Still the One (6 page)

“After I was discharged, I came back to Oklahoma, to be near my folks.”

She remembered his parents as very loving, their family close. Rafe was their only child, something she’d wished for herself during some of Liz’s more moronic moments. Willa and Dale Blackstock had been extremely accepting of her, but Kit wondered how they’d feel about her now. She hadn’t seen them since rejecting Rafe’s marriage proposal, hadn’t talked to them at all.

She had sensed no regret in Rafe’s voice that he could no longer fly fighters, but surely he felt it. He had dreamed of flying fighter jets his entire life. His whole college career had been planned around that. And to have to give it up? It had to be frustrating, at the very least.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

His head came up; those black eyes lasered into hers. “For what?”

“The night blindness.”

“I dealt with it.”

“Still, it couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t. What do you want, Kit? To see a little blood?”

“No,” she gasped, lifting her chin against the stab of hurt his words caused. “No.”

“Sorry.” He moved around the hot tub, stopped a few feet away from her. Close enough that she could feel the heat from his body pulse against hers. After a long look at her, he faced the night, studying the sky. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s all right.” Was this what they’d come to? She really thought she’d moved past the regret, the resentment. Evidently not. And neither had Rafe. Or had he?

Her curiosity had driven her out here. Maybe she should just let things be and go back inside. She turned to go.

“You’re right.” His words stalled her movement. “It wasn’t easy. At first I was pissed all the time. Felt sorry for myself for quite a while.”

“Which was probably one reason you went after that missing child,” she suggested quietly.

He looked at her, thoughtful, his Choctaw features noble and proud in the moonlight. “Probably.”

A faint smile curved his lips, and Kit couldn’t keep her gaze from moving down the corded column of his neck, the sleek breadth of his chest. Her gaze rose to his, and she realized he’d seen her watching him. A flush heated her cheeks and she looked away.

“So you took up private investigations. Lucky for me.”

He moved behind her, heat and shadow against her back as he edged around and walked slowly to the end of the pool. “Right. I like what I’m doing now. I’m good at it. It
offers me the chance to help people, sometimes in desperate situations. And my night blindness doesn’t hold me back. I can’t fly jets for the Air Force, but I can still fly sometimes. And I have a job that matters.”

“It does matter.” She met his gaze across the few feet that separated them, wishing she understood this strange mix of regret and exhilaration. He still got to her, she admitted, but now she knew what was different about him.

He had assumed, but not ordered, that she would stay at his house. And he’d asked if she had a better idea. In college, he wouldn’t have given a thought to any idea different from his own. He was still confident, probably more than most men, but no longer arrogant. His confidence had always held high appeal for her, and without the sharp edge of his youth it sent a shaft of warmth through her. Made her want to stay out on the patio and talk about nothing with him all night long. Which was dangerous.

“You seem to love investigation. You certainly seem to know what you’re doing.”

“I try.” He glanced at her. “And what about you, Kit? Do you still love flying? Working in the air?”

“Yes.” She smiled, her stomach jumping as he walked toward her. The towel parted to reveal a glimpse of ropy muscles in his thighs. Dark eyes glittered at her, and her nerves fluttered. “I was transferred over here almost four years ago. Liz moved in with me two years ago.”

“After Tony went to prison.”

“Right.”

“And do you have any regrets in your past?” His tone gave nothing away, but in that moment she was hit with a muscle-clenching sting of regret.

She had never allowed herself to wonder if things might have worked out between them. The possibility that she could have made a mistake had been too much for her to deal with, in addition to the pain of walking away from
him. But she wondered now. Staring into his deep black eyes, she wondered if he ever thought about it. How long had it taken
him
to get over the rejection?

She didn’t kid herself that he had remained uninvolved all these years. He was too gorgeous, too gentlemanly, too darling to have remained unattached, and celibate, for the past ten years. But for one brief moment, she wished he had. She wished it with everything in her. Still, that was none of her business.

His gaze probed hers, and she felt as if he could sense the regret rolling through her, see right through her as he’d always been able to. “I’m sorry, you know.” Her voice cracked, but she kept her gaze locked on his. “I never meant to hurt you.”

He closed the distance between them, his gaze sharp as steel. “I know that. Now.”

She blinked back an unwelcome burn of tears. “Do you understand why? Did you ever?”

“You said it was because I was too controlling.” His gaze roamed over her face, lingered on her mouth before returning to her eyes. “Now I see that I did railroad you. Do you know I only realized today that I never asked you to marry me? I just told you we were getting married.”

“I should’ve said something long before that day, but I found I couldn’t. I liked so much about you and I liked having someone to make decisions for me.”

“At first,” he reminded wryly.

“Yes, at first.” She shoved an unsteady hand through her hair. “Have you…were you able to forgive me?”

A long pause. The air between them ached with regret, unspoken words. “Yes.”

“Really?” Her heart leaping, she moved another step closer, trying to read his eyes, full of secrets she’d never share. She read a hesitancy in him, couldn’t tell if resentment lurked beneath it or not.

“I have, Kit.”

“I hope so. I honestly never meant to hurt you. I was stupid—”

“We were both
young,
” he corrected firmly.

She nodded.

“Hey, I’m okay. Things happened the way they should have.”

“Do you believe that?” she whispered.

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then lifted a hand and stroked her hair, his palm brushing her cheek. She resisted the urge to turn her face into his hand.

“Yes, I believe it.”

“Then we can work together? Put the past behind us?”

His body tensed; his eyes darkened. Was she asking too much? Could she even ask it of herself? “Be friends again?”

“Friends,” he murmured. His hand slid around her nape, warm and strong against her flesh. The slight pressure of his touch urged her toward him.

Staring into the midnight darkness of his eyes, Kit’s mind froze for a moment. Her body pulsed with the clean, male scent of him, the brush of his hard body against hers, the all-too-familiar feel of his hand in her hair. He was going to kiss her, and though Kit told herself that was a bad idea, she didn’t pull away.

She waited, wondering, hoping he wouldn’t follow through, then wishing he would.

His gaze devoured her, and Kit felt her belly pull tight in anticipation. Her lips parted as his head lowered. His breath washed against her lips, and her pulse shot into orbit.

Lost in the swirl of cool air and body heat, the scent of him filling her, she raised her arms, but before she could embrace him, he stopped. Dragged his gaze from her lips and met her gaze looking dazed.

“Bad idea,” he said in a choked voice.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Bad.”

He dropped his hand and stepped away from her, leaving her feeling exposed, alone. “I think we can manage that.”

Manage what?
Kit wanted to scream. Just like at her house, her mind was foggy with the want that had roared back to life when she’d gotten within a foot of Rafe.

“We were friends once, right? We can do that again.” His voice sounded rough, almost hoarse. He flashed a quick smile and turned for the house. “Better hit the sack. We’ve got an early morning.”

She gritted her teeth in frustration that she’d let herself be seduced, even for a minute. For some reason, his words unleashed a deeply buried resentment in her. “Still issuing orders, I see.”

“And you’re still dropping everything to rescue your sister.” His features hardened; that generous mouth flattened.

“Which you could never deal with.”

His jaw tightened; he turned for the doors. “I just wanted you to have your own life.”

“You wanted me to have
your
life.”

He halted, shoulders stiff and forbidding. Then he looked over his shoulder at her. “Touché.”

Regret bit deep; Kit wished she hadn’t said that.

They stared at each other for a long moment. “Now we’ve both got our own lives,” he said flatly.

“Yes.” It was what they’d both wanted, why they’d split up in the first place. So why did that feel so hollow to Kit?

He opened the doors and waited this time, looking at her questioningly. Recognizing the truce he offered, she moved toward him.

Kit bit back a groan. Her sister was not worth this! When she found Liz, she was going to strangle her. In the meantime, she had to stay on her guard. Keep a civil tongue. Live in the present, not the past.

Could they be only friends? Was she kidding herself?
His kiss could still reduce her to a puddle of hormones. Attraction simmered between them just as strongly as it ever had, an attraction she had to fight. She couldn’t get involved with Rafe again. She’d never gotten over him the first time.

T
hings had gotten too personal last night. Rafe had hurt her and he hadn’t meant to. He’d nearly kissed her, too. Hadn’t meant to do that, either.
Wasn’t
going to do it.

As he slowed on Lincoln Boulevard, then flipped his signal to turn left into the parking lot of the District Eight Sub-Office of Probation and Parole, he slid a look at Kit. She looked cool and composed, as usual, in slim-fitting turquoise pants and a matching fitted jacket. In the soft morning light, there was no sign of the shock or the hunger he’d seen on her face last night. And he’d seen both those things.

Finding a slot near the door in the crowded lot was impossible. Rafe finally found one in the back row facing Lincoln and whipped the ’Vette into it. First on his list this morning was talking to Tony’s parole officer. A couple of phone calls to Kent Porter had yielded the exact location of the parole office.

Rafe’s mind only half-occupied with the case, he recalled
the shock that had widened Kit’s eyes last night when he’d gotten out of the hot tub. He couldn’t help a smile. He had done that not only to see her reaction, but also because he knew she’d stop looking at him as if he were the much-anticipated cream in a sandwich cookie.

Sure enough, she’d turned away. Still, he’d caught a flash of hunger in her eyes, and that had caused his entire body to harden. Even this morning, he felt tight and…restless.

Friends.
Her request whispered through his mind. Could they be friends? He didn’t see how, but he
could
do this job. That’s where he needed to keep his focus. He’d find Liz and somehow keep from strangling her for all she’d put Kit through.

He killed the engine but left the keys in the ignition in case Kit might need them while he was inside. He channeled his mental energy to the skittery Liz and Tony, not the memory of Kit’s gaze on his body, not the torture of the invitation in her eyes last night when he’d nearly done the ultimate in stupid and kissed her. Not the fact that he’d been up all night trying to ignore the fact that she was in the next room.

“I should only be a minute.”

She opened her door and stepped out. “I’m going with you.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and got out, finding her gaze across the top of the car. “Trust me on this. The guy’ll be more likely to talk if there’s only one of us.”

“You mean, if there’s only you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Forget it.” She shut her door, hooked the thin strap of her cordovan leather purse over her shoulder and headed for the stairs leading to the front doors.

It would take as long to argue with her as it would to go in and ask the guy questions. Rafe let out a slow breath, pulled his keys out of the ignition, locked the door and
followed. It took deliberate effort to keep his gaze from the exposed velvet of her neck. Or the graceful line of her back. Or the slight sway of her hips. He caught up with her, and his strides quickly outpaced hers.

Once inside the cool, spacious building floored with gray-veined tile, he paused a moment at the information desk to ask a harried-looking bottle blonde for directions to the office of Dennis Baker. A few minutes later, he and Kit walked down the hall and through twin glass doors lettered District Eight Sub-Office of Probation and Parole.

The massive room, easily filling half of the entire first floor, was crammed with desks and paperwork in every corner. Putty-gray filing cabinets crowded between the large windows staring out at the building across the street, in corners behind paper-strewn desks. Phones rang. Men and women in sedate suits worked at their desks, maneuvered the narrow space between desks or bent over filing cabinets. Constant, frenetic motion.

Toward the back wall, Rafe spotted a wood-grained nameplate identifying the desk of Dennis Baker and made his way through a twisted path of chairs, files and outstretched legs of parolees sitting at other desks. Kit picked her way behind him, sticking close.

Baker, a fortyish, washed-out looking guy, was crumpled from the crooked part in his hair to his rumpled gold-on-brown tie. His desk sat in front of a large window, which looked out over a treed yard.

Rafe introduced himself, then Kit as his associate.

When she stepped forward, the man jumped out of his chair, wrestled a pile of files off a creaky wooden chair and placed it in front of his desk, indicating it was for her.

“Thanks.” She smiled and sat down, perching on the edge of the chair.

Rafe dismissed the impatience that bit at him over the
man’s solicitous attitude. “I’m looking for Tony Valentine.”

Baker frowned. “Tony should be at work. He works at Thoma Computer Systems.”

“Not today he doesn’t,” Rafe said.

The muffled ring of a phone sounded, and Baker pushed aside a mound of paperwork, snatched up the receiver. His gaze was riveted on Kit. “Let me call you back,” he barked at the caller. After scribbling a number on the top of his desk blotter, which Rafe couldn’t even see until Baker shoved aside more paper, the parole officer hung up.

“Sorry.” Baker dragged his brown gaze from Kit, who shifted on the chair, and shot Rafe an uneasy look. “Now, what’s this about Valentine not being at work?”

The man’s gaze returned greedily to Kit, and Rafe squashed the heat that flared in his chest. He explained that Tony had skipped town.

“I spoke to him just this morning,” the other man protested.

“Did he say where he was?”

“No, but it was a local number.” He pawed through reams of paper on his desk, then leaned over to flip through a calf-high stack of pressboard folders. “I checked my caller ID.”

Rafe slid a look at Kit. “Could Tony rig something on the phones to give out a false number?”

Kit nodded.

Baker blew out a breath and flopped back in his chair. “Of course! He’s a genius with computer and phone stuff. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You had no reason to think he’d skipped town,” Kit offered.

Baker smiled at her, erasing some of the fatigue and transforming his features from homely to average. He pulled his gaze to Rafe, who was biting off an order for
Baker to keep his eyes in his head. The other man said, “I’ll have one of my investigators get on this.”

The phone rang again, and Baker grabbed it up. After a short exchange, he hung up. “Sorry. Why are you looking for him?”

“Miss Foley’s sister might be with him.”

“Are you planning to go after him?”

Rafe shrugged noncommittally. “I’m just trying to help Miss Foley find her sister. We thought you might know something.”

“No.” Baker’s mud-brown gaze measured Rafe for a moment. “I have to report it.”

“Of course,” Rafe agreed blandly. Baker could do whatever he wanted; so could Rafe. His gaze panned over the stacks of paper, the wobbling mountains of files. “If
we
find him, it would save you some paperwork.”

“True.” The parole officer glanced at the sea of paperwork on top of and surrounding his desk.

Rafe pulled out a card and handed it to him. “I’d appreciate a call if you hear anything. I’m willing to reciprocate.”

The other man slicked a hand over his hangdog features, then took Rafe’s card. “Deal. Give it your best shot.”

“Thanks.” Rafe turned to go, glancing at Kit.

She rose, pausing in front of Baker’s desk. “Thank you.”

The man nodded, frank male appreciation lighting his eyes. Rafe clenched his jaw and put himself at Kit’s back as they left.

He closed the door behind them, wondering at her silence as they walked outside.

“The more people looking, the quicker we’ll find them,” Rafe offered.

“I know.” She pushed a hand through her hair. “I think
that man will help us. He seemed overworked and a little…lonely, but honest.”

Baker had been flat-out panting after her, but leave it to Kit to downplay that. Still, her assessment about the overwork and honesty mirrored Rafe’s. Had she always had such good instincts about people? He’d never noticed it. Of course, when they’d been together before, his assertiveness could’ve overshadowed that quality in her. What else had he missed?

The thought intrigued him, but he refused to go down that road. Instead, he forced his mind to the scant information he’d gotten from Tony’s PO as he drove to the highway, then took the north exit off the Broadway Extension en route to Thoma Computer Systems.

He tried to keep his mind on the case, tried to screen memories of Kit standing in front of his hot tub, the breeze molding her thin blouse to her high breasts.

Her scent, her heat whispered around him in the car. She was everywhere—in his mind, in his space. And he resented it. He might have to take her with him, but he didn’t have to monitor her every move, he told himself even as he felt her shift beside him, thread her fingers through her dark hair.

His chest closed up, and he pressed the accelerator harder. When he’d nearly kissed her last night, he’d seen invitation in her eyes, and as much as he was tempted to lose himself in the taste of her, feel her body come alive beneath his hands again, he wouldn’t let her have another go at his heart.

They reached a four-story brick and glass building identified by a huge metal sign as Thoma Computer Systems, one of the largest employers in the Oklahoma City area. This time, they were directed to offices on the second floor. After a few minutes, Rafe and Kit were shown in to see Tony’s boss, Vernon Taliaferro.

Their visit was short, as Taliaferro was able to provide only the information Tony had given on his job application.

When Kit leaned forward and asked if they might speak to Mike Green, a man Tony had befriended, Rafe gave her a thumbs-up. No doubt she’d spent her entire life hunting down Liz to get her out of one scrape or another.

Mr. Taliaferro’s tall, red-haired secretary led them down a long, waxed corridor and around a corner. Conversation, which had been muted as they passed office doors and a conference room, was nonexistent at this far end of the building. The woman stopped in front of a steel door marked Personnel Only and knocked. When there was no answer, she opened the door, poking her head in.

“Mike! There are some people here who need to talk to you about Tony Valentine.”

Still no answer, but the woman stepped away from the door, smiling. “You’ll have to go in. He won’t hear a thing until you’re right on top of him.”

Rafe arched an eyebrow.

“He’s a little distracted when involved in a project, but I’m sure he’ll answer your questions.”

“Thanks.” Rafe smiled as the woman left them.

He opened the door wider, indicating that Kit precede him. He ducked to get through the door, then found he could stand to his full height once inside.

The muted fluorescent lighting revealed they were in a long, very narrow closet. Machines hummed. Frigid air blasted from vents overhead. As he and Kit moved slowly forward, the walls pressed in on him.

They neared a long mainframe computer, which stretched along the wall to his right, and he turned to negotiate the narrowing space. His shoulder bumped Kit’s.

She stiffened.

“Sorry,” he muttered. Hell, he hadn’t done it on pur
pose. “Mr. Green?” Rafe called, his voice sounding thick and low in the confined space.

On the wall in the back of the closet, a small lamp glared on the blond head of a man and the earpiece of a pair of black frame glasses.

“Mr. Green?” Kit stopped a few feet from him.

A young man—Rafe put him in his twenties—peered around the corner of a rectangular casing, which stood as high as Kit’s waist and fit against the mainframe like the top bar of a T. He blinked. “Yes?”

“I’m Kit Foley and this is Rafe Blackstock.”

“I’m a private investigator, Mr. Green. We’re here about Tony Valentine.”

“Is he all right?” The man, thin with bony arms and fingers, straightened. “He didn’t show up this morning. We were supposed to work on this mainframe together.”

“We think he’s fine.” Rafe tried to squeeze between Kit and the bulky computer so he could get a good look at Green. As he edged forward, his shoulder nudged Kit into the wall. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said tightly. She flattened herself against the wall, and when she did, her breasts pressed against his arm.

She looked quickly away and brought up an arm protectively over her chest. Or tried to. Instead, she jabbed Rafe in the side.

Refusing to acknowledge the tightness in his throat, he snapped his attention to the guy in front of them. “It seems Tony has disappeared, Mr. Green.”

“What?” The guy blinked like an owl behind his thick glasses.

Kit put her arm down, looking pained. Rafe faced her, scooting past so he stood slightly in front of her. This way, he could face Mike and so could she.

She moved behind him, inching closer to peer around his
shoulder. When she did, her hips pressed against his, and the touch jolted him like fire.

He sucked in a breath. Holy crap. He’d managed to go all day without giving in to his imagination. Now his arm burned and a low insistent throbbing started in his blood. “Um, do you know him well?”

“Not really. He’s only been here, uh, let’s see…a couple of weeks.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Maybe a month?”

Rafe knew it had been less than three weeks. “Mr. Taliaferro says your cubicle is closest to Tony’s.”

“Right. And we’ve had lunch together a couple of times.”

“But you wouldn’t say you knew him well?”

“I was getting to know him, I guess.” Thumbing his glasses up his nose again, he glanced from Rafe to Kit.

“What’s going on? Is he in some kind of trouble?”

“We think he might be. Is there anything you can tell us? Have you spoken to him in the last couple of days?”

“No, not since last Friday, here at work.” He slid a small screwdriver into his white shirt pocket, already sagging with the weight of other tools and a rubber-banded notebook. He quickly glanced at Kit. “Oh, you’re the one who left me a message about Tony.”

“Right.” She smiled tightly.

Rafe could feel tension humming through her body and knew it had nothing to do with her sister and everything to do with the tight press of his body against hers.