Still the One. Debra Cowan

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      Kit took in the steel jaw, the piercing, narrowed eyes. Had he ever forgiven her for refusing him? “I won’t get in your way.”

      She couldn’t tell if she was reaching him or not. The Rafe she’d known—loved—hadn’t had those black eyes that hardened to marble. Hadn’t been able to disappear beneath a stoic mask of indifference. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling. Panic sawed at her.

      “I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

      “I don’t like working with anyone,” Rafe said bluntly.

      “Well, I didn’t love coming in here, but I did it.” She clenched her fists, stepping toward him. “Liz is in danger. I have to find her. You don’t know what it’s like to feel helpless, to feel—”

      “I do know.” His voice lashed the air as he pushed out of his chair, tension coiling in his broad shoulders.

      Kit took a reflexive step back, frowning at the harsh emotion beneath his words.

      “I know helplessness, second-guessing, uncertainty—” He broke off, anger vibrating from him. “Don’t tell me I don’t.”

      She shook her head. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

      “Don’t presume to know anything about my life, Kit. Don’t make assumptions about me.”

      What had happened? She swallowed the question. She had no right to know anything about him, no right to care. She’d given that up long ago.

      He leaned across the desk toward her, eyes blazing, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “Just because we were involved once doesn’t mean you know me now. Doesn’t mean you know anything about me.”

      “I could say the same to you.”

      The air snapped tight, hummed with old anger, past hurts.

      Fury tautened his carved features; his throat worked. “Let’s agree to stick to this case,” he said hoarsely. “And facts about this case only.”

      She nodded, her mouth dry, her heart hammering with the same wildness it had the first time she’d ever noticed him. He’d been running to class, up the hill past her. Long, lean legs bared by denim shorts, moving with a muscular fluidity that slowed her steps. The wispy image of his burnished flesh sliding against her pale skin floated through her mind.

      She slammed the door on those thoughts. She wasn’t going to let her hormones—or her memories—get in the way of finding Liz.

      “It’s not a good idea for you to come along,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

      “Still think you ought to be calling all the shots, don’t you, Blackstock?”

      Surprise widened his eyes a fraction. “This is how I do business.”

      “This is why we didn’t work out ten years ago.”

      Says you. His hands fisted as he studied the opposite wall. “I can move faster if I’m alone. And there will be situations where people might not talk to me if you’re around. This really is best, Kit. Take it or leave it.”

      Ten years ago, she’d walked away from this very thing, but she didn’t have that luxury now. “Maybe my sitting around doing nothing is not best for me. Or for Liz.”

      “Let me do my job. I’ll check in with you as often as you like, every step if you want, but it’s best if I’m solo.”

      She set her jaw, her gaze burning into his. “I’m paying your fee. I should get to call the shots.”

      “Not with me.”

      Frustration hardened her voice. “How did you get in this line of work, anyway? It’s got nothing to do with flying jets.”

      His face closed. “Long story.”

      One he plainly wasn’t going to tell her. Swallowing against a sharpness in her throat, she said, “Fine.”

      He tapped a finger on the desk, his gaze scouring her face. “No more talk about the past.”

      “Fine.” She knew that was for the best, but the old wound inside her cracked open.

      He irritated her, but even so, he was the one man she regretted walking away from. The one man who could reach places in her no one else ever could.

      She couldn’t ignore the knot in her belly that was part anger, part anticipation. Not affected by him? Who was she kidding?

      She wanted him to reassure her, tell her he’d find Liz quickly, that she would be able to handle all this. But she squared her shoulders against the maverick wish. She needed Rafe to find her sister. That was all.

      She couldn’t let herself start needing him for anything else.

      The sun sank to the horizon in a smear of gold and purple, edging the clouds with shimmering light. As Rafe drove north on May Avenue behind Kit’s car, following her from her brother-in-law’s apartment to her house, he rolled his shoulders 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 СКАЧАТЬ