Alana Matthews - Internal Affairs

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple,” Rafe said. “Your ex-husband is up to his eyeballs in organized crime.”

Oliver Sloan.

When the name came out of the housekeeper’s mouth, Rafe wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her right.

Oliver Sloan was a bad man.

A very bad man.

Oliver Sloan was nothing less than the local king of organized crime. Drugs. Prostitution. Extortion. Gambling. If it was a thriving illegal enterprise, Sloan’s involvement was a given.

The problem, unfortunately, was proving it. Despite years of trying, neither the Sheriff’s department nor the St. Louis police had been able to come up with any evidence against him. Too many crime scenes had been sanitized. Too many witnesses had disappeared. Too many suspects had kept their mouths shut and taken their punishment, refusing to reveal who had given the orders.

Oliver Sloan had somehow managed to stay above it all. Had even presented himself to the public as an altruistic businessman. A real estate mogul. But as Harris had said, everyone in St. Louis law enforcement circles knew he was dirty. As dirty as they come.

What Rafe had a hard time stomaching, however, was that Lisa had not only been involved with the guy, but also had actually been married to him. Had a child with him.

That was just one surprise too many.

Rafe had been feeling shell-shocked ever since he entered the house and saw Lisa sitting on that sofa. And the thought that Oliver Sloan had sired that child was almost too much to bear.

Rafe remembered what he and Lisa had meant to each other in college and how their breakup was largely due to their inability to commit. Even though it was only a little over three years ago, they had seemed so young then. So immature.

But they’d both done a lot of growing up since then. And apparently Lisa herself hadn’t had much trouble committing. Not for a while, at least. She had gone straight from that breakup into the arms Oliver Sloan.

But how could she not know what kind of man he was? Was he that good at hiding it?

“Let me get this straight,” Rafe said. “You had no idea your ex-husband was suspected of being part of a crime syndicate?”

Lisa shook her head in dismay. “You must have the wrong Oliver Sloan. I’ve sat in his office, watched him make deals. If anything mob related was going on, I think I would’ve noticed.”

“His company’s a front,” Harris said. “But, trust me, you aren’t the only one he’s snookered. There are a few people on the city council who think he’s God, and he’s got more connections than the pope.”

“I can’t believe this,” Lisa said.

“Well you’d better start wrapping your head around it, because if this guy’s giving you grief, you’re in a lot more trouble than you—”

“That’s enough, Phil.” Rafe approached his partner. “We came here to help Lisa, not scare her half to death.”

He turned to the sofa, chastising himself for letting this go on as long as it had. Lisa’s expression was a mix of fear and disbelief.

“Look, Lisa, I won’t kid you. You’re probably making the right move, not pressing charges. But that doesn’t mean Sloan won’t answer for what he did here tonight.”

“You’re still going to talk to him?”

“As soon as I get off duty. I don’t think a civil conversation will hurt, and I doubt he’ll do anything stupid. He’s not a stupid man.”

Rafe felt Harris’s gaze on him, probably wearing a look of disbelief himself. Probably thinking Rafe was the stupid one. But Harris had maintained a career as a patrol deputy by playing it safe, and what he thought right now wasn’t of much interest to Rafe. He was merely a ride back to the station house.

Lisa got to her feet and approached them, pulling Rafe into another hug. He smelled the familiar scent of lavender and was pleased to know she still used the same perfume. He knew it was an odd thing to remember or be comforted by, but that scent had defined her somehow and smelling it now sent a cascade of memories tumbling through his head.

“Thank you,” she said. “But be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not the scrawny kid you knew in college.”

She laughed. “Believe me, I noticed.”

She squeezed him tighter, then pulled away, her look telling him that she suddenly felt awkward about this whole situation. They both needed to step back for a moment, evaluate this unexpected reunion, then proceed from there.

But Rafe hoped she wouldn’t mind if he called her. “Is there a number where I can reach you?”

Their gazes connected for a moment, then Lisa moved to a table along the wall, opened a drawer and scribbled something on a scratch pad. Tearing the top sheet off, she folded it twice and handed it to him.

“My cell,” she said. “But whatever you do, don’t let Oliver get hold of it. Otherwise, he’ll start texting me day and night.”

“It’s safe with me,” Rafe said, then looked across the room at little Chloe, who was stirring on the sofa. She was indeed a beautiful child, a reflection of her mother.

Too bad her father was scum.

Rafe nodded toward the girl and said, “My grandmother always told me that children are God’s way of granting us eternal life. You’re a lucky woman, Leese. And I’m sure you’re a wonderful mother.”

She smiled wistfully. “Thank you, Rafe.”

He gestured to Harris and they went back into the foyer. And as he turned at the front doorway for one last look at the girl he had once loved, he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR MIND, Franco?” The words flew out of Harris’s mouth before he even had the cruiser’s engine started. “You think you’re just going to walk up to Oliver Sloan and tell him what’s what?”

Rafe shrugged. “You have any better ideas?”

“Damn straight I do. Walk away and leave it alone. There’s a reason we’ve never been able to pop this guy. Rumor has it he’s even got the mayor in his pocket.”

“I’ve never been big on rumors,” Rafe said.

“Well, I hope you aren’t too big on your job, either, because this guy can ruin your career with a snap of his fingers.”

Rafe chuckled. “You watch too many crime shows.”

“What I watch is my back, and you’d better watch yours, too. But if you are stupid enough to confront this clown, leave my name out of it. I don’t need him knowing I’m alive.”

Rafe wasn’t surprised by Harris’s lack of internal fortitude, but it grated on him nevertheless. “Come on, Phil, are you a cop or a glorified Girl Scout?”

“I’m a guy who knows his place in the world. And until somebody with more juice than me puts this stinker behind bars, I plan on doing my shift and keeping a low profile. I’d suggest you do the same.”

“Sorry, no can do.”

Harris shook his head in disgust and finally started the engine. “I don’t know what that lady means to you, but after what I saw, I’ve got a pretty good idea. And if you don’t start thinking with the brain in your head instead of the one in your pants, you’re gonna be knee-deep in trouble.”

Rafe supposed he had this coming, but it wasn’t like that at all. He was just doing his job.

“Doesn’t matter how many times you say it, Phil, I’m not going to change my mind. I don’t see any harm in having a nice, civil talk with the man.”

Harris huffed and put the cruiser in motion. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, hotshot. Say hello to St. Peter for me.”

BACK AT THE STATION HOUSE, Rafe typed up an incident report on the shooting at the garage and dropped it off on Kate’s desk. It had taken considerable effort to concentrate on the task, his mind continuously drifting back to Lisa.