Larkin had never had any of that. Worse, she’d been abandoned by her mother, never known the love of her father and been betrayed in the worst possible way by her half sister. Well, that ended. Right now.
“We’ll take care of this, sweetheart. We’ll get your bracelet back and use it to track down your father. If anyone can do it, it’s Juice.” He pulled back slightly. “Let’s start with finding the bracelet. What’s your sister’s name? Where does she live?”
Larkin caught him by surprise, ripping free of his embrace. Without a word she dived from the raft and struck out toward shore, cutting through the water as though all the demons of hell were close on her heels. He didn’t hesitate. He gave chase, reaching the shore only steps behind her. Catching her by the shoulder, he spun her around.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, the air heaving in and out of his lungs. “Why did you take off like that?”
She struggled to catch her breath. Water ran in thin rivulets down her face, making it impossible to tell whether it was from her swim or from tears. “I warned you. I warned you not to go there.”
A hideous suspicion took hold. “Who is she, Larkin? Who has your bracelet? What’s her name?”
“Her name is…was…Leigh.”
“Leigh,” he repeated. He shook his head. “Not my late wife. Not that Leigh.”
She closed her eyes and all the fight drained from her. “Yes, your late wife, Leigh. She was also my half sister.” She looked at him then, her eyes—those stunning aquamarine eyes—empty of all emotion. “And I wondered, assuming it’s not too much trouble, if you could give me back the bracelet she took from me.”
For a split second Rafe couldn’t move, couldn’t even think. Then comprehension stormed through him. “All this time you’ve been with me, you’ve kept your relationship to Leigh a secret? All so you could find her bracelet?”
“My bracelet. And no! Well, yes.” She thrust her hands into her wet hair in open frustration, standing the curls on end. “I didn’t move in with you in order to search for it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. But yes. I asked to be assigned to the Dantes reception in order to get an initial impression of you. To decide the best way to approach you.”
She’d been sizing him up. Right from the start she’d been figuring out the perfect bait for her trap. And he’d fallen for it. Fallen for almost the exact same routine Leigh had used on him. The poor innocent waif. In Larkin’s case, abandoned by her mother, searching for her father. Raised by her grandmother. Was any of it true? None of Leigh’s stories had been. Or was this Larkin’s clever way to get her hands on whatever valuables his late wife had left behind?
“What a fool I’ve been.”
“I’m sorry, Rafe. To be honest—”
“Oh, by all means,” he cut in sarcastically. “Do be honest. It would make such a refreshing change.”
“I was going to tell you the truth the night you offered me a job.”
He paced in front of her, more angry than he could ever remember being. Somehow Larkin had gotten under his skin in a way that Leigh never had, making the betrayal that much worse. “If you had told me that night, I’d have thrown you out then and there.”
“I know.”
“So you didn’t mention it.”
Her mouth tilted to one side in a wry smile. “I think it had more to do with your asking me to be your fiancée and then kissing me. That pretty much blew every other thought out of my head.”
The fact that his reaction had been identical to hers only served to increase his anger and frustration. “You still should have told me.”
“Then your grandparents arrived on the scene and I got kicked out of my apartment.” She continued the recital with relentless tenacity. “Maybe I should have confessed then, but to be hon—” She winced. “The reason I didn’t was because I didn’t feel like spending a night on the streets.”
“I wouldn’t have thrown you out in the middle of the night.” He smiled grimly. “At least, I don’t think so.”