Dillon shrugged. “Brad’s death probably triggered her. She figured out it was murder, and decided her silence might not be enough to keep her alive anymore. Or maybe she’d been blackmailing someone all these years and the well suddenly ran dry. It appears she once had some money.”
Taylor nodded. “I noticed that, too. But to keep a secret like that for almost ten years and then to suddenly send me those obscure messages. It just seems so odd.”
“It might have been a simple matter of her conscience finally getting the better of her,” Dillon said. “We’ll never know for sure now. But at least we can pretty much assume we’re on the right track. Both Brad and Lara Mendoza were at one time connected to the Westcott Clinic and to you, and now they’re both dead.”
Taylor shivered at his words. Two people once connected to her were dead. Would she be next? “Do you think Lara’s death will warrant reopening the investigation into Brad’s death?”
“We’ll know the answer to that soon enough.” Dillon inwardly winced. There was no way in hell he could keep his participation in the events that had unfolded this evening a secret from Lieutenant McCardy.
The West Memphis P.D. had already asked for cooperation, which meant they’d have to be brought up to speed on the Robinson case and the possible connection to the Mendoza homicide. Lamar Jackson would take over, and just how much help he would be willing to give was anyone’s guess.
One thing was for sure, though. After tonight, Dillon wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the case. He’d consider himself damned lucky if he didn’t get suspended.
He said none of this to Taylor, however. She looked as though she’d had about all she could handle for one night.
He stood and drew her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
For a moment, she leaned against him and Dillon could feel her trembling beneath the protective arm he put around her. He wished to hell they could turn back the clock and it could be several hours earlier, when he’d stood in her house, holding her as if he’d never let her go.
But a lot had happened in the hours since they’d left Taylor’s house. They’d been shot at. They’d witnessed death. They’d been the preliminary suspects in Lara Mendoza’s murder.
And Dillon had a bad feeling that their troubles were just beginning.
Chapter Fourteen
Taylor sat in front of the Westcott mansion the next day, staring up at the elegant facade. When she’d learned earlier that Alisha was absent from school, that the Westcotts hadn’t even bothered to call in, Taylor had panicked. What if something had happened to the little girl? What if Dr. Westcott had vented his anger at Taylor on his daughter?
What if they were taking Alisha and leaving the country?
In spite of Dr. Westcott’s warnings, or maybe because of them, Taylor had driven over to the mansion right after school. To her surprise, Lorraine Westcott agreed to see her. She pulled through the security gates and parked in front of the house. The same solemn young man ushered her in and led her into the morning room.
Lorraine was already seated, drink in hand. She tried to rise when Taylor entered the room, but couldn’t quite manage it. She fell back into her chair, smoothing a loose tendril of blond hair from her forehead.
For a moment, Lorraine’s eyes seemed to clear and harden as they focused on Taylor. “I knew you’d be back. I told Elliot you were not the type to give up.”
“It seems you were right, my dear.” Dr. Westcott had the uncanny ability to materialize from nowhere. Both Lorraine and Taylor jumped at the sound of his voice.
Apparently he’d just come in. Matthew appeared at his shoulder and Westcott handed him his briefcase. Then he turned back to Taylor. “You don’t give up, do you, Mrs. Robinson? What will I have to do to keep you away from my daughter?”
“I don’t understand why you feel you need to keep her away from me,” Taylor challenged. “I have her best interests at heart. Surely you know that. I don’t understand why you feel so threatened by me.”
“Threatened?” He laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You come into my home, disrupt my household, upset my wife and daughter. You are an annoyance to me, Mrs. Robinson. No more, no less.”
“Alisha wasn’t at school today,” Taylor said. “Is she all right?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
Before Taylor had time to respond, she saw a shadow at the doorway. Alisha stood just outside, hugging the doorframe. Taylor rose when she saw the little girl and smiled.
“Hello, Alisha. I’ve been worried about you.”
The little girl straightened and reluctantly joined them in the sitting room. She glanced at Dr. Westcott as she crossed the floor to stand beside Taylor.
“Say goodbye to Mrs. Robinson,” Dr. Westcott said coldly. “You won’t be seeing her again.”
Alisha lifted her gaze to Taylor’s. “Goodbye,” she whispered, her bottom lip trembling.
“Goodbye, Alisha.” Taylor’s throat knotted. It was all she could do not to grab the child up and spirit her away from this cold mausoleum of a home.
Instead, she glanced at Lorraine, hoping she would offer some measure of comfort. But Lorraine seemed to be in some drunken haze. She stared at Alisha’s back, her expression frozen.
“You may go back to your room now, Alisha,” Dr. Westcott said.
Alisha turned obediently and started toward the door. Halfway there, she whirled in defiance. “Alisha!”
She ignored her father’s stern admonition and ran straight to Taylor. Taylor reacted instinctively. She opened her arms and then wrapped them around the little girl.
“Don’t forget me,” Alisha whispered. “Please don’t forget me.”
“Never,” Taylor promised, hugging her tightly as tears spilled down her cheeks.
THE SQUAD ROOM was abuzz with activity as the evening shift began to arrive, but somehow in the milieu, McCardy managed to spot Dillon before he could get away.
The lieutenant opened the door of his office and bellowed across the room, “Reeves! In here, now!”
Curious eyes followed him as he made his way across the room. The events of last evening had spread like wildfire throughout the department, and now everyone was waiting to see what form of disciplinary action—at best a reprimand, at worst a suspension—would be taken.
Dillon sat down in McCardy’s office and waited. The lieutenant glanced up from his paperwork. “Mind telling me what happened last night?”
“It’s all in the report, Lieutenant.”
“I doubt that. Just what in hell did you think you were doing?”
“I got a tip yesterday afternoon from someone who works at the Westcott Clinic. She gave me the name of a nurse who was on duty the night Taylor Robinson gave birth. She said the nurse—Lara Mendoza—spoke with a Spanish accent. I figured there was a good chance Mendoza could have been the woman who has been sending Mrs. Robinson those newspaper clippings and the same one who called her, claiming Brad Robinson was murdered.”
McCardy glared at him. “Did I or did I not make myself clear on that point when we last talked?”
“You did, but when she called—”
“You should have gone straight to Lamar. We have procedure around here whether you like to follow it or not. I can’t cover for you this time, Dillon.”
Dillon looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this. Complaints of harassment from outside sources have been lodged against you. Internal Affairs has been called in.”
Dillon swore. “Who lodged the complaints? Westcott?”
“I don’t know,” McCardy said, “and that’s the truth. But I do know you’ve gotten in way over your head with this thing. You’re playing with some pretty powerful people, Dillon.”
“So what you’re saying is that someone with connections is manipulating the department. I never thought you’d be a party to this, Lieutenant,” Dillon said.
McCardy just shook his head. �
�I don’t have a choice. We all have to play by the rules, Dillon. Even you.”
“So what are you saying? I’m being disciplined? Suspended pending a formal investigation?”
McCardy withdrew a piece of paper from his top drawer and laid it on the desk. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that.”
More serious than a suspension? For the first time since he’d entered McCardy’s office, Dillon began to feel real fear. What the hell was going on here?
“Here are the results of your latest physical,” McCardy was saying. “They came in this morning.”
Reluctantly Dillon glanced down. He didn’t want to read what was on that paper, but certain words leapt out at him. Words like irreparable damage and unfavorable prognosis.
His heart banged against his chest. He glanced up at McCardy, who was frowning, then forced himself to go back and read the whole report. When he was finished, he still couldn’t believe it.
“This has to be a mistake.”
McCardy just shook his head. He couldn’t quite meet Dillon’s eyes. “There’s no mistake.”
“I’m being forced out, just like that.”
McCardy shrugged. “Early retirement due to injuries sustained in the line of duty. Consider yourself lucky. At least this way, you get all your benefits and your pension. If you’d been suspended—”
“I’d have gotten to tell my side of the story,” Dillon said bitterly.
McCardy shrugged again. “I’m sorry it came to this. You’re a good cop, Dillon. A damned good investigator. But this time, you leaned on the wrong person. It happens.”
“Not to me it doesn’t.” Dillon got up and placed his hands on McCardy’s desk, leaning forward it. “This isn’t over. You can tell whoever hand-delivered you that report that I’m not giving up. I’ll get to the bottom of this case, one way or another. I’ll find out who’s behind this, and when I do—”
“When you do,” McCardy said grimly, “we might be fishing your body out of the river.”
THE PHONE WAS RINGING when Dillon walked into his apartment that night. He set down the box of personal belongings he’d cleared out of his desk and picked up the receiver. “Hello.”
Taylor said, “Neal just called and told me what happened.”
“Word travels fast,” he muttered.
There was a slight hesitation, then she said, “Dillon, I’m so sorry.”
He rubbed his fingertips over his eyes. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“I feel as if it is. If I hadn’t dragged you into all this—”
“Taylor, don’t.”
“I want to see you, Dillon. Can I come over?”
He stared out the window at the darkened street. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I’m not very good company right now.”
“Then we won’t talk. I’ll fix you some dinner. We can watch TV…I just don’t want you to be alone tonight.”
He sighed wearily, rubbing the back of his neck. “All right. I’ll come over there, then.”
“Dillon?”
“Yeah?”
There was another pause, then Taylor said softly, “Hurry.”
It was enough.
SHE MET HIM at the door, dressed in a long flowing skirt and a soft short-sleeved sweater that clung to her curves.
Dillon took one look at her and folded her in his arms. “God, I needed this. I didn’t realize how badly.”
“So did I,” Taylor whispered against his shoulder. “I don’t know how I survived ten years without your arms around me.”
Dillon felt the same way, though at times it was still hard to forget that another man’s arms had been around her during those years. He closed his eyes, willing the images away. He didn’t want to think about anyone or anything at that moment but Taylor and the way her body felt against his.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked softly.
“No. Right now I just want to kiss you. And kiss you…”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Dillon felt his breath suspend somewhere inside him as she molded her body to his and parted her lips. His tongue danced over hers, and she gave a soft sigh that sounded highly erotic to Dillon.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to do this,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Dillon—”
“It’s inevitable, Taylor. We both know it.”
She didn’t say a word. Instead, she pressed her mouth to his.
Blood pounded in Dillon’s head. He couldn’t believe the moment was here. Taylor had been a part of his past for so long and now, suddenly, here she was, in his arms, kissing him as though she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Which was impossible.
No one could want anyone as much as he wanted Taylor. He’d always wanted her, and he knew now that he always would.
He rained soft kisses over her face, and she shuddered, nipping at his neck. Her fingers stole to the buttons on his shirt and began to undo them. As her hands skimmed over his bare chest, Dillon’s blood pumped faster, hotter. When she pushed his shirt down his arms, he shrugged out of it and flung it toward a corner.
Then he kissed her again, their bodies straining together in a frenzy of desire. Dillon pulled away long enough to tug her sweater and lacy camisole upward, over her head and arms to join his shirt on the floor.
He backed her against the wall, planting his hands on either side of her face as he captured her mouth again in a kiss that became as desperate as it was passionate. His hands moved downward, finding her breasts, and her gasp of excitement electrified him.
He watched, impossibly aroused, as her head fell back wantonly and her eyes closed in abandon.
“From the moment you walked into my apartment…”
His breath was short and fast. “I’ve wanted this. I told myself I didn’t but—”
“I know.” Taylor clung to him, pressing herself against the long, hard length of him. “I wanted you, too, but I was scared…” She arched against him as his thumbs drew circles around her breasts.
And then his mouth—his hot, greedy mouth—replaced his hands, and Taylor thought she would die from the thrill of it. Waves of ecstasy washed over her and all she could think was the one word she’d said to him on the phone earlier. Hurry.
He unfastened her skirt and the silk billowed around her feet. Her fingers dug into his broad shoulders when he slid down, trailing hungry kisses down her stomach. Then he straightened to capture her mouth again, sending her spinning wildly out of control.
Desperate, she tugged at the buttons on his jeans. Her fingers fumbled and he reached down to help her. Then he was lifting her, wrapping her legs around him, settling her against him in a way that was exquisitely intimate.
Taylor heard him groan as she took him into her. She saw his eyes, dark and dangerous, fixed on hers as he began to move. And then she closed her eyes tightly as the passion swept her away.
SOMETIME LATER they had moved into her bedroom, and now they lay tangled in her sheets. The evening had become night, starlit and balmy. A mild breeze fluttered the curtains at the open window.
Taylor lay on her side, the warm, smoothness of her back pressed against his chest. Dillon’s arm curled around her, grazing her breasts, and he felt his body immediately respond. He buried his face in the scented silkiness of her hair, remembering the frenzied moments of their lovemaking, and he realized how desperately he wanted her again.
But instead of waking her, Dillon pulled away and sat up. Moonlight pooled on her pillow, silvering her hair and turning her skin to porcelain. She looked like a doll, a china figurine that was beautiful to look at but too fragile to touch, too precious to possess.
Especially for a man like him.
He got up and drew on his jeans, then went to stand at the open window, staring out. He’d thought making love to Taylor would exorcise his demons. That having her again would prove to him his memories of her had been exaggerated and unrealistic.
But, if
anything, their lovemaking had been better than he remembered. In the past he’d always held her as if she were a fairy-tale princess, someone he could admire from afar but never really have. But tonight, in his arms, she’d been a woman, nothing more, nothing less.
And therein lay the danger.
If he started to believe there might actually be a chance for them. That he might be able to have her, he was only fooling himself.
He was a man without prospects. A law school dropout, an ex-cop with a banged-up knee. He didn’t exactly have a lot to offer and it was time to face the grim reality that he would never be able to give Taylor the kind of life she’d always been accustomed to. What kind of fool would be caught in the same trap twice?
He bent to rest his hands on the windowsill. Why was it that every time Taylor Walsh entered his life, trouble seemed to follow? He wasn’t blaming her. He’d made his own choices. But Dillon couldn’t help remembering what he’d told her that night so long ago. You and I…we were just never meant to be.
They came from two different worlds. And if he hadn’t been aware of how disparate those worlds had been when he’d first fallen for her, he’d soon learned that lesson the hard way.
Dillon lifted his hand and pushed back the filmy curtain as he peered out into the darkness. But he didn’t see the moonlight or the shadows, the dancing silhouettes of tree limbs in the breeze.
What he saw was Miranda Walsh’s face when she’d told him that unless he left town, unless he had no further contact with her daughter, she would ruin not only his chances for becoming lawyer, but she would bring down his whole family, as well.
And Dillon had known she could do it. Miranda served on the board of the bank where Dillon’s father had done business for years. With one phone call, Miranda could have seen to it that Earl Reeves never got another loan. Without a loan, there would have been no crop. Without a crop, no way to pay the bills or put food on the table.
If it hadn’t been for Taylor’s betrayal—one he now knew had been part of the elaborate deception—Dillon might have stood up to Taylor’s mother. But after he’d seen her in Brad Robinson’s arms the morning after the Christmas dance, when it had seemed perfectly obvious that she’d spent the night with him, there hadn’t been any point in fighting any longer.
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 38
