Читать книгу Still the One - Debra Cowan - Страница 9

Relief washed through her, and Kit let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you. Where do we start?”

Something sharp flickered in Rafe’s eyes, and she was painfully reminded of their ending, the last time they’d seen each other. Regret flared, but she squelched it. Breaking things off with him had been best for both of them. She refused, as she had for the last ten years, to second-guess that decision.

“Start by telling me where Tony might go.”

“I don’t know. His parents in Davis, maybe.” She could still feel Rafe’s touch on her shoulder, a gentle comfort, yet it branded her skin. She began to pace again, thrusting a hand through her hair.

He spared her a glance, scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. “Any place he and Liz might go together?”

“His apartment, but I already checked it out. No one was there.”

She couldn’t help staring as Rafe continued jotting notes. The lush eyelashes, the too-straight patrician nose he’d inherited from his white mother. The high cheekbones, dark slash of brows and burnished skin testified to his Choctaw father. Rafe’s blatantly male features were leather dark, lined by confidences she’d never shared, smiles she’d never seen.

While waiting for him in his office, she’d steeled herself against the old attraction, but she hadn’t been prepared for the actual sight of him. The sleek black hair trimmed military short. The sculpted lips that had once turned her bones to water. Corded neck and biceps bared by the khaki T-shirt that loosely covered his hard, rangy chest. Lean runner’s legs gloved in worn, starched denim. And scuffed tennis shoes.

“Where’s his apartment?”

She dragged her gaze from Rafe, resumed her pacing. The movement helped dispel the warmth that had started to creep into her blood.

She gave him the name and address of a complex on the north edge of Oklahoma City, only a mile from her own house. The warmth of spring clung to him, as well as a mysterious scent that belonged solely to him. Not musky, not woodsy, but something in between.

Kit’s pulse throbbed heavily, and her throat grew tight. He was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. For a moment, her worry over Liz was pushed aside in a sudden surge of emotion—regret, sharp and bitter. Affection, uncertainty.

Questions tumbled through her mind. What had brought Rafe back to Oklahoma City? Why had he left the Air Force?

The shock in his face upon seeing her had unnerved her, but not nearly as much as that instantaneous sultry heat in his eyes. Those black, smoldering eyes were now obsidian hard, remote.

Kit squared her shoulders, trying to push away everything except thoughts of her sister. She became aware that Rafe watched her impersonally, waiting for her to continue.

“Liz lives with me. She has for the last couple of years, since Tony went to prison.”

He nodded, making another note.

Her heart squeezed at his distance. What did she expect? That he would greet her as if she were an old friend? Kit had ruined that when she’d refused to marry him. Rafe’s matter-of-fact announcement that they would marry hadn’t been the first unilateral decision he’d made, but it had been the one to unleash a long-buried panic.

Since her mom’s death, Kit had made all the decisions in her family with the exception of a few financial ones. Her dad’s work schedule prohibited him from spending much time at home, and Kit had stepped into the void left after her mom’s death, taking care of the house and her sister. At first, she’d thrilled to Rafe’s take-charge attitude, to the fact that she’d found someone willing to shoulder her burden. But when he’d expected her to move east with him so he could attend Navy flight school, just up and leave her father and sister, she’d realized she couldn’t marry someone who made those decisions alone. She wanted to be his partner, not his insignificant other. So she’d said no to him.

The years had made a noticeable difference in him. He had always been lean, but now there was a whipcord strength in that leanness. A soberness in his eyes and face. A sense of…unpredictability that had Kit’s pulse kicking up a beat. She shoved an unsteady hand through her hair again.

His cool black gaze urged her on.

So Rafe was gorgeous. And as remote as a stranger. So what? He was going to help her find Liz. That was what mattered.

A memory clouded his eyes. For an instant, some of the tension in his face melted away. “You said you were a flight attendant for TransAmerica?”

“Yes.” On one of their first dates, they’d discussed the fact that Rafe wanted to be a pilot and Kit wanted to be a flight attendant. High with the exhilaration of new love, they’d declared it fate that they’d met and become involved.

Kit swallowed the sudden lump that rose in her throat.

His face closed again. “Where did Tony work?”

“For a major computer manufacturer.” She gave the name. “He developed software for them.”

“This was his most recent job? The one he started just out of prison?”

“Yes. I called there yesterday and left a message with the answering service for a friend of his, Mike.”

“I’ll check that out tomorrow.”

“I also went down to Davis and spoke with Tony’s parents. They haven’t heard from or seen him.”

“Could they be lying? Maybe hiding him?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.” Kit realized her hand was in her hair again and lowered her arm. Inhaling deeply, she took in the slight tang of Rafe’s scent. Though quiet and often reserved, there was a steadiness, an intensity about him that filled a room. “They were very upset when I told them what was going on. They haven’t seen Tony since he went to prison—they were too embarrassed and angered by what he did.”

His gaze narrowed on her long enough to make her skin prickle with an unwelcome heat. Apprehension and a hint of anticipation swirled inside her, emotions that had nothing to do with her sister and everything to do with the man across from her.

“What if they’re off in Las Vegas or some place like that?”

“I still need to find her.”

“Would Tony hurt her?”

“I don’t think so. I think he really did take Liz with him out of concern for her safety. I mean, we can’t discount that, right?”

“I won’t discount anything. I’ll look at every angle. I’ll start by going to his apartment, checking things out.”

“I went there and couldn’t find anything.”

“I might know other things to look for.”

“Of course.” Kit couldn’t help the stiffness of her tone.

His silent scrutiny, the stoic face all combined to make her want to squirm. Through the years, she’d learned to handle some fairly intimidating men, and she didn’t appreciate the way just one measuring look from Rafe could make her feel as if she were in his way.

“I’ll also check with his parole officer.”

“I didn’t think to do that.” She shook her head. “This whole thing has knocked me for a loop. I’m so upset I probably did miss something at Tony’s apartment.” She forced a smile, her chest tight and aching.

“That’s what I’m here for. I’ll look for anything that might give a hint to where Tony could’ve gone. Check with the airlines and the bus depot, see if he bought a ticket using a credit card, though I doubt it.”

“I can do that.” Kit pulled a scrap of paper and a pen from her purse.

“No.”

Hand poised over her purse, her gaze snapped to his. “What?”

“I’ll do all the checking and call you when I’ve found something.”

She stiffened, crumpling the paper in her fist. “I want to help.”

“I know what I’m looking for. You don’t.”

His voice was gentle, but steel rimmed the words and sent a shaft of irritation through her. She’d hoped the years might’ve mellowed his insistent control. “I’m coming with you.”

“None of my other clients—”

“I’m coming.” The old anger swept in along with a flash of panic. Telling herself Rafe simply didn’t understand how important this was to her, she took a deep breath. “I need to be there when you find her.”

“I don’t know anything about this Alexander character. If he actually is connected to the mob, he could be dangerous. Besides, you need to be safe and sound so Liz has someone to come home to when I do find her.”

“She’s supposed to call me. Wouldn’t you rather be around to hear it?”

“You’ll let me know.”

She hesitated, then blurted, “Do you not want me along because of the past? Because of what I…what happened?”

His lips flattened. “No.”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I said no.” Rafe bit out the words.

Kit took in the steel jaw, the piercing, narrowed eyes. Had he ever forgiven her for refusing him? “I won’t get in your way.”

She couldn’t tell if she was reaching him or not. The Rafe she’d known—loved—hadn’t had those black eyes that hardened to marble. Hadn’t been able to disappear beneath a stoic mask of indifference. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. Panic sawed at her.

“I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

“I don’t like working with anyone,” Rafe said bluntly.

“Well, I didn’t love coming in here, but I did it.” She clenched her fists, stepping toward him. “Liz is in danger. I have to find her. You don’t know what it’s like to feel helpless, to feel—”

“I do know.” His voice lashed the air as he pushed out of his chair, tension coiling in his broad shoulders.

Kit took a reflexive step back, frowning at the harsh emotion beneath his words.

“I know helplessness, second-guessing, uncertainty—” He broke off, anger vibrating from him. “Don’t tell me I don’t.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t presume to know anything about my life, Kit. Don’t make assumptions about me.”

What had happened? She swallowed the question. She had no right to know anything about him, no right to care. She’d given that up long ago.

He leaned across the desk toward her, eyes blazing, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “Just because we were involved once doesn’t mean you know me now. Doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”

“I could say the same to you.”

The air snapped tight, hummed with old anger, past hurts.

Fury tautened his carved features; his throat worked. “Let’s agree to stick to this case,” he said hoarsely. “And facts about this case only.”

She nodded, her mouth dry, her heart hammering with the same wildness it had the first time she’d ever noticed him. He’d been running to class, up the hill past her. Long, lean legs bared by denim shorts, moving with a muscular fluidity that slowed her steps. The wispy image of his burnished flesh sliding against her pale skin floated through her mind.

She slammed the door on those thoughts. She wasn’t going to let her hormones—or her memories—get in the way of finding Liz.

“It’s not a good idea for you to come along,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Still think you ought to be calling all the shots, don’t you, Blackstock?”

Surprise widened his eyes a fraction. “This is how I do business.”

“This is why we didn’t work out ten years ago.”

Says you. His hands fisted as he studied the opposite wall. “I can move faster if I’m alone. And there will be situations where people might not talk to me if you’re around. This really is best, Kit. Take it or leave it.”

Ten years ago, she’d walked away from this very thing, but she didn’t have that luxury now. “Maybe my sitting around doing nothing is not best for me. Or for Liz.”

“Let me do my job. I’ll check in with you as often as you like, every step if you want, but it’s best if I’m solo.”

She set her jaw, her gaze burning into his. “I’m paying your fee. I should get to call the shots.”

“Not with me.”

Frustration hardened her voice. “How did you get in this line of work, anyway? It’s got nothing to do with flying jets.”

His face closed. “Long story.”

One he plainly wasn’t going to tell her. Swallowing against a sharpness in her throat, she said, “Fine.”

He tapped a finger on the desk, his gaze scouring her face. “No more talk about the past.”

“Fine.” She knew that was for the best, but the old wound inside her cracked open.

He irritated her, but even so, he was the one man she regretted walking away from. The one man who could reach places in her no one else ever could.

She couldn’t ignore the knot in her belly that was part anger, part anticipation. Not affected by him? Who was she kidding?

She wanted him to reassure her, tell her he’d find Liz quickly, that she would be able to handle all this. But she squared her shoulders against the maverick wish. She needed Rafe to find her sister. That was all.

She couldn’t let herself start needing him for anything else.

The sun sank to the horizon in a smear of gold and purple, edging the clouds with shimmering light. As Rafe drove north on May Avenue behind Kit’s car, following her from her brother-in-law’s apartment to her house, he rolled his shoulders against an edginess that worked through him, made him feel cornered. What he wanted right now was distance, but he’d needed Kit’s access to Tony Valentine’s apartment and her house.

She hadn’t been shy about letting him know she didn’t appreciate the way he did business. Even now, his blood charged at the thought. That sassy, sharp-tongued woman was not the Kit he’d known. No, sir. And he liked this new Kit. Which was why it would be better for both of them if he worked alone. Hell, it would be better for him. He needed to stay on this side of the past. Letting her tag along on this case would make that difficult, if not impossible.

He didn’t like the idea of spending a lot of time with her. Hell, any time with her. Rafe’s lips twisted.

The scent of fresh-cut grass and car exhaust drifted through the window of his ’67 Stingray. Golden light shimmered across the Corvette’s sleek black hood. He was making a big deal out of nothing. It was the shock of seeing her—his first love—after all these years, that was all. Plus the fact that he didn’t like working with anyone, especially the client who’d hired him. But with Kit there was another layer.

Calling in to report once or twice a day he could handle. Breathing the same air, smelling her provocative scent, having her in his space—no, thanks.

He rubbed his chest against the ache that had settled there upon first seeing her. The focus, the action of working the case would enable him to treat her like any other client. Eventually.

So far, so good. They hadn’t discussed the old days while Rafe had searched Tony’s place for scraps of paper, plane or bus ticket stubs, anything that might give a clue as to where Valentine had gone.

On the assumption that Valentine really was being watched by the mob as he’d told Kit, Rafe had swept the guy’s place for bugs and surveillance equipment. And found nothing. As a precaution, he needed to sweep Kit’s place, too. If he didn’t find anything there, he’d be free to start working the case. Alone.

As he swung his ’Vette behind her late-model four-door compact in the drive of a small brick house, his stomach clenched. He’d never seen Kit’s home, never known she lived in this popular older neighborhood. After college, she’d gone to work for a major airline in Tulsa. How long had she been in Oklahoma City? Longer than the three years since his own return?

Those questions had nothing to do with her supposedly missing sister. Rafe pushed them aside as he got out of the car, grabbing his device for detecting transmitters and his cell phone. Sergeant Kent Porter, a buddy from the Oklahoma City Police Department, had promised to call Rafe back after reviewing the report of the traffic accident that had sent Liz to the hospital. Porter had also said he would see what he could find out about any do-wrongs named Alexander.

Rafe followed Kit up the neatly swept concrete porch steps, flanked by terra-cotta pots brimming with yellow and white petunias. There were no memories for him here, nothing to distract him from the case.

Except the woman whose hips swayed so compellingly as she moved across the porch.

From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of silver. He turned in time to see the tail end of a sedan cross the intersection at the end of the block. It looked like the same car he’d seen a few minutes ago on May Avenue, right before Kit had turned into her neighborhood. Which could mean that they lived nearby. Or that someone was tailing her.

The little pinch in his gut told Rafe it was the latter, but he’d check again for the car before he left to speak to Valentine’s parents. He turned his attention to her home as she opened the front door and stepped inside.

He put a finger to his lips, then walked in, motioning for her to stay in the entry hall as he activated his bug detector. The late-model CPM-7307 had been modified by a buddy to also pick up the presence of hidden cameras. In addition to locating commonly used transmitters, the tool allowed Rafe to test AC outlets and phone lines. The small metal box, no wider than his wallet, included an output so he could listen for any phone modifications such as resistors or infinity bugs, anything placed on the wire itself.

Kit shook her head, wearing the same expression of amazement and disbelief she’d worn when he performed a search at her brother-in-law’s apartment.

Rafe bit back a grin. Making a quick sweep, he moved through the living room, peripherally aware of the honey-colored walls and ivory woodwork, the bold punctuation of color around the room. One wall of built-in bookcases boasted two shelves devoted to titles regarding functional family relationships. Interesting.

The scent of Kit’s light perfume trailed him, but he kept his focus narrowed. He found no bugs or cameras in the kitchen, no bugs in the phones or outlets there or in the living room. Moving down the short hallway off the foyer, he checked two bedrooms and the bath, then the ceiling fan in the living room and one in Kit’s bedroom. He felt along the undersides of her fluffy, distinctly feminine bed, keeping a firm lock on his imagination.

He returned to the front part of the house to test the phone. The dial tones hummed normally, and he removed the earpiece, snapped off his machine and tucked the device into his back pocket of his jeans.

“All clear.” He turned to where she still stood in the doorway. Red-gold sunlight pooled around her legs and shimmered through the light fabric of her dress, outlining her slender calves.

“This thing only scans one room at a time, but it’s thorough. One tone sounds for bugs, another for video equipment.”

She gave a short laugh and closed the door. “Where did you learn to do that?”

“I’ve picked up some things.”

A shadow passed through her eyes and she nodded tightly, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Think you’ll find anything on that computer?” She referred to the desktop unit Rafe had confiscated from Tony’s, along with some disks.

“If there’s anything to be found on it. I’ve got a guy who’s a whiz with that stuff.”

“I hope so,” she said doubtfully. At his raised eyebrows, she explained, “Tony’s a computer genius. If he wants to hide or erase anything, he can probably do it.”

As she moved from the wood floor of the foyer into the carpeted living area, Rafe was careful to stay in the center of the room. When she flipped on an overhead light, he took a closer look at the living room and the visible part of the kitchen. The soft neutrality of the walls, woodwork and carpet was offset by jewel tones of ruby, emerald and sapphire in pillows, candles, an area rug beneath the dark pecan oval coffee table and frames scattered on the walls.

Kit watched him intently. So still, so quiet. Waiting. Awareness prickled his skin. As his gaze scanned the living room, he tuned in the soft snick of the undulating ceiling fan, the faint barking of a dog down the street. Something was off. Something—

Pictures. The realization hit him like a one-two punch. Rafe stepped closer to the wall, his gaze narrowing on the framed photograph there.

It was of Kit and her sister, brunette heads together, laughing. The distant sound of Kit’s laughter filled his mind, and he shoved away the phantom sound, his gaze skimming the wall.

More pictures. Some of Kit and Liz. One of Kit with her father.

One of Liz and a nice-looking man. Tony?

Kit walked over and removed the photograph from the wall. “This is Tony, just before he went to prison.”

Rafe nodded, taking the picture, studying the man’s intelligent pale gray eyes, the shaggy, medium brown hair. Though Rafe tried to concentrate on the image in front of him, his thoughts skipped back. In college, Kit had never wanted her picture taken. She’d been almost fanatical about that. Rafe had come to learn that was due to her innate shyness.

The only photograph Rafe had ever had of him and Kit had been taken at his fraternity’s spring formal. His mother probably still had it in his box of college stuff in the attic. Judging from the amount of pictures in this room, Kit seemed to have gotten over her aversion, he thought ruefully. Such a small thing, but not for her.

The Kit he’d known then, he reminded himself forcefully. Dragging his attention to the face of Tony Valentine, he struggled to bring to life something besides regret and a resentment that should have cooled long ago.

Kit walked to the mantel and took down another framed photograph. “This one of Tony was just taken about a week ago. He sent it to Liz.”

Rafe nodded, careful not to touch her as he took the frame. Valentine had cut his hair, almost a buzz cut. He’d grown a mustache and wore glasses. “I’ll want to make some copies of this.”

“Sure. Let me take it out of the frame.” Her fingers brushed his as she took the picture.

Casually, he turned away, squelching the jolt of electricity that jumped up his arm.

“Tony had some pictures of Liz. When we checked his place earlier, I noticed they weren’t on his refrigerator, where she told me he usually kept them.”

Could’ve been a smart move by Valentine to keep Alexander from getting a good look at Liz. Or it could’ve just been Valentine’s way of disappearing.

The photo Rafe had requested appeared over his shoulder, sans frame, and he took it, too conscious of the way Kit’s breath tickled his neck. His gaze scanned the entertainment center, the collection of CDs that ranged from the Eagles to Elvis Presley. Before it could fully form, Rafe aborted the reminder of his and Kit’s mutual pleasure in Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

More pictures lined the curved-leg table behind the sofa, and Rafe moved toward it. This case was all that mattered. There was a picture of Kit and her sister. Another of Kit in a pale pink satin gown that hugged every curve, bared her gorgeous shoulders. She stood next to Liz, who wore an ivory tea-length wedding gown, her hand on the tuxedo-clad arm of a man whose face was cropped off. Their father? Tony or another groom? Kit’s lover?

That last thought ambushed him, and before he could stop, Rafe wondered how many men Kit had seen since their college days. Had she ever come close to marriage or had she pushed them all away before they could get too close? Was she involved with someone?

Rafe knew he should leave those questions alone, but there was one he had to ask. “Are you seeing anyone now?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Dating anyone?”

A frown snapped her dark brows together. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about anything except this case.”

“That’s the reason I’m asking.” Even while his chest tightened in anticipation of her answer, he managed to sound detached. “I need to speak with anyone who’s had recent contact with your sister. They might know something without being aware of it.”

“Or they might have something to do with her disappearance?”

“Right.”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” she said stiffly, avoiding his eyes. “Haven’t for…a while.”

He nodded, silently cursing the bubble of pleasure that bloomed inside him. “I’d like to take a closer look at Liz’s room.”

“This way.” She walked past him and down the hall.

His gaze slid down the slender line of her back to the taut curve of her butt, the lean line of her thighs. She still had a class-A butt. And beautiful dewy skin. Rafe’s gaze lingered on the soft magnolia flesh of her neck.

He forced himself to look away and rejected the awareness that had started a dim, persistent throb in his pulse after the initial shock of seeing her in his office.

As he’d asked—or rather ordered—she’d kept her conversation limited to answering his questions, nothing about the past. He could do the same.

Stepping into Liz’s bedroom, Rafe took in the unmade full-size bed. Kit walked over and began pulling the leopard print sheet taut, straightening the matching comforter.

A black bra strap hung out of the top of one dresser drawer; three pairs of stiletto heels cluttered the space between the dresser and the wall.

“Are any of her clothes missing?”

Kit stepped over to take a quick look in the closet. “No, I don’t think so. And her suitcase is here.”

He nodded. “Who did Tony work for before he went to prison?”

“Another computer manufacturer. He worked with hardware back then, rather than software.”

“Any friends who kept in touch after he was put away?”

“Not that I know of.” Nervous energy poured off her. Her voice grew quieter with each answer.

Rafe could see that she was trying to stay out of his way. Regret stabbed at that, but he didn’t try to put her at ease. The more distance, the better. “Did Liz go see him?”

“Yes, at first. I don’t think she’s been in the last couple of months.”

In here, it was easier to pretend Kit was just another client. In here, there was no danger of running into the past they shared.

He followed her into the hallway, paused when she halted in front of an open closet that housed a washer and dryer. A laundry basket full of clothes jutted out, and Kit reached to move it out of the door’s path.

“Where does Liz work?”

“At a day-care center. It’s by the airport. We drive to work together sometimes.”

Rafe nodded, not sure how to define the strange heat that pushed under his ribs. Kit had become a woman he didn’t know; she had a life he knew nothing about.

“She’s had this job for more than two years, and I think she’s really getting her life together.”

Liz didn’t sound much different to him than she had when he’d known her ten years ago, but he said nothing. “What number was Tony? Which husband?”

Kit half-turned, eyeing him flatly.

“Number two, three, four?”

“Number three.” She flipped the tail of a shirt into the basket, then suddenly made a strangled sound. Her gaze shot to his.

“Kit?” He stepped toward her, concern spiraling through him. His gaze dropped to the basket then the shirt she fingered. At first he scanned for blood, something to explain why she’d gone so pale. Then he froze as he recognized the crimson-and-white basketball jersey.

His gaze locked on hers. Panic, disbelief, memory rippled across her features. Two bright spots of red crested her cheeks. His stomach flipped like it had the first time he’d taken up a fighter jet.

His thoughts wheeled back to the day after the Oklahoma University basketball team had made the NCAA playoffs. His college team hadn’t had practice that day; he had hoofed it back to the frat house, intending to shower and pick up Kit for supper. But she’d been waiting in his room, wearing his jersey—this jersey—and nothing else. Number twelve.

He swallowed hard, his gaze sliding over her before he could stop himself. Memories burst in his head like popping flashbulbs. The full curve of her breast peeking out from the deep-cut armhole of his jersey, the hem skimming the center of her smooth, bare thighs, the flush of shyness she’d never lost even though they’d been lovers for months.

That fast, he went hard. He could taste the sweet musk of her skin, smell his scent on her. His body quivered like a newly strung bow.

He sucked in a ragged breath, and his gaze went to hers. He saw the way her eyes darkened to purple, the pink that climbed her neck, the frantic tap of her pulse in the hollow of her throat. She remembered, too.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered forever.

Her reaction only hollowed his gut, sheared the edge off any control he thought he possessed. Involuntarily, he stepped toward her. For one hellacious, gut-twisting instant he wanted to drag her to him, kiss her and prove to both of them that there was nothing left.

As if coming out of a trance, Kit jerked into motion. She shoved the basket against the washer face and shut the door.

“Is that—”

“No.” She flashed a brilliant smile, so brilliant it cut him to the core. “Looks like yours. Not yours.”

Bull. He was tempted to call her on it, but he resisted.

Where would that get them? Why had he thought he could ignore the past? Kit was his past. And he was good and pissed over her slingshotting back into his life. Hell.

Rafe clenched his teeth against the razor-edged desire that slashed through him.

Remember, he ordered, trying to escape the grasping hands of memory, of want, pulling at him. Ruthlessly he dredged up the rejection he’d felt when Kit had refused his marriage proposal. When he’d said forever, he’d meant it; she hadn’t.

“What about friends? Tony’s friends?” he asked quickly, his voice rough, the words scraping his throat.

“Can you think of anyone who might let Tony and Liz stay with them? Anyone who might hide them or know where they’ve gone?”

“No,” she whispered, then cleared her throat. “Maybe you can ask his parents—”

His cell phone jangled, and Rafe grabbed at it like a drowning man going for a rescue line. “Yeah,” he said, almost ashamed at the enormous relief that rolled through him.

It was Porter, and as the cop spoke, Rafe’s jaw clenched tighter. The ambivalence he’d tried to shake off seconds ago surged back. Displeasure merged with concern. And his protective instinct, always deeper and stronger with Kit, roared to irritating life.

“Thanks, Kent.” He disconnected, his hand curling over the phone. “We’d better get going if we want to make it back from Davis before midnight.”

She started, taking a step toward him. Her soft scent curled around him. “What? You want me to go? Hel-lo! Just two hours ago you flat out told me you didn’t want me along on this case.”

Rafe exhaled and turned to fully face her. “That was before I talked to my buddy at the OCPD.”

She frowned.

“He says the officer investigating Liz’s accident believed she wasn’t paying attention to her driving. That her accident wasn’t deliberate.”

“But—”

“I’ve dealt with this officer before, and I don’t trust his judgement,” Rafe said baldly. “Neither does Kent.”

“Are you saying you believe what Liz told me? That someone ran her off the road?”

“I’m saying…” He gentled his voice. “I don’t like the odds, Kit.”

“So Tony was right,” she murmured.

“Maybe. Kent said he also might have an idea about this Alexander person. And…”

“And what?” Anxiety pulled at her features.

He hated dumping all this on her at once, but she deserved to know what they might be up against. “I noticed a car behind me on the way over here. The same car, three different times.”

She shook her head. “What—”

“It’s possible you’re being tailed. I’ll know better when we leave here.”

“Tony was right about that, too?” She sagged against the wall, her features wan and suddenly ravaged by fatigue.

Compassion and protectiveness swept through him. His first impulse was to put an arm around her, but he stayed where he was, giving her time to absorb it.

She stood quietly for a few moments, her fingers thrusting repeatedly through her hair. Fear, uncertainty skipped across her features then resignation. She straightened, her voice shaky. “I guess we’d better get going.”

“You all right?”

“Yes.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Rafe couldn’t stop the hard squeeze in his chest.

Fighting the vortex of memories, the emotion sucking at him, he pivoted and walked out of the room. “On our way out of town, I’ll drop off these photos and have some copies made.”

He didn’t like the concern for her that chewed at him. He wanted space, needed it; instead he was spending the next three to four hours with her.

“Tomorrow I’ll take Tony’s computer to the office, see if my contact can salvage anything useful off there. I’ll also check out Tony’s current employer and his parole officer.”

She nodded and followed him into the hallway, still looking shell-shocked.

“Could you write down the name of anyone else who might’ve been implicated in the scam he pulled, anyone who testified against him?”

“Sure,” she said faintly.

His body humming with frustration and remembered passion, Rafe waited on the lawn while she locked the front door, then walked toward his car. She halted uncertainly at the edge of the driveway.

His gaze shot between her car and his. It would be dark soon, but he’d made the drive south between Oklahoma City and Davis many times. The Department of Public Safety was more tolerant of his night blindness than the United States Air Force had been. Besides, he needed something to occupy his hands and his mind. Needed a release for the energy seething inside him, needed to feel the raw power of the ’Vette beneath him. “We’ll take mine,” he said gruffly.

She moved to the passenger side and opened the door before he could. Once inside, she shut her door with a loud click.

Gripping his keys so tightly they bit into his palm, Rafe walked to the driver’s side. Maybe he didn’t need to take her to Davis. Maybe she’d be safe here. But could he risk it?

No. He slid behind the wheel and started the car, leashing the resentment churning inside him. He could tell himself he might feel the same caution for any client who was possibly being tailed by the mob, but this wasn’t just any client. This was Kit.

And as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t deny that seeing his old jersey had hit him hard. Or why.

The connection he and Kit had shared had been deeper than any he’d ever had. An ember had ignited in the secret part of him only ever occupied by Kit. A part he’d thought erased by years and resentment.

Inches away from her, webbed by her faint scent and the torturous images that had seared his brain moments before, Rafe knew she still owned that tiny place inside him. He hated that little revelation, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that she might also be in danger. So much for avoiding his past.