Hot Pursuit (20 page)

Jack watched two big men in flannel shirts stride inside, pointing at the sign. “No kidding.” He sat down on a bench where he could see the front door and most of the parking lot. “With this kind of audience, I guess she'll be safe.” He sighed. “Of course, I'd give my right arm for a fresh doughnut and a cup of that coffee.”

“No one said surveillance was fun.”

Jack watched Taylor handing off boxes to several new arrivals who were wearing long aprons with big pockets. “Looks like she enjoys this kind of stuff.”

“That's why she's so good at it.”

“So this is what—some kind of goodwill visit?”

“Not exactly. They've been after her to come for several months. They're all trying to find out what happens in her next book.”

Jack shook his head. Books were okay, but he couldn't see what all the excitement was about. Sure, he read Clancy and Patterson, but he wouldn't die if he had to do without. “What's the big deal? Some things happen, some people talk a lot, the book ends.”

Izzy chuckled. “Read the book, Jack. See for yourself.”

The line clicked off.

Chapter Twenty-two

Trucks were coming and going and the parking lot was filling up, but Taylor still hadn't reappeared.

Twenty minutes had passed and Jack was getting edgy. Not that he thought she was in danger, but mission rules specified keeping the subject in visual range, and he didn't like violating procedure, no matter how strange the location or the assignment.

He walked into the front lobby, thinking how good a doughnut would taste, not to mention a hot cup of coffee. Frowning, he studied the hand-lettered sign on the poster.
Will she or won't she?
was written across the top in big red letters.

What was that all about?

Beneath the lettering, Taylor's picture held an air of mystery, but the effect was offset by her jaunty black beret and the little Jack Russell terrier she held in her arms.

It was a knockout all right. Jack felt his mouth easing into a grin without conscious effort.

“If you're here to meet Ms. Taylor, you'd better hurry. She's running out of books back there.” A big man with a blue tattoo was waving to Jack from the inner doorway. Through the swinging doors behind him, laughter drifted out.

Okay, Broussard. Think fast.
“Uh, actually, I—”

“Go on. No need to be shy. She's great.”

Jack cleared his throat. “Well, I don't really need to—”

“Hang on.” The man crossed his big arms, studying Jack. “You a friend of hers?”

Jack nodded.

The man held out a callused hand, studying Jack hard. “Name's O'Reilly. You in the Marines?”

“No.”

“Something close. You got the look. Rangers?”

Jack shifted uncomfortably. “Navy.”

The man didn't look convinced. “Regular Navy?”

“This and that,” Jack muttered.

“How long you been out?”

“Sometimes it seems like forever,” Jack said dryly.

“I hear you there. So what are you doing with Ms. Taylor?”

“I'm here because—” Jack cleared his throat, racking his brain. “Because I'm Ms. Taylor's—”

Brother?

Boyfriend?

Agent?

“Driver,” he finished briskly. “Shuttling her around. Keeping an eye on things. You understand.”

The big man nodded. “Well, why didn't you
say
so? Important lady like her needs a driver.” He kept on nodding. “You take care of her, okay? Meanwhile, we're taking bets on what happens in the next book. I got a hundred dollars riding on the little lady.”

Jack tried not to look blank.

“Don't tell me you haven't read
The Forever Code
?”

“No.”

“
The Seventh Circle
?”

Jack shook his head.

“Hell, you don't know what you're missing. Hang on.” The driver vanished into a nearby office and returned with three thick books. “On the house. Read them in order. I'd get you a doughnut, but they were picked clean fifteen minutes ago. The boxes might be gone soon.” He smiled happily. “Some of those guys are animals.”

“How about some coffee instead?” Jack took the books, but caffeine was what he really wanted. He had no intention of reading Taylor's stories, but he didn't want to be rude. As soon as he got outside, he'd dump them and no one would be the wiser.

He sipped the coffee O'Reilly had given him. “Thanks. So you're telling me a lot of guys read her stuff?”

“Hell, yes. After a few books, you get to know the characters. Like one big crazy family, except someone's always killing someone else. And that Lola. You gotta love her.”

Jack raised one brow. “Lola is the heroine?”

“Nah.” O'Reilly tapped the photograph on the poster. “Lola's the
dog
. The name's a mistake, because she's really a
he
, only the previous owner was too nearsighted to notice. Only cross-dressing Jack Russell terrier I ever heard about.” The big driver shook his head. “That little mutt gets into more trouble than all the other characters combined. Wears a little red tartan coat, sharp as anything. Worth the cost of the book just to see what she—I mean
he
—is gonna do next.”

A cross-dressing Jack Russell terrier?

“And that P.I. of hers. Hell of an ending to a book.”

“How's that?”

O'Reilly snorted. “No way, pal. You wanna find out, read the book. Then you'll be in misery waiting for the next one along with the rest of us.”

Jack smiled politely, but he couldn't imagine any book bothering him after the last page. After all, it was just someone's imagination. What was the big deal about made-up people and made-up conversations?

He was all set to ask O'Reilly how much longer the signing would last when he heard a low trill of laughter behind him. The sound did something odd to his muscles.

So what if she had a great laugh? Stow it, idiot.

The door swung open. “What are you doing in here?” Taylor stood holding a company apron and hat.

“Ready to take you to your next signing, Ms. Taylor.” Jack tried to sound cool and professional. “The car's outside. Anything you need me to carry for you?”

“I'll tell you what you can carry—”

Jack cleared his throat. “We don't want to be late.”

She put one hand on her hip and stared at him some more. “Is that a fact? Well, if you think I'm going to—”

Jack cut her off, taking the briefcase she was carrying, along with the hat and apron. “Almost seven. Freeway's going to be a nightmare.” He nodded at O'Reilly. “Thanks for the coffee, but we'd better get moving.”

“No problem. See you next year, Ms. Taylor. Just get that new book finished, okay. We're dying here.”

Taylor looked distracted as she smiled at the big Irishman. “I'm working on it, Thomas. You just keep those books moving while I do that, okay?”

“You got yourself a deal.”

Taylor frowned as Jack hustled her toward the entrance. “Hey, what are you—”

“Time is money, Ms. Taylor. Remember what your agent told you.”

“My agent never—”

Jack pushed her through the door and let it swing closed behind him. “Can't you do
anything
without an argument?” He shook his head, striding down the closest row of cars. “I'm parked over here.”

“Good for you. Have a nice trip back.” Taylor grabbed her briefcase and pulled, but Jack didn't let go.

“Not without you.” He studied her stonily. “You're in danger and my job is to keep you safe.”

She stood stiffly. “I don't need a babysitter. I'm all grown up, Broussard, in case you didn't notice.”

Oh, he'd noticed.

Footsteps crunched on gravel and O'Reilly appeared behind them, looking uneasy. “Everything okay out here?”

“Sure,” Jack said calmly. “Everything's fine, O'Reilly. Just a little discussion about the fastest way back to Russian Hill.”

The Irishman didn't move, looking from one to the other.

Jack was ready to dish up another lie when his cell phone rang. Aware that only one person had the number, he answered tensely. “Hold on.” He covered the phone and nodded at O'Reilly. “Looks like a change of plans. Now we'll really be late.” He pointed toward his sedan. “Why don't you get in, Ms. Taylor?”

She didn't move.

Jack wondered if he was going to have to knock her out and carry her to the car. That meant fighting the big Irishman, of course. Probably half the drivers in the building would join in the melee, and wouldn't
that
make one hell of a headline.

“Fine.” Taylor gave O'Reilly a forced smile and a thumbs-up signal, then strode toward Jack's sedan. When O'Reilly was out of earshot, she spun around. “I want to talk to Izzy.”

Jack held out the phone. “Talk away.”

Taylor glared at Jack, then grabbed the phone. Could her life get any worse? “I want to know what's going on, Izzy. I don't need a baby-sitter tagging along.”

“Don't give him a hard time, Taylor. The man's just doing his job.”

“And what job is that? Wasting taxpayer's money?” She blew out an angry breath. “Look, Izzy, I'll help all I can, but the fact is, I know nothing.” Jack opened her door and Taylor slid into the passenger seat, frowning. “Of course, if Rains actually came
after
me, things would be different.”

“Rains has disappeared.” Izzy's voice was flat.

Professional mode,
Taylor thought.

“So what? He probably took a trip to Aruba with one of his girlfriends. That has nothing to do with
me
.”

Izzy's chair creaked. “For starters, Rains is involved with your friend Candace. You and Candace had a climbing accident last week for no clear reason. Except, of course, that the bolt was tampered with.”

Taylor swallowed hard. “How do you know that?”

“Because I sent an expert up on that cliff to check it out. He said there was no question. That break didn't come from normal climbing usage, Taylor. Someone had damaged the bolt.”

“You think Rains set that up?” she whispered.

“Very probable. I'm going to need everything you know about him.”

“There isn't much. He's Candace's friend, not mine. I've never spoken to him.” Taylor frowned. “And I still don't understand why—”

“No details,” Izzy said. “I'll meet you. Jack knows where.”

When Taylor glanced over, Jack was scanning the nearby traffic, his eyes hard.

Looking the way Izzy had looked.

Looking the way her sister's wounded SEAL, Sam McKade, had looked.

“Is he a Fed, Izzy?”

“He's the man I've assigned to keep you safe, Taylor. The rest is irrelevant.”

She took a deep breath, trying to digest this new information. “What happens now?”

“Jack stays with you. That means everywhere. Rains may decide to contact you.”

“But he has no
reason
to contact me.”

“None that we know of. That doesn't mean none exists.”

“Don't get philosophical with me, Izzy. What about my television interview tomorrow?”

“Canceled.”

“Are you crazy? The publicity department has been working on this for six months!”

“We're not going to make you an easy target, Taylor. Not for Rains or anyone else. For the moment, you can keep your regular appointments, anything low profile.”

“But anything
really
good, like television, gets canned, is that it?”

“I'm afraid so.” Izzy covered the phone and Taylor heard muffled voices. “Gotta go, Taylor. Put Jack on, will you?”

She held out the phone. “Here,” she said. But her hand was shaking as Izzy's words hit her.

Not for Rains or anyone else.

Dear Lord, how many people were watching her right now?

Chapter Twenty-three

They argued for fifteen minutes before they decided to stop for breakfast. Then they argued for ten more minutes about
where
to stop. Taylor's stomach was growling when they finally agreed on a Denny's near Union Square.

Jack glanced around a room filled with upwardly mobile young professionals rushing through high-fiber muffins with ersatz butter. “If they offer me an egg substitute omelet, I'm going to shoot someone,” he muttered. When the waitress came, he scowled and ordered two eggs over easy, a big stack of pancakes, and sausage on the side.

Taylor snapped her menu shut and said she'd have the same.

Lacing her fingers, she watched him tensely. “Maybe it's time you told me what you really do.”

“I already told you.”

“Oh, please. If you work this closely with Izzy, you're probably with one of those three-letter agencies. Which is it, the CIA or NSA?”

The waitress returned, giving Jack an interested smile as she filled his coffee. He took a drink and watched her retreating back. “Neither.”

“FBI?”

He turned his coffee cup slowly. “Wrong again.”

“Izzy's a pro. That means you're a pro.” She drummed her fingers lightly. “Marines?”

He snorted.

Taylor sat back, her eyes narrowed. “Is this one of those macho, interforce rivalry things?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You're not going to tell me anything, are you? Not how long Rains has been gone. Not even why he's gone.”

Jack drank some coffee, saying nothing. Taylor realized that answered her question. She doodled on her napkin, feeling the first stab of a headache. “Just so you know, I've got a charity event tomorrow night. There's no way I'm canceling that.”

“Take it up with Izzy. I'm just the hired help,” Jack said dryly.

The waitress returned, balancing a tray with half a dozen plates. After filling the table with eggs, pancakes, and sausages, the woman slanted Jack another interested look and swiveled away.

Taylor noticed that he took his time watching her progress back to the kitchen. “Do women always look at you that way?”

He put an arm over the top of the seat. “What way?”

“Like they could eat you for breakfast.”

Jack shrugged. “Doesn't mean anything. She was just being friendly.”

Sure. And I'm Agatha Christie.
Taylor frowned, struck by just how attractive he was, something that went far beyond bone structure and jacket size.

Because the thought irritated her, she set down her coffee cup with a snap. “I expected her to slip you her phone number.” Taylor realized she was being catty and took a deep breath. “Sorry. Not my business.” She raised a hand. “Even if I'm on edge, there's no reason to take it out on you.”

“There's no reason for you to be edgy.” A muscle moved at Jack's jaw. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning when it's time to worry, I'll tell you.”

Taylor stared at her plate of pancakes, her appetite fading fast. “So you're telling me that things are going to get worse?”

“I'm saying it's likely.”

Taylor was working on a curt answer when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen but didn't recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Taylor, where are you? I've left three message already.” It was Candace, sounding out of breath.

“I'm eating breakfast near Union Square.” Taylor pushed away her plate. “What's wrong?”

Her friend sounded very worried. “Harris just called. He said he needed to borrow my climbing equipment to give to a friend. I remembered just in time that I had said I'd thrown everything away after our accident. Do you think he believed me?”

“It doesn't matter. Just don't let him in and you'll be fine.”

“But what do I say if he shows up?”

“
Nothing.
Don't open the door. Don't answer the bell.”

Jack slid a napkin in front of her and wrote
Who?
in big letters.
Candace
, Taylor wrote back.
Harris just called her
, she added.

“Candace, are you listening?”

Her friend dragged in a tense breath. “He also asked about you, Taylor. He wanted to know where you are and who your friend was.” Candace hesitated. “I think he's been watching you.”

“Rains asked about me?” Taylor stared down at the pool of butter melting on her untouched pancakes. “What else did he want to know?”

“If you had received something in the mail recently. He sounded upset, and he wasn't making a lot of sense. I heard car horns, so I think he was calling from a pay phone, maybe near Fisherman's Wharf.”

Taylor wrote
Fisherman's Wharf
on the napkin and pushed it toward Jack, who turned and spoke quietly on his cell phone.

To Izzy, no doubt.

“Listen, Candace, everything will be fine. Just do what I told you and stay away from Rains.”

“I understand, Taylor. But I'm scared, really scared. I think I'm going to leave for a few weeks. Maybe I'll go down to Cancún for a while. I've got some climbing buddies down there. Could I see you before I go? You know, just to say good-bye?”

“Of course, Candace. Where do you want to meet?”

Taylor was listening to her friend's directions when Jack pushed another napkin in front of her.

No meeting,
it said.

“Hold on a minute, Candace.” Taylor covered the phone and glared at Jack. “Why can't I meet my friend?”

“No meeting,” he said flatly. “Now you'd better hang up. The call could be traced.”

“This is
crazy
. I'm not listening.” She lifted the phone. “Candace, I'll meet you at the—”

The line went dead, thanks to the finger Jack jabbed against the
POWER
button.

“Now I
know
you're a lunatic. That was the most rude, the most—”

“How do you know she was alone?” Jack said quietly. “How do you know Rains or one of his nasty buddies wasn't right beside her with a gun to her head?”

Taylor sat back slowly, feeling a little sick. “But you don't
know
that.”

“I don't know he wasn't, Taylor, and I'm not about to risk your life on the possibility.”

She looked down, fidgeting. “Candace wasn't calling from her home phone,” she said slowly. “And it wasn't her cell phone or I'd have recognized the number.”

Jack frowned. “We'll check it out.”

“But you don't really believe that Candace—”

Jack rubbed his neck, frowning at the restaurant's front window. “I believe that someone wants Rains, and now they might want you.” His eyes narrowed on the passing traffic. “I'd say the people Rains was doing business with are trying to recoup their losses. If they can't get what they want from Rains, they'll move to the next choice. Candace may even have agreed to help them.”

“Impossible. It's just that she still cares about the jerk. Don't ask me why.” Taylor's appetite was definitely gone. In fact, she might never eat again as long as she lived. Under the circumstances, that might
not
be a very long time.

“Scoot over.”

When Taylor looked up, her eyes widened. He was as handsome as ever, his dark features too intelligent for the linebacker's shoulders and torso. “Izzy?”

“In the flesh.” His lips twitched. “Scoot over before we make a scene here.”

Taylor shifted over to make room, all the while taking in the sight of his familiar features. A year earlier, Ishmael Teague had worked with Sam McKade on a secret operation involving a traitor inside the Navy, and Sam had said there was no one finer. Taylor still didn't know exactly what Izzy did, which was proof of how good Izzy was.

“Candace called you just now?”

Taylor looked at Jack, frowning. “Yes, it was Candace.”

“This is important, Taylor. What did she want?”

“She wanted to see me, that's all. Rains had called her, asking about me, and she was worried.”

Izzy said nothing.

“You don't believe her?”

“Did Rains ever give you anything?”

Taylor shook her head impatiently. “Nothing. I've seen him once or twice in the building, but we've never talked. And you're wrong about Candace,” she said sharply. “She doesn't understand any of this.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Izzy stared at his hands, open on the table. “I had that climbing gear checked while you were in Monterey. The bolt could never have blown from normal climbing stress. Someone gave it a good workout before they took it up on the rock.”

Taylor tried to keep calm. “Who?”

“Rains could have paid someone. Or Candace may have done it.”

“That's ridiculous. Candace got hurt in that fall, too.”

“I'm simply outlining the possibilities, Taylor. We need to work from facts, not emotions.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I want you to go over every detail of the last few months. Think about when and where you've seen Candace and Harris Rains. Think of anything that changed hands between them. Think of anyone else you saw with them. Every detail is crucial.”

“But—”

“Just do it. The transfer may not have been obvious, so think hard.” His eyes narrowed. “A lot is riding on this, Taylor. We've got a missing Navy scientist, a possible connection with highly toxic materials, and we need to know how Rains fits in.”

“Toxic as in smallpox?”

“Toxic as in ricin,” Izzy said quietly.