Still the One
““Thank you. Where do we start?”
Something sharp flickered in Rafe’s eyes, and she was painfully reminded of their ending, the last time they’d seen each other. Regret flared, but she squelched it. Breaking things off with him had been best for both of them. She refused, as she had for the last ten years, to second-guess that decision.
“Start by telling me where Tony might go.”
“I don’t know. His parents in Davis, maybe.” She could still feel Rafe’s touch on her shoulder, a gentle comfort, yet it branded her skin. She began to pace again, thrusting a hand through her hair.
He spared her a glance, scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad. “Any place he and Liz might go together?”
“His apartment, but I already checked it out. No one was there.”
She couldn’t help staring as Rafe continued jotting notes. The lush eyelashes, the too-straight patrician nose he’d inherited from his white mother. The high cheekbones, dark slash of brows and burnished skin testified to his Choctaw father.
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