Hot Pursuit

by Jo Davis

  And then the lights went out.

  5

  Murphy’s Law decreed that Taylor should get called in to work on his day off. A lead on a case wouldn’t wait, and he wasn’t too thrilled about it.

  He strode into the station, dragging a bit and wanting nothing more than to head straight for the coffeepot. He’d gotten little sleep last night, thanks to a woman who’d rocked his world, then run like her ass was on fire, and now refused to acknowledge he was alive.

  Of course, that was par for the course in his luck with women. He’d texted Cara earlier, just wishing her a good day and saying he hoped to see her again, not really expecting a response. There hadn’t been one. Then he spent the morning moping as he worked, interviewing witnesses and doing mounds of paperwork. Now he was edgy and feeling like taking it out on someone, unfair as that might be.

  The irritability lasted until he spotted Christian Ford sitting at his desk, head in his hands. The younger detective was slumped in his chair, elbows on the desk top, his defeated posture giving Taylor pause. Chris was one of the most exuberant, positive guys he knew, almost to the point of being an annoying pest, and to see him like this set off alarm bells.

  Taylor tried a bit of ribbing to draw him out. “Hey, man. You got the workday flu? I could’ve told you those extra beers aren’t worth the pain.”

  Chris was typically primed and ready to engage in a round of witty comebacks, but this time he was strangely sluggish in responding. Slowly he raised his head, sat back in his chair, and blinked at Taylor. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “You look like crap,” he said with a slight frown. The man’s face was pale, eyes dazed and a little bloodshot. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.” But the way he stared at the desk top as though it contained the answers to his troubles told a different story.

  “Welcome to the club. Anything you want to talk about? We can go for a cup of coffee,” he offered.

  “I . . . Sure.” He blew out a breath. “Sounds good.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “Works for me. I’ve been waiting my turn to ride in that butch new car of yours.” He shot Taylor a wan smile. “It’s the least you can do since I am housing your old Chevelle and helping you work on it.”

  “You’re right. But be prepared to turn green with envy.”

  Chris fell strangely quiet again on the way to the hip new coffee bar on the mall end of town. Taylor had chosen that place instead of the diner because they’d be too visible at the aging eatery. It was the type of establishment where everyone knew everyone else and noticed when something was up. Which was definitely the case with Shane’s cousin.

  The coffeehouse smelled good when they walked in, a mix of coffee beans, sugar, caramel, and baked goodies. They ordered lattes, and after picking them up from the other end of the counter, took seats at a table in a corner. Sipping in companionable silence for a few moments, Taylor studied his friend. The man truly didn’t look physically well.

  “Okay, man. What’s eating you?”

  Chris stared at the top of his cup. “That’s just it—I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I tell you, you have to promise not to say a word to anyone.” He looked up, held Taylor’s gaze, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Not even to Shane.”

  Taylor whistled softly. “I don’t keep secrets from my partner. Never have.”

  “You’ll keep this one or this conversation is done.” Swallowing hard, Chris admitted, “I really don’t have anyone else to confide in.”

  “Why not Shane? He’s your family.”

  “That’s just it. He’s my only family. Might as well be my brother.” He took a sip of his latte, and Taylor noted how his hand shook. “I can’t worry him until I know what to tell him.”

  “Christ. If Shane finds out I knew something about you and didn’t say anything, he’s going to kick my ass.”

  “Please.” That one word, spoken with such bald need, did him in.

  “All right,” he said with reluctance. “I won’t say a word as long as you’ll talk to him the second you know something solid.”

  “I will.” Nodding, Chris took a deep breath. “I haven’t been feeling well. You probably didn’t know ’cause I’ve been hiding it pretty good.”

  “Until today.”

  “Yeah. I haven’t been up to par in the past few weeks, but lately I’m so fucking tired. Sometimes I get dizzy and I can’t see very well.”

  “This happens a lot?” he asked with concern.

  “More and more lately. I’ve lost a few pounds, too,” the other man admitted.

  “Are you overly stressed at work? Not sleeping well?”

  His friend shrugged. “No more stress than usual, and I’ve been sleeping fine until recently.”

  “You need to get to a doctor, Chris. Those symptoms can overlap with a bunch of different conditions, some of them dangerous.”

  “I will, I just . . .” Trailing off, he looked away. “What if it’s something really bad? I don’t even want to speculate what.”

  “All the more reason to call today and make an appointment. Don’t wait.”

  “I don’t want to think about it, much less go through a crapload of tests and then have to hear what the doctor will tell me.” Chris was really freaked out.

  “I know you don’t, but you have to do it. You could be wasting valuable time,” he said bluntly.

  That got Chris’s attention. “God. Don’t even say that.”

  “You needed me to say it. That’s why we’re here.”

  “I suppose so,” he admitted quietly. “Thanks, Taylor.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  On the tabletop, Taylor’s cell phone buzzed and the display lit up. His heart jumped when he saw an incoming call from Cara, and he grabbed it without thinking twice. “Hello?”

  But the voice on the other end wasn’t the one he expected. “Taylor?”

  “Blake? What’s up?”

  “Someone ran us off the road,” the younger man blurted, breathless. “Cara didn’t want me to call you, but—”

  Taylor shot to his feet, almost knocking over his latte. Chris rose, too, expression concerned. “Where are you?”

  “About a mile east of Walmart. We’ll be the ones on the side of the road, with Cara’s truck smashed into a telephone pole,” he said dryly.

  “Are either of you hurt?” For a second, he couldn’t breathe.

  “Just a couple of bruises, nothing serious.”

  Thank God. “On my way.”

  Leaving behind his drink, he was barely aware of Chris on his heels. Sliding into the car, he fired it up and was out of the parking lot before the other man could get his seat belt buckled.

  “What the hell?” Chris sputtered.

  “Couple of friends of mine were run off the road out by Walmart,” he said.

  “Shit. Are they okay?”

  “Blake said they had some bumps and bruises. But I’m worried because he used Cara’s phone, instead of her calling me herself.”

  “Blake? He’s that kid you’ve been trying to get off the streets?”

  “He’s twenty now, not exactly a kid, but that’s him. You saw him last night. He’s started working for Cara and the band.”

  Chris’s eyes widened. “You mean Cara Evans, your hookup from last night?”

  He winced at the term hookup. It implied something less than what their time together meant to him. But for simplicity’s sake, he nodded. “The same.”

  “Just friends, huh? Right.”

  “Barely, if that. We have great chemistry in bed, but I don’t think she likes me very much.” And didn’t that suck?

  “And yet Blake thought you rated a phone call, and you’re running off
to the rescue. Interesting.”

  “Calling her a friend is a stretch. But Blake is, whatever she thinks of me and whether she likes it or not.”

  Chris made a thoughtful humming noise, but thankfully let it rest for the time being. “They catch the other driver?”

  “I don’t know. But if they did, it damned well better have been an accident and not road rage or something. If that’s the case, the bastard’s in for a world of pain.”

  The drive across town had never seemed to take so fucking long. Taylor swerved around slow-moving traffic and construction barricades, ignoring Chris’s occasional curse. After an eternity, he spotted a black pickup off to the side of the road, front end crumpled into a telephone pole. A quint and an ambulance were on the scene, and a tow truck was backing into place, getting ready to hook on to the rear bumper of Cara’s pickup. Blake was hovering near the back doors to the ambulance, anxiety written in his stance and the flat line of his mouth.

  Screeching to a stop, Taylor jumped out of the car and jogged over to the ambulance. He nearly sagged in relief to see Cara sitting in the open double doors, loudly complaining to two of the firefighters/paramedics from Station Five whom Taylor happened to know fairly well. Lieutenant Zack Knight and Clay Montana were patiently trying to explain why she should go to the emergency room, while a uniformed traffic officer stood by not so patiently, rolling his eyes and likely waiting to finish his report so he could leave.

  “I am not running up a bill for an ambulance ride and an ER visit just for a tiny cut on my forehead,” Cara insisted, scowling.

  Clay piped up, giving her what Taylor knew was the man’s best attempt at a charming grin. “Honey, that’s what health insurance is for.”

  Unfortunately for Clay, his brand of charm wasn’t well-received. “I know what health insurance is for, and I also know my own body. I don’t need a checkup, and my name is Cara, not Honey.”

  As Taylor approached, he suppressed the suicidal urge to laugh—both at Cara and at Clay. Clay didn’t always know when to quit, and Cara wasn’t falling for the firefighter’s smooth brand of persuasion.

  “Unfortunately, Cara, that’s not always true,” Zack told her with an understanding smile. “Patients are often the very worst judges of their own conditions, which makes our jobs much more difficult. Remember that country singer who had the bad wreck out on I-49 last year?”

  Some of Cara’s irritation eased. “No. But I’ve only been here a few months, and I don’t watch a lot of news.”

  “Well, the point is he refused treatment because he ‘felt fine.’ Turned out he had a slow bleed in his brain, and by the time his wife realized something was wrong, it was almost too late to save him. He had emergency surgery and underwent months of rehab. He’s still not back to a hundred percent.”

  “I get it,” she mumbled. “I’ll go and get checked. But I’m not riding in the ambulance.”

  Zack patted her arm. “Fair enough. I’ll just need you to sign a waiver, and for my own peace of mind, I’d like to know who’s taking you.”

  Taylor spoke up. “I am.”

  Zack turned, then stuck out his hand. “Hey, Kayne! What brings you here? Isn’t traffic duty a little off the beaten path for a detective?”

  “Zack, good to see you.” Shaking the lieutenant’s hand, he cut a look at Cara, who quickly masked her surprise at seeing him. “Yeah, I’m a bit out of my realm here, but I spotted a couple of friends in trouble and dropped in to find out what happened.”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” the traffic cop put in grumpily. “You know, sometime today.”

  Chris snorted. “Dropped by, my ass.”

  Everyone ignored them both—except Cara, who latched onto Chris’s words and eyed Taylor with suspicion. “How did you know I was here? Did Blake call you after I told him not to?”

  Hesitating, he risked a glance at the younger man, thinking he might not want his secret outed. When he merely shrugged, Taylor nodded. “He did, and I’m glad.”

  “You are? Why?” She appeared truly puzzled.

  Was she serious? He couldn’t exactly say because I tend to care about people I sleep with in mixed company. Though Chris knew the truth, that detail had been shared in confidence. “We have a mutual friend in Blake, and, to be honest, I was worried about you both. I’d like to think you and I are friends, too.”

  Crap, that sounded lame. Might as well pass her a note in class and ask her to hold hands. He managed not to cringe, just barely. Nearby, Chris was grinning like a jackass, and he shot the man a death glare. Which had no effect at all, except to restore the man’s previously missing good humor. At least his friend kept his mouth shut. A minor miracle.

  The traffic cop—Schwartz, his tag read—cleared his throat, impatience etched in his posture and expression. “If we’re finished with the love fest, I have some questions for Miss Evans and Mr. Roberts.”

  Blake made a face at the cop, mimicking the words Mr. Roberts behind the man’s back while he was paying attention to Cara, and Taylor had to stifle a smile. Schwartz, whom Taylor now recalled seeing around the station but didn’t know personally, got down to the important stuff and finally earned everyone’s cooperation.

  “I heard you telling the paramedics you were run off the road,” the officer began. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

  Cara took a deep breath. “It was so fast. All I know is this car passed me on my side and switched lanes right in front of me. Cut me off.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “It was an SUV,” Blake corrected.

  The officer turned to look at him. “Did you see what kind?”

  “A big one.”

  Schwartz wasn’t amused. “Make or model?”

  “Didn’t catch it.”

  Cara shook her head. “Neither did I. The other driver cut it too close when he switched lanes, hit my front end, and made me lose control. I was too busy trying not to hit someone else to notice.”

  The officer took some notes on an electronic pad, making a thoughtful sound. “The driver of the SUV didn’t stop at all after hitting you?”

  “No,” Blake said. “The asshole kept right on going without even slowing down. Cara didn’t see because she was knocked out for a minute.”

  The image of her in the truck, helpless and out cold, made Taylor’s blood boil. He’d like to get his hands on the bastard who did this to her and Blake. He listened as Schwartz asked them a few more questions, but there really wasn’t much else either of them could relate. Being a detective, Taylor liked details. The lack of them bugged him, but even more so in this case.

  Other strange facts teased at the edges of his mind. A few days ago, Taylor had almost been flattened by a truck he could have sworn belonged to Cara. Now that truck was kissing a pole, erasing any evidence that might have supported that claim. Coincidence? He didn’t much believe in them. But there was no reason he could fathom why the two incidents should be connected.

  “You can take her now,” Zack said, breaking in to his thoughts.

  Glancing up, he saw Cara and Blake waiting, the two of them regarding him with very different expressions—Blake’s open and trusting, Cara’s carefully closed. It was almost as if she was trying hard not to show any reaction to his presence, and he couldn’t understand why. When she let her guard down they had great chemistry. Then the walls went up again. Maybe she’d been hurt in the past by an old boyfriend or husband. If so, he’d done a real number on her.

  “Ready?” he asked them.

  “What about my truck?” Cara gestured to the vehicle.

  “You’ll need to have the towing company take it to a repair shop,” he told her. “I recommend Turner Collision, but they charge a bit more than other places. And then there’s insurance, and they’ll probably want at least two estimates—”

  “Screw the insurance com
pany, and I don’t care about the money. I just want it fixed.”

  He couldn’t help the short, surprised laugh that escaped. “Really, now? I know a bit about cars, and I’m guessing you’re looking at several thousand dollars in repairs. Especially on a nice truck like that one.” His detective instincts, which seemed to have dropped into his pants since he’d met her, suddenly kicked back in full force. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Come to think of it, where does a bartender and part-time singer get the money to afford a brand-new pickup, a pretty house, and all that band equipment—”

  Her gaze turned chilly. “When my finances become your business, Detective, I’ll share them with you. Until then, fuck off.”

  His dick stirred even as anger began a slow burn in his veins. “Rude little thing, aren’t you?” Leaning forward, he whispered for her ears only. “Perhaps you need a good spanking. I’ve got just the right paddle if you want to give it a try.”

  Heat flashed in her eyes, and for a second he truly thought she’d slap him. But as a slow smile curved her lips, he saw something very different from anger in her gaze. There was amusement and a hint of challenge. And no little arousal, which she barely managed to keep leashed, if the low, husky tone of her voice was anything to go by.

  “That’s not much incentive for me to behave, cop.”

  “Oh, my gawd,” Blake bitched. “Do I have to listen to you guys getting your kink on? I need bleach to scrub that image from my poor brain.”

  Taylor stepped back from Cara, cursing his lapse in judgment, baiting her with others around. On the job, no less. Looked like stupidity on his part was going to be a regular thing with this woman. “Let’s get you to the hospital.”

  “A complete waste of time,” she grumbled.

  But she followed, after giving the tow-truck driver instructions to take her vehicle to the place Taylor had recommended. He smiled to himself, pleased that she’d followed his advice.

  Blake jogged to the vehicle, reached inside, and retrieved a sheaf of papers. In minutes, they were in Taylor’s new Challenger and headed toward the ER. Chris rode shotgun, and Taylor ignored the detective’s smug glances while Blake oohed and aahhed over every single feature of the car.