by Debra Cowan
The memory of how she’d cried at the creek kept her from it. Just another humiliation in a day Kit wished she could forget.
Lying in his guest bed hours later, her thoughts spun from Rafe’s rejection to Eddie Sanchez’s murder to Liz’s whereabouts. Kit’s swim in the pool had exhausted her, but she couldn’t sleep. All that had happened today had her emotions ricocheting.
There was a link between Eddie Sanchez’s murderer and Tony. What if Alexander and his men had already found Tony and Liz? Icy fear slithered through her.
She had to believe Liz was still safe or she’d go crazy. Dealing with Rafe was enough to make her go there. She forced her eyes shut, but images of him teased. His woodsy scent was as strong on her now as it had been when his mouth had blazed a trail of fire over her flesh, his phantom touch as provocative as when his hands had curved over her breasts.
Her belly tightened in response, and she forced herself to recall how he’d pushed her away. The memory was enough to send a fresh surge of humiliation through her. What had she been thinking to kiss him like that? Why had she ever thought there could be a second chance for them?
He’d made clear what he wanted from her—exactly nothing. As painful as it was to recall the memory of his unequivocal rejection, Kit did it. She couldn’t lean on him any more. For ten years, she’d done fine without him. She’d do fine now.
Mixed with the sting of his rejection was the growing fear that Liz was probably in greater danger than Kit first imagined. Why hadn’t her sister called? She glanced at the pillow beside her, saw that the phone was on and charged.
Rafe had called his office manager, Nita, and told her that their mysterious visitor had also likely been seen at Eddie Sanchez’s apartment before Eddie’s murder. Rafe’s suggestion that Nita carry her gun to the office for the next few days, as well as his arrangement for an off-duty police officer to stay in the office during Nita’s work hours, only heightened the fear swelling inside Kit.
The fact that he recognized a definite threat to her sister, and possibly others, scared her silly. And kept the horror of Liz’s car being run off the road in the forefront of Kit’s mind. She willed the phone to ring.
Nerves stretched thin, she threw back the blue-and-white windowpane comforter, then reached across the polished mahogany bedside table to switch on the frosted glass lamp. She picked up the mystery novel she’d started at least four times in the last week. Had Eddie Sanchez known something that might’ve led Rafe and Kit to her sister and Tony? And if so, had Eddie’s murderer managed to get that information? Was one of Alexander’s men even now following a lead completely unknown to Kit and Rafe?
The questions twisted viciously in her mind. She forced her attention to the book, only to find her thoughts wandering after a few sentences. The doubt she’d managed to dodge all day seeped in. Rafe had hit, with unerring aim, on a question she could no longer ignore. Could she commit fully to him? She didn’t know.
She closed her book, got out of bed and walked to the window, opening the wooden blinds. Moonlight rippled across the pool’s water. A cloudless pewter sky sparkled with bright diamonds of light. Her satin nightgown drifted down her body, rousing again the feel of Rafe’s hands on her.
Tortured by her thoughts, Kit closed her eyes and struggled to clear her mind.
A phone rang. Her eyes flew open. Her cell phone!
“Rafe!” she called, diving onto the bed to grab the phone. “Rafe!”
She punched the button. “Yes, hello! Hello! Liz?”
“Sis!”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Kit choked back a sob and a dozen questions. “How are you?”
“Fine, so far. I can’t talk long.”
“Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”
“No! Kit, there could be men following—”
“I know!”
The door to Kit’s bedroom banged open and Rafe rushed in, wearing only a pair of low-slung gray cotton shorts.
“Is it Liz?” he asked.
She nodded, sitting back on her folded legs and motioning for him to sit beside her on the bed. He eased down, his bare shoulder brushing hers.
“Who’s that?” Liz asked. “A private investigator?”
“Yes.” Kit wasn’t getting into the story of Rafe right now.
“Tell me where you are.”
“Tony says I can’t say anything directly.”
She nearly screamed. “I can’t get to you if I don’t know where you are.”
“I need money, sis. Just wire it. Please. You can’t meet me.”
Rafe pressed closer, his slightly stubbled jaw tickling her. She positioned the phone so he could hear better.
“We went to see Eddie Sanchez today, Liz.”
“He doesn’t know anything,” her sister said quickly. Too quickly.
“Not anymore, he doesn’t,” Kit agreed.
“Tell her,” Rafe whispered.
“He’s dead, Liz. He’s been murdered.”
“Oh, my gosh!” her sister shrieked. “Tony!”
Liz explained to Tony; Kit heard his deeper voice urging her to do something. Rafe’s hand was hot on the sheet behind her; his hair-roughened thigh nudged hers where her gown had ridden up.
“Was it Alexander?” Liz asked soberly.
“We’re not sure. We think so.”
“It was. Tony, what are we going to do?” her sister wailed.
“Liz, tell me where you are.” Kit hoped the startling news about Eddie would scare some sense into her sister.
“Has Alexander or one of his men been following you?”
“They were at first. I haven’t seen them for a couple of days. What did Eddie know, Liz? Why would someone kill him?”
“Tony says I have to hang up. Send the money, Kit.”
“Get her to tell you where she is,” Rafe whispered. “Get a phone number.”
Kit nodded. “Where are you? Are you calling from a pay phone? Give me a number.”
“Kit, you can’t meet me. If those guys are following you, you’ll just lead them straight to us! Is that what you want?”
She glanced at Rafe, shook her head. “How much do you need?”
“A thousand dollars, fifteen hundred, if you can. That’ll hold us until Tony gets what he needs from Alexander’s computer. I’ll pay it back. I swear. Tony says he will, too.”
“Okay, I’ll wire it from my bank first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, sis. Do you think you can do that by eight o’clock?”
“Yes, but you have to tell me where.”
Rafe gave her a thumbs-up, his hand resting against her thigh.
“Remember when I was a sophomore in high school?”
“What?” Kit blinked. Where had this come from?
Rafe made a sound deep in his throat.
“Liz, this isn’t the time.”
“Remember the first time I went to the senior prom?”
“Tell me where you are!”
“I am, Kit. Listen to me.”
She noted the uncharacteristic calm in Liz’s voice, and the steadiness took Kit off guard. She went still. “I’m here. I’m listening.”
“Remember who I went with to that prom?”
Kit frowned. Liz had dated so many guys. Jocks, musicians, race car drivers.
“He drove a red Camaro, jacked up in the back. Not the guy who drove a pickup. The red Camaro. That’s where we are. Wire the money to this check-cashing place.” Liz rattled off a company name. Kit leaned to reach her purse.
Rafe snatched it and gave her a pen so she could jot down the name.
“I’ve got to go. Tony’s about to have a heart attack because I’ve been on here so long.”
“Liz—”
“Oh, one more thing. I thought about moving here once! Love ya!” The phone went dead.
“Liz?” Kit yelled. “Liz?”
Nothing.
She clicked off her phone and bowed her head, trying to focus on the relief
she felt rather than the frustration boiling inside her.
After a long minute, Rafe nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey, she’s okay. They both are. That’s good.”
“Yes, and I want to strangle her.” She gestured wildly. “We wait and wait on her, then she calls with this?”
“So, who was it? Who’d she go to the prom with?”
“How am I supposed to remember that?” Kit looked at him. “One year, she went with one guy and came home with another.”
“Think, Kit. She’s giving us a clue.” Rafe’s gaze flickered to her breasts, then returned to her eyes. Cool, unreadable, all business. Still, she became suddenly, uncomfortably aware that her breast pressed into his arm.
Rafe went on, completely undeterred from his train of thought. “Tony won’t let her stay on the phone long and he won’t let her say anything directly. He’s cautious. That’s good. If she’s calling and she says she’s fine, then she is.”
“Okay, okay.” Gritting her teeth, she cleared her mind of everything except her sister’s wacky clues. “She also said she’d once thought about moving to this place.”
“Right. Where?”
“Hollywood with Ryan. Dallas with Mitchell.” She unfolded her legs and slid off the bed. The feel of all that hot, hard muscle made her nerves raw. “Santa Fe with Dusty. Kansas City with Lee. See a pattern?”
“Great.” Rafe rolled his eyes. “Let’s try to figure out the guy’s name first. Who was her prom date her sophomore year?”
“Ritchie Sheldon.” Kit paced to the opposite side of the bed, tapping one finger on the brass footboard. “No, she went with him to the prom her junior year.”
Rafe rose, followed a few steps behind.
“Um, Tony Gibson. No—Ben Doyle.” She snapped her fingers. “Ben Doyle.”
She turned, nearly ran into Rafe’s sleek, bare chest.
He nodded. “Okay. Ben Doyle.”
“No. Not him.” She sidestepped him, wishing he would put on a shirt. Or a blanket. Something. “He drove a pickup.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Rafe growled.
“She said the guy she went with drove a red Camaro, not a pickup.” Her head started to throb. Why couldn’t Liz have just told her? “Oh, wait! Benji. Benji.” She paced to the head of the bed, then to its foot, trying to picture Liz in her first prom dress. She’d worn a low-cut black dress that year. What was that guy’s name?
“Benji who?” Rafe’s every step stalked hers.
She turned, looked at him through slitted eyes. “There’s a reason I’m not spitting it out here, Blackstock. Benji…” She closed her eyes, his face floating into focus. He’d been gorgeous, dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin. “Wexler! Benji Wexler!”
“Okay, Benji Wexler. Is it Benji or Wexler she’s trying to tell us?”
“Wexler. She made sure to say it was a specific Ben. Go by the last name.”
“Okay, let’s check it out on the Internet. See where we can find Wexler, America.”
Instead of going into his study, Rafe strode down the hall to his bedroom, and she followed. The neon green screen of a notebook computer blinked from a small rolltop desk in front of one of his wide windows. He straddled his chair, used his mouse to click up a box and dial onto the Internet.
She walked in and stopped as his scent curled around her. Her gaze went immediately to the king-size bed in the center of the room, which was attractive and unmistakably masculine. Deep greens, stormy blues, a wicked thread of scarlet were jeweled slashes of color against the pale gray walls and carpet.
The straight-edged bedframe, mirrored dresser and high-boy spoke of hand craftsmanship and painstaking, honest labor. The walls boasted more black-and-white drawings like those in his office, but these depicted biplanes and early model jets. Next to his window hung a framed oil of Rafe’s three horses, chasing each other through a meadow Kit recognized as being close to the creek.
She felt like an outsider and couldn’t deny the fierce longing that suddenly clutched at her. To belong to this room, to him. She shook it off and walked over to stand at his elbow, leaning close to see the screen.
Once online, Rafe found a search engine, then typed in the words Wexler United States. Kit paced behind his chair, her satin nightdress skimming her knees as she walked.
She stopped, peered over his shoulder again. “They can’t be far. Or can they? A car can cover a lot of ground in three days, right?”
“It’s hard to know what they’ve been doing, Kit. They could’ve been driving this whole time or they could’ve been hiding out in some hotel somewhere. Even here in the city.”
“She should’ve called me before now,” Kit muttered. Skirting his elbow, she looked over his shoulder again. A Web page was loading. She sighed, made another trip around his chair.
She turned, caught his gaze skimming her legs. A cool politeness slid into his eyes. Hating the heat that inched across her skin, she arched a brow. “Anything yet?”
He glanced casually at the screen. “No. It’s coming.”
She paced to his bed, wrapped a hand around the short, squared newel post of the dark rustic footboard. His plaid comforter, in tones of blue, teal and burgundy, was cornered neatly on the plump mattress. The closet door was closed, hiding rows of clothing she suspected hung as ruler-straight as the navy and green towels she saw through the half-open bathroom door.
Turning, she thought she caught him looking at her again.
She ignored the sudden clench of her heart. “Well?”
“It’s coming. Okay, Wexler. Florida.”
“That’s too far.”
“So is…Georgia.”
“She said she’d once thought about moving to this place. Look for California, New Mexico, Texas, Kansas. Of course, those are just the ones she told me about. There could be others she didn’t, just like she didn’t tell me she was seeing Tony again.”
“It’ll be something you know,” Rafe soothed.
Kit was doing her darnedest to keep her gaze off his broad, copper shoulders, the way his sleek muscles flexed and shifted as he bent over the keyboard. He’d acted all day as if she hadn’t crawled up his chest at the creek. As if he hadn’t had his hands and mouth all over her.
“Aha, Wexler, Kansas.”
“Yes!” She rushed over, leaning close to read the screen. Rafe’s scent, fresh male underlined with soap from a recent shower, reached out and twisted something inside her. Something hot and primal, something lonely. “That’s got to be it.”
“Kansas.” He typed something; another screen appeared. “Looks like it’s about a three-and-a-half or four-hour drive from here. It’s in the southeastern corner of the state.”
“I’ll call my bank in the morning and have the money wired.”
“Don’t wire it.”
She straightened. “What? But I told her I would.”
He tilted his head to stare thoughtfully at her. “Let’s take the money. Drive up there. You want to find her, don’t you?”
Kit smiled slowly. “You’re brilliant.”
He shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
She didn’t miss the way he emphasized the word job. So, she hadn’t imagined the flare of pain in his eyes when she’d thrown out that threat earlier. She’d regretted the words the second they left her mouth. Regardless of what had happened between them, Kit didn’t trust anyone else to find her sister. She just had to remember that’s all she could trust him to do.
“I brought fresh clothes from my house earlier,” she said. “I can be ready first thing in the morning.”
“Me, too.”
She started out of the room, encouraged that she might see her sister in less than twelve hours.
“Good job on deciphering that puzzle from your sister. She’s nuts.”
She glanced back. “Thanks.”
“Shouldn’t take us too long after finding them to wrap this up. We’ll get them somewhere safe until Tony can get what he needs, get him
some backup from the FBI.”
She nodded. By this time tomorrow, she’d be with Liz. And her time with Rafe would be nearly over. The realization that they could be this close to parting slid a hot needle of regret through her.
Didn’t he feel any of that same regret? She could read nothing in the guarded, black depths of his eyes. Nothing about what had happened between them at the creek. He appeared unaffected, as if it hadn’t happened, but it had. She wouldn’t forget it; she didn’t want him to, either.
Impulsively, she said, “I meant what I said at the creek today.”
He looked startled; after a moment, he said, “So did I.” She saw in his eyes that he really had. He wasn’t going to give them another chance. He’d moved on; she had to do the same.
Trying to breathe past the aching tightness in her chest, Kit left the room.
Chapter 9
Even as Rafe drove Kit to her bank the next morning, the blood still pounded hot in his veins. The image of her in that drop-dead-red nightgown made his pulse hitch even now.
She sat in the soft leather seat next to his, close enough that he could feel her warmth. All morning, she’d been polite and reserved. But he noted the way she drummed her fingers nervously on her knee, fidgeted in her seat.
He was tense, too, but maybe not for the same reason. It wasn’t that her fluttery slip of a nightgown had bared too much, but that he knew exactly what she looked like under that gown. He clenched and unclenched a fist, downshifted to turn into the parking lot. The memory of those long, sleek legs disappearing beneath berry satin, high breasts peaking with just a look from him chipped steadily away at his common sense. Had they only been together three days? It felt like a lot longer.
I meant what I said at the creek.
He’d told her he had, too. Told her he wasn’t going to give them, her, another chance. Right now, he didn’t feel one bit sure.
Hope, something he thought he had squashed years ago, had flared at the earnest promise in her smoky blue eyes. She made him almost believe that she could really commit completely to him.
Morning sunlight glittered off the large tinted windows of the bank. He swung the ’Vette into a empty space near the front door.