Mark Taylor Omnibus (The Mark Taylor Series)

by M. P. McDonald

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  She sat and took a deep breath, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. After a moment, she glanced at the phone. “Were you getting ready to call someone?”

  Mark felt the blood rush to his face. “Uh, yeah, actually I was going to make a personal call.”

  Nodding, she stood and crossed to the door. “I’ll take a look around the place. Are you doing photo-shoots today?”

  "I'm not shooting, but Lily has a couple. I have a ton of paperwork I can do." At least one little piece of his life could get back to normal. He picked up the phone, and instead of calling Scott Palmer, he called Lily to ask her if she needed him to switch out backdrops. After clearing the air with Jessie, he didn't feel the need to call the psychiatrist anymore.

  Chapter 21

  Mark ventured outside for the first time a few days later. He was so weary of being cooped up, and the weather was unseasonably warm. Cops patrolled often enough that the crowd had thinned, and a fender bender down the street claimed the crowds’ attention for the moment.

  He stood in the doorway and closed his eyes for an instant. The sun heated his face and a soft breeze tickled through his hair. It felt wonderful.

  The snow had completely melted, even the dirty piles in the corners of parking lots. The sky dazzled an endless deep blue. Mark decided to head towards the lake front. He always liked watching the first sailboats of the season sail out on trial runs.

  The second he stepped foot onto the sidewalk, someone spotted him, and before he knew it, he was surrounded. Mark held his arm out, trying to keep people away from his injured shoulder. “Hey!”

  The hands touched him and his skin crawled. The sensation was so much like the night of his abduction that it was all he could do to keep from striking out. His breathing quickened. “Get back!” He reflexively swung his arm when someone touched his head.

  Mark tried to duck away from the people, but a woman had a determined grip on his collar. The material pulled on his still tender neck, and he reached up to pry his shirt from her fingers. With a loud rip, the material gave way.

  It was like a feeding frenzy in a shark tank. More hands reached in, tearing bits from his shirt and even his pleas that they were hurting him didn’t stop them. If they were so in awe of him, why would they do this? Only the whoop of a police siren, and the screech of tires as an unmarked sedan came to halt at the curb beside him kept Mark from hitting someone or being torn apart.

  “Step away from the man!”

  Mark had never been so happy to hear Jim's sharp commanding tone. He sagged as the crowd fell back.

  “You okay, Mark?” Jim’s eyes bore into him, his mouth set in an angry line.

  Mark nodded. Jim ordered the people to leave or they’d be arrested for assault. The threat of arrest did the trick and the crowd dispersed, some waving scraps of Mark's shirt as trophies.

  Without a word, Mark turned and headed back into the studio and up to his loft. Anger filled him and he yanked a new shirt from his drawer. It took some effort to untangle the tattered remains of his old shirt from the belt of the sling and the longer it took, the angrier he became. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Finally, he reached behind his neck and pulled the support band over his head and tore the whole contraption off and flung it to the floor.

  “You're sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine, Jim.” He knew the other man wasn’t to blame, but Jim was the one that was there. “Those people are crazy!” Mark pulled his shirt over his head. He was so mad he was shaking and his next statement came out low and harsh, “I can’t live my life like this.”

  “You won’t have to. It might not seem like it after that experience, but the crowds are down to about half of what they were a few days ago.” Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and said, “Unfortunately, the ones who are still hanging around are the real zealots.”

  Mark shook his torn shirt in Jim’s direction. “Ya think?” He threw the shirt on the sofa.

  “Where were you going?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  Jim’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Taylor, I don’t give a damn, but since Kern’s still out there as well as Medea, it might be a good idea to at least tell me when and where you’re going so if you come up missing, we’ll know where to start looking!”

  Mark’s anger evaporated and he dropped onto the couch and leaned forward. Cradling his head in his hands, he closed his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault.”

  “Forget it. Anyway, I was coming by to tell you that there was a possible sighting of Kern in the city. It hasn’t been confirmed, but I wanted to keep you up to date. You have your phone, right?”

  Mark raised his head, his stomach knotted up tighter than a strand of old Christmas lights. "Yeah. I've been carrying it."

  “Good. Listen, I don’t care if you’re going to see your bookie, I want to know about it, understand?”

  With a snort of laughter, Mark let a smile crack his face. “Yeah. Got it. Loud and clear.”

  “Good. I spoke with Jessie this morning and she's going to come by and stay here later today and until then, the CPD will increase patrols around the neighborhood. Tonight, Dan said he'd send over a uniformed officer to park in front of the building.”

  Mark stood and held out his hand. “Thanks for saving my butt out there.”

  Jim smiled and shook the outstretched hand. “No problem.”

  * * *

  Mark spent the rest of the morning cooped up in his office going over paperwork. It was a chore he hated and never seemed to find the time to do thoroughly. Now, he had nothing but time. He looked at the clock and wondered when Jessie was going to show up. He took a sip from a bottle of water and bent over the books again. After an hour, he tossed his pencil down and rubbed his eyes. The numbers had begun to dance and blur and he knew he was done. He stretched and winced when he forgot about his shoulder for a moment. He needed a break and decided to head to O'Leary's Pub. It had been his and Jessie's favorite place to grab a burger and beer, and right now, he craved something familiar and comforting. After a quick call to Jim that left him feeling like a teenager calling his dad for permission, Mark called a cab and made it out the door without incident.

  The lunch crowd had left and happy hour hadn’t yet begun as Mark ventured into the bar, relieved at the change of scenery. He was glad he hadn’t hidden away at home. He saw some patrons point and whisper, but nobody approached him and he was grateful for that.

  “Hey, Bob. How're you doing?” Mark approached the bar.

  “Great. How ‘bout you?” Bob wasn't a chatty bartender, and not much fazed him. If he knew about Mark's recent troubles, he kept it to himself.

  “Good. Can I get a tapper?”

  Bob nodded. “Sure thing." He filled a tall glass and slid it in front of Mark. "I heard you had a bit of trouble."

  Mark sipped the cold brew. "Yeah, but it's all good now."

  "Glad to hear." After a pause, he added, "The Cubs are coming on in a few minutes. You want me to put them on?"

  “Sure.” He smiled and took another swig then rounded the bar and settled on a stool closer to the TV to watch the game. It felt good to do normal things.

  Jessie showed up during the fourth inning. “Hey, Mark. This isn’t exactly staying out of sight.”

  Mark finished off his second beer and set the glass down with a thump. The leash was beginning to strangle him. “Look, Jess, I can’t hide forever.”

  “Nobody’s asking for forever, just a few more days.”

  "How did you know I was here?"

  "I got to the loft, and you were nowhere to be found. I called Jim. He said you were here. He also mentioned the fiasco this morning. What were you thinking to leave without someone around? You were just damn lucky Jim showed up when he did." She stood in front of him, arms crossed and her eyes flashing as she cast a dubious glance at the empty glass. “I thought you
were on medications?”

  “I finished them, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Bob turned to look at Jessie and then gave Mark an amused look. Feeling like a scolded schoolboy, Mark slid off the stool and headed for the door. She could follow or not, but he wasn’t going to invite her. The rapid click of her shoes behind him let him know that she followed.

  Her car was parked out front, and he debated passing it and walking home or catching a cab, but decided it would just make him look silly, so he climbed into the passenger seat when she unlocked the door. Neither spoke on the drive back to Mark's loft, and the feeling of being a teen caught out after curfew settled over him. He had a feeling it was going to be a long evening.

  * * *

  “Where’s your sling?”

  Mark ignored her while he found the remote between the sofa cushions and turned the game on. If he was lucky, he'd get to see the last few innings. He flopped onto the couch and brought his legs up, crossing them at the ankles. He heard her sigh as she moved behind him and then a thump as she set her purse on the counter top. The refrigerator door creaked and he found it somewhat amusing that she still felt comfortable enough to help herself. It even felt right.

  He tilted his head towards her when she sat on the chair, a bottle of water in one hand and a bag of cookies in her lap. He didn’t even know he had cookies. Chocolate chip. His favorite. It must have been one of the items that Lily had stocked him with.

  She bit into one then spoke a few seconds later. “I guess I should have kept my mouth shut at O'Leary's. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I think it’s low blood sugar. I’m starving.”

  Mark returned his focus on the game, but he felt tension ease out of his muscles.

  “Who’s winning?”

  “Cubs. Three to two.” Without looking, he held his hand out and Jessie placed three cookies in it. He smiled.

  They crunched cookies and Jessie poured them each a tall glass of milk to go with them. By the bottom of the seventh inning, Mark felt his eyes grow heavy.

  * * *

  Mark awoke by degrees as he heard the game still droning on—something about extra innings. A distant car horn sounded. He was so comfortable that he was loathe to move. With nowhere important to go, he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing. It was so quiet, he wondered if Jessie had left.

  He cracked his eyes open. The light outside filtered pink and gold through the windows. Jessie sat slumped in the chair, her legs stretched out, and he assumed she was dozing. Then he saw her eyes were open and focused on him. Her face wore a soft look he hadn’t seen in ages, and curious, he kept his eyes only slivered, watching her through his eyelashes.

  While she freely watched him, Mark took the opportunity to return the observation. Her skin glowed in the soft light. He always thought she had beautiful eyes when they weren’t shooting daggers at him. The long lashes and delicately arched brows framed eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Her white blouse fit her well and he admired the smooth skin of her neck and followed it down to where it disappeared.

  She continued to observe him, her gaze roaming his body, lingering at times. For the first time since she'd left him, she looked at him not with anger, pity, or exasperation but with something else. His body recognized the look and his face warmed. Would she see his breathing quicken? Mark shifted, and knew that his face must be flaming red now.

  Her eyes widened and flew to his. Jessie’s cheeks stained as she met his gaze. Mark couldn’t look away and surprise shot through him when she held the look. Her tongue darted out, touching the corner of her mouth for an instant and it was all he could do not to groan. He sat up, his eyes dropping to her lips. And then lower. He couldn’t help himself. The fabric made a slim V to the buttons and seemed to draw his eyes down like an arrow point. The visible skin turned a dull red.

  “H-have a good nap?” Jessie dipped her head, looking anywhere but at him.

  Mark nodded. “Yep. A great nap.”

  He scooted over on the sofa, his knee brushing her thigh and he felt a jolt of heat where their bodies touched.

  Jessie flinched, but left her leg resting against his. His heart raced when he saw the wild beating of the pulse in her neck. Without thinking, he reached out to touch it. Her eyes followed his hand, and her breath fluttered across his knuckles. He touched the pulse point, feeling the strong beat of her heart. Jessie’s skin felt like warm satin under his fingertips, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Her hair fell forward as she leaned into his hand.

  Mark slid his hand farther back, burying his fingers in the silky strands, and her head lolled back as she let out a soft sigh.

  “Jessie.”

  She opened her eyes and his breath caught at the simmering passion. Leaning in, he captured her lips, tasting them and felt a thrill when he met no resistance. He groaned when her mouth opened, welcoming him. Her arms circled his neck, her fingers skimming through his hair. He'd missed this.

  He needed more and pressed closer, lengthening the kiss, savoring it. It wasn't enough. Mark trailed kisses down her neck. She tilted her head, allowing him access. God, she tasted wonderful. Following the curve of her throat down, he felt her shudder beneath his lips. His body trembled as her hands dove down the back of his shirt.

  His exploration of her throat continued as he pushed the material aside. Her scent enveloped him, intoxicating his senses. Mark trailed his hand down, his fingers working the first button, popping it free. She leaned back into the chair and Mark followed as he stood, his body almost lying atop hers. Her hands undid several of his shirt buttons and he moaned against the swell of her breast when her hands roamed his shoulders. He freed another button and opened her blouse, absorbing the sight of her. He dipped his head, kissing the valley between her breasts and reached his hands beneath her to unclasp her bra, but his hand tangled in the strap from her shoulder holster. With a muffled curse, he tugged on it.

  “Wait!” Jessie went rigid and sat up, almost bashing Mark’s nose with her knee as she scrambled backwards.

  Bewildered and panting, Mark stumbled back, half falling on the sofa behind him. “W-what?”

  Jessie swung her legs over the arm of the chair and clutched the edges of her shirt, pulling them together. “We…we can’t do this.”

  Mark licked his lips, still tasting the hint of salty tang from her skin. “Why not?”

  “Because I’m working and you’re…you’re a victim I’m supposed to be protecting, that’s why not!”

  His eyes snapped to hers and his stomach clenched. “A victim? That’s how you think of me?”

  Her head was down as she straightened her clothing. “Look, Mark. You’ve been under a lot of stress and…” Her face flushed a deep red. “…and it’s natural to look for relief and we have a history, so I understand why you thought—.”

  "Stop!" Mark dropped his head and closed his eyes. After a moment, he was able to get his breathing under control, but he glanced at the zipper of his jeans and felt his skin burn all the way to the tips of his ears. He stood and turned his back to her, not knowing what to do. It was a one-room loft and no way was he going to flee to the bathroom. His voice was hoarse when he spoke again. “Could you just…just give me a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  He heard her footsteps head towards the kitchen and the water turned on. Mark ran a hand through his hair and tried to push the image of Jessie lying beneath him out of his mind. Getting his body back under control should have been easy after she splashed the victim label all over him like a pail of ice water, but his mind and body had opposite ideas.

  “You okay?”

  Mark groaned. Why couldn’t she just leave him be? “I’m fine.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded tight. He took a few more deep breaths, then strode to the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a beer. He dared her to say anything as he shot her a look.

  “Look, Mark, I didn’t mean that I think of you as just a victim. You know I think you’re more than that.” S
he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living area.

  He slugged back several gulps of the beer and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Oh no? Well, what exactly do you think of me, Jessie?” Mark pushed past her and tried to ignore the sizzle he felt when his arm brushed against hers.

  He didn’t expect a reply and her silence didn’t surprise him. He stood behind the couch, tipped the bottle and stared blankly at the ballgame. He felt shame at how far he had carried the kiss. This was Jessie. She'd made her feelings about him known when she'd left him.

  Even without looking, he sensed her presence behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around. He dreaded seeing her opinion of him scrawled all over her face. Instead, he wandered to the window.

  Dusk had deepened, casting the street below in dark purple shadows. The light of a couple dozen candles bobbed and weaved as a small crowd mingled on the walk. Could they see him up in the window? The loft was dim, but the television cast a glow. Just in case, Mark raised his beer in a mocking toast. “Bottoms up!” The brew was cold and he savored the taste.

  “Feel better?”

  “No.” Mark didn’t look at her.

  She sighed. “Look, I’m working. What if something happened while we were…you know?”

  Mark tried to keep his anger flowing, but she had a point.

  “If Kern comes, and I can’t get to my gun or cell phone, what good am I up here?”

  Mark glanced at her. Her eyes scanned the crowd below and he knew she wasn’t seeing them as religious zealots, but as possible Kern followers. He regarded them as a nuisance, she viewed them as impending criminals. “My timing stinks.”