by Debra Cowan
“Not yet.” She tried to keep the tightness out of her voice. It wasn’t Nita’s fault that Liz was as irresponsible as they came.
The older woman moved gracefully around the neatly organized desk, glancing at Rafe. “I’ll post these photos on the Internet and also e-mail them to your uncle at the local FBI office.”
“Thanks.”
Nita sank down in her chair, smiling reassuringly at Kit. “If anyone can find your sister, it’s Rafe.”
“Any more messages, Nita?” he asked gruffly.
“He hates to be talked about,” she explained to Kit.
“Especially when I’m standing right here.”
Nita waved a dismissive hand at him, and Kit grinned.
“There are a few messages, nothing urgent, but you did have a suspicious visitor earlier. A man. I’d say early forties.”
Rafe’s gaze sharpened. “What did he look like?”
“About five foot eight, I’d guess. Balding. He had a thick neck, like a bulldog on steroids.”
Kit’s eyebrows arched.
“What time was this?” Rafe asked with a grin.
“Just after eight-thirty. He wouldn’t give his name. He wanted to know if he could speak to you about a cheating wife, but he wouldn’t give any details. Kept asking when you would return or if I knew where to find you. He wouldn’t leave his name, a number, anything. I found it odd.”
“So do I.” Rafe’s gaze moved to Kit.
At the cool speculation in his dark eyes, her heart gave a sudden thump. “You think it’s the guy looking for Tony?”
“Or you.”
She stilled, a chill skipping over her skin. “What do we do?”
“Watch our backs.” He moved around the corner of Nita’s desk and opened the door just beyond, which led into his office. “Thanks, Nita. We’ll be in here for a bit. Could you put a call in to Craig, tell him I’ve got a computer I need him to check out?”
“Sure.” Nita turned a warm smile on Kit. “It was very nice to see you again. I know you’ll find your sister.”
“Thank you.” Kit followed Rafe into his office, taken again with how a sense of him—protective, masculine, strong—filled the room. It was easier to focus on that than dwell on the frustration and uncertainty about when she might hear from Liz.
Tony’s computer, plugged in and humming, sat on a round conference table to the right of Rafe’s desk. He slid into one of the leather chairs that circled the table.
Still spooked by the possibility that Alexander or one of his goons might have been here looking for her, Kit rubbed her arms and walked over to Rafe. Being close to him made her feel steadier. Even though she knew she shouldn’t lean on him emotionally, Kit found it difficult to rein in the urge. Especially since she’d had no word from Liz. Why hadn’t she heard from her sister?
As he typed commands into the computer, Kit tried to keep her gaze on the screen, not on his strong, elegantly tapered fingers. Or the way his face stilled in noble concentration. Nita’s voice crackled over the telephone intercom, and she informed Rafe that his computer expert couldn’t pick up Tony’s computer until after lunch.
Kit rubbed her neck, moved a few feet away. “I thought you didn’t know much about computers.”
“Just enough to poke around the hard drive.”
She nodded, wishing she weren’t so aware of his clean-woods scent. The latent power coiled in his broad shoulders just begged for a woman to lean her head there. The confidence that had been tempered from arrogance to a quiet, solid part of him touched a place deep inside her, a place she thought she’d walled up over the years.
That she was still attracted to him was something she no longer tried to deny. Her gaze followed his hands as he massaged the back of his neck. Would she ever not be attracted to him?
His gaze leveled on her. “Hello?”
She blinked. “What?”
“I asked if you knew how to handle a gun.”
“Handle? You mean, shoot?”
“Yes.” His lips curved.
“No. I don’t have a lot of need to shoot people on my flights. I mean, they either want peanuts or they don’t.”
He chuckled as he glanced at his watch. “I think you should at least know how to load and aim. We have time before Craig’s due. Let’s go to the range.”
“Let’s not,” she suggested brightly. She didn’t want to know anything more about a gun than how to spell it. And something about being in close quarters with him caused a flutter of unease to move through her.
“Kit, I carry.”
“Good. I don’t.”
“It’ll also be a good frustration reliever.”
“I’m not frustrated.” At his look, she shrugged. “Okay, I am.”
“If things get dicey while we’re looking for Liz, I’d like to know you can defend yourself. Without shooting me.”
“Oh. I guess that wouldn’t be good,” she murmured.
“Well, thanks,” he said dryly. “Seriously, I don’t like what Nita just told us about our anonymous visitor. I’ll feel better knowing you’re at least familiar with my…weapon.”
Perhaps it was because of her thoughts, but she could’ve sworn he hesitated over that last word, turned it on a suggestive edge.
His eyes glittered with sultry playfulness, a look she remembered too well.
Her heartbeat kicked up. She stepped quickly away from the table, bumping into the corner of his desk. “I’m ready.”
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 kne
aded 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.
Chapter 6
The 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 goin
g 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.
