“Talking is not painful,” she pointed out.

  That was her opinion.

  Kerry sighed. “Look, I just want you to know I appreciate everything you did for me. We met under . . . unusual circumstances.”

  That was one way of putting it. Rafe raised his brows.

  “Okay, I had a stupid scheme that was more desperate than smart, and after drugging you and tying you down, we met. More accurate?”

  He risked another glance at her. Pale, firm thighs, crossed as if protecting the secrets he knew so well. Kerneled nipples, breeze playing with her pale curls, mouth still swollen from his kisses. Like a pale goddess she was. He could only think things like here, mine, now. In contrast, realizing that her first attempt hadn’t gone well, Kerry was probably looking for a gentler way to dump him on his ass.

  Not trusting his voice, Rafe shrugged and looked back through Standard National’s records. He scrolled, looking but not seeing much.

  Why the hell couldn’t she deliver her Dear John speech and leave him the hell alone?

  “By offering to take you home, I was trying to do the right thing and let you get back to your life. I know you have goals, and I hope you reach them. I hope you show that five-million-dollar bank account to your father and that he realizes how smart and successful you are. I wasn’t dissing you, and I certainly didn’t mean to upset you or bruise your male ego or whatever.”

  Was he that obvious? Did she suspect, as he did, that the hurt went beyond ego?

  Frowning, Rafe glanced at Kerry again. Soft, white throat, sweetly curved cheek, eyes as soft and green as the grassy hills of mist-enshrouded Wiltshire he’d seen on a business trip last year. He rubbed the back of his suddenly tense neck. Now he was waxing poetic about a woman he’d walk away from in a handful of hours? Maybe more sleep would help.

  He doubted it.

  “I’m over it,” he lied. “What are you going to do about Mark now?”

  Kerry sighed, shoulders slumping. She looked exhausted. “I don’t know. I’d do anything for him. You, obviously, know that. I’m just not sure how I can help my brother now. I thought about trying to encourage Tiffany to pry information out of Smikins. But I’m afraid she’d have to get down and dirty in the slime’s bed, and Mark wouldn’t want that. I still think Smikins is guilty, or at least knows a lot more than he lets on. I just can’t prove it.”

  Certainly, her theory was possible. Rafe couldn’t deny that wanting a woman was a powerful motivator. It was the same reason he suspected Jason was guilty. But they could both be wrong; Tiffany might be a criminal mastermind. Normally, he wouldn’t think so, but normally he wouldn’t believe that a grown, sensible man could be having feelings far beyond lust for an off-the-wall blonde he’d met four days ago.

  At this point, he was forced to concede that he didn’t know squat about this situation.

  “Mark’s trial starts in less than a week, right?” he said finally.

  Her eyes slid shut. Her shoulders sank more. “Yes.”

  “You need a plan.”

  “I know. But I’m not good at planning. How can I plan around something I barely understand?”

  Rafe opened his mouth to reply but glanced at the computer screen. There! Twenty-five separate electronic deposits into Standard National from the same small Midwestern bank that had filtered the other deposits Mark had been accused of embezzling. He sat up, leaned over his keyboard. Another few clicks later, he confirmed that the account the deposit had been made to had been established between 3:58 and 4:12 P.M. today at terminal 4389, user ID identical to Mark’s.

  “Holy shit!”

  “What?” Kerry leaned across the table, closer to him.

  Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, Rafe pulled her closer to the screen . . . and to him. “See here.”

  Kerry frowned as he pointed to the deposit record. “What?”

  He laid the information out for her. “Here are deposits from the same bank the previous theft derived from. Look at the terminal ID and user name.”

  “The hidden terminal and Mark’s ID.” She cast a stunned green stare at him. “Ohmigod, what does that mean?”

  “Maybe nothing. But Standard National receives so few deposits from this Midwestern bank. Only a handful in the last five years, except the deposits that were stolen. Now more than two dozen in one day, each just small enough to escape the need for a bank to report it to the Feds. I’m thinking whoever did this is definitely up to something.”

  “It sounds fishy. But we have to figure out what this person—or people—is up to, to prove anything.”

  “You’re right. And the whole scenario is odd. If these people making the deposits knew their money had been stolen in the past, why would they keep making deposits in exactly the same way? It’s like they want their money to be stolen.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Kerry frowned.

  “On the surface, you’re right.”

  Rafe rubbed his chin, nearly wishing it possessed the magical power of a genie in a bottle. Maybe then he’d know what to do: Take her invitation to leave and get back to his normal, sane—and lest he forget, lucrative—life? Or stay behind another few hours to help Kerry find some way out of her dilemma?

  Duh. He knew the answer before his mind had finished forming the question. All her life, people had run out on Kerry, or worse, died. She’d been alone her entire life, except for Mark. She’d endured some hard times. The one person she had always counted on was now behind solid, iron bars enjoying his free cable TV. Other than him, Kerry only had Tiffany. Oh, and in her mind, Jason, which made Rafe want to hit something. Yeah, Jason would love to help her . . . right onto her back with her legs spread. Not gonna happen, pal.

  Besides, they were both suspects. Nope. His choices were to leave the entire mess in Kerry’s lap and force her to fend for herself again, or to pitch in, hoping it would help.

  Hoping she still wanted him by her side.

  The smart thing would be to start packing his suitcase now. Apparently, his brain had taken a vacation.

  “Assuming it’s the same person or people, what could they be doing?” Kerry asked.

  “Anything.” He shrugged. “Money laundering, I guess. Not certain for what purpose, exactly. But I have an idea how to get some answers.”

  “What?” Kerry nodded, biting her kiss-swollen lower lip. “Something tells me you and ideas are dangerous together.”

  “Why would you think that?” He frowned.

  “A hunch.”

  Her cheeky smile made him laugh. “Well, I know you and ideas are dangerous. I have the experience to prove it. Maybe we should try it my way this time.”

  Kerry hesitated. “I’ve already asked far too much of you. You don’t owe me a thing. In the morning, our bargain ends and we’re even.”

  She said the words he’d wanted to hear since waking up hungover Saturday morning. He could hardly believe the anger they engendered now.

  “We’re not fucking even.” He stood, chair scraping across the flagstones, and pounded a fist on the table. “You can’t drag me ass deep into your crap, then dismiss me like some naughty little boy when you’re through.”

  Shock widened her mossy green eyes. She leaned forward, providing a shadowy glimpse of her downy-soft cleavage. Even when she tossed him on his ass, he wanted her.

  “I can’t demand that you stay and help me, either,” she countered. “It’s not your problem. I knew that all along and I was so desperate to do something, anything, that I overlooked that fact, broke laws . . . did things I’m not proud of.”

  “Like fucking me?” Rafe heard the sharp note in his voice. “Gee, thanks for the orgasms but I really shouldn’t have—”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth!” She rose to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “What is wrong with you? Would I love for you to stay and help me through this for the days, weeks, hell, months it might take to free Mark? Yes. But I can’t ask you to do that. I don’t expect you to stay. You’ve done everything I’ve asked and more. It didn’t work, so I’m trying to thank you for your help and let you get back to your life. And you yell at me,” she muttered, then went to the door leading back to the cottage. Then she turned. “And for the record, you may think differently, but I never fucked you.”

  The conversation ended when she slammed the door.

  Her blistering words rang in his ears. Was Kerry trying to say their time together had meant something besides sex? Or just protesting his language, which he knew needed improvement?

  Heaving a huge sigh, Rafe sat and stared at his laptop. Smooth. Real smooth. Either way, the only person he knew for a fact who had worse relationship skills than he did was Jack the Ripper.

  Leaving would be best, no matter how much he wanted to stay. The fact he’d managed to infuriate and insult her when she’d apparently been trying to do the right thing, at least in her eyes, only underscored the fact that he was severely relationship-challenged.

  Humans made mistakes, yes, but only idiots made the same mistake twice in one day. He’d opened his mouth for the second time in about eight hours and inserted both feet—while wearing cement shoes. Very smooth.

  At this point, his choices to help her were limited. The idea circulating in his head . . . he ought to be committed for even thinking it, much less seriously contemplating it. Not only did the notion circle his brain, it dive-bombed.

  Opening a new Internet browser, Rafe ploughed around various sites until he found the information he needed. He made a phone call. It was way after hours, so Rafe wasn’t surprised he had to leave a message. He could only hope it was enough of an explanation.

  Grabbing his laptop, Rafe skulked inside. Kerry lay in the bed with the blankets bundled up to her chin. She did not look up at him as he entered.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled, setting the laptop down on the dresser and turning to face her. “I’m not good at saying what’s in my head sometimes. I have a crappy temper.”

  “Apology accepted,” she said stiffly.

  “Are you trying to release me to let me get back on with my life? Or just wanting to get rid of me?” He pierced her with an insistent gray stare. “Shoot straight with me.”

  Kerry sat up, and her golden curls tumbled to her shoulders as she held the sheet up to her chest. “Trying to let you get on with your life. I thought that was clear.”

  Rafe shrugged. “I took it as a dismissal. I . . . ah, I got mad before I asked if you wanted me to stay and help before my plane leaves. It’s only another eighteen hours or so, but I thought I’d offer.”

  Her green eyes widened with wonder. Tears pooled at the bottom edge, threatening to spill down her apple cheeks. His offer had made her cry? Damn if that little bit of man-made saltwater didn’t rip out his guts.

  “Look, if you want me gone, fine. I can pack and be out of here—”

  Kerry launched herself into his arms, cutting off his sentence. “You’d actually stay a little longer?”

  “It’s either that or sit around and watch boring-ass reruns until my plane leaves.”

  She backed away, onto the bed again. “I guess embezzlement is more interesting than reruns.”

  Rafe sighed. He was fucking this up, too. “I meant to say that I want to help you, not that embezzlement is more entertaining than Friends in syndication. You’ve got a big job in front of you and not much help. You’ve tried hard, and we can find the answer, I think. You shouldn’t have to do everything alone.”

  The uncharacteristic tightening of her mouth told him that little speech hadn’t helped either.

  “What?” he demanded. “I can’t be helpful now?”

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  “This has nothing to do with pity. You—you deserve help, and I think I can help you. Okay? When I leave, I’d like to know you’re going to be all right.”

  Somewhat mollified, she nodded. “Thanks. You said earlier that you had an idea?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded and cleared this throat.

  Time to jump off the bridge. Was he ready? Sure about this?

  The hope on Kerry’s face punched him in the gut. What if, when he left, he could do so knowing her brother, her anchor in life, was going to be with her again, taking care of her? Mark would make sure Kerry’s future worked out. He’d already forbidden Jason to ask her out, so Rafe figured her brother had some sense.

  But the risk of this scheme . . .

  Might be worth it if Rafe could turn that tentative hope on her face to true happiness.

  “Those deposits I showed you out on the patio, remember?” At her nod, he went on. “They add up to nearly half a million dollars. I’ll bet someone in the bank, our thief, is watching that money and waiting for the opportunity to take it or transfer it elsewhere. I’m going to beat them to it.”

  “What?” Kerry frowned. “It sounds like you’re saying that you want to steal the money.”

  Rafe did his best to smile. “Bingo.”

  Kerry felt her jaw drop somewhere in the vicinity of Miami. “You’re going to steal the money? But—but that’s illegal.” Her mind whirled. She gasped. “And after what you did to the FBI—”

  “CIA,” he corrected.

  “Whatever. The point is, you said yourself they’d put you away for good if you ever used your hacking illegally again. Rafe, no. It’s too risky. Why would you even suggest it?”

  The fact he would even bring up such a scheme appalled her . . . and touched her. Was he seriously willing to go that far out on a limb for her?

  “Not steal, exactly,” he clarified. “I put a call in to D’Nanza and told him that I’d opened an account in my name at another bank and would be transferring the money there. I offered to sign the money over to the Feds, if they want. Anyway, the point is, one of our three suspects will realize the money is missing and start looking for it, probably sooner rather than later. If they’re clever enough to frame Mark, they’ll be clever enough to see that I’ve taken it. They’ll come looking for me and tip their hand trying to get the money back.”

  “But you’ll be gone as of this afternoon.”

  “I have a feeling this will all play out before then. If not, I might be able to change my flight and stay one more day. But I’m pretty sure that by sunset, we’ll know who our culprit is.”

  Kerry gnawed on her bottom lip. “Won’t it look like a trap?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they’ll think I’m a thief. If not . . . doesn’t change the fact someone will want that money bad.”

  “But if you put the bank account in my name—”

  Rafe shook his head. “No dice. That person is likely to come looking for you, and that’s far too dangerous.”

  Kerry blinked, staring absently at the blanket pooled in her lap. He was planning to set himself directly between her and the thief? Himself and the Feds? Why?

  She raised a gaze to him that tumbled with emotions: hope, amazement, fear, uncertainty. Everything she felt showed on her face, no doubt.

  “It’s dangerous for you, too. You’d be risking a lot just to help me.”

  Rafe winced, pulled at the back of his neck with his palm. “No big deal. Look, if you don’t like the plan—”

  “It could work,” she conceded. “But all the risk stops at your door. You might be arrested if D’Nanza decides to be difficult. This crook might be violent. You’re putting your fingerprints all over this, so that someone twisted enough to break the law repeatedly and frame an innocent man will come find you. Why?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other and looked away. “Do I have to have a reason? Do we have to analyze this to death?”

  His actions said that he cared, at least a little, and she wanted to believe that more than anything. But his words indicated that his caring for her made him uncomfortable. Rafe’s suggestion was awfully big-hearted; interrogating him about it just wasn’t smart.

  “I can’t let you do this,” she said finally. “It’s too dangerous. I appreciate you wanting to join the fight, but I’ll find some other way that doesn’t risk you—”

  Rafe turned back to the dresser, pressed a few keys on his laptop. Something flashed on the screen. Deposit records with lots of zeros suddenly disappeared. A few more strokes, and the deposits appeared again elsewhere. “Too late. It’s done.”

  The enormity of the risk Rafe had just taken for her dropped her stomach to her knees. He’d stolen a whole lot of money just to help her. He might be arrested. Their robber might have a murderous streak. And he knew it—his face told her that. He’d done it anyway. If he’d merely wanted to see an innocent man released from sure prison time, he would have set the new account with the embezzled money up in her name. But no. He’d insisted on establishing the accounts with his name, assuming all the risks—to his freedom, his reputation as a businessman, his very safety.

  Kerry felt fresh tears sting her eyes. If she’d been lying to herself before, she could no longer pretend that Denial was a river in Egypt.

  She loved Rafe.

  And she was equally sure that, despite his sacrifice, he didn’t want to hear it. After all, he’d offered to stay a day or two, not a lifetime.

  Thrusting away that reality, Kerry left the sanctuary of the bed and walked on silent feet toward him. He watched, eyes wary, hungry.

  Pausing a foot away from Rafe, Kerry wordlessly tugged her shirt over her head, leaving her bare from the hips up. Surprise and lust darkened his stormy gray eyes. As his gaze roved over her shoulders and her bare breasts with their tight, swollen nipples, those same mesmerizing eyes burned.

  “Kerry—”

  She stretched her mouth up to his and kissed him with the bittersweet joy churning in her heart. Yes, she loved someone who would never love her. He was sophisticated city, rich, used to privilege, well educated; she . . . hopelessly unpolished, barely halfway through college, scraping by as a waitress in a greasy diner. He’d never want her beyond this adventure, and she didn’t blame him.

  But she had this moment, right now.

  Swelling with a need to touch Rafe, Kerry kissed him, coaxing him to part his lips. In true Rafe fashion, he not only opened, but took over. He swept inside her mouth, connecting them together. She leaned into him, feeling fused to him by the pleasure his kiss gave her, by the need swirling in her heart.