Still the One (15 page)

“Find something to do while we wait.”

Her gaze met his. There wasn’t one bit of suggestion in his tone, in his look. Just a cool steadiness. “All right.”

What was she wanting to see? Desire? Regret? He’d made it clear where they stood.

A muffled ring sounded, and Kit jumped, then grabbed her purse from the back seat. Another ring and she had it out. “Yes! Hello!”

“What happened?” Liz demanded. “Could you not figure out my hints?”

Kit’s lips twisted, and her gaze shot to Rafe. She stabbed a finger toward the phone, indicating that it was Liz. He leaned close, and she held the phone between them so he could hear. “I figured it out, if you meant Wexler, Kansas.”

“Yes, so what’s the deal?” Her sister’s voice rose. “I waited almost three hours for that money.”

“Are you guys all right?” Kit asked.

“Yes.”

“I brought the money. I’m here. We can meet right now.”

“You
brought
it?” Liz’s voice turned shrill, and Kit moved the phone a fraction away. “I thought I could depend on you. What are we going to do? We need that money, Kit! I can’t believe you would trick me this way.”

“Give me a break, Liz. I’m trying to help you.”

“Then why don’t I have that money?” her sister snapped.

“You’re going to meet me and get it,” Kit said, warmed by Rafe’s thumbs-up. “Rafe can get protection for Tony while he—”

“Rafe!” her sister exploded. “Rafe Blackstock?”

“Yes, and he—”

“Oh, good grief. No wonder you’re not thinking straight.”

Kit ignored that, though her blood started a slow boil. “Liz, he’s a P.I. now. He’s been helping me all along.”

“It was probably his idea not to wire that money.”

“It was a good idea,” Kit said tightly.

“Tell her you’ll wire it now,” Rafe whispered.

Kit frowned.

He nodded, his gaze urging. “Go on.”

“I’ll wire it now, Liz, if you don’t want to meet me.”

“We’re gone, Kit. We’re not coming back there. We think we saw one of Alexander’s men.”

“That’s why you should let us meet you somewhere.”

“So they can do to us what they did to Eddie? No, thanks.”

The scorn in her sister’s voice needled Kit, but she recognized the fear underneath. “Tell me where to send the money.”

“Will you really do it this time?”

Rafe nodded, his cheek nudging hers.

“Yes,” Kit said, refusing to dwell on the feel of his warm, supple skin, the smooth jaw.

“Promise?” Liz asked.

“Yes.” Kit gritted the word out, about ready to pass the phone off to Rafe.

“Okay. Remember the first boy I ever kissed? Second grade.”

Frustrated, Kit let her forehead fall forward. Rafe’s breath washed against her neck, her earlobe. “No, I don’t remember.”

“Second grade, Kit. And it’s in the same state we’re all in now. Wire the money to the First State Bank there.”

And she hung up.

With careful deliberation, afraid she might scream, Kit also hung up, then shoved the phone in her purse. “She makes me so mad,” she said between gritted teeth.

“I know, but we’ve got to focus on what she said, figure out where she wants to pick up that money.”

“The First State Bank of Nowhere, Kansas,” she muttered, her relief at hearing Liz’s voice short-lived. “All right, all right, I’m trying.”

Rafe chuckled, his shoulder lifting against hers. “You gotta admit no one else could figure out where they are. Not from tapping the phone, anyway.”

“Ugh.” Kit shoved a hand through her hair, trying for all she was worth to remember the first boy Liz had kissed.

Rafe moved away, casually angling back against the door, but Kit felt the withdrawal like a slap. This was the way things were going to be; she had to accept it.

“Okay, second grade.” She drummed her fingers on her knee, too aware of Rafe’s spicy scent, the way his broad shoulders blocked the window behind him. “Oh, Will…Grady. Yes, that’s it.”

“Okay, let’s take a look.” Rafe reached under his seat and pulled out the atlas he’d brought.

Leaning over, her shoulder against his, she scanned the map of Kansas. “A town in Kansas named Will? William? Williams? Williamstown?”

“Grady City.” Rafe stabbed a finger at a small dot on the opposite side of the state. “Straight west of here, clear across Kansas. Looks like four hundred miles or so.”

“They must be planning to drive all night.”

“If she wants to pick up that money tomorrow, I’d say you’re right.”

“So, we go, too, right?”

“Right.”

She took the atlas from him and dropped it in the back seat. “First stop Check It Out?”

“Yes. We’ll wire the money, drive on to Grady City and be there to meet Liz at the bank in the morning.”

“I like the way you think.”

He flashed her a grin that caused a flutter in her stomach. She flat out gave up on ignoring it; she just couldn’t. The man got to her quicker than lightning to a rod, and she was out of resolve to fight it.

Less than half an hour later, they had wired sixteen hundred dollars to the First State Bank of Grady City and were headed north on US-69 to US-54 West. Her nerves were stretched thin from keeping up a casual front. This was going to be a long night.

H
e was doing fine, Rafe told himself as they drove. Even if his car had never felt so small. For nearly twelve hours, he’d been sitting mere inches from Kit, breathing the same air, feeling every one of her movements in nerve endings that were too sensitive. About three hundred miles back, he had put himself in a holding pattern, refusing to allow his mind to go anywhere but the case. He hadn’t and
wouldn’t
think about Kit and the need closing around him like an insidious fog.

He shifted his legs beneath the car’s dashboard, his knees banging into the glove compartment. He had the passenger seat as far back as it would go. Once the sun had set, Kit had offered to drive because of his night blindness.

He’d wanted to drive, wanted something to occupy his mind and his hands, but he could see that she needed to feel as if she were helping. Since his night vision in the last year had become noticeably worse, he’d agreed.

They’d talked about music and movies, even water-
skiing, and Kit had followed his lead, not once broaching a subject with more personal relevance than that. The whole time, he’d kept an eye out for a silver sedan or any sign of a tail.

She’d been in such perfect sync with his thoughts and suggestions today that they were starting to operate like two old partners. Satisfied with what they’d learned in Wexler, he couldn’t stop his admiration over the way she’d handled Liz. Better than he’d ever seen.

He’d always wanted to be the one person with whom Kit could let down her guard, release the lock on that iron-maiden control. Maybe when they’d been together before, he’d asked too much of her, too quickly. Since they’d hooked up to find Liz, she’d let him see frustration, uncertainty, fear. The old Kit never would have shown such vulnerability.

Too late, he reminded himself. The time for regret was past. Yet, he wondered what it would be like if she turned that intense, single-minded focus on him.

He slammed the door on the thought. It wasn’t going to happen. And he wasn’t letting his mind wander to silky, tantalizing corners like that anymore.

Discipline and self-control were second nature to him, right? He was Air Force, after all. He could do this. He
was
doing it. He refused to be distracted by something he didn’t know how to deal with. He cared for her—she’d been his first love, and he supposed he would always have feelings for her—but he wouldn’t go back.

They reached Grady City limits just after one in the morning and pulled up under a single red flashing light at an intersection in the middle of the prairie. Flat wheat fields, barren of trees, rippled unendingly into the sooty night. Silver clouds, trimmed in midnight black, scudded across the sky in front of a translucent, milk-white moon.

After consulting the map, they turned right at the inter-
section and drove into town. Seeing Kit stifle a yawn for the third time, he suggested they stop at the first hotel they saw. Within half an hour, they were settled into clean, moderately priced rooms across the hall from one another.

He told Kit good-night, trying not to notice how sexy she looked with her short hair tousled by repeated finger combings. Or how the smudges under her tired eyes tugged at him.

He stood in the open doorway of his room, waiting until she locked herself in and he heard the dead bolt slide home. Restless and edgy, he moved into his room, closed the door. Walking to the window, he nudged back one edge of the nubby oatmeal-and-turquoise striped curtain. He’d requested rooms on this side of the hotel so he could keep an eye on the parking lot.

The night was dark and still, the parking lot empty of people. Tall fluorescent light poles sent pools of yellow light onto the asphalt, slithering under and around bodies of cars. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Eyes gritty from fatigue, he rubbed a hand over his face. He was wound up from being so close to Kit all day, listening to her soft voice strum over his nerves. Images of her chased through his mind. Snatches of the conversation they’d had about her mom’s death. The complete surrender on her face when he’d kissed her at the creek. The way she’d faced his parents.

He was tired, his defenses down, he told himself as he put a mental brake on the thoughts. A good night’s rest was what he needed to clear his head. Again, he scanned the cars in the parking lot, then froze as his mind registered where his gaze had stopped. A silver sedan.

It looked like the same make and model as the one that had tailed them in Oklahoma City.

He picked up the phone and called to tell Kit that he was
going down to check out the parking lot. No need to alarm her until he got a close look.

She answered, her low, drowsy voice causing the muscles in his belly to pull tight. The conversation lasted less than thirty seconds, but his body still throbbed as he took the stairs from their second-floor rooms to the lobby level.

Once outside, he walked across the parking lot and double-checked the silver sedan. Yes, it was the same car. And it was empty.

Sensation buzzing at the base of his spine, he spun toward the hotel. He was the only soul out here, his the only footsteps scuffing along the pavement. So, where was Alexander’s baboon?

Spurred by the reminder that Kit was alone, Rafe jogged inside and to the stairwell door. He took the steps two at a time, not questioning the increasing pace of his strides or the concern that knotted the muscles in his neck.

He opened the door to the second floor, his gaze shooting down the short hallway. A man stood in front of Kit’s door, holding the handle.

“Hey!” Adrenaline hit his system like a live current and Rafe took off running.

The guy didn’t even look at him, just spun and bolted down the hall, rounded the corner. Wall sconces cast a soft light and provided enough illumination for Rafe to get a good look at the man. Short. Balding. One of Alexander’s apes.

Concern shot through him, and he raced past eight rooms before he cornered at the end just as the man had. He didn’t see the guy anywhere, knew he could easily be led into chasing the man around the entire floor, which was laid out in a square. Nearby, a heavy door slammed shut. The door leading to the stairs. Rafe heard the muffled sound of footsteps pounding down the steps. The man was gone.

Kit!

Rafe pivoted and raced to her room. That guy hadn’t had time to get into her room. Had he?

Rafe pounded on her door. “Kit!”

No answer.

He pressed an ear to the door but heard nothing. Rattling the door’s long handle, he pounded harder. “Kit!”

“Hey, keep it down out there, will ya?” A scratchy female voice sounded through a half-open door behind him.

“Sorry.” He fought down panic that lodged in his throat like a stone. “Kit!”

Why didn’t she answer? Was she asleep? He snatched his card key out of his pocket, raced into his room and grabbed the phone. Dragging the cord and phone box as far as he could, he propped open his door with one foot, his gaze glued to her door. Willing her to pick up the phone.

The corresponding rings sounded in her room, but there was no answer. She was all right. She had to be. If that bald-headed bastard had done anything to her…

Rafe dumped the phone onto the bed and hurried across the hall, pounded on the door again. Nothing.

By this time, several other guest doors had opened. Sleepy-eyed people poked their heads out, grumbling and demanding quiet. “What’s going on?”

“Was there a robbery?”

“I chased a man out of here a while ago,” Rafe said, fear sliding icy fingers down his spine. “Now I can’t get any answer from my…from Kit.”

“Let’s call the manager,” the raspy-voiced woman suggested.

He tried to shoulder the door open. Tried his own card key with no luck. Again, he pounded on the door. Still nothing. Apprehension closed over him, suffocating, pinching his gut.

The elevator bell dinged, and he glanced down the hall, recognized the swarthy features of the night manager.

“Waz de trouble?” the man asked in thickly accented English.

Rafe was glad one of the guests had called the man. He tried to sound calm against the dread welling like a tide inside him.

“I need to get into Ms. Foley’s room right now. I’ve been knocking and there’s no answer. I’m afraid something may have happened.”

“I can’t let you in unless—”

“I know you remember me from checking in earlier.” Rafe advanced, hoping the six inches he had on the guy would intimidate him. “I chased a guy off this floor a while ago, a man who was trying to get into this room. He is not one of your guests. Understand?”

The manager’s olive skin paled, and he nodded. “I did see a man rush out of the hotel.”

“I need in that room,” Rafe said, his chest hurting at the possibility that something might have happened to Kit.

“Yes, yes, of course.” With a shaking hand, the manager slid in his card key.

The lock clicked, and Rafe grabbed the handle, yanked open the door, sliding his Magnum from the small of his back.

“Should I—”

“Wait here.” He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the room as he thumbed off the safety on his gun.

By the soft, white light of a corner lamp, he quickly registered that the bed, dresser, closet were all undisturbed. But just behind the room door he held open with his arm, the bathroom door was shut. He heard the shower, had visions of Kit lying in there hurt.

Apprehension a slick, greasy knot in his belly, he
snatched open the door just in time to see her sweep back the shower curtain.

His gun was already up, leveled, when he yelled, “Kit!”

She screamed, plastered the shower curtain across her breasts.

He registered naked glistening flesh, surprised eyes.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, raking back her wet hair. “How did you get in here?”

No blood. No sign that anyone had been in here, either. She’d been taking a shower the entire time. His knees nearly buckled in relief. He thumbed the safety on, returned his gun to the small of his back.

“I’m taking a shower here, Blackstock. Are you crazy?”

“Be right back.” He leaned around the still-open door and met the wide-eyed stare of the night manager and the three guests who’d joined him.

All hid smiles behind their hands.

Heat crept up his neck as he spoke to the manager. “Looks like she’s all right, but I do want to talk to you later about the man you saw.”

The man nodded, his curious gaze going past Rafe. “Is she—”

“She’s fine.” As Rafe shut the door, he heard the swell of excited voices, the night manager trying to calm everyone. Rafe slid the dead bolt, set the chain and twisted the knob lock before turning to find Kit standing in the shower just as he’d left her, her eyes huge.

She clutched the beige plastic curtain to her as if it were a family heirloom.

Stepping into the doorway of the bathroom, he stared into her blue-gray eyes, losing himself for a moment, reassuring himself that she was all right. Relief drummed through him, though it didn’t quiet the thunder of his heart or thaw the frigid knot in his belly.

At his look, she went still. A frown puckered between her dark brows. “What happened?”

Concern flickered in her eyes, and he knew she’d recognized the same emotion in his. Her fingers tightened on the shower curtain.

“Everything’s okay,” he said automatically.

“Rafe,” she snapped. “I know you didn’t come in for me…uh, because you wanted…
Why
did you come in here?”

She had never looked more beautiful. Her mink-dark hair was wet and slicked back from her oval face, her lashes spiky. The scents of fresh soap and shampoo and woman steamed around him.

He ached to touch her, to feel that she was all right. He told himself it was enough that he could
see
she was. He wasn’t aware he’d moved until the shower spray misted his face. Water jetted against the curtain, pinged the sides of the porcelain tub. Diamond droplets of water shimmered in the cleft where her bare shoulder joined her neck.

Unable to take his gaze from her, he curled his hands into fists at his side. “I went downstairs to check out the parking lot.”

“Yes, you told me.” Her skin was flushed pink from her shower; her eyes glowed like smoky jewels.

The thin beige shower curtain clung to her body like plastic wrap, revealing the vague impression of a nipple, the flare of a hip, the slope of a lean thigh. His mouth went dry.

Apprehension flashed across her features, and she reached up to turn off the shower. In the ensuing quiet, she said, “Tell me.”

“When I came up, there was a man standing in front of your door.”

Her body went rigid. “A man?”

“A short, bald man.” He crossed his arms against the urge to gather her to him when her eyes widened with fear.

“He was in here?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve checked your room and nothing looks disturbed. I think I interrupted him before he could get in.”

She gripped the curtain so tight it strained at the shower rings. “I thought that guy was in front of us. You’ve been watching for his car ever since we left home. Where did he come from?”

“I wish I knew,” he said, thinking it probably wouldn’t hurt if he just touched her cheek.

She was fine, he told himself. He didn’t need to put his hands on her. Hurting with the effort, he turned away.

“Rafe?” Her voice trembled slightly.

That was to be expected. He’d burst in and scared her to death. “I’m an idiot. I’m sorry I scared you. I saw that car and went down to check it out. Which gave Ape Boy a perfect opportunity.”

“How could you know he’d come up here?” she asked. He heard the slide and click of shower curtain rings, felt her move behind him.

He forced his suddenly wooden legs to move, to take him out of the bathroom and to the foot of her bed.

“He’s never approached us before. If he’s the one who put that bug in my house, he did it while I was gone.” She sounded close.

He turned, saw she stood only a foot away. She wore that same berry-red gown she’d worn last night at his house. Hunger twisted in his belly. He ached to pull her to him, slide his hands over flesh that was probably still warm and damp from her shower, feel her heart beating next to his.