Hot Pursuit (18 page)

Taylor closed her eyes while her mind worked furiously. “So Rains is in real trouble. What happens now?”

“Jack stays with you.” A chair creaked. “When you go out, he goes out, too. No excuses.”

“Like some kind of bodyguard?”

“You're in danger, Taylor. Until we know why, Jack stays close.” Izzy paused. “That means everywhere, night and day. We're assigning people to the spa, too. Now would you put Jack on again, please?”

She stared at Jack. “He wants to talk with you.”

She handed over the phone and shivered as wind cut through the open window. Why was someone targeting
her
? So what if she had followed Rains around town? She knew next to nothing about the man or the details of his shady activities.

She heard Jack hang up, but she didn't take her eyes from the headlights cutting over the road. She kept hoping she would wake up and the night would be gone and this would be no more than a bad memory.

But the road continued to flash in front of her, all darkness and fog.

“We're almost there.”

“The place with the shrimp to make me weep? Funny, but I just lost my appetite.”

Jack put on his blinker. “We're going for information, not food—even though the shrimp really will make you weep.” A few minutes later, their headlights flashed off a glass-and-stone structure rising from a low hill overlooking the coast.

“How well do you know these people?”

“Well enough to trust them with my life—and yours. We won't be here long anyway.”

Taylor wasn't convinced, but Jack was already parking and pocketing the keys.
Her
keys, if she'd had the energy to argue, which she didn't. By recklessness and sheer rotten luck, she had stumbled into real danger, and obstinacy had driven her in deeper. Now it was time to wise up and get clear, even if it meant swallowing her pride and taking orders.

She followed Jack into a large room with a stone fireplace that covered one whole wall. A fire blazed, casting a golden glow over empty tables covered by spotless white tablecloths.

“Jack, is that really you? Hell, it's gotta be, what, six years?” A big man in a white apron barreled out of the kitchen, arms outstretched.

“Seven, but who's counting. Dad sends his love, Rock.”

The two men hugged, then stood back for some hard backslapping. The man named Rock seemed to give as hard as he got. “How is the old pit bull?”

“Doesn't look a day over forty.” Jack smiled. “As he tells anyone who will listen. You're looking pretty solid, too. Cooking must agree with you, Rock.”

“It has its moments.” Their host wiped his hands on his apron, shaking his head. Taylor pegged him as somewhere between fifty and sixty, but he could have been a few years older. The hand he held out to her was heavily callused, and his smile infectious.

“So this is your important package. Glad to see you're finally showing some taste, Jack, my boy. This one's a looker.”

Taylor flushed as she shook hands with the older man.

“Taylor, meet Bo Rockney, alias Rock—and a few less polite names. Just remember, do not ever play cards with this man and don't believe a word he says.”

The older man laughed as he drew Taylor closer to the fire. “Have a seat and warm up. Any friend of Jack and his daddy is a friend of mine.” Rock glanced at Jack. “How about some wine?”

“Not tonight. Coffee would be great though.” Jack glanced at Taylor. “We've got some driving ahead of us.”

“Two espressos coming right up.”

“Did you get those things I called about?”

“Right over here.” Rock tossed a cardboard box to Jack. “I figure you'll tell me in good time why you need a scarf and two sun hats in the middle of the night. Now, I'll get that coffee and call my son.”

Jack stiffened. “Your son? You're not handling this personally?”

Their host sighed. “Damned arthritis in the right knee, Jack. I don't do the heavy driving I used to. But my son is better than I ever was, so you'll have no complaints.”

“Your call,” Jack said, but he was frowning as his friend left the room.

“What's going on? I don't understand any of this,” Taylor said uneasily.

“You will. Put these on.” He tossed her a floppy sun hat and a long red scarf. “There's one more thing I need you to wear, too.”

 

It took them twenty minutes to run through Jack's route, finish two espressos, and get suited up.

“The car's outside. Good luck, you two.” Rock shook hands with Jack, then Taylor, and checked his watch. “My son's got your cell numbers if anything turns up.”

By now Taylor had a few thousand questions, but she held them, aware that these two men were pros—even if she wasn't sure at what.

She tugged at the black Kevlar vest Jack had made her put on. It felt like a gorilla draped over her chest.

The weight reminded her this wasn't book research. The danger had somehow become her life.

Chapter Ninteen

“Keep your eyes on the side roads. Watch for lights or movement of any sort. And if I say
down
, get your head between your knees and stay that way.” They were driving inland toward the freeway, and Jack never stopped checking the rearview mirror. The ease with which he'd strapped on his Kevlar told Taylor he wore it often. She yearned to ask
where
and
when
, but now was clearly not the time for distractions. “You think someone followed us from the hotel?”

“It's possible.”

“And if we do find someone?”

“I'll call Izzy. He'll handle the rest.”

He frowned when he said it, and Taylor realized he wasn't happy about the idea.

For ten minutes they followed U.S. 1 toward Castroville, looping back often, then slowing and turning as if in search of a particular address. Finally, they pulled off at a service station, where Jack pulled out a map, pretending to study it.

He didn't look up as Taylor's cell phone rang. “Take it. Rock's son should be calling with an update.”

“Hello?”

“Hey, there. This is Rock's son. Tell Jack that I picked up a car two miles back. Blue Volvo sedan. Give me a few minutes and I'll have the plate number.”

“I'll tell him.” Taylor relayed the information to Jack, who folded up the map and headed back to the highway. She tried to contain her uneasiness. “You don't look surprised.”

“I'm not. I made the Volvo right after we left the restaurant, but he's a pro, keeping the rhythm and holding back, so I needed to be sure.” He made a sharp turn down a side street, then a quick U-turn.

No blue Volvo raced past.

“Damned good,” Jack muttered.

He pulled back onto the highway.

“What happened to the Lincoln from this morning?”

“They're taking no chances we'll spot them.

“What do they
want
?” Taylor had gone over the last week backward and forward, but the most crucial piece of the puzzle still eluded her.

Jack glanced over, unsmiling. “You tell me.”

“I don't know, damn it. Or do you think I'm hiding something on purpose? Maybe you think I planned this all so my sister would be attacked.”

“No, I don't think either of those things.” Jack's hand covered her knee.

“Maybe Sam does,” she whispered. “Maybe Annie does, too. I'm the screwup O'Toole sister, after all. It looks like I'm
really
living up to my reputation this time.”

“No one's saying anything close to that.” His voice hardened as he glanced into the mirror.

“He's there, isn't he?”

Jack didn't answer.”

They shot into Rock's parking lot a few minutes later, but this time Jack parked closer to the front, just at the edge of the big overhead lights. “Take everything you need,” he said quietly. “We're switching cars.”

 

Two people bustled out the restaurant's front door several minutes later. The woman stopped at the edge of the shadows, adjusting her red scarf carefully. The man held open her door, gave her a quick kiss, then slid behind the wheel of the Wrangler. Together they headed back to downtown Monterey.

 

Jack and Taylor watched from the darkened kitchen.

When the Wrangler disappeared, Jack turned to his father's friend and gripped his hand. “Thanks, Rock. I owe you big for this.”

“Hell, forget it. I owe your old man a dozen favors. Jamie will see you home safe and sound in Frisco. Just remember to come see me when you've got time for some serious eating. Tell the old man I said hello, too.”

“Will do.”

They left via a back door from the kitchen, where a big Audi waited with a driver at the wheel. Rock's son happened to be two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, Taylor saw as they slid into the backseat.

“Make yourselves comfortable, folks. You might want to stay down while I loop around a few times to be sure you've lost your tail.”

When he was finally satisfied they were clear, Jack sat up. “Good work, Jamie. Any news from your brother in the other car?”

“Yeah, he picked up your friend right outside the lot. Blue Volvo. Plate number 76 Bravo Foxtrot 5. He'll be hitting most of Monterey and Carmel for the next two hours, so the Volvo will be nice and busy.”

“Thanks, Jamie. Tell them to be careful. If anyone approaches, they are to evade immediately. No macho stuff.”

“Don't worry. My brother's done a lot of stunt-driving. They'll be fine.”

Jack's tense expression told Taylor that he wasn't close to relaxing. After the news that came in a few minutes later, Taylor understood why.

Jamie glanced back as he cut off from his brother's call. “You've got a second car in place. Gray Acura, plate number 22 Alpha Charlie 9.” His eyes met Jack's in the rearview mirror. “You two must be pretty special.”

Taylor was caught somewhere between tension and exhaustion. “Jack?”

“Later,” he muttered. “Get some rest.” He pulled her head down against his shoulder. “The night isn't over yet.”

 

They were ten minutes south of Redwood City when Jack eased away from Taylor and tapped Jamie on the shoulder. “Pull off at the next exit.”

“You got it.”

Jack had seen no other tails, but he was taking no chances. He'd relayed the two plate numbers to Izzy for a trace, but both men knew that the presence of a second car indicated serious players who were highly paid and highly trained.

And Jack wanted them bad.

Chapter Twenty

FROM TAYLOR'S BOOK OF RULES:
Forget about coloring between the lines.

It was almost five
A
.
M
. when Jamie angled against the curb in front of Taylor's apartment building. After a little banter and quick handshakes, his two passengers headed in past the yawning doorman. Maybe it was exhaustion that left Taylor with the uncomfortable feeling she was being herded along, given orders rather than explanations at every turn.

Or maybe it was fear.

She watched Jack as they waited for the elevator. “Do you work for Izzy or for the government?”

“I work
with
Izzy, off and on.”

“I don't understand why he's so interested in Rains.” She frowned. “Unless Rains has government connections. Does he?”

Jack said nothing, his face tense.

“Hello? I believe I just asked a question.”

“Look, we're tired right now. I've got to call Izzy and we both need to grab some sleep.” The elevator door opened. “In the meantime, here are the ground rules. I'll be right next door. Call me before you open your door to anyone. That means the doorman or a deliveryman. It means Candace and anyone else in the building. Call me before you go out—and that means
anywhere
. We'll review all the other precautions tomorrow.”

“
Other?
Wait a minute—”

The elevator opened at their floor. Jack squeezed her shoulder. “Trust me, Taylor. This is the only way.” He handed her a piece of paper. “Here's my number. Remember to use it.”

He looked almost as tired as she was, standing in the dim light outside the elevator. Only that knowledge kept Taylor from demanding more answers before she agreed to these ground rules—or any others.

He pulled out her key, taken from her key ring before they'd left Monterey. “I'll go in and take a look. Just in case.”

Taylor took a sharp breath. “Fine. But tomorrow I want answers, Jack.”

“Sure. Tomorrow.” He motioned her behind him as he opened the door, one hand slipping under his jacket near his holstered Beretta. Once inside, he made a quick loop through the apartment, checked the windows and her small terrace, then nodded. “All clear. Lock up and be sure to put on the chain.”

 

“You're
certain
you got those numbers right?” Izzy sounded edgy. Hardly surprising at 5
A
.
M
., Jack thought grimly.

“Absolutely.”

“Hell. That makes it official. The two cars following you in Monterey are leased under contract to the federal government.”

“That was
our
people out there?” Jack worked hard to rein in his fury. “You want to tell me what's going on?”

“I would if I knew. Believe me, I'm going to hold a few feet to the fire until I find out. Meanwhile, we have a new development.”

“Rains has reappeared?”

“So to speak. He's still underground, but he made a call from a pay phone to the San Francisco D.A. He asked to go WITSEC.”

“Witness protection? With what?”

“According to Rains, he's got names, dates, and numbered accounts, but he won't give any details until his security can be guaranteed. No safety guarantee, no deals. Believe me, he sounds pretty damned scared.”

Jack blew out a breath. “This makes him a federal concern. The U.S. Marshals will handle his protection.”

“Until Rains gives us some answers, you're still on the job. I'm faxing through a photograph now. Memorize it, then destroy it.”

Jack heard his fax machine beep. “Anyone I should know?”

“Viktor Lemka—at least that's his current alias. An enforcer who used to work out of Chechnya. These days, he deals from a cesspit in Paraguay called Ciudad del Este. You want a top-notch hitman, Ciudad is the place to go. You want to get fake passports or broker a big arms deal, that's the place—and Lemka is considered the best.”

“Why is he still walking around?”

“Because he's only been in the U.S. officially once. Any other visits were made under a phony passport. His file's sketchy, and he changes his appearance frequently. We've only got one photo of him, and it's grainy. Take a look.”

The fax spewed out a sheet, which Jack studied carefully. The man had cold eyes and a narrow forehead. Jack couldn't pick up too many other details. “I may have seen him somewhere. Is he Russian?”

“Albanian national.”

“Just like the bozos in the convenience store holdup,” Jack mused.

“You got it, and I doubt it's a coincidence. Lemka appears to specialize in torture and extortion using surgical techniques. Possibly he trained as a doctor somewhere along the line, but you don't want this joker changing your IV, trust me. A waitress at a Chinatown nightclub says she saw him arguing with Rains and two other men. The Albanian thought she was getting too close, so he roughed her up. Since her brother is a cop, she was suspicious and clued him in, so now the Feds have people watching the club in case he returns. They've also got feelers out among the Albanian community.”

Jack was quiet, thinking. “Lemka was the man who went after Annie in the hospital, wasn't he?”

“It's possible. My agent just came out of surgery, so he hasn't given much of a description. Because Annie was half asleep, she didn't see much, either, but a nurse was coming up the stairs when she saw a man pass. She noticed an orderly's uniform discarded in a garbage can one floor away. She's fairly sure this is the man, though now he has a moustache.”

Jack studied the grainy photo. The eyes turned even colder and the mouth looked too thin to smile. It was a face that wouldn't stand out or be easily remembered.

When he had committed the features to memory, he reached for a lighter. “Shouldn't I show this to Taylor? He could go after her next.”

“Negative. I've been told to keep her out of the loop on this. I fought it hard, but I lost.” Izzy didn't sound happy about the outcome.

Jack touched his lighter to the corner of the sheet and watched the thin lips glow, curling into a sneer. “What about Rains' girlfriend? Has she been seen with Lemka?”

“No, but we're checking Candace Jensen out thoroughly. She met Rains a year ago while she was doing temp work at his lab. She quit a few months later to work at a local gym. We have no real proof that she's involved—except I had an expert climber check Taylor's gear while you were gone. He tells me the equipment was in perfect shape, as was the part of the bolt still attached to the rope. On a hunch, I sent him out to check the other half of the expansion bolt still on the rocks.”

This was Izzy, Jack thought. The man was nothing if not fanatically thorough. “What did he find?”

“That particular bolt was brand-new, for one thing, which was interesting since all the others on that rock were worn. When he took a closer look, he saw the broken bolt was twisted, showing tension fractures that couldn't come from normal climbing stress. In short, someone meant to guarantee that the bolt would blow.”

Jack rubbed his neck, frowning. “Candace?”

“She was there. She had the skill.”

“But why? What could she gain from hurting Taylor?”

“Beats me. Until we know more, I suggest you keep this from Taylor.”

“Are we going to tell her
anything
?” Jack asked grimly. “After all, Candace is her friend. Both their lives may be in danger.”

“As soon as we know what we're dealing with, we'll make that decision. We can't risk Taylor letting something slip to Candace. For now, this stays under wraps. Orders, Jack.”

“Some orders suck.”

“I happen to agree.” Izzy's chair creaked. “What does Taylor have on the agenda today?”

“Nothing much. She mentioned she was staying in so she could work. Book deadline or something.”

“Good. Grab some sleep.” Izzy sighed. “Let's pray that her writing deadline will keep her out of trouble for a while.”

 

At ten o'clock Taylor rolled out of a sound sleep. When she opened her eyes, she was instantly flooded by bad memories. How had her life gone straight to hell in only forty-eight hours?

She tried calling Annie at home, but the message machine clicked in. After leaving a message, Taylor listened to her own messages. Candace had phoned twice, sounding worried and asking Taylor to call her soon. But when Taylor tried phoning, she reached Candace's message machine. Was
everyone
in the world out? she wondered irritably.

Wandering into the kitchen, she surveyed her food options. They included two jars of olives and a discolored orange that appeared to be growing white hair.

Wincing, Taylor closed the refrigerator and decided coffee would have to do. With a cup of steaming espresso straight from her machine, she headed off to work.

After half a dozen false starts, she finally got into the pace of her story. She kicked off her slippers and settled in, halfway through a half-raising pursuit when her doorbell rang. She looked up, frowning, trying to place the sound. With the words flowing, the last thing she needed was an interruption.

She closed her eyes, hunched over her laptop as she let the scene replay in her mind. She heard the lap of water in the distance. Somewhere, dogs were barking in frantic excitement. A red Toyota spun around a corner, fishtailing crazily—

The doorbell sounded again, cutting off her concentration, and Chinatown fell away.

Taylor shot to her feet. “Fine, fine, I'm coming, but this better be damned important.” After straightening the old sweatshirt she always wore when writing, she glanced in the view hole and flung open the door.
“What?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Yeah, it might be, but I'm working and I don't want to be interrupted.”

“Not even for fresh sourdough bread and French onion soup?” Jack held out two big paper bags. “I had it sent over from the restaurant on the corner.”

Taylor's irritation wavered when she smelled the rich aroma of melted cheese and perfectly caramelized onions, but she still had a scene to finish. “That's—that's nice of you, Jack. I'll take a break soon.” She frowned. “Unless there's something important you need to tell me?”

He looked long and lean in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt that hugged muscular shoulders.
Don't drool,
Taylor told herself firmly.

“Nothing urgent. Just checking to be sure you eat. Annie warned me that you forget everything when you're writing.”

“You've heard from Annie?”

“Not today. She told me yesterday, at the restaurant.”

“I called, but she wasn't in.” Taylor rubbed her neck, which was starting to ache. “I just want to find out how she's feeling.”

“I'm sure she'll call.” He held up the bags. “Can I put these down?”

“Oh—sure. And thanks. But I really do—” She frowned as he opened cabinets and took out a pot. “What are you doing?”

“Heating the soup. Once you're eating, I'll leave. Annie made me promise.”

Taylor bit back a complaint and tried to hold the scene in her head.
Dogs barking. Red Toyota.

Jack paid no attention, turning on the oven and sliding the bread in to warm. “So you don't go out and you don't eat when you're writing?”

“Not much. Not when I've got a deadline closing in.”

“How close?”

Taylor sighed, trying to be patient. “Six weeks.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means I'm up at night, pacing the floor. It means I eat on the run or not at all, and that you may hear occasional banging sounds on the wall. Don't worry, it's only my head. There may be some cursing, too.”

“All this just to write a book?

She crossed her arms. “
Just?
Have you ever tried it?”

“No way. Not me. Still, it seems an uncomfortable way to make a living.”

“You don't write to be
comfortable
.” The scene was slipping away now, and Taylor realized that in a few moments it would be gone forever. “Look, why don't you—”

Jack turned off the burner and poured soup into a bowl. “Almost done here. I'll cut you some bread, then hit the road.”

Red Toyota, two men on foot.
Taylor closed her eyes, repeating the image like a mantra, trying not to smell the warm bread.

“All done.” He set a plate with bread on her kitchen table and gestured at the last bag. “Wine's in there, too, if you feel like it. I wasn't sure if you gave that up when you were writing, too.”

“Not wine, only sex.” She saw his face and shrugged. “Just a joke. I'll have the wine later, thanks. But right now I really need to—”

“So you're not going out at all today?”