Still the One (4 page)

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.

A
rousal fired little points along her nerves. Rafe had nearly kissed her. Even now, hours later on the return trip to Oklahoma City from Davis, that thought hammered through Kit’s mind. With every pulsing sense in her, she wished he had.

Thank goodness he hadn’t.

Smoky midnight swirled around them. Phil Collins crooned on Rafe’s state-of-the-art car stereo. Kit ran a hand over the Corvette’s buttery soft tan leather seat, not surprised that Rafe drove such a speedster. He’d always said he had a need for speed. As they traveled north on I-35, leaving behind the south side of Oklahoma City, lights from the highway and roadside businesses flashed by in a blur. For the late hour, there was still a fair amount of traffic.

She glanced over her shoulder, as she had every couple of minutes since they’d lost the tail outside her neighborhood a few hours ago.

It wasn’t the dread of seeing another car following them
that had her nerves feeling raw and exposed. It wasn’t the compact space and tight lines of the Corvette’s interior that made her feel…cornered. Or the fact that Rafe had barely spoken since they’d left Tony’s parents. It was the way Rafe’s body heat formed a wall against her arm, the way his dark, rich scent stroked her senses.

It was the fact that she couldn’t stop thinking about that split second in the hallway when memories had crashed over both of them, when naked hunger had tautened Rafe’s features.

Only he had ever looked at her that way. Other men had said they wanted her, but none of them had ever looked at her as if they
had
to have her. For that one heartbeat of time, she’d wanted to fall into his arms, call back what they’d shared. And that was dangerous.

She was no more willing to give up her independence now than she had been in college. At fourteen, she’d been handling responsibilities most women didn’t handle until they were twenty-one, and she wasn’t going to give that up. Couldn’t, really.

The truth was she’d never gotten close to any man, until Rafe. Or
since
Rafe, she thought ruefully, staring over her shoulder again.

Her gaze shifted to his chiseled profile then dropped to his mouth. During their trip to Davis and the visit with Tony’s parents, she’d managed to dodge thoughts of that near kiss. But now…

Her nerves were shot, and she’d been in Rafe’s company less than twelve hours. Again she turned, searching the play of shadow and streetlights for a car that might have been behind them too long.

“I can’t believe I was really being followed,” she murmured, wishing she weren’t so aware of his lean fingers on the steering wheel, the broad hand that rested on his jeans-clad thigh.

He changed lanes, a smile in his voice. “If you’re going to look for a tail, it’s best if you aren’t too obvious.”

“Oh.” She faced front.

“Keep an eye out either by looking in your rearview or your side mirror.”

Her gaze sliced to the right. Illuminated by the high-powered roadside lighting, the side mirror showed a beat-up pickup pulling a horse trailer and following some distance behind. A sporty red car passed them on the left. “Maybe you could teach me some things. I mean, about how to spot a tail and how to lose one.”

“Sure.” Was it her imagination or did his voice tighten?

He’d been reserved since they’d left her house, answering questions when she asked, but not making conversation. She should probably follow his lead.

The effortless way he’d lost the men who followed them reassured Kit. And grated on her at the same time.

As long as she was with him, she didn’t have to worry that she would lead Alexander’s men anywhere, but she wouldn’t,
couldn’t
be with Rafe all the time.

Her body thrummed with awareness of his rich, earthy scent. She fixed her gaze on the side mirror, glad when they exited onto I-235 North in the center of the city.

Seeing his old basketball jersey had affected her like a kick to the stomach. Brought back the memory of the look on his face when he’d found her in that shirt so long ago. Surprise, then a slow-curling, wicked smile as he’d tumbled her onto his rumpled bed. That had been the first, and only, time she’d initiated their lovemaking.

At the memory, her cheeks heated and she shifted against the smooth leather at her back. “So, did you believe Tony’s parents? You really think they don’t know where he is?”

“Yes. If Valentine’s parents had seen him, I think they would’ve been nervous, evaded my questions. Plus I checked around outside while you stayed inside with them.
There were no signs that anyone had been there. And I don’t think they faked the concern they feel for Tony and Liz. Or their anger at Tony.”

“I was really hoping we’d learn something down there.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Now what do we do?”

“Like I said, I’ll check on the computer we found at Tony’s place. I’ll talk to his employer and parole officer tomorrow.”

“I want to come along.” She half-turned to face him in the car, lacing her fingers together against the urge to touch him. Thank goodness, they were nearly at her house. “I know I can help, if you’ll just let me.”

Regardless of his answer, she didn’t plan to sit around waiting on him to learn something and call her with a daily report.

“We’ve already been over this.”

“What if you don’t find them? I will have done nothing to help Liz and I can’t live with that. I stayed out of your way at the Valentines and you
are
the one who wanted me to go.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “That was for your safety.”

“And what if I’m still being followed?”

“We’ll deal with it.”

“I really need to do
something.
” Then grudgingly, “Please?”

His jaw set as he exited the highway and headed west on Wilshire toward May Avenue. Heavier traffic zoomed along these streets than had been on the highway. At one point, he swerved sharply, reminding Kit that he’d done the same thing about an hour ago. He must’ve been trying to miss an animal or a pothole.

“What about your work schedule? Are you flying out anywhere in the next couple of days?”

“No. I called in yesterday.” Had it really been only a
day and a half since Liz had disappeared with Tony? “I’ve built up a few weeks of vacation and my boss said I should take some time.”

“At least I won’t have to worry about where you are and I can concentrate solely on finding your sister.”

So glad I could help.
Kit bit back the sarcastic words.

How had he gone from flying for the Air Force to this job? She didn’t ask. It was better not to know about the life he’d made without her.

Her mind and body ached from trying to deny how much she’d wanted him earlier. If Rafe sensed she couldn’t get past that, he’d be out of here so fast she wouldn’t know what happened.

He swung into her driveway and killed the engine. “I want to check your house again for bugs.”

“You didn’t find anything before.” She paused with her hand on the door handle.

“Don’t you wonder where those guys went after I shook their tail?”

She should have. She hadn’t.

“It’s possible they came back here, installed a little something to make sure they could keep track of you.”

“All right.” After getting out of the car, she moved up the sidewalk and onto the porch in front of him. He stayed close, close enough that she could feel him at her back. She swallowed against the way her nape prickled. She unlocked the door and waited for him to enter first.

She felt so out of her league with all this stuff, and Rafe acted as though it were second nature. When—how—had he learned to do investigative work? Obviously he needed to know these things for his current job. She knew he probably wouldn’t welcome her questions so she kept her mouth shut, walked in behind him and closed the door.

He motioned for her to turn on the light then the stereo, so she did, keeping the volume at a moderate level. The
deep voice of a local DJ boomed out of the receiver before whiskey-voiced Chris Isaak began to sing about doing a bad, bad thing.

Inserting the earpiece into his left ear, Rafe headed down the hallway. His gaze was narrowed and his nostrils flared in a way that Kit had never seen.

He looked like a…predator, dangerous, unfamiliar. Kit couldn’t stop the spike of excitement in her blood pressure.

From what he’d told her at Tony’s, she knew that this time he would start at the back of her house and work his way to where they’d come in. He moved first to her bedroom, then Liz’s, turning in a slow circle in each room. Kit followed slowly, trying to ignore the slow roll of his hips, the ripple of muscle beneath the khaki T-shirt.

He made quick work of the bathroom and gave her a thumbs-up. She let out a sigh of relief. She could not handle knowing someone was watching her in the bath.

Her gaze locked on his hands. Strong, gentle hands sprinkled with a faint dusting of dark hair. Surrounded by the seductive bass of Chris Isaak, Kit found herself swamped by memories of those hands on her body, stroking, teasing, pleasing.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and forced herself to watch Rafe, to pay closer attention to the pictures on the walls, to the light switches, the blades of the ceiling fan, just as he did.

When he walked through the living room toward the kitchen, he halted abruptly. Pressing the earpiece close to his ear, he listened intently. He prowled the perimeter of her kitchen, returned to the living room. She moved to the sofa, feeling along the cushions, inside the lampshade, her gaze going questioningly to his. He nodded, those lean fingers edging around the casing of the wall phone as he glanced at the bug detector he held.

He reached up to slide a hand along the blades of the
ceiling fan, and his T-shirt rode up to expose sleek brown skin. When he stretched, muscle flexed across his flat belly, drawing her eye to the waistband of his snug jeans.

She straightened, pulling her gaze away to scan the room, telling herself to keep searching for audio or video equipment, though she hardly knew what to look for. Rafe moved to the wall, studied the air-conditioner return where the wall met the ceiling. He ran a finger along each pleated opening of the vent, then moved away, seemingly satisfied.

Once again his gaze traveled the room, pausing on the sofa.

He went from relaxed alertness to rigid readiness. Her gaze followed his as he looked down at the tool he carried and she saw a green LED flash. Rafe slipped the bug detector into the back pocket of his jeans. With a few silent strides, he passed in front of her and stopped at the sofa, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body.

Dread pinched at her.

He turned, wrapping his fingers around her elbow. The heat that shot up her arm barely registered as he drew her gaze to the sofa.

He pointed, and she stared for a moment without realizing what she looked at. Then…instead of the dark plaid-covered sofa button she expected to see, she saw a flat black button. Not a button, a bug.
A listening device.

She turned, shock rippling through her. “Can they hear—”

He hauled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers.

Kit stiffened, her eyes going wide. Hot, hard lips moved over hers as a shock wave jolted her body. Then she sagged against him. Just a little.

Half-formed thoughts tumbled around in her head. She might’ve imagined it, but for an instant she thought his lips softened, coaxing the strength out of her the way they used
to. He lifted his head, his dark gaze smoldering on her lips then lifting to her eyes.

She blinked, swaying. A breathy sound escaped her, and a flush darkened Rafe’s skin.

He leaned toward her, and she couldn’t form one rational thought. Just…
Oh, yes.

Then his breath burned her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. “Don’t talk.”

Talk?
She couldn’t
breathe.
Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

He skimmed his lips up her temple, back down to her ear. She began to tremble. And reason kicked in. She pushed at his chest; his hands tightened on her upper arms.

Again he whispered, barely audible, “That’s a bug. Play along.”

Aloud, he said, “Ten years and you can still do this to me.”

His voice spilled over her like heated oil, torching a desire she’d buried too long. She knew it wasn’t real, knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Still her fingers curled into his T-shirt; she needed something to steady her legs.

His lips skimmed hers again. His hands smoothed down her back, flexed at her waist. Kit fought the urge to push away. She understood that he was playing for their unseen audience, but she shuddered anyway.

His lips came back to her ear, heat inching under her skin. “I found the camera, too. On the wall, four o’clock.”

Why was he talking about the time? Oh, he meant somewhere on the wall. A deep breath sawing out of her, she turned her head to the right.

Long fingers captured her jaw, gently forced her head to his. Black eyes seared hers, and he whispered against her lips, “Sorry,
my
four o’clock.”

She nodded dumbly, her body pulsing almost painfully.

His hands curved over her hips, and his voice rumbled out. “I am so ready for you.”

It was all an act for whoever was watching and listening, but it didn’t feel like acting to Kit. Still, she struggled to catch up, to be as cool as he was.

His eyes might be distant, but there was a flush beneath his skin. His breathing was slightly uneven.

He curled one knuckle under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “It’s been a long time,” he groaned. “Too long.”

To whoever watched, it probably appeared that they were kissing again. Kit lifted her head, her lips brushing his. Needles of heat slid under her skin. She forced herself to follow his gaze to the left, searching for the camera.

Rafe kissed her cheek, her temple. Her heart ached with a strange combination of sadness and anger as she struggled to pretend, the way he was.

This close there was no way he could miss the way her nipples had hardened and heat—of embarrassment, of arousal—flushed her body.