Little prick. That hurt.

  Why was he fighting when Kerry was by herself, trying to elude a killer?

  Again, Jason came at him, this time with the intent to pummel his nose. Rafe blocked the punch, grabbed Jason’s wrist, and twisted it behind his back. Jason panted and hissed in between a string of creative curses.

  “Let me go or I’m pressing charges,” Jason threatened.

  “You’re in my hotel room, so stop threatening or I’ll tell the cops you came here to harass me. Here’s the deal: After you left Kerry’s house this morning, someone hit her on the back of the head, rendered her unconscious, then torched her place with her inside. I found her before the fire got her. We escaped and came here. I went to get her a sandwich. When I came back, she was gone.”

  He released Jason.

  “You—you think someone is trying to kill her?” Jason sputtered as he faced Rafe.

  The look of horror, if it wasn’t genuine, would win ol’ Jason an Oscar.

  “No question.”

  “Why?”

  Eyes narrowed, Rafe stared at the other man. “We’ll get back to that. Tell me what you know about Smikins.”

  Jason glared. “I loathe you.”

  “Thanks for the newsflash. Do you want this killer to get Kerry while you stand here running your mouth?”

  As if that finally knocked some sense into him, Jason shook his head. “No.” He swallowed, looking genuinely afraid. “No. What I know . . . I found Smikins today in the storage room with the abandoned terminal you asked me about. I saw 4389 written on the front. He had it hooked up in there. Remember the ‘office’ he let you borrow the day you were at the bank?”

  “You found Smikins with the terminal?” If Jason was telling the truth, this was huge. More than huge, even. It was damning. It might well free Mark Sullivan.

  The shorter man nodded. “About two this afternoon, I went looking for him to approve a large transaction. There he was hunching over the machine, tapping on the keys. When I asked him about it, he told me he’d just been in the closet looking for some old forms and run across the terminal. But he seemed nervous and sweaty. It didn’t make sense.”

  Rafe frowned. “He was supposedly looking for old forms and he got sidetracked by an old terminal?” He had to agree with Jason’s assessment: As excuses went, this one was thin. In fact, it was damn near transparent. “Why didn’t he ever see the terminal before?”

  “Those were exactly my questions. He stammered and claimed ignorance.” Jason snorted. “Smikins is ignorant about a lot of things, like managing a bank branch. I just didn’t believe he knew nothing about that terminal.”

  Pay dirt! Mind racing, Rafe sorted through everything Jason had just said. If it was true, the implications blew his mind. Smikins had potentially known about the terminal all along and withheld the truth. Why else would he stash the terminal in an unused room unless he had something, perhaps even criminal activity, to hide? It seemed likely that Kerry had been right about Smikins framing her brother to clear his path into Tiffany’s good graces and panties. But he couldn’t prove it until Smikins made a move on him to get the money back.

  “So I said I felt sick and left to tell Kerry,” Jason continued. “Why isn’t she here and why is someone trying to kill her?”

  Jason continued to say all the right things, have all the right reactions. Rafe sighed. Only one way left to prove this theory.

  “Did you come in your own car?”

  Confusion twisted Jason’s face. “Yeah.”

  “I’ll answer your last question on the way to find Kerry. I think she’s in terrible danger, and if you had anything to do with this plot to kill her, I swear to God, you won’t be able to find a cave remote enough to hide from me.” Panic ate at Rafe’s gut as he scooped up his shoes, ran out the door to his hotel room, and headed for the stairwell.

  Jason followed, yelling, “If I had anything to do—Dude, don’t you get it?” he snarled. “I love her and I would never harm her. I’ve loved her for years. I want to love her for the rest of her life. Unlike you. You ‘loved’ her for a few convenient days, and you’ll be hopping a plane soon and leaving her behind. I’ll be here to pick up the pieces and I hope to hell I never see your selfish, sorry ass again.”

  Rafe had won a lot of skirmishes in business by listening to his gut. It now told him that, despite how unlikable Jason was, he wasn’t making this up. He did love Kerry. And soon Rafe would be gone. Kerry might turn to this guy for comfort.

  The thought made him nearly grind his teeth into powder, but he held his tongue. If he wasn’t going to stay and make a future with Kerry, he had no business telling her what to do with hers once he was gone.

  “Message received. Start driving,” he said as they reached the parking lot and Jason’s black Mustang.

  “Where to?”

  Kerry or the bank terminal first? No contest. “Where do you think Kerry might go?”

  “Was she upset when she left the hotel?”

  Gee, when hadn’t tears constituted upset? “Most likely.”

  “You broke her heart, didn’t you, ass wipe?”

  “What are you, my conscience?” Rafe growled. “Just concentrate on driving to wherever you think Kerry might go.”

  With a scowl, Jason turned the car out of the hotel parking lot and headed east. “We’ll try Mark’s place. She’s always spent a lot of time there.”

  “Good call. That sounds like Kerry, wanting to be close to family and memories.”

  “So, you kept your pants zipped long enough to figure that out, huh?”

  Rafe wanted to tell Jason that it was unlikely he’d ever have his pants unzipped around Kerry long enough to become acquainted with the sound of her in orgasm. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to ponder being wrong on that score. Besides, focusing on Kerry and her safety was more important.

  “Can we bury this hatchet,” preferably in your head, Rafe thought, “long enough to focus on why Smikins would hurt Kerry?”

  Dodging thickening afternoon traffic, Jason frowned. “Why do you think Smikins set Kerry’s house on fire?”

  Rafe quickly explained about the money he had rerouted to another bank in order to draw out the thief. “So I suspect Smikins thought Kerry knew too much or something and tried to do away with her.”

  “Smikins hates Mark. I always suspected he was the one responsible for making sure the ‘evidence’ against Mark was pat and found its way into the FBI’s hands. Maybe he found out that you were helping Kerry and got nervous. Maybe he thought he needed to do away with her, just in case she knew something.”

  “But why not do away with me, too? After I told him where to find the money, of course. If I’m the one who could find the evidence to free Mark and put Smikins behind bars, why not off me?”

  Jason cursed as a red light stopped him. “Maybe he thought killing her would serve as a warning to you? I don’t know. I only know you’re giving Smikins a lot more credit for logical thought than he deserves.”

  “I’ll buy that. The self-important always delude themselves.”

  “Exactly. Or maybe he thought or hoped you were there. Did he know where you were staying?”

  Rafe sifted back through the day. “No, he apparently called my assistant in New York. She wouldn’t tell him what year it was, much less the name of the hotel I chose.”

  “And knowing Smikins, it’s likely he went after Kerry precisely because he couldn’t find you.” The light turned green, and Jason sped off with a squeal of his tires. “Smikins has an infamous temper.”

  Not good news on the temper. Rafe knew from experience that a simple Internet search had produced Kerry’s street address. Smikins might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he wasn’t illiterate either.

  And Rafe had left her at home, alone, unprotected. He swore roundly and wished he had something to hit besides glass and a guy driving a car at sixty miles an hour in a thirty-five zone. Of course, Rafe knew he was the one who deserved a swift kick. What if something had happened to Kerry? What if he hadn’t gone to her house or hadn’t arrived in time?

  What if he was too late this time?

  He exhaled and forced his thoughts to slow. If he could find Kerry soon, he’d just explain to her that Smikins was a cross between a kleptomaniac and Norman Bates. Rafe would protect her—with his last breath, if he had to.

  “Well, at least we won’t have trouble convincing Kerry of Smikins’s guilt,” Rafe muttered.

  “No. She detests the jerk. She’s thought he was guilty all along.”

  “I should have listened a little harder to that.”

  Maybe if he had listened, Kerry’s life wouldn’t be in danger right this moment. He only prayed he and Jason caught up with her before Smikins did.

  Kerry let herself into Mark and Tiffany’s place with the spare key behind the planter on the front porch. The interior of the house was dark and hot, not unusual for the middle of a workday. The foyer and living room, like the rest of the house, were almost surgically clean. Tiff sure could make a normal girl feel like a slob.

  Still, as Kerry shut the door behind her, she could feel Mark here. His strength seemed embedded in these walls. She recalled the day he’d painted the living room that soothing sage color, and nearly dumped most of the paint on himself. She dropped her car keys on the living room table and wandered into the kitchen, feeling a sad smile steal across her face when she spotted the little burn mark on the kitchen counter where Mark had scarred the wood after one of his culinary experiments.

  A sob bubbled up inside her. Even if the entire defensive line of an NFL football team had tackled her, Kerry couldn’t imagine feeling worse than she did at that moment. She felt like she’d failed her big brother so miserably and completely lost her heart in the process—all while breaking the law. Couldn’t forget that. True, the money might still draw the thief out into the open, but with the day mostly gone and no one with five sticky fingers in sight, Kerry was beginning to fear the guilty party was too clever to fall for Rafe’s trap. Which meant Mark would stay in jail, and Rafe would join him unless someone in the FBI had a sense of humor.

  Her life had been so topsy-turvy lately, Kerry felt sure she’d have better luck predicting the date of California’s next major earthquake than guessing her next monkey wrench.

  She hated to whine. Really, she did. But why hadn’t she fallen in love with someone who could love her back? Why hadn’t she listened when Rafe had told her that he was no good for her? And why, why was she powerless to help her brother while he rotted in jail? She was out of answers. She only knew that she’d screwed so many things up. God, if she could go back six months and know then what she knew now . . .

  The garage door slammed on the other side of the house. Kerry rose, froze. Who would be coming in the garage door now? A quick glance at the clock showed it was only three-thirty. Tiffany shouldn’t be home for at least an hour, maybe longer. With her current lucky streak, whoever had just entered the house was a deranged killer.

  Footsteps raced through the laundry room, entered the hall, headed toward the kitchen. Scrambling for a hiding place, Kerry leapt behind the curtains draping the full-length window in the living room.

  Moments later, someone breezed into the adjoining kitchen with a muttered curse . . . one she’d know anywhere. Kerry released the breath she’d been holding.

  “Tiff?” She peered through the doorway, into the kitchen, stepping away from the drape.

  Squealing, Tiffany jumped, a hand to her slight chest as she entered the living room. “You? Oh my goodness, you scared me! I—I didn’t expect to see you.”

  “Sorry.”

  Judging from the fact Tiff shared all the same skin tone as a cadaver, Kerry must have really startled her.

  “Um . . . no, my fault,” Tiff assured her with one of her sweet smiles. “I should have noticed your car outside. Don’t know how I missed it. A lot on my mind, I guess.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Trying day.” Tiffany tried to smile. “Before I forget to ask, do you know Mr. Dawson’s room number at the hotel? Smikins wants to visit in person, since Mr. Dawson won’t return his calls. I can’t tell you how angry Smikins is about that. He chewed me out all day long.”

  Ah, that explained Tiff’s terse greeting. Not to mention her askew hairdo and half-tucked blouse. She hated listening to Smikins rant. Then again, who didn’t?

  “I would have called, but my house . . . caught fire. Actually, I think someone torched it and tried to kill me.”

  Tiffany’s mouth dropped open in horror. “Oh, my! What does the fire department think?”

  She snorted. “That I had some sort of kitchen accident.”

  “You don’t think it’s possible?”

  “I know I’m not a great cook, but I wasn’t cooking.” She frowned. “I’d planned to make tea but I hadn’t even started.”

  “Tea?” Tiffany frowned. “You only make tea when you’re upset. What happened?”

  “You mean besides the clock ticking away on my best hope of uncovering the truth about Mark’s supposed crime, being hit on by my brother’s best friend, and falling in love with a guy so far out of my league, I’m playing pee wee to his pros? Other than that, nothing.” The sting of tears cracked her flippant façade.

  Tiffany patted her back. “I know it’s been tough lately.”

  Sniffling, Kerry sent her sister-in-law a watery-eyed glance of thanks.

  She and Tiffany had never been sister-like close, but Mark’s wife had always lent an ear and been patient. She didn’t always seem to grasp the big picture, but today, Kerry simply appreciated her listening. In fact, Tiffany’s bit of kindness felt like a blowtorch to her plastic composure.

  Lack of sleep, coupled with an overload of raw emotions, stress, and fear all caught up with her at once. God, she couldn’t cry again. Her eyes were sandpapery, aching sockets, her head a pounding mess. She felt spent, empty, completely wrung out. Surely she didn’t have any more grief left to give. Yet she couldn’t stop a new flow of tears.

  The waterfall started and rivaled those she’d seen in pictures of Hawaii. And damn it, tears just kept coming, along with pain. Loss. Humiliation. Somehow she knew her life would never be the same without Mark around to anchor her and Rafe around to love her. She couldn’t hug them, help them, be with them. Reality sucked.

  Chin trembling, Kerry stared at the ceiling and desperately tried to rein in her tears. “I’m a total wreck! My life . . . it’s just falling apart. My house and most of my stuff are charred to a crisp, someone tried to kill me, and the man I love . . . if he’d shouted the fact he didn’t love me, the message wouldn’t have been any clearer. And Mark . . . I tried so hard to help him, but I only made a muck out of everything.”

  Fresh tears drowned out her next few words for the moment.

  “All this will go away soon,” Tiffany murmured beside her. “I’ll help you.”

  “How?” Kerry turned to look at her sister-in-law with a frown. “How do I free my brother? How do I get my heart back? I just don’t see it.” She sniffled again, surrendering to more new tears. “I don’t want to cry anymore, but I can’t stop. I don’t know who to turn to. I don’t have Mark’s support and I—”

  “I know how much you want Mark back and that you’d go to great lengths to see him free, but getting mixed up with that Dawson character? That is who you fell in love with, right?”

  Kerry nodded. “How’d you know?”

  “Jason. By the way, I’m not surprised he made a pass at you. But you’re the kind of girl who wants a man she can rely on. Dawson isn’t it. What’s his room number so I can give him a piece of my mind? Oh, and I can tell Smikins so that he can give Dawson a piece of his mind, too . . . what little there is of it.” She smiled.

  Rising to grab a paper towel out of the kitchen, Kerry returned to the living room and dabbed at her swollen eyes. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

  A tense smile graced Tiffany’s fine-boned face. “I know, but I promised Shorty I’d find out today and let him know. He swears he’ll fire me if I don’t. Can you help me out? Then we’ll work on solving all your dilemmas, I promise.”

  Weighing her sister-in-law’s loss against Rafe’s inconvenience, Kerry muttered Rafe’s room number at the hotel.

  “Thanks, honey. You look dead on your feet. Let me get you a sandwich.”

  Gotta love Tiff. Her answer to all of life’s troubles was food. She was lucky to have the metabolism that allowed her to do that without gaining massive pounds. “No thanks, I—”

  “Did you even eat today?”

  “Well, no.” Come to think of it, she really hadn’t.

  “A quick sandwich will do the trick.”

  Let her make it, she told herself. It would make Tiffany feel better, if nothing else.

  Pausing, Kerry watched her sister-in-law retreat to the kitchen, looking tense and unhappy. And she felt ashamed. She wasn’t the only one suffering. Tiffany was a bride without a groom, a woman in love without her man, a well-organized assistant with an asshole for a boss. Things hadn’t been all wine and roses for her since the month after she and Mark married.

  “Can I help you?” she called after Tiff.

  “You sit. You’ve had a trying day. I’ll just be a few minutes,” she said, bustling around the kitchen.

  A moment later, Tiffany’s cell phone rang. She snatched the phone from its holster attached to the waistband of her slacks, her face pulled tight with anxiety. Boy, if that was Smikins, he sure had Tiff under his thumb.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

  A moment later, Tiffany began to ease the door between the kitchen and the living room shut. “I have the necessary information . . .” was all Kerry heard before the door closed completely.

  Smikins. What a jerk! He just wasn’t happy unless he hounded his staff and called them during their off time. She remembered Mark suffering under the bank manager’s awful temper and impatience.