Bound and Determined (36 page)

He gave a grim smile. Jason could try all he wanted. Not a dime of that money was going anywhere until he was good and ready to give it to the FBI. And from the frantic nature of Jason’s searching, it wouldn’t be too long before he did something desperate and stupid so the Feds could come in and mop up.

Now if he could just find Kerry. Once he knew she was okay, he could breathe again.

The hotel’s phone rang, jangling his nerves. Lurching for it, he damn near knocked his laptop over as he grappled to reach the receiver.

“Kerry?” he demanded.

“No. Guess again.”

Jason
.

Rafe had never understood the term a “killing rage” until that very moment. A crime of passion, committed in the heat of anger . . . it had all sounded like a lame excuse to toss out self-control and get away with murder. But at this moment, his grasp of the concept snapped into place with crystal clarity. Murdering Jason sounded perfectly sane.

“If you lay one hand on her,” Rafe began, “I swear to God, you asshole, they’ll have to pick up the pieces of your remains with tweezers.”

Silence. Rafe could hear Jason breathing on the other end, but his imagination quaked. Had he already nabbed Kerry? Hurt her? Raped or killed her?

“I assume that Kerry told you I tried to lay a hand on her already. I got the message loud and clear that she’s not interested, so you don’t have to threaten me. Is she with you?”

“Why?”

“Look, I called because—”

“You’re guilty as hell of framing Mark and want to confess? I’m gathering evidence against you left and right,” Rafe growled, unable to hold his temper.

“What?” Irritation threaded his tone. “You are a complete loose cannon. I don’t know why Kerry thought you could help us, much less why she loves you. Look, just tell me where she is, so I can tell her what I know.”

Jason had heard Kerry’s admission of love before he had? Not a comforting thought . . .

“Know about what?” Rafe asked, rather than bring up the love thing.

“Smikins.”

A lie? A diversionary tactic? “Go on.”

He sighed. “Can I come up first? This is too hard to explain over the house phone.”

House phone? Why did he feel as if he were the butt of the joke in some comedy of errors? Would the ghosts of Abbott and Costello appear next to start their legendary
Who’s on First
routine?

“Where are you?” Rafe barked.

“In the lobby of your hotel. If you’ll tell me your room number, because these nice people at the front desk won’t, I’ll come up and tell you what I know. Then you can tell me where to find Kerry. And we won’t have to speak to each other ever again.”

Pulse racing, Rafe glanced at his computer. Yep, his culprit was still banging away at the accounts, looking for a way to retrieve the money he’d wired elsewhere. And Jason was standing in the lobby of the hotel?

Impossible.

“2415,” he said, deciding to test ’ol Jason. If the guy didn’t show up in the next two minutes, he’d—

Before he could finish the thought, the line went dead.

T
hree minutes later, someone pounded on the door. Unless Kerry had suddenly developed the strength of a female wrestler, Rafe figured that someone had to be male. Jason, seriously?

With a scowl, he flung open the door. Sure enough. More midsized and moderate than big and bad, Jason stood in the doorway, panting. A glance back at the laptop on the faux wood desk told Rafe the thief was just now shutting down the bank’s terminal.

That meant the psycho arsonist with murderous intentions wasn’t Jason.
Holy shit!
It also meant the real killer-wannabe could be chasing Kerry again within moments. Unless . . .

What if Jason was up to his ass in crime with a partner, or had decided to finish Kerry off by torching her inside her own house for simply refusing to have sex with him? Possible. Time would tell. If Jason was guilty, he’d quickly be asking for account access information to retrieve the money Rafe had hidden away.

Glaring above Rafe’s shoulder, Jason looked around the room, pausing on the rumpled bed. “Where’s Kerry?”

“Just left.” Rafe saw no surprise on the shorter man’s face.
Wouldn’t a dude who’d executed a plan to kill his best friend’s sister be surprised to learn she was still alive?

“Where did she go?” Jason’s features said that he had annoyed down pat.

“How did you know to find me here?”

“Is this twenty questions? I went by Kerry’s to talk to her. The firefighters said someone set fire to her house. I told them I was her brother, and they told me where to find her. Why isn’t she here? Is she okay? What the hell happened?”

The concern seemed genuine, but who knew? “She’s fine.”

“Tell me where to find her.” Jason scowled. “It’s urgent.”

No shit. There was a killer with an attitude on the loose. Rafe still wondered if Jason was more aware of that than he was letting on. He could be someone’s accomplice. Still, Jason hadn’t once mentioned account access information or seemed concerned about a missing half-million dollars.

“I’ll tell you what I know if you tell me what you know.” The clock was ticking, and Rafe hated playing cat-and-mouse with the wanna-be boy toy, but he wasn’t trusting just anyone, not until he knew that Jason wasn’t Mr. Deranged with an affinity for matches, or said weirdo’s assistant. “And if you promise not to corner Kerry again and force her to kiss you.”

“You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her? That’s it!” Jason loosened his tie, mouth so taut his bottom lip turned white. “I’m going to beat the crap out of you, you arrogant slime.”

The shorter man threw a punch, putting most of his body weight behind it. Rafe stepped back a bare instant before the blow connected. Then he stepped up with a jab to Jason’s belly, followed by a right cross to the nose. Jason’s head snapped back. Blood trickled from his nostril as he cursed and cuffed Rafe with a quick strike to the chin.

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.