Hot Pursuit

by Christina Skye

  When Taylor complied, Sunny sprayed the roots. “Stay down. Count to twenty.”

  Taylor was slightly dizzy when she sat up. She blinked, grabbing the sheer black scarf Sunny tossed onto her lap.

  “Try this while I find you an evening bag.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue. You’ve got thirty seconds left.”

  Taylor shut up and draped the scarf around her shoulders, then stepped into her favorite evening shoes. She shook her head when Sunny held up a tiny, jeweled bag. “Too small.”

  Sunny dug some more. “How about this one?”

  “Just right.” Smooth and curved, the bag sported a row of glittering rhinestones and a beaten silver clasp. Best of all, it was big enough for Taylor’s favorite pen, a small notebook, and her cell phone.

  Taylor tried to look over Sunny’s shoulder at the mirror, but her friend cut her off. “No time. Izzy said the limo was already waiting. By the way, your friend Jack looks buff in that tux. It’s Armani or I’m not Italian. Hand-tailored, too.” She made a fanning motion with her hand. “When he pulled out his gun, I almost wet myself. It was too James Bond. The eyes alone could kill you.” She sprayed Taylor lightly with perfume, then took a step back. “You’re done. Now get out of here. You’ve got ten seconds to spare.”

  Taylor took time for a quick hug. “You’re amazing, Sunny.”

  “Damned right I am. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Remember that tomorrow when your Green Goddess arrives in a freezer pack. You’re on record. Every day for a month.”

  Taylor made a strangled sound, then went out to meet Jack and Izzy, who stopped pacing when she appeared.

  “Time to spare,” she announced, twirling slowly.

  “Hell,” Jack whispered.

  “Good God,” Izzy muttered.

  Sunny crossed her arms. “Am I a genius or what?” She frowned when neither man spoke. “Well, what are you two waiting for? Cinderella has a pumpkin to catch.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  FROM TAYLOR’S BOOK OF RULES:

  Chocolate calories don’t count if you consume them standing up—and count slowly backwards.

  “Nice dress.” Jack held open the door to the limousine, frowning. “What there is of it.”

  “It’s perfectly decent.” Taylor fought an urge to tug down the short, drifty skirt. “Don’t be so medieval, Broussard.”

  “Honey, in the Middle Ages, you would have been burned at the nearest stake for wearing something that shows half what that dress shows.” He sat back, his face unreadable. “I’m told this Admiral Braden is meeting you at the store.”

  “That’s what the event people said. Mostly just a p.r. moment, I guess. Of course, it’s a nice one.”

  Jack’s eyes flickered to her lap. “Let me see your purse.”

  “Why?”

  “This isn’t a mascara check, okay.” He slid her cell phone across the big leather seat. “Keep this with you, and make sure it’s on.”

  Taylor examined the phone carefully. “You took my phone?”

  “Izzy had to make some modifications. There’s a direct line to me as soon as you press the star key. You’ve also got a personal radio beacon installed, in case you get lost.”

  “At a shopping gala?”

  “In case you lose your head somewhere in the shoe section,” Jack said grimly. “Here are the rules. One, you stay with me every second after we leave this car. No charging off to greet the mayor or haggle for perfume.”

  Taylor waved a hand in bored assent.

  “Two, no rest room breaks. I couldn’t check out the bathrooms this morning, and I won’t be able to see them tonight, so that’s out.”

  Taylor stared at him. “You visited the store this morning?”

  “Of course. Walking the floor foot by foot is the only way to plan for all contingencies. The bathrooms are a definite point of vulnerability because they’re on a lower level and off a long corridor.”

  “But what if I have to—”

  “You tell me, and I’ll escort you to a unisex bathroom near the kitchen. I’ll be at the door when you go in and there when you come out.”

  “Is this really necessary?” Exasperated, Taylor glared at him from the opposite side of the seat. “What could possibly happen at an event like this?”

  “I’m not paid to play guessing games, Taylor. I’ll keep you safe, but only if you follow orders.”

  “Never one of my strong points,” she muttered.

  “None of this is open for discussion.” Jack crossed his arms.

  “Fine.” She shifted restlessly, giving him a view of an endless expanse of legs. “Anything else for me to remember? Special passwords or handshakes? Maybe you have a mini spy camera for me to carry, along with a vial of poison, in case I’m captured?”

  Jack’s face was hard. “Just this.” He leaned across the seat and pinned a small gold brooch with three diamonds to the bodice of her dress.

  Taylor ignored the instant stir of heat where his fingers brushed the top of her breasts. “Diamonds on our first date? How romantic.”

  “I hope you won’t have to use them. There’s a knife behind the fake stones. Twist the circle, and the blade advances.” Jack sat back. “Try it.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Try it, Taylor.”

  She felt cold suddenly, staring at the simple ornament. He was so serious, so hard. She took an irritated breath, twisted the circle, and gasped when a tiny blade appeared behind the rhinestones. “Don’t ask to dance with me tonight or I may give you a tracheotomy. How do I get rid of the blade?”

  “Push the clip at the back of the pin. That retracts everything. Try it again until it feels natural.”

  Taylor repressed a shudder. “Trust me, it’s never going to feel natural.” She looked up as the driver slowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “The street’s clogged up ahead. We’ll have to walk from here.”

  They walked the last block, Jack scanning the throng around them, while diamonds glittered and expensive perfume drifted on the cool night air.

  “I feel like I’m caught in a Lexus commercial,” Taylor muttered.

  Jack wasn’t looking at her, and she still hadn’t had a chance to see Sunny’s handiwork. She hoped she didn’t have huge hair or jet-black eyebrows. Sunny had been known to go overboard on occasion.

  As they turned the corner, Taylor heard a low whistle. A cab driver raced past, giving her a big grin and a thumbs-up.

  “Keep up.” Jack turned to glare at her. “And you know you’re dressed to kill, so stop trawling for compliments.”

  “I was doing no such thing.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Tell it to someone who cares,” he growled, pulling her into the line of people running up the steps to the newly remodeled store.

  “Do tuxedoes always bring out the worst in you?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, they should be outlawed.” He pulled her into a shorter line, his eyes constantly scanning the crowd around them.

  Taylor gave a little wiggle and managed to work her skirt down another inch, wondering whether she should have worn something a little longer.

  “Stop tugging at your dress.” Jack’s eyes never left the crowd. “It’s not going to do a bit of good.”

  Taylor ignored him, flouncing up the steps behind a bored-looking couple. The woman was carrying a little jeweled evening bag that probably cost enough to feed a Russian tank division for a month.

  She stopped tugging at her skirt and forced herself to stand tall. She was going to have fun, not an attack of nerves. Eyes forward, she didn’t see her reflection in the nearby window, a tall woman, sleekly elegant, with long legs and a vibrant face. She didn’t see the soft hair that caught sparks of gold, red, and copper in the light as she was carried forward with the flow into a huge open foyer lit with hundreds of candles.

  Taylor peered through the golden light
and potted orchids, seeing no one she knew.

  But someone saw her.

  “Broussard, are you in place?”

  Jack nudged his tiny earphone. “Right inside the foyer, Izzy. How’s your sound?”

  “Coming in loud and clear. Any action your way?”

  “No sign of anyone on our surveillance list.”

  “It’s still early. Just keep moving and cover Taylor.”

  “I’m trying, but it’s packed in here. And if I smell any more designer perfume, I may pass out.” Jack decided not to mention the two women who had tried to grope him.

  “Complaints, complaints. You could be out testing depth charges in icy water.”

  “I’d be more comfortable in the water, believe me.” The line broke into hissing for a moment, and Jack touched his earphone carefully. “What was that all about?”

  “Feedback static. I’m recalibrating. How’s that?”

  The hiss disappeared. “Much better.”

  A woman in a backless dress shimmied past, her eyes dark with invitation.

  Jack didn’t return her smile, only finished his scan of the crowd and turned back to Taylor, who was about three feet away. “Damn, what now?”

  “What’s wrong, Broussard?”

  “You’re not going to believe this, Izzy.” Taylor was surrounded by two dozen Japanese businessmen. “Check out my three o’clock.”

  “I see them. That’s the Kobe contingent. They’re one of the event sponsors.”

  “They certainly seem to recognize Taylor. I’m signing off now.” As he moved in closer, Jack scanned the excited group, but sensed no threat. They were too busy bowing formally and holding out books to be autographed.

  Apparently, Lola was very popular in Japan, too.

  “What’s going on?” Jack took his position to Taylor’s right.

  She looked up, pen in hand. “Some visiting fans.”

  “They’re too damned close.”

  “Look again,” Taylor murmured sweetly. “They’re holding pens, not knives, Broussard.” She took another book, signed it with a flourish, and returned it with a high-voltage smile.

  Jack stayed right beside her, watching the hands, always the hands. That was where the threat came first, not in the face or the eyes or the body.

  The hands did the work.

  Two more men offered books. Then a reporter spotted Taylor and shoved in closer, pumping Taylor’s hand and grilling her about a canine partner for Lola and the date of her next release. Jack cut in as the woman gestured across the room.

  “I’m afraid I have to borrow Ms. Taylor,” he said flatly. “There’s a benefit meeting upstairs before the presentation.”

  “Oh, but can’t she—”

  “I’m afraid not.” He was already pulling Taylor up the stairs. “Maybe later.”

  “Well, that was rude.” Taylor blew out a little breath. “And thank you very much for it. She wanted to interview me about the store robbery—and how it felt to be taken hostage. Yech.”

  “The glamour of the writing life.” At the top of the stairs, Jack guided her into a recess and glanced at his watch. “I make it thirty-two minutes until they auction off your books. That gives us about twenty-five minutes to kill. I know a quiet spot—”

  Taylor crossed her arms and glared at him.

  “What now?”

  “Forget the quiet spot. This is a shopping event to make money for charity. The store is open tonight so people can buy, not find a quiet corner and meditate.”

  “Damn it, Taylor—”

  “I want to shop. I’ve done nothing but work and throw up and get followed. After the week from hell, I’m entitled to shop.” Her voice turned shrill.

  “Shopping as the new therapy?”

  Her eyes were slits.

  “You’ve got ten minutes.”

  “Dream on, pal.”

  “Okay, fifteen.”

  She continued to glare at him, unmoving.

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Taylor checked the delicate face of her evening watch. “Synchronize times. I’m not losing a single minute.” She pointed to a waterfall of color under a silk canopy. “First stop, evening shoes. And don’t get too close. I hear they have the new Jimmy Choo samples, and these things tend to get a bit uncivilized.”

  “I’m feeling sick already,” Jack muttered.

  He watched her stride into the fray, where half a dozen women were manhandling satin mules and stiletto heels. She had one hell of a pair of legs, Jack thought. And tonight her hair was different—soft and full. It made a man itch to get his fingers into it.

  The dress? Hell, it made him itch to get her out of it, especially since he figured she wasn’t wearing too much underneath.

  He reined in his imagination.

  Work was work. Thinking about Taylor naked was bound to land them both in serious trouble.

  So far so good.

  Taylor had finally managed to forget about the length of her skirt. Since no one could see anything in the crush, a few inches more or less would hardly matter. Thanks to a passing waiter, she nursed a champagne cocktail as she studied a pair of stunning snakeskin evening sandals.

  To her left, a woman fainted at the news she’d won an instant $1,000 shopping spree, courtesy of the store. Not far away, a man in a designer tux was giving away imported chocolate and mini-samples of the newest scent from Versace.

  Taylor took another sip of her cocktail and glanced around the room. Candles flickered and laughter filled the air. Behind her there was more clapping as a lucky guest won a year’s supply of Godiva chocolate. By supreme force of will, Taylor decided to forgo the evening sandals, which were immediately snapped up by a woman in a red silk tunic.

  As music drifted, slow and romantic, Taylor wondered how long it had been since she’d danced slow and sexy with a man. Six months?

  Closer to a year, probably.

  She frowned.

  As long as she could remember, she’d been far too busy to get tied down in a serious relationship. The last thing she needed was a man to clip her wings. So what if her sister had found someone who made her delirious? Sam McKade was probably the last good man left. It was just Taylor’s luck that her sister had found him first.

  She saw Jack two feet away, fighting off the advances of a woman in skintight black satin. The attack wasn’t surprising, since he looked absolutely edible in a tux that fit him without a single gap or wrinkle. But despite all his polish and formality, one look said that the man was built for danger and probably enjoyed it.

  Too bad being around him made her nuts. Even if he did have an outstanding way with his hands.

  Don’t go there.

  Taylor pushed those particular memories out of her mind and tried to concentrate on shopping.

  “You really don’t want these?” The woman in the red tunic was staring at her in disbelief. “At half off?”

  “Too small. If your shoes hurt, you can’t be comfortable.” Taylor smiled wryly. “So my mother always said. Although the pain would almost be worth it for those.”

  The woman shook her head. “They’re too small for me, too, but I’ll find a way to stretch them. These shoes are so hot I’ll feel like Nicole Kidman at the Academy Awards.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look familiar. It was something recent. Wait, you were in that convenience store robbery. The woman that was taken hostage.” She fumbled with the snakeskin shoes, then held out a hand. “Martha Sorensen. You were amazing.”

  “Taylor O’Toole, and I was scared spitless.”

  “Scared or not, you taught those gorillas not to mess with a woman in black leather.”

  “I had a little help from the San Francisco SWAT team.” Taylor looked down, not wanting to remember that time of panic and confusion. She picked up a pair of Bruno Magli evening pumps with heavy rhinestone ankle straps, then shook her head. “A little too S&M for me.”

  Her new friend held up a pair of velvet shoes with sculpted heels. “These are more yo
ur style. Elegant, classic, but a whole lot of zing.”

  Taylor chuckled. The velvet slides were hard to resist. She checked the size, then slid on one shoe and studied it gravely. “Not bad.”

  “Honey, those are fabulous.” Her new friend scanned a display for nearby purses and returned with a tiny beaded bag. “What do you think?”

  “That you ought to be working on commission.”

  “Don’t bring up work. It will ruin my night. Things have gone straight to hell this week since one of our people left without notice.” She frowned at Taylor. “He was there, too, you know. Harris Rains.”

  “You work with Rains?” Taylor’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

  The woman sniffed. “Not to hear him tell it. He’s Einstein and everyone else is mere slave labor. But someone has to keep the books balanced and the equipment paid for.” She studied a pair of red cowboy boots. “Life would be a lot simpler if I didn’t have a shoe obsession.” She glanced at Taylor. “Are you going to take those velvet slides? If not, they’re mine. The purse, too.” She smiled a little ruefully. “Not that they’ll look half as good on me.”

  Taylor examined the velvet shoes, keeping her voice casual. “By the way, what happened to Harris Rains? I haven’t seen him since the robbery.”

  Martha Sorensen dug through a display of Jimmy Choo slingbacks and gasped when she found a knockout pair in red leather with contrasting white piping. “Excuse me while I faint.” She slid on the shoes and studied the result carefully. “Rains? I still can’t forget the nightmare that crumb left at the lab. I mean, what was he thinking? We’re in the middle of two projects, and he’s supposed to be finishing a new R & D proposal.” A waiter passed with a tray, and she snagged a glass of champagne. “Thank God for champagne.” She took a healthy sip, then sighed. “My job is going to kill me.”

  “What kind of work does your company do?” Taylor decided a little pumping was in order.

  “Recombinant DNA work. Mostly pharmaceuticals.”

  “So Rains just vanished one day? Isn’t that odd?”

  Martha Sorensen put down her champagne and studied the milling crowd. “You bet. He really seemed to lose it about a month ago, always calling in sick, missing lab meetings. If he hadn’t been so smart, he would have been fired right then. But results count,” she said grimly. “The man always managed to produce at the last minute.” She stared off into space. “I sometimes wonder if something happened to him during that robbery.”