Still the One Read online

  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.

  She must’ve read something in his face. Moving to the bed, she reached into the small suitcase that lay open on top and pulled out a robe to match the gown, belting it around her slender waist.

  The satin clung to her in all the places he was trying to avoid looking.

  “Why didn’t you use all those locks?” he growled, pacing to the far side of the room. He had to put some distance between them before he touched her.

  “I would’ve locked them all before I went to bed,” she said defensively. “Besides, you should be glad I didn’t. Otherwise you couldn’t have charged in here like the Lone Ranger.”

  He braced his hands on his hips, staring blankly at a bland pastel watercolor on the wall. His pulse still wheeled; his heart still pounded in his throat. “I thought—I saw him standing in front of your door. I couldn’t tell if he’d been in here or not. As soon as he saw me, he took off.”

  “Did you catch him?”

  He turned. “I wanted to check on you first.”

  Her eyes went liquid, which flashed an immediate danger signal to his brain. But his body was deaf to all except the flirty soap scent of her, the sleek curves silhouetted in red satin.

  Frustration and lingering panic had his hands curling into fists. He would not do something stupid like haul her to him and kiss her until he drowned in her. “The night manager said he saw someone run out of the hotel about that time. I’ll call him in a few minutes.”

  He moved around her and prowled the room, cataloguing details. Her shoes were placed beside the closet. Her travel bag, full of neatly arranged cosmetics and a hair dryer, lay open next to the small suitcase on the bed. The comforter, done in a southwest motif, showed a small indentation where she’d sat. Nothing had been disturbed.

  At the foot of the bed, he stopped and bent his head. What if something had happened to her? He would never have forgiven himself. How, when had Alexander’s goon found their trail again? “He won’t come back, Kit. He won’t want us to get another look at him and he knows we’ll be waiting.”

  “Rafe?” Her palm flattened against the small of his back as she stepped beside him. “I’m okay. Really.”

  “No thanks to me.”

  “There’s no way you could’ve known that guy would show up.” She came around to face him. “We thought he headed out of Wexler after Liz and Tony. Maybe he lost them. Or maybe he planned to follow only us all along. We’ve been watching. There’s been no sign of him or anyone else.”

  Words welled up, apologies, pleas. He tried to rein in his seething emotions. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Kit.”

  “I know that.” Her gaze burned into his like smoky sapphires. “I’ve always known that.”

  There was such confidence in her eyes, such trust. Something dark and sharp twisted deep inside him. “You’re really okay?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze drifted over his face; she smiled.

  He couldn’t help it. He reached out, stroked one finger down her velvety cheek. It surprised him to see that his hand was shaking. She was alive and fine.

  She caught his hand, held it in both of hers. But it wasn’t enough.

  He didn’t give a damn if he was an idiot. He had to feel her, all of her. Soft and sleek and warm up against him.

  He slid his free arm around her, pulled her to him. And just held her. Breathed in her freshly showered scent, savored the cool wetness of her hair against his cheek, felt her heartbeat thudding against his.

  He closed his eyes, emotions he’d corralled so tightly pushing at his weakening restraint. “I’m staying in here tonight,” he said gruffly.

  She pulled back to look at him, and he thought he saw a flicker of panic. “You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight until this thing is wrapped up.”

  She still held his hand cradled in both of hers, pressed between her breasts. Her gaze, uncertain and dark, searched his face. For a minute, he thought she might argue.

  Then she smiled, a sweet, teasing smile. “Okay, but you’re not getting the bed.”

  He grinned even as his arm tightened around her. After a moment, she laid her head on his chest again, relaxing into him.

  She was really all right. And she would continue to be, he told himself. No matter what he had to do.

  His reflection stared back at him from a gold-framed wall mirror set over the room’s desk. It wasn’t just that he wanted her; it was that he still felt something for her. There was no denying the paralyzing panic that had squeezed his chest when he’d thought something had happened to her. And it told him that all the emotions he’d dismissed and stuffed into a tight corner of his heart had now erupted. Not just searing lust, but fear and need and regret.

  He didn’t think he could let her walk away this time. And he had no idea in hell if he had the guts to give her the one thing that might stop her—his heart.

  An hour later, Kit lay on her side in bed, staring into the darkness with her back to Rafe. She could hear him breathing, smell the woodsy hint of him. And while it reassured her to have him stretched out in that overstuffed chair at the foot of the bed, her ner
ves flickered like tiny, secret flames.

  She’d been frightened earlier, that split second when he’d burst into her room and then again for a moment when he’d told her about Alexander’s man outside her room. That man could very well have been the one to run Liz off the road. He had been spotted at Eddie Sanchez’s before the murder.

  Even so, right now she felt perfectly safe. Rafe had said he would never let anything happen to her, and she believed him completely. What had her stomach dancing was what she wanted to happen…with him.

  After missing Liz this morning in Wexler, Kit had known it was a double-edged sword that her time with Rafe had been prolonged. As difficult as it was to be near him, she was glad for the extra time. And because of that, an urgency pushed at her, tried to wash over her conscience.

  He’d told her where he stood, where they stood, but she wanted him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

  After seeing the panic in his eyes turn to relief when he’d found she was all right, she knew he still felt something for her. Things weren’t really over between them. They couldn’t be. Not when just the thought of leaving him again blasted a cold in her that made it nearly impossible to breathe. She would do whatever it took to keep him in her life this time.

  She’d been kidding about taking the whole bed, but he’d firmly declined her offer to share. He spent several long minutes on the phone with the night manager and then the local police to report the incident. He’d given them a description of the man and the car and asked them to be on the lookout.

  After pulling the wide overstuffed chair to the foot of her bed, he’d slouched down where he would have a full visual of the door in case anyone tried to come in. Beside him, on a round, glass-topped table, lay his gun.

  She didn’t have to turn over to know that he was finally asleep. She heard his breathing go deep and even, felt the subtle shift in her pulse from steady to standby. His familiar scent clung to her from their earlier embrace and plucked at the tension ticking against her nerves.

  Each breath she took pushed her breasts against the satin of her gown and made her long to feel his hands there. An insistent ache built between her legs.