him to make introductions, he forgot just what the hell he’d been rationalizing to himself. His heart did a slow thump before he could stop it. And he watched in amazement as her gaze raked his face, the look in her eyes shifting from soft to smart-ass in one long blink.
Well, hell. That was fitting. Since she’d leveled him in the Keys, it was the only emotion she’d tossed his way. He shouldn’t be disappointed. And yet he was.
Lisa’s mother heard nothing but his name, not the lame explanation Lisa was rattling off about why she’d dragged him along, nor her other daughters’ bickering. The woman braced both hands on his cheeks. “We are so glad to have you here, Rafe.”
She grasped his hand before he could respond and pulled him through the arched doorway into the living room. “Darin, get up off that recliner.”
Lisa’s father tipped his gray head toward the doorway and scowled but didn’t rise.
Oh, yeah. Lisa hadn’t lied. The man hated him on the spot.
The old man glanced back at the television flickering across the room. “Don’t look Irish to me.”
“Daddy, try to be civil.” Lisa brushed past Rafe and kissed her father on the cheek.
“Hello, cupcake.” His face softened ever so slightly before going hard and rigid again.
“Daddy, this is Rafe Sullivan. He’s a colleague of mine.”
“Sullivan sounds Irish,” her father mumbled.
“It is,” Rafe supplied, trying his damnedest not to huff it out. “My father was born in Galway.” A no-good Irish drunk, to boot. And judging from the empty Killian’s bottles on the end table next to Darin Maxwell, Lisa’s father wasn’t far off the mark either.
The older man harrumphed. “Don’t look Irish,” he muttered again. “Looks like those spics who broke in and trashed the store.”
Rafe’s jaw went tight.
Lisa’s hand on his arm only marginally cooled his raging temper, just enough so he didn’t let the old geezer have it. “Daddy’s store was broken into several times by some Latino gangs in the area. It’s not personal, Rafe.”
The hell it wasn’t. It was always personal. And she didn’t have a freakin’ clue what the hell she was talking about.
The only reason he kept his jaw tightly clenched was because Lisa had a death grip on his arm. That and the fact he knew once he started, he wouldn’t stop. And somewhere in the back of his head, his brain was telling him to grit his teeth and let it roll off so he could get his hands on the research locked in the attic upstairs. If he flew off the handle now, he’d never get what he wanted.
But man, it would feel good to let this ass have it.
In his peripheral vision he saw Lisa’s mother exchange worried glances with her daughters. She tugged on his arm. “Rafe, why don’t you come into the kitchen with me and tell me how you met my girl.”
Worry and a shadow of embarrassment darkened Lisa’s face. “Go on,” she said softly. “I need to have a word with my father.”
Yeah, right. Like that would make a difference. Stiff and rigid, he followed Colleen into the kitchen, contrary to every instinct in his gut telling him to go back in there and stand up for himself.
What the hell was Lisa going to say to the old man? You’re right? He’s a liar and a thief, just like those gangbangers? That’s all she knew about him, all she thought of him. He hadn’t given her one good reason to think otherwise. She didn’t have a clue why finding the Furies was so important to him, didn’t know it wasn’t just about the money. Didn’t know it was about life and death and a promise he wasn’t going to break this time.
Hell, she was probably having a good laugh with the old man right now. The thought sickened him more than the racial slur her father had so casually tossed out.
His jaw twitched involuntarily. The hunt to find the Furies warred with his need to stand up for what he knew was right. And for the first time since he’d laid eyes on Lisa Maxwell, curves or not, he wished he’d walked out of that goddamn auditorium and never looked back.
CHAPTER SIX
Oh, yeah. This was better. Sitting in a chair at the Maxwell kitchen table listening to Colleen drone on about Lisa’s accomplishments as she shuffled from cutting board to stove was better than stewing about what a jerk Lisa’s father was.
Right. Like that was true. But at least