Still the One (8 page)

His lips quirked, but he said nothing. She followed him out the door, smiling at Nita when the older woman winked at her. Just because Rafe could still turn her stupid with
that
look didn’t mean she was going to act on it.

Thirty minutes later, they were in a shooting range on the south side of Oklahoma City. It was cold and loud; Kit had never heard so many guns going off at once. The stringent burn of gunpowder hung in the air.

Rafe set her up with a pair of ear protectors and guided her into one of the many partitioned-off stalls stretching the width of the concrete-floored building. Hanging the protectors around her neck, he leaned down and spoke loudly in her ear to be heard over the frequent crack of gunshots.

“I want you to handle my gun, okay? Just get a feel for it.”

She nodded, her eyes widening as he laid a big handgun on the waist-high shelf in front of her. “That’s huge.”

“I hear that a lot.” His eyes glinted, and she rolled her eyes, biting back a chuckle. “Now, pick it up.”

She did, surprised at the heaviness of the weapon.

“This is a .357 Magnum. Automatic. The clip holds fifteen rounds; that should show somebody you mean business.”

“I’ll say.” She had no idea how she would be able to use this thing.

He popped out the clip and showed her how to load the bullets, then slide the clip in. After she repeated his movements four times, he nodded in approval and directed her attention to the paper silhouette of a man’s upper body.

The target was clipped to an overhead rod and hung about fifteen feet in front of her.

He leaned close, his breath a warm wash against her cheek. “Lift the gun and aim at the torso. You’re going for the biggest area.”

She shifted against the feel of his solid chest at her back, cursing the way his body heat seeped into her and prickled in her breasts. How was she supposed to concentrate?

She drew her bottom lip in with her teeth and focused on the target. The gun wobbled, and he put a hand over hers.

“Don’t be afraid of it.”

It wasn’t the gun she was afraid of, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She gripped the handle, let her finger rest lightly on the trigger. Sensation hummed through her, dimming even the boom of a voice over the intercom system. She tried to ignore the way Rafe’s body silhouetted hers, all heat and power and teasing maleness. Tried to channel her frustration with Liz toward the paper man in front of her.

“Relax your shoulders.” His hands settled there and kneaded for a second or two.

The feel of his hands, big and warm and safe, chipped away at her resolve to keep a distance from him. She stared blankly at the target.

“Center up through the back sight.” He reached over and tapped the small metal V at the barrel’s end closest to her.

Her gaze moved down the hard muscle of his arm, locked on the way his finger lay atop hers.

His hands curved around her hips, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Steady. Just relax.”

How could she do that when her pulse had tripled? “I think I should use a different gun.”

“No, mine. This is the one we’ll have with us.”

His voice stroked over her, fanning the heat that lined her belly. Her shoulders knotted even more.

“Loosen up.” His hands flexed on her hips; he pressed against her back, burning like a furnace. Her heartbeat skittered.

Images surfaced, of other times he’d held her hips like this, guiding her down on him, gliding in and out. The gun wobbled in her grip.

He reached up, laid a steadying hand on top of hers.

“I don’t think I can do this, Rafe. I’m going to get someone killed, probably me.”

“No, you’re not. You’re doing great.” His other arm came around her, reached up to support her wrists from underneath.

She felt him, long and hard and lean against her back. She managed to raise the gun enough to sight the target. “What if I miss?”

“There’s no one you can hit.”

She snorted skeptically, struggling to keep her attention on the target.

“Sight, then shoot.”

She forced herself to think past the solid feel of him, the way his hands felt on her.

Trying to remember all the things he’d told her, she emptied the clip, not quickly but steadily. When she finished, Rafe chuckled. He reached over her and pushed a button on the wall, which brought the paper target zooming toward them on the overhead rod.

“Look at that.” Genuine pleasure deepened his voice,
and he pulled the paper from its clip, holding it up for her inspection.

There were several shots scattered down each arm and one in the neck, but there were four shots in the torso.

“I killed him!” she exclaimed.

Rafe laughed. “Good job.”

“I’ve never shot anything before!”

He rolled the paper into a cylinder and handed it to her.

“We can practice again if you want.”

“All right.” She laid the paper to the side and turned back to load the clip as he’d shown her. She couldn’t believe the sense of accomplishment she felt. Maybe it was due to the light of admiration in Rafe’s eyes.

He’d been right. This small break had drained some of the tension from her shoulders. As she slid the clip into the gun, her cell phone shrilled.

Her breath caught; Rafe’s gaze sliced to hers.

Liz! Finally. Kit fumbled in her purse for her phone as Rafe eased the Magnum out of her hand.

“Liz!”

“Becky?”

The feminine voice on the other end was crackly with age and unfamiliar. Kit’s heart sank, and a lump of emotion knotted her throat. “No. I’m sorry.”

The woman apologized and hung up. Anger changed to disappointment then to concern so quickly that Kit could barely register the emotions. Tears burning her eyes, she punched the End button.

“Kit?”

She knelt to shove the phone into her purse. Her voice wobbled. “Wrong number.”

“I’m sorry.”

She straightened, worry colliding with frustration. Liz was all right, Kit told herself. She had to be. Kit covered her eyes with one hand.

“Kit?”

He touched her shoulder, and the small bit of control she’d owned shattered. She turned, buried her face in his shoulder.

For one heartbeat, he stiffened. She swallowed a sob, started to pull away.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

His arms went around her. She clutched desperately at him, willing herself not to cry. Leaning on Rafe was the last thing she should’ve done. And the only thing she could do.

T
he need to be held by Rafe had Kit trembling. As a sob rose in her throat, he rocked her close.

“It’s all right, Kit. She’ll call.”

“When?” she demanded, tuning out the sharp retort of intermittent gunshots. She let the strength of him soak through her palms, seep into the core of her. “What if something’s happened? What if she
can’t
call?”

“Hey.” He pulled back slightly, his dark gaze penetrating. “She’ll call. In the meantime, we’ve got people looking for her and Tony, right?”

“Right.”

“You’re doing all you can.”

“It doesn’t feel like much.” The sharp odor of gunpowder stung the air around them. They were closeted together in the partially obscured space, and she didn’t want to let go of him. Holding him, being held by him, leveled her nerves. The acute disappointment over not hearing from Liz had caught Kit completely by surprise. The waiting gnawed
at her and eroded the hope she harbored that Liz was in no danger.

Just the feel of Rafe’s strength wrapping around her washed away some of the bitter disappointment she’d felt over hearing a woman’s unfamiliar voice. She shouldn’t be leaning on him, breathing him in like oxygen, but how many times had she done this when they were lovers? She couldn’t even count them.

All the times Liz had pulled a stunt and Kit had needed someone to lean on, Rafe was there. It had been so nice to be able to trust someone like that. She’d always had to be strong for her dad and Liz. Rafe had been the first and only man she’d ever allowed herself to need.

Gunshots popped around them, recharging the acrid scent of gunpowder. Exclamations of victory and disappointment echoed in the cavernous room. Her arms tightened around him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m not going to cry.” She smiled at him. The dark heat of his eyes caught her, heightened the feel of his taut, muscular body against hers. “I know you’re right. If something had happened to her, I think I’d feel it.”

“You would.” Rapid-fire shots stuttered nearby, and he leaned closer to be heard. “You’ve always had a good sense of these things, and more patience than Liz deserves—sorry. I’ll keep that to myself.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly, her body molding reflexively to his. Thigh to thigh, breast to chest. His crisp khaki slacks whispered against the light fabric of her pants. Was he as aware of that as she was?

His hands stroked her back. “You’re strong, Kit. You always were. Taking care of Liz and yourself, your dad, too.”

She stared at him. “You used to say that a lot.”

He smiled, and her heart jumped straight to her throat.
He brought up a hand, threaded it through her hair, then buried his fingers there. “Yeah.”

Her nerves shimmered and she shifted, fitting her body against his even more tightly. His blue dress shirt, open at the neck, revealed the tap-tap of his pulse in the hollow of his throat. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the confirmation that she was in the here and now with him.

A voice boomed over the loudspeaker, the words mangled.

He dipped his head, his newly shaven cheek brushing hers. “You always had about five things more on your plate than anyone should have to handle. Sometimes including me.”

He was apologizing? Surprise warmed her, and she murmured shyly, “I didn’t mind handling you.”

Heat flared in his eyes, and her breath caught. His gaze fell to her lips. The surrounding voices, the gunshots, the electric whir of the rods transporting paper targets all faded to a dull vibration. She could feel his heartbeat thundering against hers. His woodsy scent invaded her lungs, making her skin tingle. Her hands slid up his back; his fingers tightened on her skull.

Their breath mingled, starting a hum in Kit’s blood. He was going to kiss her; she wanted him to.

“Trust me, we’re going to find her.”

Countless times when they were lovers, he’d held her like this, comforted her, listened to her worries about Liz. Why hadn’t she realized that at the time? Back then, she’d focused on his assumption that she would marry and move away with him. Now, surrounded by his strength, familiarity washing over her, she was stunned how she’d forgotten this comfort.

His head lowered, his lips a fraction from hers. She wanted that kiss but couldn’t quiet a sudden voice in her mind. The scenario was exactly the same as in the past. Liz
in trouble; Kit going to Rafe. The realization jolted through her.

She looked down; he immediately dropped his arms from around her. Her whole body ached with frustration over the aborted kiss, but she knew it would’ve been a mistake. Rafe knew it, too. She saw it in the clench of his jaw, the fire of irritation in his eyes.

She had walked away from him because she couldn’t leave her family. The same reason had brought her back to him.

He stepped away, jammed his gun into the small of his back. “I know you’re worried, but you’re doing all the right things. The things you can control.”

She nodded, her chest aching. How could pulling away from him hurt as much now as it had ten years ago? “What if there’s somewhere else I should’ve looked? Someone I should’ve called?”

“Don’t question yourself like that, Kit. It’s not productive.”

She rubbed her arms against the urge to step into his arms.

After a quick, impersonal glance, he turned in one lithe movement and started for the exit. As she followed, she felt the warmth of his body drain out of her.

Already she felt an emptiness inside, one that she’d felt for a lot of years after leaving Rafe. The only reason she was with him now was Liz, and for the first time, she felt anger over her sense of family responsibility.

Could she have done things differently ten years ago? She didn’t think so. Sliding a look at him, noting the tight jaw, the smoldering anger in his eyes, she wondered how she’d ever been able to walk away from him.

Rafe flipped over in bed, punched his pillow for the fourth time and closed his eyes. The faint rise and fall of
her voice down the hall told him she was talking in her sleep again, which served to trigger a flash of images through his mind—Kit’s sweet face turned to him this afternoon, her lips parting to meet his before they’d both realized what was going on and stepped back.

He’d wanted to kiss her. With the same mind-burning intensity he’d always associated with wanting to fly. And she’d pulled away. Damn it.

Even now, hours later, her soft floral scent taunted him. Rafe could still feel her lush breasts pressing against him and the itch in his palms to touch them, peel those clothes off and do more than kiss her.

He hadn’t been the one to call it quits ten years ago. She had always been the one to pull away, and she still was.

What reason did Kit have to pull away from
him?
He was the one who should’ve put at least the width of a shooting stall between them.

Feeling the tension in her shoulders, knowing she was more than distracted by waiting for Liz, he hadn’t been able to stop wanting to reassure her, wanting to reach for her. So he had.

Stupid. Stupid.

He slid out of bed, went to stand in front of the window. Moonlight showered down on the patio. A fickle breeze played with the shrubbery and potted plants ringing the pool.

When she’d turned to him after that false-alarm phone call, sheer surprise had held him immobile for a half second. She seemed so damn self-sufficient, always had. But the feel of her in his arms had caused something inside his chest to shift. She was where she belonged, and it had been natural to draw her close.

She
was concerned about Liz.

He
wanted to wring her sister’s neck.

He didn’t see how things had changed much. He still wanted Kit, wanted her in his bed, but after that, then what?

They could become lovers again. After today, he knew she wouldn’t take much persuading, but she’d cut his knees out from under him the first time. He couldn’t survive that again.

He wasn’t going to, period. His body had throbbed for her at the shooting range. It had been all he could do to hold her while he battled the urge to press her against that flimsy wall and strip her clothes off, push into her with all the fury and lust pounding through his body.

But there had been more than lust. A hollowness he felt deep inside, a hollowness only Kit could fill. And he knew that because he’d tried over the years to fill it with other women.

He’d wanted her, yes, but he also needed her. He’d only ever needed
Kit.
Rafe slapped a palm against the wall and pushed away, disgusted.

Need?
What he needed was to keep a clear head and get a grip on his raging hormones. Employ some of the discipline he’d learned in the Air Force, for crying out loud. For once, he found himself wishing Dizzy Lizzy
would
interrupt them. Pathetic.

One phone call from Liz would start a trail. Once they found her, Kit could get the hell out of his life.
That
was what he needed.

It hadn’t been only the last few days of uncertainty over Liz that had kept Kit up all night. It had been the undeniable presence of the man down the hall, the masculine musk she’d smelled moments ago in the bathroom while she’d showered.

As she walked into the living room the next morning, she caught a flash of Rafe’s bare brown shoulder through
the doorway leading to the kitchen. He moved out of her line of vision to the refrigerator.

The aroma of fresh coffee and spicy sausage wafted out to her. She paused in the doorway of the airy, clean-lined kitchen, watching him for a moment. He was always so alert, so intense; it was nice to observe him in a relaxed state.

“Yeah, the name’s Alexander. First or last name,” Rafe said into the phone snagged between his ear and his collarbone. Standing over a skillet, he forked several patties of sizzling sausage to their other side. “I’m looking for someone who’s been here for at least the last two years or had ties here, someone who could’ve visited my missing person in prison.”

He was talking to his uncle, she guessed. Barefoot, wearing only worn, snug jeans slung low on narrow hips, Rafe was enough to make a long breath ease out of her. He was gorgeous. All over. Always had been. Her gaze skated up long runner’s legs to the tight butt and over the fluid flex of muscle in his back and shoulders.

She missed his longer hair, but the shorter cut emphasized the strength in his neck, the noble planes of his jaw. Her mouth went dry, and she shifted, drawing his gaze over his shoulder.

He held up a finger, indicating he’d be finished in a minute, and she nodded, moving into the living room.

“Okay, let me know what you find. You’ve got my cell phone number, right?”

Rafe’s voice faded as she skirted the navy leather sofa, edged around the walnut end table, which held a cordless phone and a lamp with a black wrought-iron base. Her feet sank into plush gray carpet, complementing the pale gray walls and clean white woodwork.

She trailed a hand along the sofa’s supple back as she slid her cell phone from her pocket and punched in her
father’s cell phone number. He’d left the day before Liz’s disappearance to attend a pharmaceutical sales conference.

She could still feel Rafe’s arms around her, and a little ache of want still coiled deep in her belly. Insistent, relentless. The comfort he’d given her at the shooting range had haunted her all night, spinning wishes for things she’d walked away from, making her
want.
Him. A different life.

As the phone rang on the other end, Kit swallowed against a ragged ache in her throat and walked to the patio doors. Rafe had removed the pool’s tarp and begun filling the pool with water. Patterned mosaic tiles, a single border around the top of the pool, sparkled green and blue in the early morning sunlight. Rising water glimmered.

Harv Foley answered the phone.

“Dad?”

“Kit! Have you found Liz?”

“No, not yet.”

“Any word?”

“No.” She hated dashing the hope in his voice.

“She’ll call you, honey. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Kit wanted him to believe that because she was no longer sure she did. She didn’t want to worry her father by telling him about the bug Rafe had found in her house or the tracking device planted on his car or the unidentified man who’d shown up at his office yesterday.

“I’m coming down there. I can leave my conference.”

“No,” Kit said firmly. “There’s no need.”

“I think we should hire someone.”

“I did.” Her gaze skipped to the hot tub, her mind flashing an image of Rafe rising out of the water like a nude, ancient warrior. “Daddy, it’s Rafe.”

Silence. “Rafe Blackstock?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“I thought he went off to fly jets.”

She explained he’d left the Air Force and moved back to Oklahoma to be near his parents.

“And he’s now a private investigator?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Pleasure warmed her father’s voice. Though he’d supported her, he’d never agreed with her decision to end her engagement. “Are you doing all right? Are things going okay with him, the two of you?”

“Yes.” She smiled. At least as fine as she could be, anyway.

“Shouldn’t he know something about Liz by now?”

“It’s going to take a little while, Dad. Especially since I have no idea where Liz and Tony might’ve gone.” She filled him in on all the steps Rafe had taken, from putting Liz’s photo on the Internet to calling the FBI for any information or leads on Alexander.

“Sounds like Rafe knows what he’s doing,” her father said.

“He does. And there’s really no need for you to come.”

“You think I’d be in the way?”

“No, but there’s no telling how long this will take. I’m able to take some personal leave. You’re not. Besides, by the time you get here, we may have heard from her.”

“I’ve sent you some money. You can put it toward his fee.”

“No, Dad—”

“Too late, hon. It’s already in the mail. I want to help. Liz is my family, too.”

“I know, but I think I’ve got it under control.”