Silver Sparks Read online

  “What!” Sudden weakness hit her knees so hard she leaned against the glass cabinet for support. Grabbing the paper, she held it in shaking hands. “I told that idiot I didn’t have a police record!”

  “Obviously,” Cal drawled. “Which is exactly what he reported—you denied having a criminal past.”

  She swallowed, but still only managed a whisper. “That bastard.”

  Wordlessly, Cal took the paper from her hands and handed her the last one. Lurid red headlines on a white background proclaimed, “Rafe De Luca in Love Triangle with Local Hottie!” Next to it, a picture of Maggie smiling in front of the store cut off half the name, displaying just the word “Folly” above her head. Below, in a smaller font, “Mystery Man Flees the Scene,” and “Rafe Can’t Keep His Hands Off Me! Maggie Claims.”

  “Oh, my God,” Maggie groaned. “It’s not over, is it?”

  Cal lifted one eyebrow, studying her with disgust. “Lady, it’s only just begun.”

  Chapter

  Three

  Maggie paced the work area between the packaging table and her desk. She had to move; if she stood still, her brain froze up, displaying that startled image of her face with the words Bar Bimbo next to it. That picture was on front pages at newsstands and grocery store checkout lines all over the country. Her grandmother would see it. So would her sisters.

  She growled her frustration. “Those slimy bastards. They knew better, and they twisted the facts to suit their story.”

  “That’s what they do.” Cal stood with arms folded, watching her pace. He didn’t even try to look upset on her behalf.

  “Well, it’s despicable.” She wished the whole pack of them would show up just so she could have the pleasure of kicking their butts onto the street. What ­really ticked her off was that she’d given them the fodder they needed to write their misleading stories. “Damn it, I should have known better,” she muttered.

  To his credit, Cal didn’t agree. He didn’t have to. She could see it on his face, that resigned look of contempt that said he’d known she would blow it. That part really irritated her. She should have been the one who knew what to expect. She dealt with celebrities all the time, both in her store and as part of the nightlife at the big ski resorts. Most didn’t attract reporters the way Rafe De Luca did, but they were never truly anonymous, and never truly alone. She knew that. So how come this cop from Oklahoma had anticipated the overblown media reaction and known how to handle it?

  She faced him, hands on hips. “How’d you know the tabloids would be all over this?”

  “Are you kidding? Haven’t you ever watched Trust Fund Brats?”

  “No.”

  He snorted. “You must be the only one. The show has all these twenty- and thirty-something rich kids who have grown up never knowing what anything costs because everything was always given to them. Then they give them a limited budget and a task, like feeding a family of four for a week, or fixing a leaky faucet, and watch them try to cope. America loves to see the rich people screw up the stuff we all deal with every day.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d call an hour of Rafe De Luca making a fool of himself entertainment, but she took his word for it. “So he’s popular.”

  Cal gave her a condescending smile. “It’s not that simple. De Luca’s good-looking, and outrageous in his excesses. Women fall all over themselves to be with him. He’s the guy we all love to hate. Perfect headline material. I’ve followed him around long enough to know he’s a paparazzi favorite. No matter where he is, cameras are never more than a few yards away.”

  She’d had a demonstration of that two nights ago. Pacing again, she told him, “Their lawyer was here yesterday. You were right—they want to put a pretty spin on the whole thing and say Rafe and I had a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Perfect. Go along with it, and in a couple days you’re old news. It’s over.”

  She shot him a hard look. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  He rolled his eyes upward. “Somehow I’m not surprised.”

  “What I need to know is, what’s their next move? You seem to understand how Rafe’s narrow little mind works, so maybe you can tell me what I should do to head him off.”

  He faked a startled expression. “Are you saying you might actually follow my advice?”

  Maggie gave him an evil squint. “Don’t you dare make fun—” She broke off as her sales assistant, Holly, poked her head through the doorway and made a loud “pssst” sound. “What is it?”

  Holly nodded her head meaningfully toward the front of the store. “There’s, uh, someone here asking to see you.”

  “Can you handle it? I’m kind of busy.”

  “I think you better come.” Her eyes went wide and she mouthed the rest as if it were top-secret information. “It’s Rafe De Luca.”

  Maggie’s mind froze up again. She looked at Cal. His casual pose disappeared as he crossed the room to her side. She smiled gamely. “I guess I’ll go find out what Rafe’s next move is.”

  “Not alone.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself. Besides, he’s not going to hurt me.” She clenched her jaw. “And I promise not to hurt him.”

  She started forward, but he clamped a hand around her arm. “Damn it, Maggie, you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I said you’re not going out there alone.”

  She opened her mouth to snap out a nasty retort, then noticed the tight creases at the corners of his eyes and the drawn line of his brows. He was worried. She had a feeling that Cal Drummond didn’t worry without a darn good reason.

  She gave him a cautious nod. “Okay, we go together.”

  His grip didn’t relax. “And I won’t tell you what to say, because I might as well be talking to the walls, but please . . .” He closed his eyes as if offering up a prayer that had little hope of being answered. “Think before you talk.” Before she could object, he moved his hand to her back and guided her past Holly, sauntering into the front of the store like he owned the place.

  Rafe stood by the rock and mineral display, hands clasped behind his back, idly scanning the museum-quality crystals. He might have been fascinated by the huge amethyst geode with its sparkly purple interior, but Maggie thought it more likely that he’d chosen that spot because it was near the large front window. On the other side, faces and cameras pressed against the glass. She wondered why they hadn’t followed him inside, until she looked at the front door. Two large men blocked it. From their long hair, tattoos, and bulging muscles, she guessed they were more pro wrestling dropouts.

  Rafe didn’t turn, even though he had to know she was there—her footsteps were loud in the sudden silence. She realized with chagrin that the three women shoppers who stopped their excited whispering when she entered the room had probably recognized her from the tabloid photos. She glanced over her shoulder. They huddled together, staring, awaiting the next installment in the drama.

  Rafe waited to turn until they were right behind him. Maggie enjoyed a tingle of anticipation, hoping to see a gigantic swollen nose, swaddled in gauze and taped in place. Maybe his eyes would be glazed by massive doses of painkillers, purple bruises blooming below them. She was almost smiling as he turned.

  She looked at near perfection—wavy black hair, artificially tanned skin perfectly complementing his tailored pale yellow shirt. And a perfectly straight nose that was only slightly wider than usual. Her smile crashed.

  Rafe flashed his teeth in a predatory smile and reached for her hand. “Hello, Maggie.”

  She stuck her hand behind her back. “Why isn’t your nose broken? I thought I broke it.”

  The smile became strained but stayed in place—playing for the audience. As she waited, he glanced over her shoulder, winked, and nodded. Giggles carried across the room. The press would undoubtedly get three excited accounts of his incredible charm when he dropped by the store to see her. Chances were she wouldn’t come off as well.

  He finally graced her with h
is phony smile, speaking through gritted teeth. “I don’t think you want to talk about your unfortunate lapse in judgment, Maggie. You should just be grateful that I’m willing to make this look good for both of us.” Raising his voice, he announced loudly enough for the women to overhear, “Those bug fossils are pretty cool. I might be interested in buying one.”

  “They’re not bugs; they’re trilobites.”

  “Whatever. How much is the big one?”

  George. As if she’d let Rafe touch him. “Thirty thousand. Unfortunately, I just sold it this morning.” She tried not to get sick over the lost income; he probably would have paid it without blinking.

  His mouth twitched as he forced it into a polite smile. “Too bad,” he said, then lowered his voice to a quiet rumble. “We need to talk.” His gaze settled on Cal as if he’d discovered a clod of mud on his shoe. “Alone.”

  “No.” She and Cal said it together.

  Rafe looked Cal up and down, from his ordinary brown hair to his cowboy boots. From across the room it might have looked like he smiled, but up close it was more of a condescending sneer. “This must be the boyfriend.”

  “That’s right,” Cal said. Maggie frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but he spoke over her. “And I’m not about to leave her alone with you.” Like Rafe, Cal kept his voice so low that she doubted the three ladies could hear.

  Rafe took several seconds to assess Cal, head cocked. “That’s not going to work, cowboy. How will the press think she’s making up with me if you’re standing right there?”

  “That’s your problem,” Cal told him.

  Rafe seemed to find it amusing. “Afraid I’ll steal her from you?”

  Cal gave a disinterested snort. “A spoiled piece of TV trash like you? Don’t make me laugh.”

  Rafe’s smile disappeared.

  She had to give Cal credit for backing her up even when he thought she was doing the wrong thing. But pushing him into losing his temper in front of all those cameras seemed unnecessary. And it almost worked. From the ripple along Rafe’s jaw he had to be grinding his teeth hard enough to crack their pearly white crowns. When he finally spoke he muttered through a fierce smile, “Your opinion doesn’t count for shit, asshole. Here’s how it goes. You make your little cunt girlfriend do what I need, my family’s lawyers kill the story, and I won’t have to look at your ugly faces again.”

  Cal laughed, a sharp-edged insult. “Make Maggie do something?”

  Maggie didn’t see what was so funny. She balled her hands into fists, wishing she could hit Rafe again. “I’m not staging a kiss-and-make-up scene for your benefit.”

  Rafe shook his head sadly over her ignorance. “Have it your way. I was willing to make it easy, but I don’t mind watching the press drag your name through the mud for a few days before you decide you’ve had enough.”

  She sighed loudly, determined to set him straight. “You really don’t know how to take no for an answer, do you? This isn’t Hollywood, and I don’t have to suck up to you or your daddy. Nothing you do can make me change my mind.”

  From the way he tensed, she knew she’d crossed some invisible line. He leaned closer so their audience couldn’t see the hard look in his eyes, or hear his harsh whisper. “Listen, bitch. You’re the one who doesn’t understand. No woman is going to make me look like a fool. Try it and my lawyers will crush you.” The hatred in his voice sent shivers skidding down her back.

  “Your lawyers,” Cal scoffed.

  Turning to Cal, he stepped closer, something Maggie would have thought twice about, considering the icy look in Cal’s eyes. “And I’ll be more than happy to have them crush you along with her.”

  She expected a rude response from Cal, but a slow smile tugged at his mouth. For a brief second her heart stuttered; she’d underestimated the effect of his smile, but didn’t have time to consider it. Leaning in until he was nearly nose to nose with Rafe, Cal said, “You think I’m afraid of someone who let a girl give him a bloody nose?”

  Rafe’s head jerked as if he’d taken a jab to the chin. He drew a deep breath, his slitted eyes boring into Cal as he let air hiss out through his teeth. For a moment his eyes shifted toward the door and she wondered if he was thinking of calling one of his hired brutes over to twist Cal’s arm off and beat him senseless with it. If so, he thought better of it. His gaze touched on the women across the room, and he flashed a tight smile their way, a practiced move that spoke of a lifetime in the public eye. She knew how it would look to the three women: distracted and annoyed by the callous shop owner and her rude friend, Rafe still took a second to appreciate his fans. What a prince.

  She’d give a hundred dollars to kick him right now.

  Maggie darted a nervous glance at Cal. He looked as calm as usual, but she realized it was deceptive—something was fiercely alert inside him as he watched Rafe. He almost looked disappointed when Rafe took a step back and gave him an assessing look.

  “What’s your name?” Rafe asked.

  “Cowboy.”

  A muscle jumped beside Rafe’s eye. “We’re not done here.”

  Cal’s smile gave her chills. “I’m counting on it.”

  Maggie’s heart pounded at the implied violence, even though Rafe’s expression went bland again. He studied her as he nodded toward the window behind him. “You see those vultures outside? They’ll do anything for an exclusive with me. Last chance—either you go along with my story, or I tell them a completely different one guaranteed to make the headlines. Once I sic them on you, they won’t stop picking at you until your bones are clean.”

  Mutely, she shook her head.

  “Fine.” He startled her with a wink and a smile, back in full publicity mode. “You let me know when you’ve had enough, pretty Maggie. But I’m afraid the terms will be tougher next time we talk. I’ll be in touch.”

  He gave them a friendly nod and walked away. She wanted to rip his throat out.

  Cal must have felt her impending explosion, because he clasped her hand in his and led her firmly back through the door that said EMPLOYEES only. Fine—she had a few things to say to him, too.

  Cal knew she was ready to boil over. He didn’t like being the target of her fury, but it was better than letting her spout off at Rafe De Luca in front of half a dozen photographers. She should have already learned that lesson—any reasonable person would have—but reasonable didn’t apply to Maggie Larkin.

  She lit into him as soon as he closed the door. “You purposely provoked him!”

  She was pissed as hell, but he couldn’t stop his smile. “Yeah. Wasn’t it fun?”

  “No!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. It seemed like her hands were always moving when she talked. “I want him to go away! Now he’s going to try even harder to ruin me.”

  “Maggie.”

  He waited until she huffed impatiently, stuck her hands on her hips, and snapped, “What.”

  “He was going to ruin you anyway. You’re the one who decided not to give him what he wants—to look good in the press. To be the suave Romeo they always make him out to be. So, yes, he’ll try to punish you for that. He’s vindictive. It’s part of his killer mentality. And it’s why you should go along with him.”

  She didn’t look the least bit appeased. “Why do I keep forgetting that you aren’t here to help me? You have your own agenda. So what’s your plan—provoke Rafe into killing me to prove he’s a murderer? Thanks a lot.”

  It was just sarcasm, but the thought of Rafe harming her sobered him fast. “Hell, no! That’s what I’m trying to prevent. I don’t believe in taking unnecessary risks.” Apparently he was just attracted to women who did. Once was enough on that crazy carnival ride, but it seemed he hadn’t learned his lesson. Secretly, he admired Maggie’s refusal to take shit from anyone, making him all the more irritated with himself.

  “Then what’s the point?” she demanded. “Because it felt a lot like some macho strutting contest with me in the middle.”

  “The
point is to find his trigger.” He moved away from the door, forcing her to follow. He could only imagine what would happen if someone overheard his theory about Rafe De Luca murdering women. Those three women shoppers might be straining to overhear the conversation in the back room if they weren’t already on the sidewalk, selling their version of what they’d seen to the press.

  Maggie refused to sit at her desk—did the woman ever relax?—so they stood as he explained. “I need to know what makes him kill. Rafe’s not like a serial killer who plans and stalks and prepares for each kill. Most of the time he’s just your average, everyday asshole, with too much money and power for his own good. But every once in a while something sets him off. He doesn’t plan to kill, at least I don’t think he has yet. He does it impulsively, in an outburst of temper.”

  She thought it over, pursing her lips as she did, which he found highly distracting. He tried to focus instead on her eyes. They usually snapped with enough anger to make him forget about demented fantasies like kissing her. She’d probably bite him if he tried it, anyway. “You mean he’s like the guy who kills his ex-wife because she leaves him for someone else? If he can’t have her, no one can?”

  “Not exactly. The kind of guy you’re describing tends to zero in on one woman exclusively, maybe for years at a time. Rafe picks up and disposes of lovers on a regular basis, and doesn’t care who they go to next. But he does care about controlling them while they’re with him. I suspect he has an image of himself that’s nearly godlike. He can’t tolerate a woman who defies him.”

  She finally looked cautious. “Like me.”

  “Like you.”

  “Are you saying if I don’t go along with his lovers’ quarrel scenario he’ll try to kill me?” Her voice went up at the end; at least she took it seriously enough to be horrified.

  “I think you’re safe for now because everything has been so public. But nothing’s certain, and I need to know what triggers his uncontrolled bursts of temper.”