The Redemption Of Rafe Diaz. Maggie Price

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СКАЧАТЬ Allie Fielding was only a small part of the case, and he’d gotten all the information from her that he could. Instead, here he was, standing in a crowded ballroom, imagining he could still smell her sexy, compelling scent. He needed to get away from her—and stay away.

      Forcing his focus back to his case, he watched Will Bishop step to one of the small bars set up around the outer edge of the ballroom. While he ordered a refill, Rafe studied his quarry.

      Hank Bishop’s son was in his late twenties, lanky and good-looking, with longish sun-streaked blond hair and a deeply tanned face. He wore an expensively cut tuxedo, but had left the collar of his crisp, pleated shirt unbuttoned and forgone the requisite bow tie.

      Rafe had watched the young man work the crowd, moving from woman to woman, smiling and flirting while projecting an air of nonchalant cool. From the number of intimate female smiles and longing gazes he received, it was apparent Will Bishop had his laid-back Mr. Charm persona honed to a T.

      If he was at all upset about his father having been arrested for murder, it didn’t show.

      Rafe stepped to the bar, positioning himself behind Bishop. When the younger man turned, gripping a tumbler of whiskey, Rafe stuck out his hand. “Will Bishop?”

      “That’s me.”

      “I’m Rafe Diaz. I’d like a word with you.”

      Bishop returned the handshake while Rafe watched his expression as he struggled to try to place him. After a moment, he frowned. “Do we know each other?”

      “I’m a private investigator, hired by your father. I’ve been trying to reach you.”

      A flash of emotion tightened the skin around Bishop’s eyes. Then his expression cleared. “Yeah, I got your messages.”

      “You didn’t return them.”

      “Been busy.”

      “Doesn’t look like you’re tied up now.” Rafe inclined his head toward the pair of tall doors he had discovered earlier which led to an outside terrace. “We can talk out there.”

      Bishop glanced toward the terrace, considered. “Okay. But I don’t have a lot of time.” He raised his glass, tossed back its contents, then set the tumbler on the bar. “Lead the way.”

      Outside, the intense heat of the summer day had lessened with nightfall. But the air now carried the scent of rain and was muggy enough that none of the other guests had ventured out onto the terrace illuminated by massive carriage lamps.

      Will Bishop walked to the railing bordering the terrace, then turned. “I meant it when I said I’ve been busy. My mother freaked when she found out about my father’s affair. And that he’d been arrested for killing his mistress.”

      “Your father claims he didn’t murder Mercedes McKenzie.”

      “I hope to hell he didn’t. But I’m sure wondering.”

      “Did you know about his relationship with the woman?”

      “Do you really think my father would have told me he had a mistress?” Will shot back. “That he’d put her up in one of the properties he owns? Paid all of her expenses?”

      “No,” Rafe replied levelly. “I don’t think your father would have told you about her. But family members stumble over information about each other all the time. So, I’ll ask again, did you know about your father’s affair with the McKenzie woman?”

      “No.”

      “What about your mother? Did she know?”

      In the glow of a carriage lamp, Bishop’s eyes sparked. “She wouldn’t have put up with it if she had. She’s hurt. Going through hell. She told her attorney to draw up divorce papers. Which, because I can’t remember a time when my parents weren’t arguing and sniping at each other, is long overdue.”

      “You work in your father and uncle’s real estate investment business?”

      “That’s right.”

      “What do you do?”

      “I scout locations to see if they’d make good investments.” His brow rose. “Dad thinks it’ll build character if I start at ground zero and work my way up.”

      “Do you agree?”

      “I think my dad should have paid attention to his own character building. He created the mess he’s in. There’s nothing I can do to help him.”

      “Your father said you’ve been away from the office a lot.”

      “After what he put my mother through, she needs a lot of attention and support. She’s my priority now. He and Uncle Guy can fire me if they want. At this point, I don’t much care.”

      “Mind telling me where you were when the McKenzie woman was murdered?”

      Bishop smirked. “Hell, yes, I mind. I told the police where I was. I don’t have to tell you.”

      Will’s cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. After murmuring a few words, he hung up and met Rafe’s gaze. “I’ve got someone waiting for me inside. Any more questions?”

      “That’s it. For now.”

      Rafe stayed on the terrace, watching the young man stride away. When he pulled open the door to the ballroom, a tall, curvy redhead wearing a low-cut gown draped herself over his arm and gave him a pouty smile.

      After Bishop stepped inside and closed the door, Rafe leaned a hip against the railing. Nothing Will Bishop said had put a blip on Rafe’s radar screen. And his claim that his priority was taking care of his mother was commendable. Still, Bishop didn’t fit the mold of a concerned son. Maybe that was because tonight he hadn’t once looked his mother’s way, much less spoken to her, during the entire time Rafe had spent observing him.

      That, and the little twinge at the base of his spine, had him deciding to keep his eye on Will Bishop. And to find out where he’d been at the time of the murder.

      Rafe checked his watch. Next on his agenda was to find Ellen Bishop and have a chat with his client’s angry wife.

      Striding across the terrace, he scowled when his thoughts returned to Allie. She’d done him a favor adding his name to the guest list. So he would track her down before he left. Thank her. Once that was done, he could head home, conscience clear.

      After that, when he was away from her and his lungs were free of her intriguing scent, he would shove all thoughts of the woman out of his head.

      But before he could stop himself, he pictured her face, her lush, red mouth. That long length of creamy thigh. He gritted his teeth while need rose inside him like a hot wave.

      He was going to need a damn bulldozer to help do that shoving.

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