Hot Pursuit

by Christina Skye

  Taylor made a mental note to avoid any briefcases Rains might be carrying. “I hope we never find out.”

  “It was really Harris you saw?” Candace went on doggedly. “I mean, maybe it was just a man who looked like him. I’m sure that’s the answer. In fact, I’m going to call him right now and ask him—”

  “No. Don’t talk to him, don’t meet him, don’t even think about him. The man is poison.”

  “I just can’t believe this, Taylor. It’s like a bad dream, and I keep thinking it will go away if I ignore it.” Candace sighed. “I’m so sorry to get you involved. I mean, you’re my friend, with no connection to Harris, and now someone . . .” Her voice trailed away. “First our equipment, then that horrible flower arrangement. What will happen next?”

  “Nothing, as long as you steer clear of him. Promise?”

  “I—I’ll think about it.”

  “But, Candace, he’s seeing other women.”

  “I said I’d think about it, Taylor.” She seemed to be fighting tears. “Now I’m sorry but I have to go.”

  After she hung up, Taylor sat for a long time looking at the phone, trying to understand Candace’s attraction to Rains. But who knew how anyone behaved behind closed doors? Maybe Harris Rains was a gentle, caring friend with Candace when they were alone.

  Somehow Taylor couldn’t picture it.

  After a quick shower, she calculated her next step in protecting Candace—and herself. She hadn’t come to any noteworthy conclusions ten minutes later, when she checked her phone and found two new messages waiting. Cradling a cup of coffee, she hit the PLAY button.

  “Taylor, this is Annie. I’m worried, so call me soon.” Her sister’s voice was anxious. “That means right now, not after you finish another chapter.”

  Taking another gulp of coffee, Taylor hit the button for the next message.

  “Ms. O’Toole, this is Andrew Sturgess calling about the adoption inquiry you requested. I have an investigator ready to begin work, but we’ll need your particulars, as well as legal consent to request that the sealed files from California be opened for medical purposes. I’d appreciate hearing from you as soon as possible so we can begin the process. As you know, it may be very lengthy.”

  Taylor sank down at her desk as the lawyer repeated his office number and two cell numbers. He was impatient, as if he had other clients who would pay well and he didn’t need this aggravation. She took a deep breath, looked at the phone, took another deep breath. She wanted to return the call, but something held her frozen. Do it. Call him. What are you so afraid of?

  Afraid? Actually, she was terrified, gripped by panic at what she might learn. What if the trail led to lost dreams, shattered hopes, ruined lives? All of these would change her forever.

  Now at least she had the comfort of her illusions.

  Taylor stared at the envelope on her desk. Take control. Make the damned call.

  But she couldn’t.

  Her favorite photo of her parents stared back at her from a nearby shelf, a cipher she couldn’t penetrate. Day after day she tried, but nothing came through. They had told her nothing—and now it was too late.

  With a broken sound, Taylor caught the picture frame and slammed it down on the desk. She shivered when she saw that the glass had cracked. A broken line now ran through her parents’ faces, making their smiles look grim and inhuman.

  They looked back at her, two strangers witness to the unraveling of her life, and she had the sick certainty that there was worse yet to come.

  Standing next to the wall, Jack turned off his audio equipment and removed his earphones. He closed his eyes, rubbing his neck slowly.

  Hell, she was adopted?

  A bad thing to find out on short notice, especially when you had no parents around to explain what had happened and why.

  He frowned at his surveillance equipment for a long time. Then he sighed, hit a few buttons, listened, and hit another button.

  Erasing the call.

  Taylor’s birth parents weren’t part of the mission objectives—and that meant she was entitled to some kind of privacy. If anyone asked, he’d say a line pulled free. No big deal.

  Except to Taylor.

  He was resetting his equipment when the phone rang. He listened in silence, his face growing darker. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Afraid not,” Izzy said. “Rains is gone. All hell is about to break loose.”

  It was almost noon when Taylor pushed away from her desk and stretched slowly. Her neck and shoulders were aching, but she’d racked up twelve pages, which was almost respectable. Maybe the characters from hell were finally starting to shape up and remember who was boss.

  She finished the last dregs of her coffee and decided she needed a break, something to take her mind off her book completely.

  Five minutes later, she was dressed in spandex leggings and an oversized Lakers T-shirt, locking her door and adjusting her Walkman. She was preparing for a nice, long run when something gripped her shoulder. She whirled around—and felt her hand slam against Jack’s right arm as he dodged her blow.

  She yanked off her headphones. “What do you mean sneaking up like that?”

  “No need to scream. I called your name twice, but your music was too loud.”

  “I like loud music, Broussard. If you want quiet, go find a nice retirement home.”

  “Had a lot of caffeine today, have you?”

  “None of your business.” Six cups, but who was counting.

  Without waiting for her approval, he tugged off her earphones and was instantly enveloped in churning rock and roll. “Springsteen?”

  “Who else? Only the classics for me.”

  He handed back the headphones. “Bach would turn over in his grave.”

  “Who?” She grinned. “A little joke.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Off for some exercise. I’m in grave need of fresh air and sunshine.”

  He seemed to be studying her closely. “Anything wrong?”

  Only everything in her life. When he didn’t move, Taylor had an odd feeling he was trying to read her thoughts, but that was crazy. “I’m just restless. So if there is nothing else . . .”

  “Spend the day with me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Spend the day with me,” he repeated. “You know—talk, laugh, have fun.”

  Taylor fidgeted with her Walkman. “Are we talking about a date here?”

  “Would that be a problem? Bella says you haven’t been on a real date in six months.” His eyes narrowed. “And he didn’t stay overnight.”

  Taylor felt her face fill with heat. “Bella talks way too much,” she snapped. “And I’m out of here.” She dug two hand weights out of her pocket and headed for the elevator.

  Jack cut her off with an ease that left alarm bells ringing.

  “Where did you learn to be fast and sneaky like that?”

  “Here and there.”

  “Well, that’s a conclusive answer.” Without warning, she swung low and stepped in behind him, her left leg sliding behind his right leg in a classic aikido attack posture. But somehow Jack was two seconds in front of her, hands moving to block her while he spun back out of reach of her destabilizing move.

  “Pretty slick, Broussard.” Taylor’s hands fell. “Don’t tell me you learned that in carpentry school.”

  “Aikido is wonderful exercise, as well as a powerful mental discipline.”

  Taylor kept staring at him.

  Slowly, carefully, Jack brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his callused fingers lingering until she felt the touch race all the way to her toes.

  She closed her eyes, shook her head. “No. Sorry. I’m too busy.” Too off balance when you’re around. “Besides, I have to buy food.”

  “I’ll feed you.”

  “I also need to exercise.”

  “Then we’ll exercise together.”

  She snapped open her eyes. If this was a sexual i
nnuendo, he was a dead man.

  But his face was perfectly serious. “I know a great place to run. There’s also a wonderful spot where we can eat afterward.”

  Taylor wanted to cut him off, but there was immense appeal in the idea of spending the rest of the day in sheer relaxation. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got way too much to do. Besides, I barely know you.”

  “Then start learning.”

  Stubble darkened his face, making him look dangerous. So did his clipped intensity. Taylor realized she was already too attracted to this man she knew nearly nothing about. Spending more time with him could be a bad idea. “Jack, I don’t think—”

  Inside her apartment the phone rang and she dug wildly for her key—dropping a hand weight on Jack’s foot in the process.

  He grunted, but didn’t say a word.

  “Nice restraint.” Taylor swung open her door and ran to the phone. “Hello?”

  “Taylor, it’s Sunny. I’ve got someone who wants to speak with you.”

  “Who—”

  “Taylor, this is Vinnie de Vito.” The voice was low and accented, each word spoken with authority. “I’m calling about the item you received in the basket. You remember the one?”

  The floral display from hell.

  Taylor swallowed. “I remember.”

  “I’ve checked and it came through Flowers ’R Us. I asked a friend to trace the order, and it appears to have been purchased with cash at a participating florist in the Mission District.”

  “Did they have a name?”

  “None that will help you,” he said dryly. “The man signed the order form as John Smith.”

  “Cute. What about an address?”

  “He listed the same location as the downtown YMCA. As you probably have guessed, they have no John Smith on their residents’ list.” His voice tightened with frustration, and Taylor had a clear sense that she wouldn’t ever want to be on this man’s bad side. “I’ll keep trying, of course, but the chances of finding anything more are very slim.”

  “Could they give any description of the man who placed the order?”

  Uncle Vinnie laughed coldly. “Average height, average build, average weight. Dark hair, dark eyes. Age anywhere from twenty-five to forty. With that description, I could rule out maybe two people.”

  Taylor frowned. “Didn’t they wonder about the order? I can’t believe many people send black flowers as gifts.”

  “It seems that they are a known gag item.” He sighed. “We live in troubled times.”

  No kidding.

  Taylor rolled her shoulders, trying to work out the tension that was suddenly digging deep. “Well, it was a good try. Thanks again for all the help. Give my love to Sunny, will you?”

  “Of course. Call me if you need any more help, my dear.”

  Taylor responded in a daze, then disconnected.

  “What’s going on?” Jack took her arm. “You look pale.”

  Floral death threats did that to a person.

  Taylor took a sharp breath. “I just need some fresh air. I think I’ll go with you after all. But I have to do one thing before I leave,” she said tightly.

  Jack followed her to the door, frowning, “Where are you going?”

  “Downstairs to see a friend.”

  Candace answered her bell on the third ring, dressed in climbing pants and a tank top that showed off perfect shoulders. A bracelet with black cats gleamed on one wrist, her only jewelry.

  She gave Taylor a warm hug, then pulled her inside. “Hey, I’m just heading up north for a climb. You want to come?”

  “No, I’ll pass on the climbing. I need to talk to you about something. It’s about your boyfriend.” Your lunatic boyfriend.

  Candace closed the door and leaned against it, looking anxious. “What did Harris do now?”

  “That floral arrangement I received was ordered by someone named John Smith, which is a little strange, I’d say.” Taylor paced the small apartment angrily. There was a bag of climbing equipment in one corner next to an expensive digital camera. “I didn’t know you liked photography.”

  “Oh, I’m not very good at it yet, but there should be some great shots today.” Candace rubbed her neck. “But I don’t see the connection.” She stared at Taylor. “You think the man was Harris?”

  Earth to Mars. “Who else do we know who is acting deranged?” Taylor stopped pacing, trying to control her anger at Candace’s continued denial. “I came to warn you not to see him. The man is seriously unhinged, Candace. Promise me you won’t have anything to do with him. You could be in danger.”

  “Harris wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “He already did. He hit you when you asked about the men following him, remember?”

  Candace shifted her eyes as if the memory hurt. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing that day. He was afraid, confused.”

  “You’ve got to see him for what he is, Candace. Not for what you want him to be.”

  Candace stared down at her hands. The bracelet tinkled, tiny cats dancing in a row. “I bought this the very first day we met at the lab where he worked. He was so helpful then, so charming.” She moved her hand slowly, watching the cats sway and spin. “I suppose I should throw it away, but I love watching these cats—maybe because they’re so alive, so happy.” Her voice turned wistful. “Or do they only look happy?”

  “Candace, promise me you won’t see him. You’ve got to accept that the relationship is over.”

  “If it’s over, why does it still hurt?”

  “Candace, please—”

  “Look, I’d better go. Someone is picking me up and I don’t want to be late.” She didn’t meet Taylor’s eyes as she grabbed her climbing bag and camera. “Finding things to distract me is a good idea, isn’t it?”

  Taylor forced a smile. “You bet. Ignore Harris Rains and get on with your life.”

  Candace nodded slowly as they walked out to the elevator. “Sure you don’t want to come today? We’re going to practice bridging and stemming.”

  No way was she dangling on another wall of rock. “Gee, I can’t. Not today,” Taylor lied, trying to sound regretful. As she spoke, the elevator doors opened.

  Jack was waiting inside, fingers on the HOLD button. His keen eyes raked Taylor’s face, then checked both corridors leading away from the elevator. “I got tired of waiting. Care for a ride, ladies?”

  Candace locked her door and hefted her gear, assessing the look that passed between Taylor and Jack. “A friend of yours?”

  “Sort of.”

  Candace held out her hand. “Candace Jensen. Do you do any climbing?”

  He shook her hand. “Jack Broussard. And I’ve done a little, here and there.”

  Candace tilted her head. “Anyplace locally? Joshua Tree? Yosemite?”

  “Nothing around here. Sorry.”

  The elevator chimed, stopping at the ground floor. Candace leaned closer to Taylor. “Are you two involved?”

  Taylor felt her face growing hot. “No.”

  “Not even loosely?”

  “Not loosely or any other way.”

  A speculative gleam flared in Candace’s eyes. Then she giggled, sounding very young. “Just as well. I doubt there’s anything loose about that man.”

  Chapter Twelve

  FROM TAYLOR’S BOOK OF RULES:

  If he loves silicone implants, let him get them.

  “What was that about?” Jack rode back upstairs with Taylor after Candace got off in the lobby.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Jack took her arm and pulled her around to face him. “Stop brushing me off. You were scared, Taylor. I saw it on your face. Who called you?”

  An aging mafioso with information about anonymous death threats. “Look, forget it, will you?”

  “Like hell I will.”

  There was fury in his eyes, and the sight fascinated her. Coupled with the sexy stubble, it made him look very dangerous.

  “I don’t want to think about it now
. I want to go outside and clear my head.”

  “Was it about Rains?” Jack gripped her shoulder. “Trust me, you’re getting nowhere near him.”

  When Jack continued to glare at her, Taylor touched his cheek. “Hey—no amount of inducement would get me close to that psycho. No one’s fighting you here.”

  Jack let out a hard breath. “Good. You saw him after the robbery, sucking up to the press. He’s not the kind of person you want to be involved with, trust me. I’ve seen it—working on this divorce case, you know?”

  “I know, but I think that you’re beating yourself up over what happened in that robbery. You look like you haven’t slept for a month.” Taylor frowned. “It’s because of the man you shot.”

  Jack leaned closer, trapping her against the wall. “Maybe I’m worried about you, damn it. Maybe I can’t stop thinking about Rains and what he’ll do if you get too close to him.”

  “That sounds personal.” Taylor was intensely aware of his hard thighs locked against hers.

  “Like hell it is. I’m just a man doing a job. There’s not a hint of anything personal going on here. Got that?”

  “Sure.” Taylor shifted slightly and her eyebrow rose. “And maybe that’s the outline of your gun I’m feeling right now.”

  “My Beretta’s in a holster under my left shoulder.” Jack’s voice was harsh.

  “Which means this is getting personal.” Taylor met his angry look without flinching. “Should that frighten me, Jack?”

  He pulled away, cursing. “If you knew what I was thinking, you’d be frightened as hell.”

  “Why? Maybe I’m thinking the same thing,” Taylor whispered. “Ever since you barreled down that corridor and saved my life in that robbery, I can’t get you out of my mind.” The words spilled out, almost against her will. “Things don’t get any more personal than that.”

  “Could you stop being so honest? It can be damned unnerving—especially when I’m trying to be calm and rational for both of us.”

  “Does honesty frighten you?”