Hot Pursuit

by Christina Skye

  By that time, his wife would be gone. Annie McKade would be all he needed to reel in her sister.

  Viktor Lemka checked the syringe under the pillow, straightened the sheet and blanket on the gurney, and then wheeled back into the hallway, just an average face going about an average job. He would have preferred targeting Taylor O’Toole, but when he found that she’d checked into a suite with the man named Broussard, Lemka scratched his plan to snatch her from the hotel. His instincts told him there were too many risks with Broussard so close.

  So he’d take her sister instead. His syringe would have her under in ten seconds, and no one would notice a sleeping patient headed to surgery. Lemka even had a fake medical chart with him in case anyone showed some interest.

  He locked the storage room behind him, straightened the fresh pillow, then steered his way toward the elevator, whistling softly all the while, a man with no cares. He was going to enjoy his time with Taylor’s sister. The fact that she was carrying a baby would make her far more excitable when she recovered from the drug. She’d be more inclined to negotiate, to cry, and finally, to beg hysterically.

  Not that her tears would make the slightest difference to Viktor. She’d do whatever he told her to, whatever he needed. And when he had one sister, it was only a matter of hours until he had the second sister begging, too.

  He looked at his watch and smiled.

  Six more minutes . . .

  Jack closed the door and slid the safety chain in place.

  He felt a momentary twinge at sticking Uncle Sam with the bill for the lavish suite, but orders were orders.

  Taylor was outside enjoying the last touch of twilight from a magnificent terrace. “What do you think?

  “Hell of a view.” He moved beside her, watching the lights of fishing trawlers, yachts, and oil tankers rocking against the dark blue of the Pacific.

  “For once, I agree with you.” Taylor rubbed her neck restlessly, then kicked off her shoes. “I feel like I could sleep for about a century. Must be all the exercise and fresh air.”

  “Don’t stay up on my account.” He needed to check in with Izzy and get an update on the Lincoln Town Car that had been following them. He also had several security precautions to be implemented, in case Izzy hadn’t already thought of them.

  A wall of fog was moving in from the west. Taylor watched it, shivering.

  “Cold?”

  “I was just thinking about Annie.” She frowned. “How fast things happened today.”

  “Stop worrying.” Jack leaned against the terrace rail, studying her in the moonlight. “Go take a long bath and crawl into bed. You should sleep like a baby.”

  She rubbed her arms, frowning. “You really aren’t going to put on any moves, are you?”

  “Sex is always fun and often amazing, but I figure we both could use some sleep tonight.”

  She stared at him. “Which category would you put me in, fun or amazing?”

  “Why do I get the feeling this is a trick question?”

  “No tricks. Consider it a scientific survey. You know, like the judges with the scorecards: 9.5. 9.6. 9.8.”

  Just when he thought he had her pegged, she’d ask a question like this. Jack took his time considering his options while the sky darkened to obsidian above them.

  “Well? Fun or amazing?” Taylor tilted her head. “Or neither?”

  “Both. Depending on your mood. I have the feeling you can be as outrageous as they come.”

  “Very diplomatic.” Taylor pushed away from the rail and picked up her shoes. “So you’re not going to be a cliché and suggest sex to take my mind off my problems?”

  “Sex wouldn’t be my first drug of choice, no.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Imported chocolate, maybe.”

  Taylor’s soft laugh spilled through the night. “I can see that you are a dangerous man. On that note, I believe I’ll head for my bath—which should be fun, but not amazing. If I appear to be babbling, please ignore me. I’ll make sense again in the morning.” She swung her shoes from her fingers. “Probably.”

  Jack waited until she had crossed the living room. As soon as the bathroom door closed, he pulled out his secure cell phone and dialed Izzy.

  “Teague here.”

  “We’re in the hotel, Izzy. Room 1404. Have you got anything else on that car plate from Carmel?”

  “You’ll love this. The car was found abandoned an hour ago, next to U.S. 1.”

  “So our guy is fast and takes no chances,” Jack said. “Not the kind to make careless mistakes. And he was involved in Annie’s accident?”

  “In my experience, the frequency of coincidence is highly exaggerated.”

  Spoken like Izzy, Jack thought. “What about security at the hospital?”

  “All taken care of. Sam hasn’t called me yet, but I’m sure he will. No doubt he’ll be spitting nails. I’ll tell him what I can and leave the rest for him to ferret out. With his contacts, I give him about twenty-four hours before he has your file accessed. After he saved that busload of kids last year, a lot of people in Washington owe him favors.”

  According to the grapevine, Sam McKade had saved more than a bus full of schoolkids, but the details remained hazy, even to a fellow SEAL. “You worked with him on that?”

  “On what?” Izzy’s tone was calm but final.

  Jack realized the subject was closed. “He looks like a good man to have guarding your back in a firefight.”

  “None better.” Izzy’s chair creaked. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  “If Taylor’s sister is doing okay, we’ll head back about midday. I’ll fill in the details when we leave.”

  “Copy.” Izzy seemed to choose his next words carefully. “So, you got that suite.”

  “Safer that way.”

  “I agree. Just remember to keep your ammunition dry.”

  Jack stared at the bathroom door. Running water didn’t quite cover Taylor’s off-key rendition of Springsteen’s “Hungry Heart.” The woman had great taste in music, he had to admit.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “That and everything else.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Even after half an hour in a tub full of bubbles, Taylor felt restless. She scooped up the hotel’s terry cloth robe hanging on the bathroom door.

  The hotel rates were stiff, so she’d insist on paying the bill. Considering the way Jack had helped Annie, it was the least Taylor could do.

  Not that Mr. Macho would let her pay.

  She ran a brush through her hair, whisked on some moisturizing cream, and stepped outside. “All yours, Jack.”

  There was no answer. The lights were dim in the main room, and Taylor realized that a gas fire was burning while Jack made popcorn in the microwave.

  Dangerously competent, she thought, watching him joggle a bowl, toss in the finished popcorn, and mix the kernels with a few deft motions.

  He braced a shoulder on the wall, taking in the sight of her. “You look relaxed.”

  “Blissfully. Are you going to share that popcorn before I whimper?”

  “Dig in.”

  Taylor closed her eyes, savoring her first warm, buttery mouthful. “Popcorn might just be my new drug of choice.” She took another bite, then handed the bowl back to Jack. “Thanks for everything you did today.”

  Jack shrugged. “Glad I happened to be around. You and your sister seem pretty close.”

  “Off and on. A serious case of sibling rivalry, you understand.” And now the business with her adoption, Taylor thought grimly.

  One demon at a time.

  “Something tells me you two were a handful growing up. Probably gave your parents gray hairs.”

  Taylor gave a dry laugh. “The gray hairs came strictly from me. Annie was the rock, the one everyone could count on. She still is.”

  “What about you?”

  She rolled her shoulders, wandering through the room. Silently, she straightened a picture, shifted a vase of flowers. “I was the one caught smoking
cigarettes behind the library in third grade.” She smiled faintly at some private memory. “The one who dyed her hair green for senior prom and came dressed in a miniskirt made out of duct tape. Call me the screwup.”

  Jack grimaced. “How’d you get the tape off?”

  “Scissors.” Taylor wandered the room again, touching and straightening, touching and straightening. “Cut it in seven different places. Hurt like hell even then—and no, don’t ask for details.” She rubbed her shoulder restlessly. “Through it all, Annie was the rock. For years she held things together, being a saint. I wonder if my parents were ever sorry . . .” Her voice trailed away and she stared down at the fire.

  Jack moved behind her. “Don’t.”

  She didn’t turn. “Don’t what, itemize my many and various indiscretions?”

  “Don’t question your parents’ choices or their happiness.” Jack saw something cross her face. He realized it was regret. “You can go back or you can go forward, not both. Don’t waste time trying.”

  “Wise counsel. Except sometimes late at night, when my demons are howling louder than usual, it’s hard to believe in wise counsel.” Her voice fell. “Or anything else.”

  Because he wanted to touch her, Jack took a step back. The room was already too warm, the fire too intimate. Besides, he had a gut instinct that if he touched her even once, he’d be gone. They both would. “Yeah, the late hours when the demons are out—those can be a bitch.” He’d had his share, usually after a mission. He carried a lot of angry faces in his memory, and they were always waiting, ready to haunt him.

  “So what do you do?” Taylor turned slowly, firelight in her hair.

  She was a hundred shades of gold, Jack thought, and he yearned to see how her skin glowed beneath that heavy robe.

  Forget your fantasies, he told himself grimly. “It’s getting late.”

  “No, please.” She touched his arm. “What do you do? Seriously.”

  He looked down at her fingers resting gently on his arm. He felt the heat of her skin reach down through his shirt—then race through the rest of his body. “You let them howl,” he said harshly. “Sometimes you may even learn something. Either way, you’ll find they get tired fast. Then you go on with your life.”

  She nodded slowly. “Let them howl. Pretty good advice.”

  Their eyes met. Neither moved.

  Jack stepped away, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. “Anytime.”

  “It’s getting late,” she said, as if unaware he’d just said that. “But I’m still worried about Annie. I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Call her. Then you’ll feel better.”

  She took the phone and dialed the number Sam had given her earlier. Even from several feet away, Jack could see the tension in her shoulders.

  “Sam, it’s Taylor. I—I just wanted to know how she’s doing. For some reason, I can’t stop worrying.” She listened tensely, nodding once. “You’re sure?”

  More silence. Then she took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m glad, Sam. Be sure to give her a kiss for me.” There was more silence. Then her face flushed. “Yes, he’s here. You want to talk with him? Sure.” She turned, phone in hand, color in her cheeks. Jack realized he’d never seen anyone more beautiful.

  “Sam wants to speak with you, but Annie’s fine. All the tests came out normal. She’s checking out in the morning.”

  “Great.” Jack took the phone, frowning. No conversation with Sam McKade could be pleasant right now. “Yeah, Broussard here.”

  “You’re sharing a room with Taylor?”

  “A suite.”

  Silence.

  “Your business, buddy. As long as she’s not hurt.”

  “Understood.”

  “By the way,” Sam continued tightly, “Izzy said to give his regards.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You’re still telling me nothing?”

  Taylor wandered closer, studying Jack.

  “I figure you’ll get whatever you need.”

  “In other words, buzz off.” Sam muttered a soft curse. “My wife is sleeping and I don’t want to wake her or I’d say a whole lot more, Broussard. But I’ll tell you this: If Taylor has walked into the middle of something, get her out of it fast.”

  Taylor moved closer, holding out the bowl of popcorn.

  Jack smiled and shook his head. “No, my vote goes to the 49ers. No contest.”

  “What? Is Taylor there? She’s listening?”

  “No way,” Jack countered. “Definitely the 49ers.”

  “Okay, I read you. Just remember this.” Sam’s voice was low and lethal. “She doesn’t get hurt, Broussard. Neither does my wife. Otherwise, you answer to me.”

  “That’s a bet,” Jack said calmly, then hung up.

  Sam held the phone, listening to the dial tone.

  Annie stirred in the big white hospital bed, reaching out a hand. “Sam?” she asked sleepily. “Are you there?”

  “Right here, babe. Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”

  “I had a bad dream. There was a big man in a white hat. He was singing and then the butterflies came, all around him like a cloud of orange.” Annie’s fingers tightened. “He had a knife, Sam. He was slashing at the air, at the butterflies, saying something I couldn’t understand.” She took a sharp breath. “It seemed so real.”

  “Just a dream, Annie. I’m right here. Trust me, no one is getting near you.” He’d lay down his life first, Sam promised silently.

  Annie’s breath eased out slowly and her fingers relaxed in his. “Just . . . don’t go. Hospitals give me goose bumps.” She smiled. “Too many sick people.”

  Sam bent and kissed her as her eyes closed. She was asleep again in seconds.

  He moved his chair so it faced the door, then poured himself a cup of fresh coffee from the thermos on the table.

  It was going to be a long night.

  Two floors down, the elevator doors opened.

  Three nurses got out, followed by a big gurney. The orderly turned down the hall, smiling pleasantly at a white-haired patient in a wheelchair.

  Four more minutes, Viktor thought.

  The night’s pleasures were about to begin.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taylor glared at him. “Hurt. H-u-r-t. I’ve been watching how you move your right shoulder. You wince when you think I’m not looking.”

  “It’s a little stiff, that’s all.” Jack feigned a yawn. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  Taylor put down the bowl of popcorn. “Sure. Good idea.” Instead of moving toward the bedroom, she reached past him and shoved open the top button of his shirt.

  “Hey.”

  “Shut up, ace.” The second button slid free. “I’ve always wanted to play nurse.”

  “Taylor, stop.” Jack blocked her hand, then sidestepped.

  She moved behind him, pulled the tails of his shirt free, and ran her palms up his back.

  This time Jack had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing. He was relieved he’d already removed his shoulder holster.

  Taylor tugged the shirt away, and her eyes widened. “My God. Your back is one big bruise.”

  Jack shrugged. “By tomorrow it will be fine.”

  “When were you going to say something?” Her face was pale. “You let me moan and groan about shadows and you said nothing.”

  His shoulder throbbed, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. “A little ice and I’ll be fine. Get some rest.”

  “No, I’m getting the ice for you. Then I’m cleaning up those cuts on your wrist.

  “Forget it.”

  Taylor turned over his hand. “See these? You still have a few pieces of gravel in here, too. You idiot.” She strode toward the door. “I’m going for that ice.”

  “You’re going nowhere.” Jack gripped her hand. “I’ll go, damn it.”

  “You really are worried, aren’t you? That’s what this is about�
�you think someone could still be following me.” She stood unmoving, emotions churning across her face. “What happened today with Annie wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Her hands locked, shaking badly. “I’ve got to call Sam. To warn him, in case someone goes after Annie.”

  “Annie’s fine. Sam’s with her, remember? He won’t let anything happen.”

  “You told him about me?”

  “Only that there have been some problems. He promised he’d keep an eye on Annie, just in case.”

  “So that’s why he looked so angry at the hospital?”

  “He loves his wife very much. He’s worried about you, too.”

  Taylor looked down at her hands. “Go get the ice. It will give me something to do, and I need a major distraction right now.”

  “Taylor—”

  She looked up, her eyes resolute. “Either you go or I go.”

  “Hell.” Jack grabbed an ice bucket from the table. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t open it for anyone.”

  After a moment, she nodded. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Jack didn’t want to lie to her, not after all the lies that had come and were yet to come. “It could be. Let me do my job and we’ll make it through fine.”

  He opened the door, waited until she threw the bolt, then headed for the ice machine.

  When the phone rang beside Annie’s bed, Sam grabbed it before it could wake her. “Hello?”

  “Mr. McKade?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This is Mrs. Quinn in patient billing. I’m sorry to bother you at this late hour, but we have a problem with your insurance. I need further information in order to complete the billing for your wife’s stay.” The woman’s voice was brisk but polite. “It should only take a minute.”

  “You want me to come down now?”

  “That would be a help, Mr. McKade. In the morning, Mrs. McKade will be checking out and things could be too rushed.”

  Sam frowned. “Can’t you send someone up here with the papers?”