She cleared her throat and jabbed at the button. They stepped into the elevator and rode down to the first floor in silence.
The antique old Otis was slow as molasses in January and Rafe couldn't wait to hit the bottom floor and head back to his motel, but after they'd gone through the metal detectors and said goodnight to the on-duty guard, Isabella's voice stopped him.
"I guess I have to eat," she muttered, sighing theatrically, "but you'd better not fight with me again."
He laughed, relief and trepidation mixing together as he wondered what the hell he was getting himself into.
They decided to take her car, but as they walked toward the parking lot, she turned to him. "You know, I'm not all that hungry." She looked up at him from beneath impossibly thick lashes. "How about I fix us something light at my house? Would that work for you?"
He hesitated. That would more than work for him, although he wasn't sure being alone with her was a good idea. She probably wanted to worm more information out of him.
Before he could think better of it, his maverick tongue overrode his brain. "Sounds good. I'll follow you in my car."
Isabella pulled her car into an attached garage to the left of a neat, bungalow-style home in Placer Hills, a few miles from the courthouse. Rafe parked his on the street and walked up a long path of flagstones across a deep, beautifully tended lawn to meet her at the porch landing. Riotous with color, rose bushes lined the front of the house and what looked like every space possible.
The front double-doors had impressive stained glass windows from waist high up to the top. Too easy to break into, Rafe thought, but inside the foyer, Torres coded numbers into what looked like a sophisticated alarm system.
The front entry opened into a long hall, a huge great room to the right and the kitchen to the left where she headed after hanging their jackets in the entry closet. He wandered down the hall, examining the small, one-story house, two bedrooms and a bath angling off to the right and what looked like a master bedroom and bath, along with a small utility room, to the left.
The kitchen was small and cozy, a recessed window over the sink looking out over all the crazy colors of her front landscaping. She would enjoy standing there and looking out at the mass of flowers, and he briefly imagined her dressed in skimpy night clothes, her hair mussed up and drinking her morning coffee.
While Isabella prepared several turkey and cheese sandwiches, Rafe leaned against the stove beside her and admired the taut stretch of her breasts beneath the filmy blouse. When she bent over to retrieve potato chips from a lower shelf, he watched the play of her ass beneath her slacks and thought of gripping the firm flesh with his hands.
A sharp image of his hands and mouth on her, his fingers deep inside her slapped him back to reality. He shifted uncomfortably and moved to sit at the table in the small kitchen alcove while she brought the sandwiches on plain white plates which she set on floral placemats.
"Why don't you get the drinks?" she asked as she reached for glasses in a high cupboard.
He looked inside the refrigerator. "Beer or soda?"
"I'll take soda." She filled the glasses with ice from the ice-maker and smiled at him. "Anything wrong?" Her voice sounded too innocent for her not to be aware of how his damn body reacted to her.
He shook his head and plopped down the cans on the table. They ate quickly and discussed the case for a while in the kitchen.
Afterward they moved to the great room where several deep sofas in a natty fabric and a wide-screen television decorated the high-beamed room. "Wow, look at that puppy."
She grinned. "My single indulgence."
"Funny," he said as they took their seats on the sofa facing the screen, "you don't seem like much of a TV watcher."
"Oh, I'm an avid sports fan – the Forty-Niners, the Lakers." She laughed. "A gift from my dad and three older brothers."
"Who'd have thought?"
He turned to face her and placed his arm along the sofa back. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her. Music she had turned on earlier wafted from the stereo system on the far wall.
In the dim light, she looked soft and vulnerable. They listened to the sounds of Ella and Louie on the stereo. Obviously her tastes ran to jazz.
Later, they watched the news and then Letterman. Rafe found he enjoyed just sitting quietly with her, a sharp contrast to the physicality of their initial meeting. Finally he dared bring up the sensitive issue between them. Why was her stance on the human trafficking charges so much stronger than on the drug trafficking? Hell, what did it matter what they got him on as long as they put that scum Diego Vargas away?
Her voice muted and quiet, she made the usual moral argument about the destruction of innocent young girls. The degradation of woman and the heinous reality of abuse, rape, and sodomy. But Rafe intuited that there was much more that she wasn't saying. "What else," he murmured, "what else drives you like this, Isabella?"
At first he was sure she wouldn't answer him, but then her voice hitched in her throat and she spoke so low he had to tilt his head forward to hear. "I had a sister once – Maria."
When she didn't go on, Rafe asked, "What about Maria?"
Long moments followed in which Bella stared across the room, tension in every line of her face and body. "She disappeared. Maria went on a trip to Mexico for her high-school graduation, and she never came back."
"And you think – "
She interrupted him, angry tears in her eyes which she tried to dash away with trembling fingers. "I don't know what I think, Hashemi. All right? I just don't know."
Fat tears rolled silently down her cheeks, her beautiful mouth trembled so that the only thing he could do was cover it with his own. He swore his only intention was to comfort her, nothing more, but she groaned as his lips touched hers and answered his kiss with a responding hunger that flamed the fire.
He ground his mouth into hers, ran his fingers through her thick hair, pulling out the pins that held it up, and tangled his fingers in the soft thick curls. He kissed her neck, pressing his mouth down her flesh until he got to the top of her blouse.
He undid the first two buttons to run his fingers along the swell of her breasts at the top of her brassiere. When he followed with his mouth, he felt her shudder in his arms and wondered if she'd climax from just this much. He felt the painful, hard thrust of his erection against his slacks and pulled her onto his lap, continuing his assault on her mouth and neck. God, she felt so good, tasted so delicious.
Bella squirmed in his lap and he knew she could feel the hard, hot thrust of him against her ass. He reached inside her bra and caressed one breast, lightly pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She moaned and began her own assault of his jaw and neck.
He flipped her on her back and quickly ripped off his shirt and undershirt before he stretched out on the sofa, half covering her body with his own. He framed her face with his hands, holding himself off her body with his elbows. His breathing was labored and unsteady.
"What are we doing here, Torres?" he muttered.
"I don't know. I don't care," she answered, eyes closed as she kissed him hard, her tongue smooth and urgent in his mouth.
God, she was like a drug. He couldn't keep his hands off her, couldn't leave her alone. He wouldn't be satisfied until he was deep inside that sweet, soft body, until he pounded away at her like -
An annoying buzz sounded in his pants pocket.
Chapter Twenty-one
Diego Vargas' office in downtown Sacramento was a visual testament to every immigrant who'd made a better life in the land of the free and the home of the brave. The surroundings of the councilman's office showed his Mexican heritage and his powerful connections to California's movers and shakers, Latinos and gringos alike.
Gabriel Santos disliked being summoned here, especially at this ungodly hour of the morning after a long week of driving many miles up and down the state. He wondered privately why Vargas could not have conducted this business at his home instead of having Santos pick him up in the Cadillac and accompany him downtown.