Rafe slouched against the plush bench of his corner booth, idly running his finger around the wet circle rings on the table. He'd give Lupe fifteen minutes more. He checked his watch again as if sheer will power could urge the lethargic minute hand forward. He suppressed a yawn, loosened the knot of his tie, and finally reached for his wallet.
That's when he noticed the three women.
They surrounded a small round table across the room, flimsy, high-heeled shoes on their feet, their bare legs swinging above the floor as they sat on backless stools. A healthy row of Margaritas and Piña Coladas lined up on sturdy paper coasters in front of them, and the empty glasses showed they'd been at it a while.
He shook his head. Been too long, old man, when a bevy of pretty girls doesn't catch your attention right away. Even as he pulled a twenty from his wallet, he observed from the corner of his eye that one of the women rose from her chair and wended her way toward him.
Deliberately and very provocatively, her legs stretched, thighs flashing beneath the deep blood red of her skirt. Her hips swayed gently and the hem of her dress swished like satin on silk as she moved straight toward his booth.
As she got closer, he saw that her skin was flawless, pale and creamy as pearls. Her eyes never wavered from his, deep coals set in a smooth face, cheekbones that spoke of the ancestry of some long-ago Spanish conquistador.
Holy Mother of God. Had it been that long?
Her tangle of dark brown curls fell messily to her shoulders, bare except for two ridiculous tiny straps that rose from the mounds of her breasts. And very lovely breasts they were, displayed from the deep vee of her neckline.
Rafe tilted his head to look around her. Behind her, the remaining two women stared at the girl's back, their hands shielding mouths that held back laughter. Their eyes sparkled and twin dimples flashed in their cheeks.
Sisters, he thought instantly. Older than the sultry vixen making her way toward him, but definitely sisters. Macbeth's three witches, concocting some seductive brew for their unsuspecting thane.
He flashed his most congenial grin and watched the woman approach.
Bella hesitated and then ploughed on, undaunted by the grin on the stranger's face. Damn her sisters. Come on, Bella, don't be so serious, Bella. Let down your hair, Bella. And here she was. Over an hour and too many drinks later, she rose to the challenge of her meddling sisters.
After all, what did it matter? Except for her family, she knew no one in Los Angeles. As soon as she delivered the papers on Diego Vargas to the DEA field office tomorrow morning, she was heading straight back to Sacramento. She'd never see this man again.
And that was a good thing because she was dressed to the nines in a borrowed garment that surely made her look like a hooker, neckline plunging clear down to the Promised Land. Her hair pulled from its usual tidy knot, curled and then ruffled so it looked like a tempest had swept around her. Her sisters had pinched her cheeks until she looked like someone who'd just tumbled out of bed after a very satisfying romp.
And now this very lean, dark stranger with crisp black hair and an attractive five-o'clock shadow looked like he wanted to do things to her that she'd only read about in magazines.
Faltering at the last moment, she stumbled in the four-inch heels Anita had pushed on her, toeless shoes with thin red straps. A startled look crossed the man's face as he rose to catch her. Perfect, she thought, but the idea was foiled when another man, a short Hispanic dressed shabbily in Levis and tee-shirt brushed past her.
That gentle bump was all it took.
As graceless as a top spinning down, she wavered, wobbled, and crashed to the floor. Her dress front dipped dangerously close to her nipples and her hands reached backward to cushion her fall. She felt the jolt from wrists to elbows and wondered briefly if the tiny crack she heard was the breaking of some small bone. Or her stupid pride.
Worse than anything, the hem of her dress bunched around her waist and she remembered the devilishly skimpy panties she'd purchased last Christmas and wore for the first time tonight. She opened her eyes to the amused look and extended hand of the stranger.
Up close, she recognized the swarthy complexion of a desert tribe descendant, the black slash of brow across his face, the kink of curl in the cropped dark hair. He skimmed oddly flecked green eyes down her body, reminding her again of her underwear.
While she lay there in a stupor, he grabbed her hand, a knowing smile carving a perfectly sculpted mouth as he pulled her to her feet. "Are you all right?"
Good God, he was lovely, Bella thought, imagining his eyes sparkled with more inane questions. Are you single? Are you available? Are you really wearing underwear because I wasn't sure what I saw while you sprawled in front of me?
Bella shook her head mutely, heat creeping into her face and chest, and glanced over her shoulder. Her sisters sat twirling thin straws in colorful drinks. They smiled calmly and waved. They knew she'd hurt little more than her pride.
The stranger's hand, large and warm, enclosed hers in a strong grip. "Why don't you have a seat?" So polite, so suave.
She wrenched a modicum of dignity from within and tugged her hand from his gentle grip. "I believe a trip to the ladies room might restore a little of my decorum."
Rafe swept his arm to the right where the restrooms lay and executed a courtly bow. She laughed. Classy woman, he thought. She'd need a moment to recover her pride, and he needed to deal with his very tardy informant.
When Rafe turned back to the booth again, Lupe had already settled into the opposite corner, a toothpick protruding from between his teeth, a whiskey in front of him.
"You're late," Rafe growled. "Again." He slid into the booth across from his informant.
Lupe Rodriquez tilted his head to observe the retreating figure of the woman Rafe had just pulled off the floor. "Hey, man, seems like you was passin' your time real nice."
Rafe glowered and leaned across the space between them. "Don't screw around, Lupe. What have you got for me?"
Rodriquez withdrew a crumpled envelope from his jeans pocket, smoothed out the crinkled edges, and handed it across the table. Rafe scanned the contents quickly. Dates, docking times, and pier numbers, but no ship names or ports of entry.
"What the hell, Lupe? I need more information than this." He slipped the paper into his inside jacket pocket and crumpled up the envelope.
Lupe glanced around and lowered his voice. "Don't worry. I'm seeing a guy tonight. He has the rest of the info."
Rafe nodded. "Were you followed?"
"Possibly." Lupe spread his hands and grinned. "But, hermano, I am as slick as the oil on my mama's tortilla pan. No one sees me if I do not want them to."
"Some day that cocky attitude is going to get you killed," Rafe warned, wondering again why he trusted this exasperating, over-confident man. He opened his wallet, extracted a large bill, and pushed it across the table. Lupe swiped it up faster than a street huckster.
"See you around, amigo," the little man said, sliding across the bench.
At that precise moment, the woman in the red dress glided past the table on her way back from the restroom.
"Chica," Lupe hailed her retreating back, "mi amigo está aquí." My friend is here.
When she turned at the sound of his voice, he added. "Por favor. Mi amigo piensa que usted es muy bonita."
My friend thinks you are very pretty. Christ, no one was more of an ass than Lupe with a few whiskeys in him.
Rafe stood belatedly and indicated the seat opposite him. The woman hesitated a moment, then inclined her head as regally as a queen and occupied the place Lupe had just vacated.
"Buenos noches," Lupe tossed over his shoulder as he sauntered across the room and exited through the large wide doors of Stuckey's entrance.
Now what?
What did this bold, dark-eyed beauty want? If Rafe hadn't glimpsed the underlying vulnerability in her eyes, he'd have thought she was a high-priced call girl. If he hadn't observed how the sisters watched like hawks from their position nearby, ready to swoop down at the first sign of danger, he'd have thought she wanted something quick and elemental.
At her smile a swirl of desire quickened his groin. A few hours with a woman like her would do wonders for his mood.
He stretched his hand across the table. "Hello," he said, giving her the slow smile his mother always said could melt the icebergs of Greenland. "I'm Ashraf, long A, call me Rafe."