Every Waking Moment

by Meryl Sawyer

  “Okay, I can understand how you feel, but I think you’re afraid.”

  She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. I’m not afraid of sex. I’m afraid of love.

  “I’m going home.”

  “No, you’re not.” He pulled her close. “You’re spending the night here in my bed. Right, Auggie?”

  At the sound of his name, the dog’s tail whipped through the air. Taylor had to smile, her heart beating faster than Auggie’s tail. Being here in Shane’s arms felt so … special.

  Why should she deprive herself?

  He swept her off the sofa into his arms and carried her to his bedroom. She didn’t protest when he lowered her to the bed and gave her a quick kiss.

  “Just a minute.”

  She waited in the dark, one hand over the side of the bed petting Auggie. A scratching sound was followed by the flare of a candle. A second later, Shane lit another candle.

  Strange, she thought. Shane didn’t seem like a guy who would have candles in his bedroom. She sniffed, then inhaled more deeply.

  Jasmine and vanilla.

  “Lisa gave you aromatherapy candles.”

  “Gave? Hell, no.” He lit another candle. “She made me buy them. Sold me Love Dust, too.”

  Taylor moaned softly to herself. Anticipating. She started to unbutton her blouse.

  “No, you don’t. I want to undress you.”

  He straddled her, his knees beside her hips. He took his sweet time unbuttoning her blouse. When he finished, he shoved the panels aside and gazed down at the lacy bra covering her breasts.

  The candlelight shimmered over her exposed skin, and the fragrant scent of vanilla mingled with jasmine filled her lungs. Taylor smiled up at Shane, a fluid heat unfurling from deep within her body.

  “We’re just right for each other,” Shane told her as he eased her skirt down over her hips.

  She shimmied a little to help get it off. “Just right.”

  The words kindled something she thought she’d lost when Paul had vanished. A second chance. Not at love, she told herself, but at a relationship.

  She was fine alone. The last two years had proved how self-sufficient she could be, but she didn’t want her life to be so solitary.

  All work—the company and her game—nothing more. Life was meant to be lived, shared.

  Standing beside the bed, he removed his clothes, stripping down to black briefs. Black silk.

  “Mmmmmm,” she purred. “Lisa’s just too naughty.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, lowering himself down beside her. “Don’t you think I picked these up on my own?”

  She reached out and cupped his sex through the satiny fabric. Hard and hot.

  “No. You’re the practical type. Lisa put you up to this.”

  He removed her hand, then unhooked her bra. A rush of cool air peaked her nipples, and Shane bent down to tease one with the tip of his tongue. Just as she was settling in, enjoying each stroke, he stopped.

  “Time for the Love Dust.”

  He had a canister of Lisa’s ground honey concoction. Using the small feather duster, he brushed the amber talc across her breasts. Alternating short and long, then swirly movements, he whisked the power across her body.

  He stopped and set the canister on the nightstand. “Now for the real fun.”

  “Define fun.”

  “This is my idea of fun. Let me know when you’re having a good time.”

  He licked the Love Dust off her nipples, suckling each taut bud gently as he did. With every stroke, pleasure radiated downward, a melting sweetness pooling in the moist heat between her thighs.

  Shane lifted his head and pressed his lips against hers. His mouth tasted like warm honey. The scent of it was light, sweet. The kiss sang through her veins, sending her pulse rate even higher.

  A taste of honey, she thought.

  The scent of jasmine and vanilla.

  Now this was aromatherapy, the treatment her tired soul needed.

  “Shane,” she murmured, arching upward against the masculine length of his body. “I—”

  KA-BOOM! The concussion rocked the bed. The sound of shattering glass was followed by a woman’s piercing scream.

  In a heartbeat, Shane was on his feet. “Stay there!”

  He yanked on his trousers, then grabbed a gun from the nightstand. He sprinted out of the room, and Taylor followed, the sheet wrapped around her.

  The living room glowed brilliant orange. For a second, she thought his apartment was on fire. Then she realized the light was coming from a pillar of flame shooting into the night sky.

  From her apartment.

  Chapter 21

  Shane hugged Taylor to his side. She’d stopped trembling half an hour ago when the firemen had arrived to put out the blaze in her living room, but he knew she was still upset.

  “I don’t think they meant to kill you.” Shane tried to assure her. “My guess is someone tossed a small pipe bomb into your apartment. Did you leave the front door unlocked?”

  “Yes. I’d planned to be at your place for just a few minutes.”

  They were standing in the courtyard, gazing into the living room through what had once been a lovely art deco window. It was raining, a hot, tropical drizzle that made the air thick, hard to breathe.

  The bomb squad was raking through the charred remains. Beside them Auggie sniffed the smoky air. He barked twice and pointed like a bird dog.

  “Why’s Auggie doing that?”

  Shane hated to tell her that Auggie had just confirmed what he’d suspected.

  “He’s detected the scent of an explosive substance. That’s what he did for the military.”

  “Why didn’t he smell it earlier?”

  “The fire was releasing too many odors at once, and the rain made tracking the smell confusing. All that’s left is a very faint trace scent.” Shane leaned down and petted Auggie. “At ease, boy. At ease.”

  “Why would someone bomb my place?”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d asked. Hell, it was at least the hundredth time he’d asked himself the same question.

  “I wish I could explain why someone would do this.” He thought a moment. “It’s almost like a warning. If you’d been home, the noise would have awakened you, and you would have run out the back door.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “Good question. If not a warning, then why?”

  Two of the policemen on the bomb squad walked over to them. “It was a small pipe bomb. We have enough of it intact for the lab to check.”

  Taylor asked, “Do you think you’ll be able to find out who did it?”

  The older man with the ruddy complexion and receding hairline shook his head. “I doubt the lab analysis will help ID the perp. It’s a simple device. A kid could have made it.”

  The second man added, “With what’s out on the Internet making something like this is a piece of cake. It would be more helpful if someone had seen the person.”

  “At two in the morning?” Taylor shook her head. “I—”

  “Taylor, thank God, you’re all right.”

  Trent rushed into the courtyard, his brows drawn downward in a concerned frown.

  “How did you—”

  “Mrs. Bryant called me. She didn’t think you should be alone.” Trent threw his arms around his sister and bear-hugged her. “All the way over, I kept praying not to lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost someone else I love.”

  The two men from the bomb squad stepped away, saying they’d be back when it was daylight. Shane watched them leave, wondering how he could help Taylor.

  Next time, she might be killed.

  “Have you heard from Raoul?” he asked Trent.

  “No. Not a word.” Trent’s arm was draped across his sister’s shoulders. “I pray he’s all right.”

  Shane mustered what he hoped was a sympathetic expression. But a thought hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.

  With Renata and
Taylor dead, only Trent would be left to inherit his mother’s fortune.

  Calle Ocho, the heart of Little Havana, meant strings of small shops and cafés crammed together like cigars in a box. Signs in Spanish and throngs of people who, forty years later, still called Cuba home.

  Shane walked along the sidewalk, looking for El Tambor, the bar where Jim Wilson had been working. The scent of sweet Cuban coffee and the heavier odor of cigars wafted through the midmorning air. Salsa music thumped from the shops, pulsing with life, the beat of Calle Ocho.

  Vendors maneuvered pushcarts loaded with coquito, coconut candy, around elderly men in guayaberas puffing on cigars while they hovered over non-stop games of dominos. Shane was fluent in Spanish, and he picked up snatches of conversation as he passed.

  He found El Tambor on a corner next to a bakery. Sheets of plywood had been nailed across the front door. The place appeared to be permanently closed.

  He strolled into the bakery, ordered a medianoche, a “midnight” sandwich of ham, cheese, and pickles, invented for people who’d partied all night, but served early in the morning. After he and Taylor had finally gone to bed, he hadn’t been able to sleep.

  A warning voice kept whispering in his head.

  Taylor is in danger.

  His sixth sense had served him well in countless missions.

  How could he help Taylor when he didn’t know what—or who—he was up against?

  The nagging sense of frustration gnawed at him. The problems at To The Maxx, Renata’s murder, the fire-bombing all seemed to be random events. But he suspected they were somehow linked.

  If he could solve the puzzle, he could save Taylor.

  Before it was too late.

  He hadn’t mentioned his suspicions to her yet, not wanting to worry her unnecessarily, but the more he thought about it, the surer he became.

  “Why is El Tambor closed?” he asked the woman behind the counter in Spanish as he paid for the medianoche.

  “The police raided it.”

  “When?”

  “Two nights ago.”

  “Why?”

  “No one knows.”

  Shane walked out, wondering when Jim Wilson had left El Tambor and come to work for Lisa. A couple of weeks, maybe longer. He’d need to check.

  Taylor supposed she should thank her lucky stars. There was a lot of smoke damage to her apartment, and the contents of the living room were a total loss, but her clothes had survived, as well as the things in the kitchen. Her laptop with her Trivial Moments game on it, almost finished, had been safe here at the office.

  She tried to concentrate on the sales reports her assistant had put on her desk earlier. Skimming through them, she saw sales of their newest products were brisk in Southern California, Texas, and Greater Miami. Women in these areas were quick to try new beauty supplies.

  It meant Maxx would have to plan special promotions to spur interest in their newer products in other parts of the country. Taylor thought small samples to be given away in beauty supply stores worked the best. But it was expensive.

  Uncle Doyle knocked on her door, just as she was wondering if he would approve the expenditure.

  “What happened at your place last night?” he asked, frowning.

  “Someone threw a firebomb into the living room. Luckily, I was across the courtyard at Shane’s.”

  “Why would anyone …”

  “You’ve got me. I didn’t think I had an enemy who would resort to this.” Her scalp prickled as she recalled the orange flames leaping from her front window.

  “Could it have been a mistake?”

  “I’d like to think so. It was the dead of night, and the courtyard isn’t very well lit. The rain made it harder to see. Perhaps the person didn’t read the street number correctly.”

  Uncle Doyle sat in the chair beside her desk. “Maybe they got the wrong apartment.”

  “Shane and I are the only ones on the ground level. The other two units are upstairs.”

  He shot her a penetrating look.

  “You think the firebomb was intended for Shane?”

  Her uncle shrugged, lifting just one shoulder the way her father had. “He’s a man who’s likely to have more enemies than you. Just how much do you know about him?”

  Not enough, she silently conceded.

  “Shane’s a good man. He worked for the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I’m not sure. Something to do with antiterrorism.” She thought about it for a moment. “Even if Shane were the target, why a firebomb? It made a lot of noise. He could have run out the back door.”

  Still frowning, her uncle studied her. “Be very careful.”

  “I will. I guess I should tell my mother before—”

  “I phoned Vanessa and told her you were at work.”

  Normally, her mother would have called her to make certain Taylor was okay. But these weren’t normal times. Vanessa Maxwell wasn’t herself.

  “How long is it going to take to repair your apartment?”

  “You know Mrs. Bryant. She’ll get a zillion quotes before she does anything.”

  “Doesn’t she have insurance?”

  “Yes, but this morning she told me it doesn’t cover fires that are the result of a ‘criminal act.’ She’ll have to pay for the repairs.”

  “Do you need a place to stay? Brianna would be thrilled to have you move in with us.”

  “No, I’m fine, but thanks for the offer.”

  She didn’t add that she was staying with Shane, although her uncle was savvy enough to figure it out.

  Taylor changed the subject. “I was going over the latest sales reports. Our newest products aren’t taking off the way I’d like. I think we should make up samples to give away in beauty supply stores. I know it’s going to cost—”

  “We’ve got to do it. Target San Francisco and Seattle and Boston. Skip flyover land.”

  The marketing people called the middle section of the country “flyover land” because the major markets were on the coasts. The part of the country you flew over to get to each coast was often ignored in marketing campaigns. Taylor believed this was a mistake, but she had to admit immediate results could be seen when large metropolitan areas on the coasts were targeted.

  “We need to keep this company growing,” her uncle continued. “We may not be selling it anytime soon.”

  “Why do you say that? Shane’s friend should have the computer mess figured out any day now.”

  “I spoke with Ridley Pudge last night. He called Vanessa to see if she wanted to change the will back to the way it was now that Renata is dead. She told him she was thinking it over, and she’d let him know.”

  Taylor didn’t care about the money, but it cut deep to know her mother was having second thoughts about leaving her anything.

  “It’s my mother’s money. She can do whatever she likes.”

  “They released Renata’s body. The funeral is on Friday. We’d all better go.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, although she dreaded it.

  She could just imagine how grief-stricken her mother would be. Considering her failing health, this was an ordeal she didn’t need.

  “There’s something else,” her uncle said quietly. Too quietly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I got a call last evening from Raoul. He wanted a hundred thousand dollars to leave Miami.”

  Taylor closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how upset Trent had been last night. He hadn’t heard a thing from Raoul. While Trent had been worrying, the man he loved was trying to squeeze money out of the family.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told Raoul to forget it. Not only don’t I have that much cash, I wouldn’t interfere in Trent’s life by getting rid of his … friend.”

  “Mother once offered him money. He might—”

  “He called her first. She refused to give him a dime.”

  Taylor slumped back in her chair.
“I’d like to think my mother wised up and chose not to meddle in Trent’s affairs, but I’m afraid she’s changed. It’s either the medication or Renata’s death. Maybe both. But she’s not the same person anymore.”

  “I’m sorry, Taylor. I know how hard this is on you. I wish we’d never found Renata.”

  “She was my mother’s daughter. The DNA proved it.”

  “I know, but she was trouble with a capital T.”

  Hot rain pelted the grass, a blessing after the grilling Miami heat, he decided. The palms bent sideways in the wind, moaning their loneliness.

  Standing a death watch.

  There wasn’t a damn thing to do except watch the lightening flash in jagged blue streaks, zigzagging across the pitch-black sky.

  And wait for the thunder to boom an ominous warning.

  “The bomb hasn’t frightened Taylor enough,” he said out loud. “She doesn’t even suspect she’s next to die.”

  It was too soon to kill her, of course.

  “Never play your ace prematurely.”

  The rain pecked against the window, a distraction. The wind had clocked around and was now blowing from a different direction, flinging rain sideways.

  That’s it!

  Come at this from a different direction. Really challenge Shane Donovan. The prick deserved it.

  Put the fear of God into Taylor.

  How should I begin?

  Every waking moment your killer is watching you.

  He chuckled to himself. The bitch deserved to die. The sooner she knew the end was near—and worried about it—the happier he would be.

  Chapter 22

  Shane waited at his apartment with Auggie for Taylor to come home. He knew she’d dropped by her mother’s home after work. It was raining again tonight. A real storm this time, complete with thunder and lightning.

  The telephone rang and he grabbed it, hoping it was Taylor, but it was Vince.

  “I got the information you wanted.”

  Shane had called Vince after he’d left Calle Ocho. He’d asked Vince to use his connections in the police department to find out why El Tambor had been raided.

  “The two brothers who own El Tambor were laundering bingo skim money.”

  “Bingo skim? You mean from the Seminoles’ casinos?” Shane asked.