"Sorry," he said shortly, annoyed with himself for having thought the worst of her. Irritated that his own mind had gone to sex first.
"What's wrong," she asked again, her voice more insistent this time.
But he ignored the question, grabbed his cell phone, and speed-dialed Detective Max Jensen. He turned his back on her for the second time in as many minutes.
"Yeah?" Max's voice seemed distracted.
"Can you hurry up the forensics on that blood?" Rafe looked over his shoulder to see Isabella leaning across the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Eavesdropper.
"Fuck you, Hashish," Max returned good naturedly. "No greeting, no hello? And here I thought your eleven o'clock appointment was about getting laid."
"Why would you think that?"
"Duh. Maybe because the woman I saw when I left your office was exactly your type? Porcelain skin, hair like a Hershey's chocolate bar. Oh, and the legs, don't forget the legs, man."
Damn Max's powers of observation. "Cut the poetic crap." Rafe lowered his voice. "The blood in the alley might belong to Lupe."
"Aw, fuck me!" Max was the only person who knew Lupe was a C.I. for the DEA, and he knew that only because he and Rafe had been friends since college and were still tight. Lupe's safety depended on complete anonymity. Rafe's too.
"Sure, buddy, right away. I'll get on it immediately." Max hesitated, his voice strained. "But Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't worry about it, okay? It's probably just the animal blood anyway. Lupe's smart."
"Yeah, sure. You're right. But, Max, just in case… "
"I'll get right back to you."
Max hung up with a click, and Rafe sat staring at the phone in his hand.
When he turned around to face Isabella, he worked hard to keep the emotion from his face. Lupe had been his C.I. for almost three years, infiltrating Vargas' gang and passing the information on to the DEA.
He swiped his hand across his face. He needed a shave, he thought irrelevantly. He looked at Isabella, momentarily forgetting why she sat opposite him and what she wanted. She lifted her brows expectantly.
And then he recalled that Lupe had a pregnant girlfriend and… Jesus! But there was nothing he could do about Lupe or his girlfriend right now.
The low rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd missed breakfast this morning. "I'm leaving," he said abruptly, replacing his cell phone in his jacket and striding toward the office door. When he looked back, Isabella still sat there, turning to stare at him. "Well, come on," he snapped. "If you want to work this case with me, you'll have to move faster than that."
Max would check out the blood and call him back as soon as he knew anything. Rafe couldn't worry about Lupe now.
Chapter Twelve
Bella waited until the outer office door slammed behind Rafe with a resounding thwack. Who did he think he was, issuing orders like that? Usually she was the one telling people what to do.
She didn't want to follow him like a puppy, but she'd do anything to stay involved in the Diego Vargas case. She'd won the first round. Better to put her pride aside for the moment. She jumped up and scrambled after him, leaving her briefcase unlocked on the floor.
For Maria's sake, she told herself.
The sudden image of her dead sister and the last time she'd ever seen her popped into her head. Seven-year-old Bella was hugging her sister's neck with pudgy hands. Maria was laughing and kissing her sticky fingers and mouth. "Hey, baby-girl, it's only a week," Maria had said. "And I'll be back before you know it."
"Don't go, Casa," Bella begged, using her pet name for her older sister. "I'll miss you so much."
Maria pulled her sister away and knelt beside her, hands on her shoulders. "I'm all grown up and graduated high school now, Button. I worked hard to get this celebration trip. You don't want me to miss it, do you?"
Bella's lower lip trembled and tears spilled down her baby cheeks. "N – no," she muttered.
"I'm coming back, Button. I promise you."
But Maria hadn't come back and she'd never kept her promise to her baby sister.
Bella caught up with Rafe at the elevator banks just as the doors were closing. "Whoa, there, buster," she said, sticking her handbag through the opening and alerting the sensor. The elevator doors bounced open again and she stepped inside. "You can't get rid of me that easily."
Rafe slanted a look at her from the corner of his eye. A look that said he'd not only like to see the last of her for good, but he'd also take pleasure in strangling her. Then he turned his attention to the closed elevator doors, a worried frown between his dark brows.
The two of them descended in silence to the lower level where he stepped out into the spaciousness of a vast underground parking garage. He strode to the left where parked cars waited in designated spaces. His assigned space read, "Director DEA," on a big, blue sign attached to a pole, like a handicapped space.
As Rafe bleeped off the car alarm, Bella couldn't help quipping, "Director, huh? The whole damn Drug Enforcement Agency. That's pretty impressive."
"Don't be a smart-ass. Get in."
"Where are we going?"
Rafe glared at her over the top of the car. "It's lunchtime. Don't know about you, but I'm hungry." He got in the car, started the ignition, and pulled out sharply just as Bella shut her car door. Not big on fastening seat belts apparently.
Bella felt a momentary pang of regret at resorting to trickery and snide comments to get what she wanted from him. She wished the A. Hashemi she'd planned to barrage with all kinds of rudeness when she was back in her Bigler County office wasn't the man whose company she'd enjoyed so much last night. But if A. Hashemi wanted to get tough, she figured she could do that, too.
They pulled onto the Santa Monica Freeway and fifteen minutes later exited and turned into the parking area of a sleek, low restaurant that sat back off the road some distance and had the authenticity of a real Mexican hacienda.
"You like Mexican food?" Rafe asked.
Had he not noticed she was Latina? She gave him an exaggerated duh look, but when he didn't respond she said, "Absolutamente."
Inside the restaurant, a matronly woman of indeterminate age greeted Rafe with familiarity and eyed Bella with dark, frank eyes. "Hola, Rafe. Your usual booth?"
"Cómo estás, Carmen?" he asked, hugging her in greeting and kissing her soundly on both cheeks. "Yes, the booth, por favor. ¿Estás tu familia en buena salud? ¿Comó es su nieto?"
The woman beamed and patted Rafe's arm affectionately. "Ay, my family is very well and mi nieto, my grandson, is so beautiful he breaks my heart."
A minute later, seated at the booth, Bella appraised Rafe over the top of her menu, pretending to scan the lunch choices. The charm he could whip out so easily and put away again just as quickly annoyed the hell out of her. Was that what he'd done last night, deluged her with charm so he could get laid?
And how come he was downright sweet to others but uncivil to her? And why the hell was she bothered that he could put their… their brief encounter behind him so easily? "You come here often, Agent Hashemi?"
He looked up, a blank look on his face, almost as if he'd forgotten she was sitting there, and she knew his mind was far away. "Often enough."
"Sounds like you know that woman pretty well." She nodded toward the hostess, who smiled from her station behind the entry podium.
"I do," he answered shortly.
"Your Spanish is excellent."
"It is."
"Almost as good as mine," she said fiddling with the condiment holder as a young Hispanic teenager laid salsa and tortillas chips on the table and then retreated.
Rafe finished studying the menu and laid it aside. "Look, Torres, let's get something straight." He leaned his elbows on the plastic tablecloth and tented his fingers. "You don't have to make nice with me. You don't have to like me. You don't even have to turn over those… what did you call them? Ah, yes, work product files," he said, an edge to his voice.