Hot Pursuit (11 page)

A stream of water trickled past the window frame and pooled up on the floor mat near her foot. Okay, so surveillance wasn't as easy as she'd thought. But how hard could it be to follow a person from point A to point B and not get arrested? All she had to do was stay awake and avoid getting hypothermia.

She looked up as a car drove through the intersection behind her. Just a grimy gray van. No police cruiser sent to arrest a crazy female stalker.

Yawning, she sat back and watched the gate at the front of the warehouse compound, praying for Rains to reappear.

But there was no hint of his sleek white BMW—only rain, pounding on and on, making her whole body numb. She shoved her heater to high, but nothing seemed to cut the damp chill. When her eyelids drooped, she sat up with a sigh.

Her watch said 6:40.

What was Rains
doing
inside the warehouse?

Suddenly her Wrangler jerked to the left. Taylor heard a faint hissing and grabbed the door, bracing for an earthquake.

But an earthquake would have made the whole car shake, along with the street. Was something wedged beneath the car?

Grimacing, she opened her door and stood in the rain, studying the quiet street. No trucks passing. No noise. No nothing. Water dripped beneath her collar and trickled between her shoulder blades. Shivering harder, she looked down. Her left rear tire was almost as flat as Kansas.

Wind slapped at her face and she kicked her tire hard.

She was searching for her tire iron when she saw a flash of white at the gate. In disbelief and fury, she watched Rains shoot past the guarded entrance and sail west toward the freeway. Taylor yelled as he passed, ready to run after him. Then sanity returned.

This was crazy. She couldn't run after a
car
. Besides, she had a flat tire. If Rains didn't have her arrested, she'd probably die of pneumonia.

Finesse, she told herself grimly. Cleverness.

Her eyes narrowed.

Uncle Vinnie.

Chapter Eleven

Taylor stepped out of a hot shower, fighting a sneeze. No way was she getting sick now. It would take more than a floral death threat and a rotten flat tire to throw her out of the game. Failure was making her mad, and as any of her friends knew, Taylor O'Toole got dangerous when she was mad.

Her fury had struck the boiling point when the helpful man from the auto assistance service examined her tire and told her it had been slashed.

Not blown. Not a nail puncture.
Slashed.
As in slashed by a slimeball with revenge on his mind. No way was Harris Rains getting away with slashing her tire. Not in
this
lifetime.

While she was waiting for a call back from Uncle Vinnie, Taylor punched in Candace's number and sat through twenty rings until her friend answered, sounding exhausted. “What's wrong, Taylor? I just got to sleep.”

“At eight o'clock?”

“I had a rock-climbing class until ten last night. After that, some of us went out to celebrate the launch of a new set of ropes from Black Diamond.”

Celebrate new climbing ropes?
Suddenly Taylor felt old.

“I just wanted to know if you'd heard anything from Rains. Has he bothered you again?”

“He called once last night but he sounded rushed. Nothing since then. Have you had the climbing gear inspected yet?” The sleep was fading and Candace was starting to sound tense. “Is that why you called?”

“Not yet. I wanted to ask if you'd heard of a nightclub in Chinatown called Tony's Little Shanghai.”

Candace repeated the name slowly. “I don't think so. Is it a good scene?”

“The scene doesn't exactly matter.” Taylor gave up trying to find a gentle way to break the bad news to her friend. “I followed Harris there last night and saw him getting very chummy with a blonde with big hair.”

“A woman? You're sure Harris was—was
with
her, not just talking to her?”

Taylor reined in her impatience. “They weren't discussing mortgage rates, Candace. Harris had his hands all over her.”

“Oh.” Candace sounded shattered. “You're positive it was Harris you saw?”

Talk about denial.
“I'm sure, Candace. Did he ever mention that club to you?”

“It doesn't ring a bell. Of course, we didn't go out on real dates that often. Mostly a movie or sometimes a workout at my health club.”

“One more question. When did Harris get his white BMW?”

“He used to drive a red Honda Civic, but about two months ago he got the Beemer. He said he needed it for his new image.”

So Harris was making money and spending it fast. Doing what? Taylor wondered. “Did he ever tell you why he was getting a stock bonus?”

“He never talked about his work with me. Why do you ask?”

“I'm just wondering how a lab job buys you a brand-new BMW.”

“Harris runs the lab, I think. He's really a brilliant scientist, you know, and his work is completely cutting edge.”

“What kind of work?”

“Something with vaccines, I think. Or maybe that genetic stuff. I heard him once or twice on the phone to his boss, but I didn't really understand.”

That genetic stuff, as in recombinant DNA technology? Was Rains involved in designing some sort of new vaccine?

Taylor chose her next words carefully. “Do you remember if he mentioned any details, Candace? You know, possibly a vaccine for Lyme disease or AIDS? Maybe hantavirus?”

“No, he never talked about stuff like that with me. He even kept his papers locked in his briefcase. He told me never to touch it because he'd rigged the thing to explode if anyone tried to open it.” Candace hesitated. “Do you think that was a lie?”

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 innuendo, 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?”