He tried to ignore the emotion in her voice. “You did your own hostage recovery, Ms. O’Toole. There’s no need to thank me.” He glanced at the officer, who was clearly impatient. “I think I need to go now.”
Taylor frowned at the officer beside Jack. “Are you arresting this man?”
“No, ma’am. Just completing our report, the way he said.”
“You’d better not arrest him. Mr. Broussard saved my life, and I want that on the record. No matter what he says, he saved my life.” Her voice broke. “Whatever force he used in there was absolutely necessary.”
Jack felt something work at his chest as he listened to her angry, impassioned speech to the police officer. Taylor didn’t realize that he was only doing the hard, dirty job he was trained to do, and Jack couldn’t enlighten her.
She strode closer, blocking their way. “I’m prepared to offer a statement if necessary.”
“I’ll be sure to note your observations.” The officer nodded at Jack, and they resumed walking.
“You’d better,” Taylor called. “Otherwise, I’ll be calling the mayor tonight. The newspapers, too.” Jack could feel her eyes burning on his back as they passed Harris Rains, who was giving a wild and entirely fictional account of his “ordeal” to a female officer.
“Hey, Broussard. I’m going to thank you somehow,” Taylor called loudly.
Jack raised a hand and gave a two-finger wave, while the officer beside him smiled. “Now that might be seriously worth seeing.”
Jack was pretty sure it might be worth seeing, too.
Ten minutes later Taylor was sitting in the back of a cruiser with an attractive female police lieutenant, repeating that she was fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital.
But her hands were trembling, and both of them knew she wasn’t as cool as she seemed, which only made Taylor more tense.
“The clerk told us this was yours.” The lieutenant held out Taylor’s purse.
“It’s mine. I threw it at one of those men.” Taylor gripped the purse tensely, feeling sick.
“Look, you’ve been through a life-threatening experience, Ms. O’Toole. You also took quite a fall. You should be seen by a doctor.”
“I just want to go home.” A few feet away, two medics were lifting a body bag. Taylor swallowed hard and looked away. “Did you see the store? Those bodies?” She shook her head. “We all could have died. I’ve seen it in my mind a hundred times. I’ve written hostage scenes without a second thought.”
“You’re a writer, Ms. O’Toole?”
Taylor nodded and ran a hand through her hair. “The Forever Code. Someone got tossed off a roof in that one. But I didn’t get it right at all. I never knew how it feels from the inside.” Or how it hurts.
“It’s not neat and pretty.” The officer frowned. “Sometimes the crimes we see don’t even make sense. Books are supposed to make sense, but life often doesn’t, I’m afraid, and the random crimes can be the hardest to accept. Now about that medical attention?”
But Taylor wasn’t really listening. She was remembering how Jack had looked when he’d come after her, his eyes calm and cold.
What a story, she thought.
What a man.
Across the parking lot, Harris Rains was talking with a perky reporter who anchored the local evening news. Rains was describing how he’d helped subdue one of the wounded suspects while Jack was out in the back corridor.
Like hell he had. Rains had been petrified when she’d last seen him. The man couldn’t have subdued a hamster. “Rains is lying,” she said. “He did nothing.”
The policewoman smiled grimly, as if this was no surprise. “In the heat of the moment, people often get carried away with their stories.”
“Jack Broussard saved those people. He saved me, too. If he hadn’t come after me, I wouldn’t have escaped.” Taylor took an angry breath, feeling sick as she listened to Rains’ outpouring of lies.
“We’ll check it out, Ms. O’Toole. Now I suggest that—”
“Forget about the hospital.”
“I strongly recommend—”
“Thank you for your help, Lieutenant.” Taylor didn’t look back, didn’t watch the black body bag being loaded into the ambulance.
She’d seen enough blood and death for one day. Suddenly, being alive was a very precious thing indeed.
Chapter Seven
The phone was ringing when Taylor opened her front door. What now?
She grabbed the receiver, smiling when she heard her brother-in-law’s deep voice. “Taylor, we just saw you on the news. Annie’s approaching hysteria. What’s going on up there?”
“I’m fine, Sam. It’s all over.”
He didn’t sound at all convinced. “You sure about that? Annie’s got the car packed. She’s ready to leave.”
“Keep her there.” Taylor frowned. “She’s okay, isn’t she? I mean—with the baby and everything?”
The truth was, Taylor still wasn’t used to her baby sister being happily married and very pregnant. A longtime workaholic, Annie O’Toole had managed their family’s resort on the rugged California coast near Carmel for years. Always a workaholic perfectionist, she was superb at nurturing strangers but slow to take time for herself.
A hunky Navy SEAL named Sam McKade had changed all that.
Another woman might have succumbed to serious jealousy. But when Taylor saw the two together, hopelessly in love despite Sam’s frequent absences, Taylor knew she couldn’t begrudge them one second of happiness. Especially since she was one of the few people who knew that the two of them had nearly died several months before at the hands of a deranged killer.
“Here she is, Taylor.” Taylor heard muttered voices as the phone changed hands.
“Taylor, what’s happening?”
“Don’t worry, Annie. I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry?” Her sister’s voice spiked. “You’re abducted at gunpoint, thrown from a window, nearly shot—and you tell me not to worry? Are we sisters or aren’t we?”
Taylor rubbed her shoulder, which was still aching from her fall. “Of course we are. I meant that you should think about the baby, not me. Go pamper yourself with a salt-glow rub.” She smiled wickedly. “Better yet, have that sexy man with the cute butt who called me give you a long, steamy massage.”
Annie chuckled. “Sam, Taylor says you’ve got a cute butt. How does she know that?”
Taylor heard Sam bend close to the receiver. “Tell Taylor that her imagination is just as fertile as ever.”
“Very diplomatic. I always said your husband would go far, Annie. I can see him heading the Joint Chiefs in a few years.”
“Why stop there?” her sister said proudly. “I can see him as president.”
Taylor heard Sam’s strangled protest. “You couldn’t say anything that would frighten him more, Annie. I think you two definitely need to go relax in the hot tub. I remember reading somewhere that pregnant women have heightened libidos.”
“No more hot tub visits until after the baby’s born. No more long runs on the beach, either,” Annie added grumpily. “Sam and that doctor he found are driving me nuts. Next thing you know, they’ll tell me I can’t work.”
Sam muttered something in the background that made Annie sniff.
“They only want you to take it easy. You push things too hard.” Taylor felt a pang of guilt. For the last few years since their parents’ deaths, she had been only too glad to leave the day-to-day resort operations to Annie. “Look, do you want me to come down and fill in for several weeks while you two take a vacation? If you want me, I’ll be there.”
“You’d do that? With a book in the works?”
Taylor took a deep breath, recalling how much she hated handing out spa recipes and aromatherapy wraps to the well-heeled clientele of Summerwind Resort. “If you need me, I’ll come. Of course, it may require heavy animal tranquilizers to get me in the door, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. Just say the word.”
> “Idiot. You can forget the animal tranquilizers.” Annie’s voice softened. “I’ll manage. I’ve got a great staff—and they don’t need tranquilizers to greet our clients. But thanks anyway.” She sighed. “I don’t even mind cutting back to half-days now. My back hurts sometimes, and it’s a relief to get off my feet.”
Now it was Taylor’s turn to imagine the worst. “What do you mean?” She gripped the phone. “When did your back start hurting? Is something wrong? Is the baby—”
Annie gave a soft laugh. “The baby is fine. We had an ultrasound last week, and everything’s just where it’s supposed to be.” She sighed. “Ignore me, please. I’m an irritable old cow these days. I hate being a blimp and I hate not being able to wear anything that isn’t Lycra or a size 16 wide. I hate not being able to run, and I know it’s wrong, since I have everything in the world to be thankful for—Sam, you, my work. Oh, hell.” She made a watery sound that wrenched Taylor’s heart. “Pay no attention. It’s just the hormones at work.”
“Take some time off.” Taylor said quietly. “Rest and enjoy the attention. I can’t imagine a more beautiful, glowing mother-to-be.”
“You really do have a fabulous imagination.” Annie cleared her throat. “Except for my bouts of temporary insanity, I’m fine, Taylor. Sam’s been wonderful. The whole staff has been great. Even Izzy called last week.”
Taylor grinned at the thought of the big, hunky Denzel Washington look-alike who had worked on a recent government mission with Annie’s husband. “How’s our electronics genius doing?”
“You know Izzy, off on something hush-hush and gravely important. But stop trying to distract me. You’re sure you weren’t hurt in that robbery?”
“All my fingers and toes are in working order, I promise.” They hurt, but they worked, Taylor thought.
“Did you see a doctor?”
“Of course,” she lied. “Now go rest, the way Sam and your doctor have been telling you. I want to be an aunt before I’m too senile to enjoy the experience.” Taylor smiled. “By the way, watch out for runaway golf carts.”
“They only go runaway when you’re driving them.”
Taylor was laughing when her eyes fell on the big gray envelope forgotten on her desk. The sight was like cold water tossed in her face. Gone was the easy teasing, the gentle rivalry. Taylor knew that Annie had no inkling of the revelations contained in that envelope, and Taylor wasn’t sure she’d ever tell her. Meanwhile, the awareness of her parents’ lie haunted Taylor, driving a subtle wedge between her and the sister she adored. Fair or not, the fragile, wounded part of Taylor’s mind kept asking why Annie couldn’t have been the adopted one. Why me?
And the question sickened her.
She leaned against the wall, hit by the same churning emotions that came hourly since she’d found out the truth about her birth.
“Hey—are you sure you’re okay?”
Taylor took a jerky breath. “Sure, I—I’m strong as a horse, you know that.” As she spoke, the phone clattered to the floor. One minute her fingers worked, the next minute they simply gave way.
“That does it,” Annie snapped when Taylor recovered the receiver. “We’re leaving this second.”
“No.” Taylor couldn’t see her sister now. She’d never be able to hide her emotions. “Look, I’ll admit it. I’m behind on my writing and it’s got me all worked up. I love you both to death, but if you appear on my doorstep while I’m trying to get caught up, I’ll just let the bell go on ringing.”
Taylor held her breath, hoping Annie bought the story.
“You know, if you weren’t my sister, I’d probably hate you for a comment like that.”
Taylor closed her eyes. They weren’t sisters by blood. With the news of her birth, that part of her identity had shifted, too. Until Taylor came to grips with how much had changed—and how much she would allow it to change her—seeing Annie was impossible.
With tears in her eyes, she picked up a smiling photo of Annie and her handsome SEAL husband at their wedding. Annie looked radiant and Sam looked exactly like the hero he was. Taylor remembered the bumpy times with Annie, their years of competition as teenagers followed by years of drifting apart. Annie had been the rock, and Taylor had been the screwup, and each had secretly envied the other. All that had ended one night when Taylor and Annie had gotten seriously drunk, then dredged up the past. It hadn’t helped that Taylor had crashed a golf cart in the process, but at least the outcome had been good. For the first time in years, the two sisters had really talked about holding back, keeping grudges, and all their secret, deepest hurts.
Since then, they had never been closer. It was almost as if Taylor had been given a new sister—and the chance to correct some of the mistakes she had made when young and irresponsible. But the big envelope on her desk challenged that closeness.
Taylor shoved down her hurt, fully aware that Annie wasn’t to blame for the recent revelations. In fact, her sister would be devastated by the details, primarily out of concern for Taylor. That was one of the reasons Taylor was determined to keep the details secret until she could sort through her feelings of loss and betrayal. She knew that Annie, softhearted and gentle, would instantly want to comfort her and pull her close to stanch the pain.
For Taylor, comfort would be too close to pity, and pity was the last thing she wanted.
So she put a smile on her face and laughter in her voice, even as tears coasted down her cheeks. “Get off the phone, Annie. Go give that man with a cute butt a kiss and let me work.”
She hung up while her sister was still laughing. For long moments she stood by the desk, pulling herself together piece by piece, memory by memory. She’d make her choice soon, and then she’d decide what to tell her sister. Sam would help her make that decision.
Meanwhile, one demon at a time.
She stripped off her ruined clothes and padded into her bedroom, pulling on her oldest sweatpants. Eating was out. Her stomach was still too queasy for anything solid. Nursing a cup of tea, she flipped on the evening news, only to feel her nausea grow worse.
Every channel focused on the afternoon’s robbery, featuring interviews with the angry store clerk and the shaken woman in the last month of pregnancy. Next came an outraged Harris Rains demanding to know why law-abiding citizens couldn’t be safe on the streets of San Francisco. The way Rains told it, he had risked his life by shielding the pregnant woman and attempting to grapple with one of the wounded assailants, which was almost funny considering that when Taylor had seen him last, he’d been rigid with terror.
If anyone had saved those customers, it was Jack Broussard.
So why hadn’t he taken any credit? The man deserved a medal, but no one on television had even mentioned his name. Meanwhile, Rains was setting himself up to be Time’s next Man of the Year.
When her own picture appeared, pale and frightened, Taylor switched off the television. She was suddenly aware that her apartment seemed too big and too quiet. She crossed to the big picture window, watching traffic flow east in a noisy rush. As Taylor stared at the blur of cars, buses, and cabs, she found herself remembering the reassurance in Jack’s eyes as he’d come after her. For some reason, it didn’t matter that he was a stranger. She’d felt safer with him than any man she knew.
She closed her eyes, wanting to feel his strong arms around her in the silence of her lonely apartment.
Not to be touched sexually, but held quietly, calmly, while she fought her way through this suffocating fear.
Which was crazy, considering she barely knew the man.
So she’d forget about Mr. Jack Broussard with the sexy smile and get back to work. He probably wasn’t even home. There were no sounds next door, no wonderful cooking smells. No doubt he’d gone to the nearest bar to get smashed with friends after his ordeal. Getting smashed sounded like a good idea to her, but for some reason Taylor couldn’t move, a soft, desperate sob spilling from her throat.
She felt stripped and violated, marked
by a stranger’s casual violence. No matter what she did, the violation wouldn’t go away. She rubbed her face with her sleeve, but the tears didn’t stop. As she stared out her window, she kept seeing tear gas, blood, and a black body bag.
Taylor closed her eyes and sank into a chair by the window, wondering when she would start to feel normal again. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Another set of demons to add to her collection.
When the doorbell rang, she ignored it.
Outside in the hallway, Jack pushed Taylor’s buzzer again. Maybe she was in the shower or talking on the phone. Maybe she was listening to music with her headphones on. He knew she was home because the doorman had told him she’d come in and hadn’t gone out.
He’d heard her door open, followed by the conversation he’d picked up with her sister, including Sam McKade’s tense questions.
Jack frowned. Why didn’t she answer his ring?
He pressed an ear to the door, heard nothing, and rang again, feeling uneasy. Somewhere, a chair fell over.
This time Jack knocked on the door hard. “Taylor, are you okay? It’s Jack. I need to talk with you.”
He heard a brushing sound that might have been bare feet, and then the door opened. She’d been crying—face pale, eyes puffy.
“Sorry to bother you.”
She rubbed her cheek awkwardly with one sleeve. “No problem.”
“You okay?”
She rubbed a bare foot against her calf and didn’t meet his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She was wearing old navy sweatpants and a blue T-shirt just tight enough to show the smooth curve of her breasts. Puffy eyes or not, she had the kind of glow that didn’t come from rouge or any of the things that most women felt they needed to be beautiful.
Jack wanted to pull her into his arms. He realized suddenly that he wanted to make love to her for seven or eight hours, until all the pain left her face. In fact, the urge was so strong it shocked him.
“You’re sure that you’re okay?”
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