Still the One

Rafe stared into her eyes for a long moment, then lifted a hand and stroked her hair, his palm brushing her cheek. “Yes, I believe it.” But his body tensed, and his eyes darkened. Was she asking too much of him? Could she even do it herself?

“Friends…” he murmured, his gaze devouring her. His hand slipped around her nape, urging her toward him. He was going to kiss her….

But then he stopped, looking dazed. “Bad idea,” he said in a choked voice.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Bad.”

Kit wanted to scream.
Friends?
Was she kidding herself? Attraction still simmered between them, an attraction she had to fight. She couldn’t get involved with Rafe Blackstock again.

She’d never gotten over him the first time.

Dear Reader,

Happy New Year! And happy reading, too—starting with the wonderful Ruth Langan and
Return of the Prodigal Son,
the latest in her newest miniseries, THE LASSITER LAW. When this burned-out ex-agent comes home looking for some R and R, what he finds instead is a beautiful widow with irresistible children and a heart ready for love.
His
love.

This is also the month when we set out on a twelve-book adventure called ROMANCING THE CROWN. Linda Turner starts things off with
The Man Who Would Be King
. Return with her to the island kingdom of Montebello, where lives—and hearts—are about to be changed forever.

The rest of the month is terrific, too. Kylie Brant’s CHARMED AND DANGEROUS concludes with
Hard To Tame
, Carla Cassidy continues THE DELANEY HEIRS with
To Wed and Protect
, Debra Cowan offers a hero who knows the heroine is
Still the One,
and Monica McLean tells us
The Nanny’s Secret
. And, of course, we’ll be back next month with six more of the best and most exciting romances around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Senior Editor

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

“W
hat the—” Rafe Blackstock stopped cold in the doorway of his private investigations office. “Kit?”

The slender woman turned. Though her thick mink-dark hair was short now, her eyes were still the same unusual slate blue he remembered and deep with the same wariness, the same uncertainty as the last time he’d seen her. “In the flesh.”

“I’ll say.” On this perfect June Sunday, he’d walked right in on his past, and his past looked darn good. Her faint musky scent squeezed his lungs.

His breath jammed somewhere under his ribs, but Rafe walked in and shut the door as if he hadn’t just had the wind knocked out of him. He was disoriented, his head swam, and he had to remind himself where he was. Oklahoma City, not Norman. Not standing ten years deep in yesterdays.

He didn’t know whether to shake her hand or hug her, so he simply stood there, arms hanging limply at his sides.

She gave him an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

“Hey.”

Kit Foley, who’d been his first love, who’d broken his heart and walked away. Kit, whom he’d thought he would never forget. She was here. Ten years older, beautiful in the way a woman becomes when she grows into her skin, her identity. It hurt his chest to look at her.

This case—her case—was the reason his office manager, Nita Howard, had paged him on Lake Arcadia about a missing persons case, why he’d put down that brand-new fiber-glass rod.

Kit’s dark-rimmed eyes paused hungrily on his features. Her voice went soft and shy, the way it did when she was in an uncertain situation. “It’s been a long time.”

No kidding. And Rafe suddenly felt every day of those long years in the wary pull of his muscles, the way her smoke-and-honey voice still stroked up his spine like warm fingers. Resentment, disbelief, unwelcome pleasure fused inside.

Kit. He couldn’t stop his gaze from sliding down her body, the way his hands had done numerous times. “Lookin’ good.”

She blushed. “You, too.”

Her coltish figure had rounded out, the angular edges of her hips now soft, her waist nipped in tightly. Her breasts were fuller, curving beneath the short-sleeved, cotton floral dress she wore. The wavy dark brown hair that had once reached the middle of her back was a shiny wedge that came just below her delicate ears. The style sharpened her cheekbones, highlighted her perfectly straight nose.

She was stunning. Her wide, dark-lashed eyes were bright with unshed tears, he realized, as her troubled gaze sought his.

“I need you—your help.”

I need you.
His muscles clenched against those words.
In the end, she hadn’t wanted to need him, had wanted to stand on her own. She’d proven that by walking away.

He thought he’d forgotten how shattered he’d been when she refused to marry him the day before his college graduation. Thought he’d forgotten how pain had closed over him with brittle frigidity when she’d stammered that she couldn’t leave her family responsibilities. Couldn’t live with the way he took total control. She wanted a partner, not someone who made decisions without her.

Feeling as off balance as the day the Air Force had permanently grounded him from flying, Rafe walked around her to his desk. He felt a foolish urge to ask Nita to come in, but his office manager had left as soon as he arrived.

Kit’s voice trembled, edgy and staccato. “I’m sure I’m the last person you want to see…. I didn’t know where else to turn.”

She was certainly the last person he’d
expected
to see. That old familiar awareness throbbed to stilted life. “How did you find me?”

“Um, this.” She pulled a black pocketbook from her purse and slid out a neatly folded piece of newspaper. She handed it to him. “I saw this about three years ago.”

Rafe skimmed it, his gaze going to hers as he realized it was the article the Associated Press had picked up on him. Two weeks after Rafe had left the Air Force, a child belonging to a major in Rafe’s old Air Force detail had been kidnapped by the major’s estranged wife. Rafe had set out on a one-man mission to find the child and succeeded. He’d also testified in the subsequent custody trial. The local paper had done a story, which had been picked up by AP.

Kit had seen the article. And kept it. Not knowing what to think about that, not wanting to think anything, Rafe handed it back to her.

She smiled uncertainly, slid the clipping in her pocket-
book. “I called Kevin to see where you were and he told me. I found your phone number in the book.”

He’d spoken to Kevin Strong just yesterday, and his college roommate hadn’t mentioned a thing about Kit. Rafe made a mental note to tell his friend not to be so free with information.

Still not believing she was here, he cleared his throat. “How are you?”

“Fine.” She shoved a thick lock of hair off her forehead, giving a sharp laugh. “Well, not really. That’s why I’m here.”

Rafe tried to dodge the images that crashed over him—the throatiness of her laugh, the sleek feel of her body against his, the tight perfection of his inside her. She’d been his first love. Even if he told himself he’d forgotten her, he hadn’t.

Whatever had happened, he couldn’t take this case. Right now that was the only clear thing in his mind, but still he couldn’t deny a burning curiosity to find out what she’d been doing the last ten years, where she’d been.

“I can pay. Or…I guess I should ask about your fee.”

“We’ll work that out.” Was she married? Divorced? Children?

He didn’t want to ask or even acknowledge the questions ricocheting through his mind, didn’t want to admit to the heat that squeezed his chest at the thought of her with another man. He’d moved on.

He knew their relationship on her side had never been as committed as it had on his. After so long, it shouldn’t make him wince that it had taken him an entire year to get rid of her engagement ring. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Liz.” She hesitated then said, “She’s missing.”

“Again?”

“Don’t start, Rafe. This is serious.”

“With
your
sister?” He arched a brow. “Since when?”

She gave him a flat stare.

“You’re sure she didn’t hook up with some guy at a bar?”

“I’m sure,” she said tightly. “She’s not like that anymore.”

Rafe couldn’t even imagine such a transformation, but neither could he ignore the panic in Kit’s eyes.

Indicating the straight-backed chair in front of his desk, he eased himself down into his own overstuffed gray leather chair, grateful for the support at his back. “Tell me what happened.”

Instead of sitting, she began to pace. Her soft cotton dress curled around her calves and clung to her lithe body, molding her perfect breasts. Rafe forced his gaze to her face, picked up a pen and pulled a legal-size notepad over to him.

“Can I get you something? Water, a Coke?” He was amazed at how calm he sounded, especially when he wanted to ask a million questions.
Do you still live in Tulsa? What have you been doing? Do you ever regret turning me down?

She flashed him a tremulous smile, but her worry was tangible. “No, thanks.”

He’d smelled this same raw desperation before in each of the twenty missing persons cases he’d solved.

“I’m a flight attendant for TransAmerica. Yesterday morning, I returned from a layover in Miami. I had a message, only thirty minutes old, from the hospital on my answering machine. The nurse said Liz had been in a car wreck.” Kit dragged an unsteady hand through her hair. Fatigue and worry drew her features taut, flattened the sweet curve of her full lips. “I raced over, but when I got there, Liz was gone.”

“Did you check at the nurses’ station? Maybe she—”

Kit shot him a look. “Of course. They told me they
wanted to keep her overnight for observation, but she’d left with her husband, Tony Valentine.”

“Liz is married?”

“No. Yes. Supposed to be getting a divorce.”

“Ah.”

Kit’s dark glare skewered him.

“And you?”

She blinked. “Me?”

“Married?”

“No.” The word practically exploded from her.

Yes, that sounded like the Kit he knew. His mouth twisted, despite the satisfaction curling through him.

She shoved a hand through her hair again, then clasped her hands together. “Anyway, Liz just up and left with Tony.”

Which was just like Dizzy Lizzy Foley, Rafe reminded himself. “Maybe she got back together with her ex.”

“She lives with me. I would’ve known.”

“Maybe she didn’t want to tell you. She
used
to take off with one man or another a lot.”

“Something’s happened,” Kit said stiffly. “Liz wouldn’t just go off like this.”

“What about that time she ran off with the high school quarterback? Stephen Hankins?” Rafe reminded her.

“They were in Mexico, plastered on margaritas and begging a priest to marry them when you found her.”

That had been right after the death of Rafe’s grandfather. Kit had come home with him for the funeral, then left before it even started to chase after her sister.
Again.
Resentment curled through him. He thought he’d forgotten about that. Apparently not.

“So you won’t help me?” Kit stopped in front of his desk, anger snapping in her eyes.

He kept his gaze on her, refusing to dwell on the pro
tective urge that shot through him. “She
is
an adult and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of foul play.”

“She called me this morning, terrified.”

He tapped a finger on his desk. “What did she say? Did she go with Tony willingly?”

“She said she couldn’t talk long because the call could be traced. She told me she was all right, that she’d be calling me later to wire some money.”

“To where?”

“She’s going to let me know. In the meantime, I can get some money together.”

Rafe bit off the sharp comment that rose to his lips and said gently, “It doesn’t sound as if she’s in trouble, Kit.”

She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut briefly. “She is.”

Whether Liz was in trouble or not, he could see Kit believed she was. Using his most soothing tone, he put himself on automatic pilot, which he should’ve done from the beginning. “Talk to me.”

Her hands, on top of his desk, fisted. Then unfisted, fisted. “Tony, her husband, was in prison for a computer scam and he was released about two weeks ago.”

Rafe held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Liz married a
computer
guy?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t go for computer guys.”

“She did.”

“He’s not into sports at all? Doesn’t play basketball or drive race cars or something?”

“No.” Kit tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I told you she’s changed.”

Evidently not enough, Rafe thought.

Walking to the opposite wall, Kit halted in front of a vintage black-and-white photograph of turn-of-the-century Oklahoma City. She wrapped both slender arms around her
waist. “Tony got a job, was really trying to get his life straightened out.”

Her tongue darted out to moisten her rose lips.

Rafe’s belly drew up at the sight of that tongue, and he glanced down, scrawling some notes.

“I’m not sure I understand it all myself,” she said.

“When Liz called, I told her to put Tony on so he could tell me what was happening. Evidently he was sent to prison for manipulating stock prices on the New York Stock Exchange, making some money for a friend in serious financial trouble. Tony told me that while he was in prison, a man contacted him, a man with ties to organized crime.”

“Did he give you a name?”

“Alexander.”

“First or last name?” Rafe’s gaze tracked Kit’s agitated movements across his plush burgundy carpet.

“He didn’t say.” She surreptitiously swiped at a tear, and Rafe’s heart squeezed. She hated crying, hated even more for people to see it. Pulling a piece of paper from the side pocket of her purse, she passed it to Rafe. “Liz left this for me at the hospital.”

Rafe took the note, read the curvy scrawl.
The mob’s after us. I’ll call.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Liz’s dramatics.

Kit went on, “This man wanted Tony to pull the same scam for him on the prison computer, but Tony said he refused. Alexander threatened to hurt Liz if Tony didn’t do what he wanted. Tony said that man—” She halted, her shoulders sagging.

Concern had Rafe’s fingers curling into the arms of his chair. During that intense year they’d dated, he’d seen Kit cry only once, and it hadn’t been the day they’d broken up. It had been the day she’d heard that her sister had eloped with the local hockey team’s goalie. That had been mar
riage number one. He wasn’t sure what number Tony, the computer guy, was.

Rafe knew he shouldn’t touch Kit, but he rose, walked around his desk and settled his hand on her shoulder anyway, trying to discount the way she leaned slightly into his touch, the way her body heat shot straight up his arm.

She kept her head averted. Her musky scent slid into his lungs, knotting him up with regret and awareness. His hand was mere inches from the creamy flesh of her throat, the warm cleft where her neck and shoulder met, where he used to—

Get a grip.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” She dragged in a deep breath, then went on in a wobbly voice that mangled his insides. “Tony said Alexander was responsible for Liz’s accident, that he made it happen.”

“Where was it?”

“Just north of One Fiftieth Street on Western. There’s a hard curve there.”

He nodded. “On the edge of Edmond city limits. I’m familiar with it.”

Just two weeks ago, a man had made the local news for taking that curve too fast and flipping his car forty feet into the ravine below. Liz could’ve done the same thing.

“So,” Kit said, “Tony did what Alexander wanted while he was in prison.”

“Using the prison’s computer? How long did it take the warden to catch him?”

“Never.”

Rafe’s eyes widened.

She glanced over. “He’s that good, Rafe. A computer guru.”

He nodded, prompting her. “But when he got out, Tony refused to help Alexander?”