cops found the stones at his place, he’d go to jail for sure. It depressed the hell out of him that she hadn’t told him where to find them. Maybe she didn’t care that he got in trouble.
He didn’t believe that. While making love to her last night, all the barriers had come down. It had just been the two of them, and it had been explosive. Bridget cared about him. He grinned. She’d hate like hell to admit it, though. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again to prove how wrong she was to think she could just shrug him off.
In the meantime, he’d do as he’d promised and pass her disturbing message to Darcy, ask a few pointed questions of his own, then hustle and try to find those damned stones before the FBI got a search warrant. He wouldn’t be much help to her if he were stuck in jail.
***
Rafe detoured into the Starbucks across the street from the Nashua Street jail. He could use another coffee, and he figured Darcy would probably appreciate a good coffee for a change, too. After placing his order, he stuck his hands in his jeans pocket to check for change and pulled out a slip of paper. Thinking it was an old receipt, he was about to toss it into the trash bin when he noticed someone had written on it. He unfolded the paper. Two words; Your Burberry .
Rafe grinned. Thank you, Irish . Clever woman. She even knew the proper name for his raincoat that hung at the back of his closet. More important, she cared enough to tell him where the stones were. If Bridget were here right now, he’d kiss her for that alone. His smile slipped as he thought of her out there alone. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe.
When Bridget’s brother, Darcy, walked into the visiting room fifteen minutes later, Rafe recognized him. His curly hair wasn’t as bright as his sister’s had been, but there was no denying it was red. He was about the same height as Bridget and had a hard, compact body, and although he wore a guarded look, Rafe could see the intelligence lurking beneath his curiosity.
Rafe passed one coffee to the guard and pointed at Darcy, then sat at the station opposite Darcy behind the glass and picked up the phone. Without preliminaries, he plunged in when Darcy held the phone to his ear. “I might not have much time. Bridget asked me to warn you. She said he was back. That’s all. I don’t know who he is, but I do know she was worried about your safety.”
Darcy looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Who the hell are you, and where’s Bridget?”
“I don’t know. She’s on the run. I tried to get her to talk to the FBI—”
“The FBI? What do you think they’re going to do for her other than put her in jail? Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? How do you know my sister?”
Rafe was tempted to skip the part of how he and Bridget had met, but as Gage had pointed out, he was a lousy liar. “I…ran into her in Paris.”
“Christ.” Darcy barked out a laugh. “You’re that guy.”
He’d never live that damned incident down. “Yeah, that guy. Then I ran into her at the gem show here in Boston.”
“When?”
“This week.”
“The one where the gems went missing? She was there?” Darcy’s voice tightened, like he was spitting out bullets.
“Right. I, uh…” He hunched his shoulders. “I helped her get out of there.”
Darcy leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why would you help her? She crucified you.”
Oh, yeah, Rafe could see the family resemblance clearly now. The O’Neill clan was a skeptical, suspicious lot. “Because for some reason I can’t explain, I like your sister. What does she mean when she says he ? How can I help?”
“You can’t, pretty boy. Go home and forget you ever met Bridget. You’re in over your head.”
“And you’re locked up in jail.”
Darcy stared at him for a minute then looked away. “You don’t know where she is?”
“No.”
“If Bridget calls anyone, it’ll be
He didn’t believe that. While making love to her last night, all the barriers had come down. It had just been the two of them, and it had been explosive. Bridget cared about him. He grinned. She’d hate like hell to admit it, though. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her again to prove how wrong she was to think she could just shrug him off.
In the meantime, he’d do as he’d promised and pass her disturbing message to Darcy, ask a few pointed questions of his own, then hustle and try to find those damned stones before the FBI got a search warrant. He wouldn’t be much help to her if he were stuck in jail.
***
Rafe detoured into the Starbucks across the street from the Nashua Street jail. He could use another coffee, and he figured Darcy would probably appreciate a good coffee for a change, too. After placing his order, he stuck his hands in his jeans pocket to check for change and pulled out a slip of paper. Thinking it was an old receipt, he was about to toss it into the trash bin when he noticed someone had written on it. He unfolded the paper. Two words; Your Burberry .
Rafe grinned. Thank you, Irish . Clever woman. She even knew the proper name for his raincoat that hung at the back of his closet. More important, she cared enough to tell him where the stones were. If Bridget were here right now, he’d kiss her for that alone. His smile slipped as he thought of her out there alone. Wherever she was, he hoped she was safe.
When Bridget’s brother, Darcy, walked into the visiting room fifteen minutes later, Rafe recognized him. His curly hair wasn’t as bright as his sister’s had been, but there was no denying it was red. He was about the same height as Bridget and had a hard, compact body, and although he wore a guarded look, Rafe could see the intelligence lurking beneath his curiosity.
Rafe passed one coffee to the guard and pointed at Darcy, then sat at the station opposite Darcy behind the glass and picked up the phone. Without preliminaries, he plunged in when Darcy held the phone to his ear. “I might not have much time. Bridget asked me to warn you. She said he was back. That’s all. I don’t know who he is, but I do know she was worried about your safety.”
Darcy looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Who the hell are you, and where’s Bridget?”
“I don’t know. She’s on the run. I tried to get her to talk to the FBI—”
“The FBI? What do you think they’re going to do for her other than put her in jail? Look.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? How do you know my sister?”
Rafe was tempted to skip the part of how he and Bridget had met, but as Gage had pointed out, he was a lousy liar. “I…ran into her in Paris.”
“Christ.” Darcy barked out a laugh. “You’re that guy.”
He’d never live that damned incident down. “Yeah, that guy. Then I ran into her at the gem show here in Boston.”
“When?”
“This week.”
“The one where the gems went missing? She was there?” Darcy’s voice tightened, like he was spitting out bullets.
“Right. I, uh…” He hunched his shoulders. “I helped her get out of there.”
Darcy leaned back and crossed his arms. “Why would you help her? She crucified you.”
Oh, yeah, Rafe could see the family resemblance clearly now. The O’Neill clan was a skeptical, suspicious lot. “Because for some reason I can’t explain, I like your sister. What does she mean when she says he ? How can I help?”
“You can’t, pretty boy. Go home and forget you ever met Bridget. You’re in over your head.”
“And you’re locked up in jail.”
Darcy stared at him for a minute then looked away. “You don’t know where she is?”
“No.”
“If Bridget calls anyone, it’ll be
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