Realizing that the maid was watching him closely, Kit forced a smile and nodded. “My mistake,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I’ve disturbed your work.”
“No problem. Have a nice day, sir.”
His smile faded. He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. The woman probably already thought he was nuts; another dumb question couldn’t do any further harm. “I don’t suppose you know her last name?”
The maid shook her head. “I’m afraid not. We always came in to clean when she was out. We never actually spoke to her. We referred to her only as the pretty lady in Number 12.”
The pretty lady in Number 12. Kit realized that he knew little more about Savannah than this woman did.
Funny. He’d thought he’d gotten to know her rather well during the few days they’d spent together. Looked as if he’d been wrong. Because he certainly hadn’t expected it to end like this.
SITTING ON AIRPLANE headed toward Atlanta, squeezed between two broad-shouldered businessmen, Savannah stared down into the open jewelry box she held in her hands. The flower-shaped pin Kit had given her glittered as if with a fresh coat of morning dew, looking as if it had just been plucked from an exotic vine.
She told herself that she would treasure the pin forever. Any time her life got too hectic or too lonely, she would be able to look at the brooch and remember a few perfect, magical hours. With memories like those, she couldn’t possibly have regrets, she told herself as she blinked back a film of tears that she tried to attribute to weariness.
She wondered if Kit would remember her with fondness, or with anger because she’d left the way she did.
She wondered if Kit would remember her at all.
“TELL ME WHERE to find her.” Kit’s voice was firm. Commanding. Desperate. “I know you have her name and address in your files. Let me have them.”
Rafe Dancer was not easily intimidated. He shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. If she’d wanted you to have her address, she would have given it to you herself. I cannot violate the privacy of one of my guests.”
“Damn it, Rafe, you know me. You know I won’t harass her. I only want to find her and talk to her. If she asks me to get lost, I will. Let me have the address.”
“No, Kit. Not even for you.”
Hissing a curse, Kit whirled to pace Rafe’s office with angry, frustrated strides.
Leaning against his desk, his arms crossed over his blindingly white shirt, Rafe watched his friend patiently. “What did you say to her to make her angry?”
“Nothing,” Kit snapped. “She ran because she got cold feet. Because what started out as a holiday flirtation turned into a hell of a lot more.”
“You knew her…what? A few days?”
“It doesn’t matter. I have to find her. Rafe…”
“No, Kit”
Kit slammed his fist on a delicate, and very expensive-looking cherry table. Miraculously, it didn’t crumble. Rafe only continued to watch him, apparently unconcerned about his office decor.
“Tell me this,” Kit said, turning to face his friend with narrowed eyes. “What would you have done if someone tried to keep you from T.J.?”
“I’d have gone for his throat,” Rafe replied evenly. He tilted his head back slightly, baring his own. “Want to take a chance at it?”
Kit considered it. “If I take you on, and I win, will you give me Savannah’s address?”
“No.”
Kit blew air sharply out of his nostrils and turned away. “Some friend you are.”
A muscle clenched in Rafe’s jaw. “There are some things I simply can’t do. Even for a friend.”
Kit had the grace to be ashamed of his tantrum.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just can’t stand back and let her go without at least trying to talk to her one more time.”
“Then find her. But you’ll have to do it without my help.”