What´s going on here?

What´s going on here?
She regarded him with surprise. “Did you? Do you approve, especially since it means another delay in getting back to New York?”
“You weren’t prepared to go anytime soon, anyway. I’d accepted that.” “But you’re not happy about it, are you?”
He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Sticking around here for the time being is who you are. Since I seem to like who you are more and more, how can I possibly argue with your decision?”
“A wise man,” she said approvingly.
“Not so wise,” he said, tucking her hand against his thigh. “But I’m getting there.”

There were a half dozen messages for Rafe when he returned to his hotel room. He checked them while Hanna retreated to her own room next door, the

room she had insisted on booking even after he’d said she could stay with him. “Not here, where my parents will hear about it,” she had told him.
“Do you honestly think being next door will be much of an improvement?
People will draw whatever conclusions they want anyway.”
“Maybe so, but at least I can tell them that we are not living together in plain sight of all their neighbors.”
He’d been forced to accept her reasoning. At the moment he was grateful since two of the messages were from Lydia, who sounded increasingly amused by the fact that he was still in Winding River. Calling her back with Hanna in the room would have been a test of his ability to lie with a straight face.
Another message was from his paralegal, Joan Lansing, and one was from his investigator reporting that there was a trail suggesting Bobby Rinaldi might be in the Cayman Islands.
“Let me know what you want me to do,” the man concluded. “I could use a free trip down there. I have some scuba gear I’ve been dying to try out.”
Rafe glanced up at the end of the message and saw Hanna staring at him, her expression frozen.
“Bobby’s in the Cayman Islands?” she asked, looking oddly shaken. “Could be.”
“Are you sending that man after him?”
Rafe couldn’t read her tone at all. “What do you want me to do?” She blinked in surprise. “You’re asking me?”
“That’s what it sounded like,” he said lightly. “What do you want, Hanna? Do you want him caught? Do you want all of this resolved once and for all?”
“Of course I want him caught,” she snapped, then sighed. “Then again, a part of me keeps trying to pretend he’s down there on some impromptu vacation and that he’ll come back on his own.”
“You know him better than I do,” Rafe said. “Is there a chance of that?”
For a long time he thought she might not answer. There was no mistaking the misery in her eyes, the uncertainty.
“I don’t know,” she whispered at last. “I honestly don’t think I ever knew him at all.”
 “Are you okay? Come back to bed.”
She went with him. “He threatened to do something to your investigator.” She stared at Rafe, still struggling with shock at Bobby’s cool demeanor and menacing threat. “He meant it, too. I could hear it in his voice. You need to call your man back.”
“Flynn can take care of himself. He’s dealt with bigger threats than Rinaldi.
Did he confirm that he’s in the Caymans?”
She nodded. “I had no idea he could be so cold, that he could be so totally self-involved.”
“What else did he say?”
“That if I called off whoever was tailing him, he’d send me money to pay off some of the debts. He sounded as if that were such a magnanimous gesture on his part. He owes those people. He owes me.”

Rafe chuckled.
“What’s so damned funny?”
“It’s good to see you getting angry,” he said. “I’ve been angry,” she retorted.
“But not at Bobby,” he suggested mildly.
“Of course I’ve been mad at Bobby,” she said, confused by the suggestion. Rafe shook his head. “Most of the time you’ve been mad at me.”
She started to argue, then realized he was right. She’d been furious at Rafe for following her to Wyoming, for being suspicious of her, when it was Bobby who’d put her in that position.
She hadn’t wanted to be mad at Bobby. She’d wanted to understand why her friend had done something so irresponsible, so criminal. She’d been upset by Rafe’s distrust, because a part of her recognized that she should have been more suspicious of Bobby from the beginning. She’d seen how glib he could be, how little he took seriously. Maybe she should even have seen all of this coming.
“I was wrong,” she said eventually. “You had no choice but to come after me, to keep an eye on me. I used terrible judgment, about Bobby, about running away, about everything.”
He tucked a finger under her chin. “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. The man’s a con artist. He took you in, the same as he did everyone else.”
Rafe’s reassurances didn’t soothe her at all. The only thing that helped when her mind was whirling was work. She left the warmth of Rafe’s bed.
“I have to go.” “Where?”
“To Tony’s. If you need me, you’ll find me there.” “In the middle of the night?”
She shrugged as if the hour were unimportant. “I’ll get some baking done for tomorrow.”
To her relief, beyond that initial token protest, he didn’t try to stop her.
Funny, she thought, as she raced through her shower, dressed and went to work. She was beginning to think that maybe Rafe understood her better after a few weeks than she understood herself after twenty-eight years.

“So, boss, are you ever coming back here?” Lydia inquired, her voice threaded with that superior amusement that Rafe found so annoying. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It’s been really, really peaceful with you away, but the partners are beginning to ask whether you still work here. Your billable hours lately are the pits.”