Still the One by Debra Cowan Page B

trail. Once they found her, Kit could get the hell out of his life. That was what he needed.
     
    It hadn’t been only the last few days of uncertainty over Liz that had kept Kit up all night. It had been the undeniable presence of the man down the hall, the masculine musk she’d smelled moments ago in the bathroom while she’d showered.
    As she walked into the living room the next morning, she caught a flash of Rafe’s bare brown shoulder throughthe doorway leading to the kitchen. He moved out of her line of vision to the refrigerator.
    The aroma of fresh coffee and spicy sausage wafted out to her. She paused in the doorway of the airy, clean-lined kitchen, watching him for a moment. He was always so alert, so intense; it was nice to observe him in a relaxed state.
    “Yeah, the name’s Alexander. First or last name,” Rafe said into the phone snagged between his ear and his collarbone. Standing over a skillet, he forked several patties of sizzling sausage to their other side. “I’m looking for someone who’s been here for at least the last two years or had ties here, someone who could’ve visited my missing person in prison.”
    He was talking to his uncle, she guessed. Barefoot, wearing only worn, snug jeans slung low on narrow hips, Rafe was enough to make a long breath ease out of her. He was gorgeous. All over. Always had been. Her gaze skated up long runner’s legs to the tight butt and over the fluid flex of muscle in his back and shoulders.
    She missed his longer hair, but the shorter cut emphasized the strength in his neck, the noble planes of his jaw. Her mouth went dry, and she shifted, drawing his gaze over his shoulder.
    He held up a finger, indicating he’d be finished in a minute, and she nodded, moving into the living room.
    “Okay, let me know what you find. You’ve got my cell phone number, right?”
    Rafe’s voice faded as she skirted the navy leather sofa, edged around the walnut end table, which held a cordless phone and a lamp with a black wrought-iron base. Her feet sank into plush gray carpet, complementing the pale gray walls and clean white woodwork.
    She trailed a hand along the sofa’s supple back as she slid her cell phone from her pocket and punched in herfather’s cell phone number. He’d left the day before Liz’s disappearance to attend a pharmaceutical sales conference.
    She could still feel Rafe’s arms around her, and a little ache of want still coiled deep in her belly. Insistent, relentless. The comfort he’d given her at the shooting range had haunted her all night, spinning wishes for things she’d walked away from, making her want. Him. A different life.
    As the phone rang on the other end, Kit swallowed against a ragged ache in her throat and walked to the patio doors. Rafe had removed the pool’s tarp and begun filling the pool with water. Patterned mosaic tiles, a single border around the top of the pool, sparkled green and blue in the early morning sunlight. Rising water glimmered.
    Harv Foley answered the phone.
    “Dad?”
    “Kit! Have you found Liz?”
    “No, not yet.”
    “Any word?”
    “No.” She hated dashing the hope in his voice.
    “She’ll call you, honey. I’m sure she’s fine.”
    Kit wanted him to believe that because she was no longer sure she did. She didn’t want to worry her father by telling him about the bug Rafe had found in her house or the tracking device planted on his car or the unidentified man who’d shown up at his office yesterday.
    “I’m coming down there. I can leave my conference.”
    “No,” Kit said firmly. “There’s no need.”
    “I think we should hire someone.”
    “I did.” Her gaze skipped to the hot tub, her mind flashing an image of Rafe rising out of the water like a nude, ancient warrior. “Daddy, it’s Rafe.”
    Silence. “Rafe Blackstock?”
    She hesitated. “Yes.”
    “I thought he went off to fly jets.”
    She explained he’d left the Air Force and moved back to Oklahoma to be near his