Still the One. Debra Cowan
against an edginess that worked through him, made him feel cornered. What he wanted right now was distance, but he’d needed Kit’s access to Tony Valentine’s apartment and her house.
She hadn’t been shy about letting him know she didn’t appreciate the way he did business. Even now, his blood charged at the thought. That sassy, sharp-tongued woman was not the Kit he’d known. No, sir. And he liked this new Kit. Which was why it would be better for both of them if he worked alone. Hell, it would be better for him. He needed to stay on this side of the past. Letting her tag along on this case would make that difficult, if not impossible.
He didn’t like the idea of spending a lot of time with her. Hell, any time with her. Rafe’s lips twisted.
The scent of fresh-cut grass and car exhaust drifted through the window of his ’67 Stingray. Golden light shimmered across the Corvette’s sleek black hood. He was making a big deal out of nothing. It was the shock of seeing her—his first love—after all these years, that was all. Plus the fact that he didn’t like working with anyone, especially the client who’d hired him. But with Kit there was another layer.
Calling in to report once or twice a day he could handle. Breathing the same air, smelling her provocative scent, having her in his space—no, thanks.
He rubbed his chest against the ache that had settled there upon first seeing her. The focus, the action of working the case would enable him to treat her like any other client. Eventually.
So far, so good. They hadn’t discussed the old days while Rafe had searched Tony’s place for scraps of paper, plane or bus ticket stubs, anything that might give a clue as to where Valentine had gone.
On the assumption that Valentine really was being watched by the mob as he’d told Kit, Rafe had swept the guy’s place for bugs and surveillance equipment. And found nothing. As a precaution, he needed to sweep Kit’s place, too. If he didn’t find anything there, he’d be free to start working the case. Alone.
As he swung his ’Vette behind her late-model four-door compact in the drive of a small brick house, his stomach clenched. He’d never seen Kit’s home, never known she lived in this popular older neighborhood. After college, she’d gone to work for a major airline in Tulsa. How long had she been in Oklahoma City? Longer than the three years since his own return?
Those questions had nothing to do with her supposedly missing sister. Rafe pushed them aside as he got out of the car, grabbing his device for detecting transmitters and his cell phone. Sergeant Kent Porter, a buddy from the Oklahoma City Police Department, had promised to call Rafe back after reviewing the report of the traffic accident that had sent Liz to the hospital. Porter had also said he would see what he could find out about any do-wrongs named Alexander.
Rafe followed Kit up the neatly swept concrete porch steps, flanked by terra-cotta pots brimming with yellow and white petunias. There were no memories for him here, nothing to distract him from the case.
Except the woman whose hips swayed so compellingly as she moved across the porch.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of silver. He turned in time to see the tail end of a sedan cross the intersection at the end of the block. It looked like the same car he’d seen a few minutes ago on May Avenue, right before Kit had turned into her neighborhood. Which could mean that they lived nearby. Or that someone was tailing her.
The little pinch in his gut told Rafe it was the latter, but he’d check again for the car before he left to speak to Valentine’s parents. He turned his attention to her home as she opened the front door and stepped inside.
He put a finger to his lips, then walked in, motioning for her to stay in the entry hall as he activated his bug detector. The late-model CPM-7307 had been modified by a buddy to also pick up the presence of hidden cameras. In addition to locating commonly used transmitters, the tool allowed Rafe to test AC outlets and phone lines. The small metal box, no wider than his wallet, included an output so he could listen for any phone modifications such as resistors or infinity bugs, anything placed on the wire itself.
Kit shook her head, wearing the same expression of amazement and disbelief she’d worn when he performed a search at her brother-in-law’s apartment.
Rafe bit back a grin. Making a quick sweep, he moved through the living room, peripherally aware of the honey-colored walls and ivory woodwork, the bold punctuation of color around the room. One wall of built-in bookcases boasted two shelves devoted to titles regarding functional family relationships. Interesting.
The scent of Kit’s light perfume trailed him, but he kept his focus narrowed. He found no bugs or cameras in the kitchen, no bugs in the phones or outlets there or in the living room. Moving down the short hallway off the foyer, he checked two bedrooms and the bath, then the ceiling fan in the living room and one in Kit’s bedroom. He felt along the undersides of her fluffy, distinctly feminine bed, keeping a firm lock on his imagination.
He returned to the front part of the house to test the phone. The dial tones hummed normally, and he removed the earpiece, snapped off his machine and tucked the device into his back pocket of his jeans.
“All clear.” He turned to where she still stood in the doorway. Red-gold sunlight pooled around her legs and shimmered through the light fabric of her dress, outlining her slender calves.
“This thing only scans one room at a time, but it’s thorough. One tone sounds for bugs, another for video equipment.”
She gave a short laugh and closed the door. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“I’ve picked up some things.”
A shadow passed through her eyes and she nodded tightly, wrapping her arms around her waist.
“Think you’ll find anything on that computer?” She referred to the desktop unit Rafe had confiscated from Tony’s, along with some disks.
“If there’s anything to be found on it. I’ve got a guy who’s a whiz with that stuff.”
“I hope so,” she said doubtfully. At his raised eyebrows, she explained, “Tony’s a computer genius. If he wants to hide or erase anything, he can probably do it.”
As she moved from the wood floor of the foyer into the carpeted living area, Rafe was careful to stay in the center of the room. When she flipped on an overhead light, he took a closer look at the living room and the visible part of the kitchen. The soft neutrality of the walls, woodwork and carpet was offset by jewel tones of ruby, emerald and sapphire in pillows, candles, an area rug beneath the dark pecan oval coffee table and frames scattered on the walls.
Kit watched him intently. So still, so quiet. Waiting. Awareness prickled his skin. As his gaze scanned the living room, he tuned in the soft snick of the undulating ceiling fan, the faint barking of a dog down the street. Something was off. Something—
Pictures. The realization hit him like a one-two punch. Rafe stepped closer to the wall, his gaze narrowing on the framed photograph there.
It was of Kit and her sister, brunette heads together, laughing. The distant sound of Kit’s laughter filled his mind, and he shoved away the phantom sound, his gaze skimming the wall.
More pictures. Some of Kit and Liz. One of Kit with her father.
One of Liz and a nice-looking man. Tony?
Kit walked over and removed the photograph from the wall. “This is Tony, just before he went to prison.”
Rafe nodded, taking the picture, studying the man’s intelligent pale gray eyes, the shaggy, medium brown hair. Though Rafe tried to concentrate on the image in front of him, his thoughts skipped back. In college, Kit had never wanted her picture taken. She’d been almost fanatical about that. Rafe had come to learn that was due to her innate shyness.
The only photograph Rafe had ever had of him and Kit had been taken at his fraternity’s spring formal. His mother probably still had it in his box of college stuff in the attic. Judging from the amount of pictures in this room, Kit seemed to have gotten over her aversion,