a letter to let him know how horribly sorry she was. In the end, she’d done nothing. There was no way to make up for the wrong that had been done to him. That she’d done.
Rafe returned, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water.
Bracing herself, Allie eased upright and took the bottle from him with both hands. “Thanks.”
She sipped slowly, concentrating on the simple act of swallowing the cool liquid.
When her vision came back into focus, she saw that Rafe had relocated behind the upholstered chair. “Feel like continuing?” he asked, his dark eyes measuring her.
“Yes.” She lifted her free hand to her bruised temple, felt her fingertips tremble against her tender flesh. “I keep telling myself that it’s over, that I’m safe. Then I see this blurry shadow careen from behind the door. I was so afraid.”
“What happened after he hit you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up on the kitchen floor.” Allie squeezed her eyes shut. “The first thing I saw were Mercedes’s dead eyes staring back at me.” A shiver ran up Allie’s spine and her voice broke. “I was unconscious for over half an hour. He had plenty of time to kill me, too.” She took another shaky sip of water, then lifted her gaze to meet Rafe’s. “I don’t know why I’m still alive.”
Rafe’s mouth tightened. “The fact you are tells me he knew for sure you didn’t get a look at him.”
“Which is fortunate for me.” Allie took another sip of water. “Not for your client if he’s innocent.”
Apparently assured she was no longer in danger of fainting, Rafe wandered past an array of display racks holding colorful, delicate silks. Allie noted that he moved with the sinuous tread of a big cat. No wasted motion, no abrupt movements.
Seven years ago, she hadn’t known him all that well—he and Nina had dated only a short time. Still, Allie had been well aware that there had been something about Rafe Diaz, and it wasn’t only his dark, go-to-hell looks. He’d exuded some sort of innate brooding sexiness that seemed to promise endless nights of pleasure. Watching him now, she realized that hadn’t changed.
“Speaking of my client,” he began. “Bishop told me that both his mistress and his wife shop here.”
With her mouth having gone dry for an entirely different reason, Allie took another sip of water. “True, but I wasn’t aware of that until after Hank’s arrest. Mercedes made no secret she had a married lover, but she never told me his name.”
“Who paid her bill?”
“She used a credit card in her own name.”
“Did she and Bishop’s wife ever cross paths here?”
“No. Mercedes always made a point to come here after regular business hours.” Allie set the water bottle aside. “Look, I didn’t pass judgment on Mercedes’s lifestyle. But the fact is, she had a married lover, who apparently wanted her to feel free to buy whatever she wanted in my shop. I saw no reason not to accommodate the arrangement.”
Rafe slid her a look. “And you wanted the profits.”
His judgmental tone had Allie bristling. “I’d be a damn poor business owner if I didn’t keep my eye on the bottom line,” she shot back. “And you apparently didn’t let Hank Bishop’s questionable morals get in the way when you agreed to take him on as a client.”
Rafe paused beside the velvet-covered pedestal to study the ornate shoes. “Point taken,” he said after a moment.
Allie felt a rush of satisfaction at his admission.
“Does Bishop’s wife shop here a lot?”
“Yes, Ellen’s a regular customer.”
“Did she know her husband had a mistress on the side?”
“If she did, she didn’t tell me.”
Allie’s gaze followed Rafe’s to the pedestal and the shoes that were to be auctioned at the upcoming benefit for the foundation she had established years ago. In the past, Ellen Bishop had attended the auction, but now that her husband’s affair was out in the open and he’d been charged with the murder of his mistress, Allie suspected it might be a while before Ellen was ready to show her face again in public.
“Bishop’s partner in his real estate business is Guy Jones,” Rafe said. “They’re brothers-in-law. Bishop said Jones’s wife and daughter shop here, too.”
“That’s right,” Allie confirmed. “The daughter is getting married. I’m designing her trousseau. Neither Katie nor her mother have ever mentioned Mercedes in my presence.”
Rafe turned, wandered toward a glass display case. “Do you have any other customers who had a connection to Mercedes?”
“Not directly.”
“Indirectly?”
“The purses.” Allie swept a hand toward the display case that held a number of jeweled evening clutches. “Mercedes designed those.”
Frowning, Rafe stared down at the case. “She made purses?”
“She designed them. She had a savvy eye for fashion. When I saw her designs, I bought them. I have them made at the same off-site warehouse my seamstresses work out of.”
“Interesting.”
The sardonic tone that had settled in his voice had Allie narrowing her eyes. “Why is that interesting?”
“In college, you were too busy partying to bother attending class. Now, you oversee a financial empire and own this shop.”
Irritation shot through her as she stared at his hard, emotionless face. Logic told her she should be able to shrug off his words. After all, what he’d said was true. She’d spent her time hooking up with wildly inappropriate boyfriends while thumbing her nose at her studies. Not because she hadn’t been capable of making good grades but because it had irritated her father, and that had been important to her at the time. But a whole lot of life had gone on since she had last seen Rafe, and she was a very different person from the looking-for-a-good-time girl he had known.
Something inside of her that she couldn’t define found it vitally important that he understand that.
“You’re right, I sit on the board of my family’s company,” Allie said coolly. “And I’ve built my own separate business from the ground up. I’m about to start direct sales of the lingerie I design via my Web site. Things change, Rafe. People change. Sometimes for the better.”
“Yeah.” He gestured toward his business card she’d left on the counter. “If you remember anything else about Mercedes or the night you found her dead, give me a call.”
Allie watched him turn, tracked his progress as he strode toward the door. And even though her muscles still felt like glass, she rose from the love seat. “Rafe.”
He paused, turned back to face her, his eyes as dark and hard as flint. “What?”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Aware that her heartbeat was much too fast and labored for a woman standing still, she curled her fingers into her palms. “Truly sorry. I hope you know that all I did was tell the truth.”
His gaze stayed locked on hers as an emotion she couldn’t define flickered in his eyes. “You told what you thought was the truth. And I’m the one who paid for it.”
Chapter 2
“Dammit, I don’t care if Allie Fielding saw me at the condo. I didn’t kill Mercedes!”
Rafe studied his client across the real estate developer’s expansive desk. In his late fifties, Hank Bishop was powerfully built with black hair going gray at the temples and a strongly carved face with