have preferred that Rafe stay in sunny Florida where she’d told him to sit tight, instead of tagging along with her to her parents’ house in Chicago. The guy didn’t listen to a word she said, though. He was too worried she was going to cut and run with Doug’s research, go off and find Tisiphone on her own. Which, if she had any sense, is exactly what she’d do.
Insane. This whole idea was totally insane, and being a bright girl, she was going along with it anyway. That pretty much made her certifiable.
She was just waiting for the inevitable moment when she’d have to explain how she, a grad student at the time, had managed to procure Dr. Douglas Stone’s personal research papers. Thank the blessed stars above, the brainiac next to her hadn’t yet asked.
She hadn’t been back to the Windy City in over a year, and knowing her family, they were going to make a big production out of her return. She could already hear her sister Keira’s high-pitched squeal—the same one that had set Lisa’s nerves on edge as a teenager and sounded like fingernails scraping down a blackboard. With her hands gripping the wheel, Lisa took a calming breath and tried to remember these people were family. She didn’t have to like them per se, just love them. Which she did without fault—but God, sometimes it was a struggle.
Add to that the fact she hadn’t touched Doug’s research boxes since he’d died, and also that when she did, she was going to be hit with memories she didn’t want to even entertain…Yeah, this was shaping up into a lovely evening. And knowing she was going to have to deal with all of it under the watchful eye of Rafe Sullivan? Holy crap. It was almost enough to make her swerve into oncoming traffic.
His focus was trained on the traffic around them, but his grip had relaxed slightly on the door handle. She swerved into the right-hand lane just to watch him tighten his hold on the armrest again. Scaring him shouldn’t make her feel so good, but damn if it didn’t kick her mood up a pathetic little notch. His eyes widened. When his legs tensed next to her, she tried not to smile again.
“So tell me about your family,” Rafe said.
Her family dynamics were none of his business, but at this point she realized there was really no way out of teaming up, and being bitchy wouldn’t help.
“My mother was a teacher. She’s retired now. My father owned a furniture store up until a few years ago, when he sold it so he could pester my mother in her golden years.”
Colleen Maxwell had been thrilled to learn her only single daughter was bringing along a “friend” to night. Too bad it wasn’t that kind of friend. “My mother will get the wrong idea about you, right from the start. Don’t encourage her. Smile, nod, but keep your mouth shut. Hopefully we won’t be there long.”
He slanted her a cheesy grin. “Oh yeah? What kind of wrong ideas?”
She ignored the sparkle in his eye and his question, instead maneuvering the car around a motorcycle. “My father will hate you on the spot.”
“Protective,” he said as he relaxed further in his seat, like he had a clue what he was talking about. “Got it.”
Lisa let out a disbelieving huff. Protective wasn’t a word she’d use to describe her authoritarian father. Steady, reliable, dependable, even caring at times when the mood struck, but definitely not protective. “He doesn’t like Mexicans.”
“Whoa. Rewind.” Rafe sat straighter in his seat and held up his hand. “I’m not Mexican, querida, I’m Puerto Rican.” She caught the hint of an accent when he mentioned the small island. “Half Puerto Rican. And 100 percent red-blooded American. Mexican, my ass,” he mumbled.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head, ignoring the contempt brewing in his eyes. “You could be the king of frickin’ Spain, and he’d still only notice you aren’t Irish.”
He looked out the window and muttered something she couldn’t hear.
Was that guilt trickling through her chest? Why? The guy had been flicking her crap since she’d met him, and she now felt guilty because her father didn’t like Latinos? Right. That made sense.
“Maxwell doesn’t sound very Irish to me, querida.”
Okay, so he was quicker on his feet than she’d assumed. She frowned and changed lanes. “Don’t mention that to my father, either. Some half-baked woman way back in the family line had the