself that
this
was the right thing to do. To grant Rafe his freedom.

But seeing him walk into her living room had changed everything. Seeing him look down at Chloe and smile, hearing him tell her how beautiful Chloe was, had made her realize that the choice she’d made might very well have been the wrong one. That it wasn’t fair to Rafe.

Or to Chloe.

But after more than three years, how could she possibly break the news to him? She couldn’t simply blurt out, “Oh, by the way, Chloe is yours.”

She had to find the right moment.

The perfect moment.