Hot Pursuit (13 page)

•   •   •

“What's wrong?”

Cara slung her purse off her shoulder and walked into the living room, dumping it on the coffee table. She should've known Blake would tune in to the fact that there was something wrong the instant she got home. She'd never been great at hiding her emotions and she figured it wouldn't do any good to start now. In fact, it was time to come clean about several things, before Blake had a chance to speak to Taylor.

“That might take a while.”

“Try me.” His face reflected genuine concern. “Lean on me for a change, will you? You don't always have to be the strong one.”

Feeling numb, she sat on the sofa and waited as Blake took a seat close to her. “You're right. You've been a good friend to me, too, and I do need somebody to talk to.” She paused. “My coming to Sugarland wasn't random, like it might seem. I came here because my sister, Jenny, was murdered and I wanted to make the man responsible pay.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and he hesitated. “Okay. That's understandable.”

“I got to town, set up the gig at the bar. Then most days I watched him, waiting for my chance to make him suffer.”

Blake looked worried. “So did you?”

“No. The more I shadowed his every move, the more I began to realize this man might not be the monster I'd been led to believe.”

“How's that possible?” he asked in confusion. “I mean, if the bastard murdered your sister, there's no redeeming that.”

“There is if I was wrong about the circumstances, which it appears I was.” She took a deep breath. “Max, who I thought was my friend, lied about what happened, and his involvement might have gotten him killed.”

“Just to clear it up for me, he's not the one you were following?”

“No. Max twisted the story about the other man's involvement, and I believed him, even though he wasn't actually there when my sister died. I don't know why he would lie, and now I've hurt someone who's becoming special to me.”

During her pause, Blake put it together. “Taylor?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. All that talk about how he's made mistakes, and the weird way you guys were acting around each other . . . That's what he meant, isn't it? Whatever went down with your sister is what caused him to pick up his life and move here?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you mind sharing with me what happened?” he asked softly, taking her hand in comfort.

Tears burned her throat, stung her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. “Jenny's husband, Connor, was never a very stable person. He was controlling and insecure in the beginning of their marriage, and only got worse. By the end, he was screaming at her regularly, calling her all sorts of horrible names. Then she got pregnant, and instead of improving their relationship, it made things a thousand times worse.”

“Pregnant?” he said in a hushed voice. “Oh no.”

“One day my sister had had enough and was packing her bags to leave. She'd told me it was time, and there were some things she wanted to talk to me about. A male friend of hers was there to help her get her stuff out, but Connor came home before they could get away.”

“You don't have to finish.” He squeezed her hand.

But she had to get it out. “Connor lost it completely. Went right over the edge. He grabbed his gun and took my sister hostage, along with her friend and the housekeeper. But the housekeeper had already phoned nine-one-one, so the police were on the way. The cops arrived and tried to negotiate, but he wasn't having it.”

“This is where Taylor comes in?”

Cara nodded. “Connor struck Jenny's friend in the head with the butt of his gun and split open his scalp, knocking him unconscious. After what seemed like an eternity, Connor allowed them to send in a paramedic. The medic was actually Taylor, undercover.”

She stared at the carpet for several long minutes before she could continue. Blake just held her hand, lending silent support.

“I don't know what tipped him off that Taylor was a cop, but that was the end. Connor killed . . .” Trailing off, she swallowed hard. “He shot and killed everyone there except Taylor, and the only reason Taylor wasn't killed was because of his bulletproof vest.”

“I don't mean to be insensitive, but am I missing something? How is that Taylor's fault?”

“Anger and grief go a long way toward placing blame where there should be none,” she admitted. “And for years I lived on that while I just went through the motions of my life. When I started to question what happened, the actual details that led to the shooting, Max told me the undercover cop had screwed up. That he'd tried reverse psychology, egging Connor on, telling him to shoot and he'd lose everything, including his freedom. He said it backfired, and if the cop hadn't made such a terrible mistake, my sister and the others would still be alive.”

“But how would Max have known what happened if he wasn't there?”

“I know, right?” Her laugh was bitter. “He claimed he got the information on the sly from an informant inside the LAPD who saw the reports and heard talk from Internal Affairs. I had no reason not to believe him. He was a family friend and the cop a stranger.”

“Right,” Blake said slowly. “So, the question becomes, what did Max have to gain from pushing this scenario on you and making you believe it?”

“Nothing, except . . . maybe me killing Taylor.” She shuddered to think of allowing herself to sink that far. There was a time when, in her grief, she might have attempted it.

“So either he wanted to make Taylor the scapegoat and cover up the real story, or to get you to do someone's dirty work for them.”

“How'd you get so smart?”

“School of hard knocks. So, what happened today? I get the feeling there's more.”

“Taylor found a photo album here and he took it to the station. He was going through it and saw pictures of me and Jenny and realized she was my sister. It didn't take him long to figure out I had an ulterior motive for being in town.”

Blake winced. “I'll bet that went over well.”

“Yeah. He was upset and called me on the deception. When I explained to him what I just told you, he denied Max's claims that he antagonized Connor or acted inappropriately. He's got a lot of guilt left over from that day, but not from that.”

“You think there's more?”

“Something tells me there is. In any case, he's upset enough that I don't think he'll want to see me anytime soon.”

He smiled. “That may be, but you guys aren't going to solve your problems overnight. What do you say we get out of here awhile? I want to turn in the last couple of job applications, and then maybe we can get some ice cream.”

“Sounds good. I could use loads of sugar after a day like this.”

They headed out to her rental car and climbed in, and dropped off Blake's applications. Then she pointed the car toward the ice-cream place that was a few minutes from their last stop.

“Jesus, what the hell is going on over there?” Blake pointed.

Stopping at a light, she followed his gesture and gazed out the passenger's window at the sea of blue and red lights at a nearby apartment complex. “I don't know, but it must be something major.”

Just then a tap on Cara's driver's window startled her. She lowered the glass to see a uniformed officer looking very serious as he leaned in close. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm going to have to ask you to turn around. We're blocking off the area and I'm not sure when we'll have it reopened.”

“Oh, okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Shooting,” he said curtly, stepping back and waving his arm. “Turn around, please.”

Shooting
. That word was enough to send her mind tripping down a path she didn't want to revisit. Carefully, she executed a U-turn and was straightening out the car when she gave the scene at the apartments one last glance—and spotted a familiar vehicle in the complex's parking lot.

“That's Taylor's car,” she said.

“What?”

“Taylor's car, over there.”

He peered across her. “Looks like it.”

The sight of the Challenger sitting amid the chaos made her guts twist, as did the fact that she couldn't see Taylor or his partner anywhere. Not that she should be able to—there were so many vehicles and cops—but that didn't alleviate her nerves. At the very next left-hand turn, she swung into a parking lot for the building next door to the activity.

“What are you doing?”

“A little investigating.”

“Cara, that cop told us to leave,” he said nervously, glancing around as she found a parking space.

“Hey, we turned around like he told us to.”

“I'm pretty sure the
and keep going
was implied.”

“Relax. We're just going to see if we can spot Taylor and then we'll go.”

Shutting off the ignition, she got out and heard her companion mutter a curse. Any other time, she'd laugh at his grumbling, but not now. Something was pulling her toward the scene. A need to be sure he was all right, even if he didn't want to speak to her.

She spotted Shane standing among a throng of cops and firefighters doing duty at this call as paramedics. The detective was pacing anxiously, both hands gripping the sides of his head as he stared at a huddle of paramedics who were crouched over somebody. Without a second thought, she broke into a jog.

“Cara, wait!” Blake called.

Ignoring him, she made a beeline for the group. As she ran up to them, Shane spotted her and immediately intercepted her, grabbing her shoulders.

“You can't go over there,” he said hoarsely. His face was drawn, gray eyes wounded.

“Is that Taylor? I need to see him!”

“You can't. Not right now. Let the medics do their jobs and we'll be able to see him at the hospital.”

He's alive! Thank God.
Her knees almost sagged. “He'll be all right, then?”

“I hope so, but I don't—”

“His head's bleeding!” Blake interrupted, grabbing Cara's arm. “Somebody shot him in the fucking head?”

Blake's loud exclamation got the attention of several officers, who frowned at them. But Cara ignored them, her focus on getting a glimpse of Taylor on the ground. When she did, she was sorry.

He was sprawled on his back, eyes closed. Blood covered the right side of his head, saturating his hair and turning it from blond to a rusty reddish brown. A female firefighter was kneeling at his side and placed a compress on his head, while a studious-looking one in glasses fixed him with an IV.

“Entry wound?” the medic with the glasses asked.

The woman shook her head, glancing at her partner. “Too much blood.”

“Let's get him rolling.”

Two more paramedics brought a gurney, and as they were getting Taylor ready for transport, Shane called out to a firefighter on the fringes who was watching with a grim expression.

“Howard!”

The man turned, and Cara couldn't help but stare. He was not like any Howard she'd ever seen, but from the sheer size of him, his godlike presence, not to mention the looks to match, he could go by any damned name he wanted.

Howard walked over, expression serious. “Shane. Hang tight, man. He's stable, all right?”

“You sure?”

“His vitals are strong. Head wounds always look worse than they are—you know that.”

Cara studied Taylor again and contemplated those words, though she was still frozen with fear. It wasn't a definite yes. Beside her, Blake clung to her side like a piece of Velcro, looking as horrified as she felt.

“Cara . . .” His voice was a whimper. She knew how he felt.

The big firefighter turned to her. “Are you Taylor's girlfriend?”

“I— um . . .” She fumbled for the right words. “I'm Cara Evans, and I'm more like a new friend.” The knowing look the man gave her said he had already figured she was more.

“I'm Howard Paxton,” he said, voice friendly. “I'm the captain at Station Five. I'll see you folks at the hospital later when I check on Taylor.”

“Thanks,” Shane answered. “See you.”

The captain nodded at Cara and Blake, then went to join his team. Staring after the man, she couldn't help but feel like his very presence demanded that everything be okay simply because he'd said it.

Shane touched her shoulder. “Come on, they're taking him in. Assuming you two are going?”

“Of course,” she said. “There's nowhere else we'd be.” Beside her, Blake agreed.

Let them try to keep her away. They'd regret it.

The waiting room started out quiet, but soon became crowded with worried cops, pacing and swearing. Even a few firefighters, including the huge Captain Paxton and his team.

Shane was about to lose his mind, from all appearances. But the detective knew a lot of people and was obviously liked by most of them, as was Taylor. There was a constant stream of friends and acquaintances who came in and stopped by to speak with him and a rugged, official-looking man she learned was Austin Rainey, Shane and Taylor's captain.

A short time later, Howard ambled over with the two paramedics she'd seen tending to Taylor. “Cara, I'd like to introduce you to Lieutenant Zack Knight and Eve Marshall. They worked on Taylor in the ambulance and can give you all some information on his condition when he was brought in.”

Zack took over, smiling at them reassuringly. He was a handsome man with short black hair, cute in his glasses. “I'm not a doctor, so don't take this as a diagnosis, but an observation. On the way over, I was able to clean the blood to get a closer look at Taylor's head wound, and it appears to be a deep furrow rather than an invasive wound.”

There was a general exhale of relief from the group and some mutterings of thanks, Cara's included. Eve, however, had a few words of caution.

“While this is good news, keep in mind that any type of blow to the head will be treated as serious until he gets a full exam. That said, his vitals remained strong all the way here.”

“We've got to go, but we'll check back,” Zack said. After nodding to the group, he left with Eve.

Howard addressed Shane, his captain, Cara, and Blake. “We're having a party at the park by the river next weekend. We'd love for you all to join us. Taylor too, if he's feeling better.”

“Sounds great.” Shane shook his hand and Howard pulled him in for a hug and a manly slap on the back.

“Try not to worry. He'll be all right.”

“Thanks, big guy.”

“Cara, nice to meet you. Hope to see you again soon.”

“Same here.”

After he walked out the double doors, Cara shook herself. “That's one of the biggest men I've ever seen.”

“And hot!” Blake enthused. “Is that a job requirement at the fire department?”

Shane chuckled. “Down, boy. All those guys are straight as can be.”

“Still, the view would be awesome.”

“Can't argue there,” Cara muttered. But with the eye candy gone, except for Shane, her thoughts quickly returned to the man who was suffering somewhere beyond the doors to the exam rooms. He had to be okay, or she didn't know what she'd do. She needed a chance to make things right between them.

She just hoped she got one.

•   •   •

His head pounded as though someone had driven a rusty spike through his brain.

“Fuck,” he whispered. Or thought he did. Couldn't be sure, since he couldn't hear his own voice over the roaring in his ears. The noise made him sick and he sought refuge in the darkness again.

The second time he surfaced, the pounding headache was still clinging to him, but without so much of the dizzying sickness that had rocked him before. Listening, he heard a paper rustle. The sound of someone moving in a chair.

He wanted to speak to whoever was there, but he couldn't think what to say. The words wouldn't form and he was so fucking
confused
.

What day was it? What had landed him here?
Um . . .

A tendril of fear began to wind its way around his heart and he tried hard to open his eyes. He must've made some sort of movement or sound because instantly a warm, soothing hand landed on his brow and began to stroke.

“Taylor?”

Gradually, he was able to pry open his eyes, but couldn't focus right away. Her features clarified themselves first, and he smiled at her purple-streaked hair. That was kind of cool.

Then it hit him.

“Cara?” he rasped.

“Thank God you're lucid,” she breathed. “Well, almost.”

“What happened?”

“Shane said you were shot in the head. Don't ever scare me like that again!” Immediately his face and lips were showered in kisses.

The attention was nice, so he took advantage and soaked it up shamelessly. Just Cara being near made him feel better. Gradually, as he relaxed into her touch, the events came back to him.

Meeting with the informant. Learning there was a hit man in town, after Taylor. And then the fucker had shown almost the second their informant had booked out, which made him suspicious. Then the pursuit, he and Shane trying to get behind the suspect to apprehend him.

Yeah, that didn't work out so well.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I got clubbed with a baseball bat.”

“Might as well have been. The bullet grazed your scalp but it still had a pretty nasty impact.”

He was goddamned lucky his gray matter was still inside his skull.

“When can I go home?”

“They're keeping you overnight, but the doctor said tomorrow, barring complications.”

He made a face. The truth was, though, he wasn't sure he was in any shape to move just yet. “Did they catch the bastard who did this?”

Resuming her seat, she shook her head. “From what I gathered listening to them, no,” she said, looking worried. “Shane thinks this is tied to Max and me somehow, and based on what we'd already discussed, I agree.”

“I'm surprised you're still talking to me.”

She blinked in surprise. “Me? I was going to say the same thing about you. I've been keeping my identity a secret from you since I came to town. I stalked you so I could make you suffer for what happened to Jenny.”

“But you didn't.”

“Huh?”

“That's just it,” he said with a slight smile. “When it came down to the nitty-gritty, you never did anything about me. Now that I've had time to think about it, I believe the reason you put off confronting me is because you weren't sure about what you'd been told.”

“Maybe so,” she said thoughtfully.

She was studying him like she had something else on her mind, and he wondered if she could possibly know. . . . But she couldn't, right? She could speculate there was more to the story that had driven him out of L.A., but she couldn't
know
. And he wasn't ready to discuss it yet.

If she didn't hate him before, she might when she learned the whole truth.

Suddenly tired, he melted into the pillows and closed his eyes. He fell into sleep with her touching him, praying the budding relationship between them could survive the coming blow.

•   •   •

Dmitri reined in his temper with a monumental effort. He studied his new man, Web. Allowed him a few moments to stand on the other side of the desk, waiting for his orders. Rage firmly in control, he leaned forward, careful to keep his voice low. Eerily jovial.

“Snyder still hasn't managed to kill one stupid cop.” It wasn't a question.

“No, sir.”

“Tell me precisely what in the fuck you're going to do about it.”

Web hooked his thumbs in his jeans, assuming a casual stance. Unruffled. Smart kid.

“Catch a flight there, make sure he doesn't fuck up again.”

Dmitri relaxed a bit. But he looked Web hard in the eye, to make sure there would be no misunderstanding. “Our friend Snyder has outlived his usefulness by screwing up one too many times. Once this job is done, you'll take care of him.”

“All right. What about Evans? Still want her dead?”

Dmitri's anger surged anew. “The first clear opportunity that presents itself, kill her. I can't risk the woman putting my future plans in jeopardy. Whether or not her death appears to be an unfortunate accident is up to you.”

“What about Kayne? How do you want him done?”

An idea formed in his mind, and the more he considered it, the more he warmed to it. “On second thought, leave him to me. The police will be on guard now, so we'll wait a bit. Then I'll catch a flight with you, and we'll strike.”

Web's smile turned nasty. “Do I get to watch you fillet him? After all, you're the only man I know who can make death a form of fine art. Maybe I can learn a new trick.”

“If you perform your job well, I might let you participate. Now get out. And keep me informed.”

“You've got it.”

A form of fine art, indeed.

Staring at the small framed photo on his desk, Dmitri's eyes filled, burned with anguish he'd believed long dead and gone. He traced a finger across the slick glass.

“Kayne will pay,” he whispered. “If it's the last thing I do, I'll get the bastard. I promise.”

•   •   •

Taylor had never been so glad to be home.

Wobbling inside, he shrugged off assistance from his companion and lowered himself to the sofa. “I might stay right here and not move again.”

“Wrong,” Cara said with a stubborn light in her eyes. “You're going up to bed and you're going to stay there until you're one hundred percent.”

“Soon. I just want to sit here for a few minutes.”
And let the room stop spinning.

The doctor had released him with strict instructions to come back if he experienced nausea, vomiting, or blurred vision. So far it was only dizzy spells and a mother of a headache, so he could cope.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Not just yet. In a little while I will be.” He studied her as she set down her purse and joined him on the sofa. “Why didn't Blake come with you?”

She smiled. “He's finally getting his own life, you know. He has an interview this afternoon.”

“That's great! Why didn't he tell me when he came by last night?”

“I guess he didn't want to get his hopes up in case he doesn't get the job, but he was really excited earlier. I dropped him off before I went to pick you up, and he said he'd get a ride back to my house.”

“From who?” Taylor's protective instincts came to the fore. “He doesn't really know very many people.”

“Relax! Remember Jinx? He's going to play chauffer for me.”

How could he forget the guitarist with the roaming hands and the boundary issues? Like a bad penny, the guy was bound to turn up again. “There wasn't anyone else who could help Blake out?”

“Not on such short notice, no.” She eyed him with a frown. “What's the problem? Jinx is a perfectly nice guy and fun to be around. He and Blake have already hit it off.”

“The problem is—”

The more the guitarist was around Blake on their time off from the band, the more he'd be in Cara's presence, too. That was the crux of the matter, and he wasn't about to spew his jealousy to the woman he wanted to win over. It would just make Taylor look like a jerk.

“Nothing,” he amended. “It's fine.”

“O-kay.” Clearly she didn't believe him, but didn't push it. “I'm going to scout around your kitchen and see what I can throw together for dinner while you take a nap.”

“You don't have to do that.” Though part of him loved the idea of her taking care of him. “Really, I can manage if you want to go home.”

“There's nowhere else I'd rather be,” she said softly.

Leaning over, she gave him a sweet kiss. Just a press of lips to his, no tongue, but it brought his body to life like nothing else could. Taking more, he returned it, enjoying this woman pushing into him, soft and warm. Her breasts grazing his chest, her hair tickling his face. His cock stirred and he shifted, trying to get more comfortable. But the only relief he'd get would be if he were buried balls deep in her.

“Go,” she said on a laugh, pulling away. “Get some rest.”

“And if I'm a good boy?”

“We'll see.”

Damn.
Sending her a pout, which made her giggle, he headed upstairs. Making his room without incident, he stretched out on the bed and had to admit to himself that he was still tired. Before long, the weight of sleep pulled him under.

Straight into the nightmare he couldn't escape.

“Think you're so smart, asshole? Thought you could come in here and be a big hero?” Connor Wright screamed in his face.

“No, I want to help.” Sweat rolled down Taylor's back. “We can end this peacefully—”

“Peace? You want peace?” Wildly, he waved his gun at the three cowering people in the living room. The hostages Taylor had been sent in to help.

One of them was Jennifer Wright—Connor's estranged wife.

“Choose!” Connor bellowed, pressing the gun into the back of his head.

“Choose what?” Taylor fought to keep calm.

“You want peace? Choose one person to live.”

God, no. “Connor, let's talk about—”

“Which one gets to walk out, huh? Choose, goddamn you!”

“You know I can't do that,” he stated evenly. “But you and I can figure something out. Let them go and keep me instead.”

“They deserve to die!”

“No! Everyone deserves to live.”

“The fuck they do! They all support my conniving bitch of a wife! They all deceive me!” Connor screamed, out of control. “You had your chance!”

Before Taylor could move, the man swung the gun toward the housekeeper—

And Taylor could only watch in horror as her head exploded all over the custom drapes.

Taylor bolted upright, dragging air into his lungs, heart threatening to burst in his chest. He clutched the bedcovers, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Sickness churned in his stomach. Self-loathing.

Yeah, Connor Wright had stolen the last of his innocence as a young cop that black day. Shown him true horror and the total destruction one human being could suffer at the hands of another. Afterward, he'd never harbored any doubt he deserved the cruel punishment of the nightmare that had lasted four hellish years.