“I figured it out before she pounced. If I hadn’t . . .”

  Neither of them finished that sentence.

  His grip on her tightened. “I can’t believe that Tiffany framed Mark and tried to kill you. You trusted her like family.”

  Kerry nodded. “I did. But Tiffany married Mark with every intention of making sure he went to prison for her crimes. She betrayed my trust, yes. But Mark gave her his entire heart.”

  “Bitch,” he muttered. “He had no idea?”

  “None of us did. The truth is going to kill him.”

  Anger tightened Rafe’s face. “At least she won’t be doing this to anyone else anytime soon.”

  “True. Between our statements, and all the police who overheard her ranting in the garage, that should be more than enough to put her away.” She sent him a wobbly smile. “So we did it.”

  “Yeah, babe. We did. You more than me.”

  He threaded his fingers through her curls again, broad palms cradling her head as if she were a treasure to keep close to his heart. Kerry melted. She never felt more right, more whole, than when she was with him.

  How would she get past the gaping hole in her heart—in her life—once he returned to New York?

  “You were so brave,” he murmured close to her ear. “I’m sorry it took me a while to get here with reinforcements.”

  “I’m just thrilled you did. Thank you for not giving up.” Kerry bit her lip as she eased back, appalled to feel a tear slipping down her cheek. She swiped it away with an impatient hand. “Thank you for all your help.”

  He brushed away another tear scalding a path over her skin. The tenderness, intensity, and hot possession in his gray eyes swirled like a whirlpool. She drowned in the feeling of caring, of security, of being desired. When she looked at him, her world felt right. With Tiffany soon behind bars and Mark soon to be released, everything was as it should be—or almost.

  Rafe dipped his head and took gentle possession of her mouth. His kiss tasted of worry and gladness . . . and goodbye.

  Kerry’s heart shattered. Her life would be incomplete without him. How would she ever heal without her other half? She stepped away, fresh tears prickling her aching eyes, closing up her throat.

  He cursed, regret clouding his potent gaze. “Look, I—”

  “Mr. Dawson,” called one of the officers from the edge of the kitchen. “You’ll need to come with us now. We need your statement.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “And Ms. Sullivan, an officer will come to take your statement momentarily. Do you need an EMT to look at that arm?”

  “No,” she whispered. “Thanks.”

  Nodding, the officer left the room and exited the house via the front door.

  Pain slammed Kerry in the awkward silence. She wanted to ask Rafe to stay. Beg him. But she couldn’t make him love her, couldn’t cure his fear of commitment, couldn’t stop him from leaving. She’d only hurt them both if she tried.

  “They’ll, um, be wanting your statement, too, in a minute, it seems.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, desperately fighting the tears boiling behind her eyes. “Your flight leaves in the morning, right?”

  Rafe paused, then said, “About eleven.”

  As she nodded, he grabbed her arms and pulled her closer, against the taut, whipcord heat of his body. “I don’t have any right to ask you this, but . . . I want to see you again before I go. I suspect we’ll be with the police most of the night, but tomorrow, I’ve reserved the hotel limo. Would you ride to the airport with me?”

  It would be hard. It would hurt like hell, but she couldn’t say no. This would be her last chance to store up memories of him, of them together. “I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you.” Squeezing her arms, he planted a quick, deep kiss on her mouth. “See you.”

  Then he was gone.

  As soon as his retreating form disappeared through the door, Kerry gave in to the pressure of the searing tears that had built behind her eyes. She clutched her stomach as the pain ripped through, and she let the tears fall. After today and the endless crying, she was going to look like a bunny permanently, with the swollen nose and red-rimmed eyes. And she really didn’t care.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned to find Jason in the kitchen entry from the hall. She had no idea how long he’d been there. With hands shoved deep in his pockets and his mouth flattened in a grim line, he looked taut and pensive.

  “You really do love him,” he said, as if the concept were as novel as walking in space.

  “Yes.” She sniffled. “And . . . you’ve been a good friend.”

  His tart smile seemed to mock his feelings as he approached. “That’s me, all-around great guy. But if you ever have a change of heart . . .”

  Certainly, life would be easier for her if she did, but she wouldn’t.

  “Ms. Sullivan,” called one of the female officers. “We’ll need you to come with us so we can get your statement.”

  “Go on,” he said, caressing her shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll be wanting my statement soon, too. After we get Mark free, we’ll sort all this out.”

  With another sniff, Kerry shoved back more tears and left with the officer, knowing in her head that getting Mark out of jail would be the end to many problems and the beginning of a new life. But her heart knew that by eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, that new life would have lost its best chance at happiness.

  Tuesday had nearly expired into Wednesday before Rafe finished with the police. Endless questions about his involvement in Mark Sullivan’s case had exhausted him. He’d hated like hell to have to admit to having a sexual relationship with Kerry. It was no one’s business but theirs. The police, however, had been insistent to understand how he’d started working on the case and why he’d resorted to means so drastic as to steal in order to trap a thief. He’d either had to tell the truth or flat-out lie. Lying wouldn’t go over well when this case went to court.

  Then Robert D’Nanza, his oh-so-understanding pal over at the FBI, had been called. After Rafe provided the access codes and the money had been recovered, everyone had finally stopped treating him like an accomplice.

  One more thing to do. One last thing he could do for Kerry before he left her.

  In the midst of giving his statement, he’d taken a call and made a few. That had expedited the process, of course. Now, at his side, his cell phone rang again, and he answered.

  “It’s Alex Moza. I’m done.”

  “Quick work. Thank you.”

  “Finding the right people at this time of night proved an interesting feat but . . .” Rafe heard the shrug in Moza’s voice. “What’s life without a good challenge?”

  Despite being dead-dog tired, Rafe smiled. “I assume you’ll send me an astronomical bill?”

  “Count on it.”

  Then Moza gave him directions to his destination. “I’ll be waiting.”

  Rafe caught a cab from the precinct, wondering what the hell he was going to say. Why was he worried?

  He didn’t have long to plan. Traffic was nonexistent now, the streetlights a yellowed blur against the backdrop of the urban night as the taxi sped through town just after midnight.

  A few minutes later, a short, fifty-something Hispanic man, impeccably dressed in a tailored designer suit, emerged through a heavy door into a waiting area at the county’s central jail. Alex Moza, for sure. Behind him strode a tall blond hulk of a guy who looked around with wary eyes.

  Kerry hadn’t been kidding when she described her brother as a Viking. Mark Sullivan had to be six-foot-five, and likely outweighed Rafe by forty pounds. He had a tattoo of a Celtic knot around his bulging biceps. Wide shoulders tapered to a flat belly and narrow hips, shouting of an athletic life. Golden hair, as straight as Kerry’s was curly, hung nearly to his shoulders.

  This is a guy who nearly died of cancer? Mark Sullivan no longer looked sickly; more like a man no sane person would want to meet in a back alley.

  Shit, he hoped the guy wasn’t in the mood for a fight, given what Rafe had been doing to his sister. After all, he’d done his best to help free Mark.

  He wasn’t nervous about what he would say exactly, Rafe realized a moment later. He wanted Mark Sullivan to like him. In fact, he was sweating like a teenage boy meeting his prom date’s father.

  At that, Rafe frowned. He hoped the brother of the woman he had deflowered and planned to leave would approve?

  Yeah, that would happen as soon as the Cubs won the World Series.

  Hoping to keep the situation neutral, he approached the attorney first. “Mr. Moza.”

  “Mr. Dawson.”

  The two shook hands.

  “Everything is set?”

  Moza nodded his salt-and-pepper head. “I’ll start filing paperwork in the morning to have the charges dismissed. It should be formalized by Friday, I’m guessing. Oh, and I’ve introduced myself to Mark and apprised him that I’ll be representing him now.”

  “Great. Thanks again.” Rafe stuck out his hand.

  The attorney shook it, told Mark he’d be in touch, and departed.

  “Not to be rude,” said Mark as soon as Moza was out of sight. “But what the hell is going on? How is it possible that my charges are being dismissed?”

  As he’d instructed, Moza hadn’t told Mark anything. That was for the best. The truth about Tiffany and her perfidy would come as a shock. The information needed to come from someone Mark loved and trusted—like Kerry—not a total stranger.

  “It’s all going to work out,” Rafe evaded. “The good news is that you’ll be free soon. Mr. Moza will see to it.”

  Confusion clouded his expression as he stared at Rafe. “Are you the one responsible for sending me an attorney I can’t afford? Because I know my wife and sister don’t have that kind of money.”

  “I am. Rafe Dawson.”

  He stuck out his hand, and his gut clenched in apprehension. Pointless, really, to worry about whether Mark Sullivan would like him. He wouldn’t. And after tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter. Still, the hope wouldn’t go away.

  Hesitantly, Mark shook his hand.

  “You’re paying Moza’s fees?”

  “Yes.”

  More confusion furrowed Mark’s forehead. “And you’re putting up the cash to bail me out?”

  Seeing additional questions forming behind Mark’s hazel eyes, Rafe held in a wince. “Yes.”

  “Not to seem ungrateful, but why?”

  “As a favor to your sister.”

  Mark crossed his arms over his wide chest. “You know Kerry? She’s never mentioned you.”

  Rafe resisted the urge to loosen his already out-of-place tie. “We met last Thursday. I’m the e-security consultant Standard National hired. After a little digging around, it was easy to see you weren’t guilty.”

  Rafe smiled, wondering what the odds were that Mark Sullivan would settle for the abridged version of events. His guess? They sucked.

  “I’m glad you found what the FBI didn’t, but how did Kerry get involved?”

  Damn it, Rafe hated being right.

  “Kerry . . . persuaded me to look into your situation.”

  “And you agreed? Just like that? Why?”

  Mark’s tone told Rafe the man would sooner buy oceanfront property in Nebraska than the half-story he was concocting. But Rafe wasn’t saying any more. If Kerry wanted to tell her brother the whole truth, that was her prerogative. It wasn’t his place to spill information about Kerry’s sex life to her brother.

  “Look, the important thing is that you’re out and it’s over.”

  “You’re right. I just can’t quite get past the part where my sister persuaded you.” Mark’s hazel eyes pinned him with a frankly unfriendly stare. “I’d bet my last dime that you’re not gay.”

  He sighed. “You’d win that bet.”

  “Then I can only think of one reason a slick Manhattan dude like you would be interested in Kerry.”

  Anger pumped through Rafe at Mark’s accusation. At one time, maybe that was true, but now . . . “You’re selling your sister short, man. I’d be lying my ass off if I said I didn’t think she was sexy. But she’s more. Kerry is an amazing woman—warm, fun, and caring. She shares her thoughts and feelings fearlessly. I don’t know anyone more loyal. She risked so much to see you freed, I’m still mind-boggled. Kerry has a lot to offer a man.”

  Mark’s hazel gaze mellowed from hostile to thoughtful. “But not you?”

  Rafe bit back the urge to stake his verbal claim here and now. To take Kerry and run, keep her in his life and in his bed for as long as he could. Then he’d have her warmth, sexy submission, and impromptu birthday parties all to himself. He could spend monstrous amounts of time devoted to her pleasure, to seeing her eyes light up at things like Rockefeller Center at Christmas or fireworks over the Statue of Liberty.

  Then his imagination supplied him a vision of Kerry standing by his front door, suitcases in hand, devastated by heartbreak and calling him a bastard for “shutting her out.” She’d damn him for crushing her heart, getting wrapped up in work, burying his feelings. She was important—he couldn’t imagine a time when he would think otherwise. But Rafe simply didn’t know how to prove it in the ways that mattered to a woman over days, months, and years. To believe that the answers that had eluded him since his first girlfriend would magically appear . . . he’d just be putting everyone through hell.

  “Not me,” Rafe said finally. “She deserves better.”

  At nine the next morning, Rafe emerged from the hotel’s elevator to find Kerry standing in the hotel lobby. The sight of her was like a punch in the gut. From the sunny curls haphazardly clipped to the back of her head to the black spike-heeled sandals on her feet, she appealed to him. A body-hugging black tank top straining across her award-winning breasts and a short purple skirt didn’t hurt her cause either.

  In the end, though, what he’d miss about her most wasn’t her appearance. He’d miss her sense of adventure, her laughter, the unabashed way she cared. Most of all, he’d miss the way he felt—smarter, more connected to the world, more alive—when he was with her.

  With a long stride, he approached her, itching to be near her. What he saw in her sad smile and red-rimmed eyes ripped the heart out of his chest. He shouldn’t have asked her here. The request to see her had been selfish and stupid . . . and impossible to deny.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured.

  A soft flush pinkened her cheeks. “All ready, I see.”

  He answered with a tight nod. What more could he say?

  Wordlessly, they headed to the hotel’s limo, waiting out front as scheduled. The driver opened the back door of the gleaming white stretch vehicle. With a hand at the small of Kerry’s back, Rafe guided her inside.

  Okay, so he could have taken the hotel’s shuttle van to the airport for free, rather than paying for the prima donna treatment. But he’d wanted some privacy when he talked to Kerry. He needed to make sure she understood that he wasn’t leaving because he didn’t care.

  He was leaving because he did.

  Rafe climbed into the limo behind her, planting himself so close, he doubted air molecules could squeeze between them.

  The driver shut the door and climbed into the front seat. Rafe raised the privacy partition. It was now or never.

  But the words he’d rehearsed this morning, the ones that had sounded so convincing, simply wouldn’t come. Which was exactly the point. He sucked at meaningful conversation.

  The silence grew thick as they left the hotel’s parking lot.

  “Thank you for bailing Mark out.” She grabbed his hand, and her touch jolted him to his toes. “It was stunningly generous. You didn’t have to do it, and I know you fronted a lot of money so that he could come home early—”

  “It’s no big deal.” Rafe shrugged, drinking up the adoration in her gaze. God, if he was a better man, he’d love looking into those eyes forever. “I just made a few phone calls. Once the charges are officially dropped, I’ll have the money back, so it’s nothing.”

  “It was everything to me. When Mark came through the door, we hugged, I cried.” She smiled, radiance transcending her fatigue. “It’s wonderful to have my brother home. Thank you so much.”

  Rafe shrugged. “So, did he mention meeting me?”

  Kerry winced.

  “I suspected he didn’t like me much.” Rafe tried to ignore the disappointment swirling in his gut.

  “I didn’t have a very good answer for how I persuaded you to help me. He already guessed the truth, anyway.”

  “Great. If he comes to New York for any reason, call me so I can get a bodyguard first.”

  Her tinkling laughter sounded in his ears as her dimples danced. Kerry was truly beautiful when she smiled.

  “I owe you that much.”

  “So how is Mark this morning?” he asked.

  “Locked in his room.” Her sad smile turned into a frown. “He took the news of Tiffany’s guilt hard. He tried to find excuses, reasons why I had to be wrong about his wife. Once I proved it, though, he just stared blankly at the wall for a while, then went to his room and locked the door.”

  “No guns or sharp objects in there, I hope.”

  “He’s not like that. But once he accepted the truth . . . I’ve never seen his anger run so deep.”

  “He needs time. It hasn’t even been a day yet.”

  “Knowing Mark, it could be years before he lets it go.”

  Rafe related to that. Who would get over a wife’s betrayal of that enormity in a week or two? Hell, who would blame the guy if he hung on to the sting of her duplicity until he was old enough to collect Social Security?

  “He’s lucky to have you around to help him,” he murmured.

  With a frown, Rafe realized that line was a perfect segue for his speech. Now, if he could just make the words come out and make sense . . .

  “Kerry, I . . . I think I should explain—”

  “Don’t say anything.” She closed her eyes. “We both knew from the start that it wasn’t going to last. I let myself get too carried away in the fantasy. My fault, not yours.”