about that time she ran off with the high school quarterback? Stephen Hankins?” Rafe reminded her.
“They were in Mexico, plastered on margaritas and begging a priest to marry them when you found her.”
That had been right after the death of Rafe’s grandfather. Kit had come home with him for the funeral, then left before it even started to chase after her sister. Again. Resentment curled through him. He thought he’d forgotten about that. Apparently not.
“So you won’t help me?” Kit stopped in front of his desk, anger snapping in her eyes.
He kept his gaze on her, refusing to dwell on the protective urge that shot through him. “She is an adult and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of foul play.”
“She called me this morning, terrified.”
He tapped a finger on his desk. “What did she say? Did she go with Tony willingly?”
“She said she couldn’t talk long because the call could be traced. She told me she was all right, that she’d be calling me later to wire some money.”
“To where?”
“She’s going to let me know. In the meantime, I can get some money together.”
Rafe bit off the sharp comment that rose to his lips and said gently, “It doesn’t sound as if she’s in trouble, Kit.”
She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut briefly. “She is.”
Whether Liz was in trouble or not, he could see Kit believed she was. Using his most soothing tone, he put himself on automatic pilot, which he should’ve done from the beginning. “Talk to me.”
Her hands, on top of his desk, fisted. Then unfisted, fisted. “Tony, her husband, was in prison for a computer scam and he was released about two weeks ago.”
Rafe held up a hand. “Wait a minute. Liz married a computer guy?”
“Yes.”
“She doesn’t go for computer guys.”
“She did.”
“He’s not into sports at all? Doesn’t play basketball or drive race cars or something?”
“No.” Kit tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I told you she’s changed.”
Evidently not enough, Rafe thought.
Walking to the opposite wall, Kit halted in front of a vintage black-and-white photograph of turn-of-the-century Oklahoma City. She wrapped both slender arms around her waist. “Tony got a job, was really trying to get his life straightened out.”
Her tongue darted out to moisten her rose lips.
Rafe’s belly drew up at the sight of that tongue, and he glanced down, scrawling some notes.
“I’m not sure I understand it all myself,” she said.
“When Liz called, I told her to put Tony on so he could tell me what was happening. Evidently he was sent to prison for manipulating stock prices on the New York Stock Exchange, making some money for a friend in serious financial trouble. Tony told me that while he was in prison, a man contacted him, a man with ties to organized crime.”
“Did he give you a name?”
“Alexander.”
“First or last name?” Rafe’s gaze tracked Kit’s agitated movements across his plush burgundy carpet.
“He didn’t say.” She surreptitiously swiped at a tear, and Rafe’s heart squeezed. She hated crying, hated even more for people to see it. Pulling a piece of paper from the side pocket of her purse, she passed it to Rafe. “Liz left this for me at the hospital.”
Rafe took the note, read the curvy scrawl. The mob’s after us. I’ll call.
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Liz’s dramatics.
Kit went on, “This man wanted Tony to pull the same scam for him on the prison computer, but Tony said he refused. Alexander threatened to hurt Liz if Tony didn’t do what he wanted. Tony said that man—” She halted, her shoulders sagging.
Concern had Rafe’s fingers curling into the arms of his chair. During that intense year they’d dated, he’d seen Kit cry only once, and it hadn’t been the day they’d broken up. It had been the day she’d heard that her sister had eloped with the local hockey team’s goalie. That had been marriage number one. He wasn’t sure what number Tony, the computer guy, was.
Rafe knew he shouldn’t touch Kit, but he rose, walked around his desk and settled his hand on her shoulder anyway, trying to discount the way she leaned slightly into his touch, the way her body heat shot straight up his arm.
She kept her head averted. Her musky scent slid into his lungs, knotting him up with regret and awareness. His hand was mere inches from the creamy flesh of her throat, the warm cleft where her neck and shoulder met, where he used to—
Get a grip. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks.” She dragged in a deep breath, then went on in a wobbly voice that mangled his insides. “Tony said Alexander was responsible for Liz’s accident, that he made it happen.”
“Where was it?”
“Just north of One Fiftieth Street on Western. There’s a hard curve there.”
He nodded. “On the edge of Edmond city limits. I’m familiar with it.”
Just two weeks ago, a man had made the local news for taking that curve too fast and flipping his car forty feet into the ravine below. Liz could’ve done the same thing.
“So,” Kit said, “Tony did what Alexander wanted while he was in prison.”
“Using the prison’s computer? How long did it take the warden to catch him?”
“Never.”
Rafe’s eyes widened.
She glanced over. “He’s that good, Rafe. A computer guru.”
He nodded, prompting her. “But when he got out, Tony refused to help Alexander?”
“Yes.”
“So you think Liz’s accident was deliberate. And now she’s disappeared with Tony. I can see why you’re concerned,” Rafe said gently. With some surprise, he recognized a flare of anger. Liz was always pulling stunts, putting Kit through all kinds of hell and expecting her to ride to the rescue. “Doesn’t Tony think Alexander will look for him?”
“I really don’t know what he thinks.” She stepped away from Rafe and pulled a tissue from her purse.
Rafe’s hand fell to his side, and he moved back to his chair. Jaw tight, he shrugged off the insidious thought
