Hot Pursuit (28 page)

“So would I,” Jack said grimly, staring at the stained gray floor.

The doctor stopped outside the E.R.'s double doors. “By the way, please tell
Ms. Smith
that I love her books.” Her brows rose. “Although I don't expect to read about this in any upcoming volume.”

The big doors swung closed.

“So much for using a false name,” Jack muttered.

 

Eighty minutes later, a nurse in green scrubs motioned for them to follow her into a room filled with lights and equipment.

Taylor lay motionless, her face blank. There was an IV in her right wrist and two machines near her bed beeped loudly.

Jack fought an urge to turn and walk out again.

“I'm afraid you can only have five minutes, gentlemen. She's still hasn't come around.”

“How much longer?” Jack's throat felt raw.

“Impossible to say. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe several hours. Ketamine reactions are unpredictable. Funny, but she looks familiar.” The nurse shrugged, then pulled the fabric screen closed behind her.

Jack gripped the metal back of the chair beside the bed. The cross bar was cold, but not as cold as his hands. “Why doesn't she wake up?”

“You heard the nurse. These things are unpredictable. Concentrate on the fact that she's here, she's breathing, and she's in good hands.”

Jack took a long, painful breath, then sank down in the chair. “I'll get whoever did this to her. That's a promise.”

“We both will.”

Jack took Taylor's hand carefully in his. “I still don't see why. There was never any sign that they wanted to kill her.”

“Maybe they wanted to incapacitate her so they could get her outside without a fuss, but things got out of hand.”

“Disorganized crime,” Jack said gravely.

“Something like that.”

On the bed, Taylor made a sudden movement, one hand twitching violently. Jack reached across the bed and gathered her rigid fingers gently against his palm until the tremor stopped.

“What if she doesn't come around?” His voice was a whisper. “What if it stops here, just like this? What the hell am I going to do?”

The machines kept beeping. Noises continued to drift in from the corridor, the raw evidence of life and death surging on around them.

After a long time Izzy cleared his throat. “Hell, the woman is too stubborn not to have the last word. She'll be ordering us around within the hour, trust me.” He stood by the bed for a moment, then patted Taylor's hand. “Take your time. I'll be right outside.”

Jack heard the footsteps cross the room, but he didn't look up. It was too hard to move. There was an emptiness around him, a cold stillness that felt as if it was about to crush him.

He shut his eyes, craving the light and movement and laughter that might never come again. There was a burning in his throat as he squeezed her hand and felt no response.

Then he sat up straighter and began to talk. In a low, calm voice, he told her exactly what had happened and how she'd come to be here and what a fool he'd been to let her go to the damned event. His voice turned raw halfway through, but he went on talking.

A nurse might have come in at some point, but Jack kept talking and she left again. He talked until he'd said everything about the night, everything about how Taylor should open her eyes and start talking or he was going to get angry.

He said everything, in fact, but what mattered most.

Which was that he didn't want to think about living if she wasn't around to irritate him, confuse him, and make his life hell.

“Can you hear me, Taylor? Can you hear any of this?”

There was no answer.

He sat beside her, watching for any movement, any hint of response. When none came, he closed his eyes, feeling as if some part of him was dying.

 

Annie McKade put down the telephone, her heart pounding crazily.

She looked out the big window at forty miles of rugged California coast. By day, otters dotted the kelp beds, but now all she could see was winking lights of passing trawlers.

“Hey.” Her husband came to stand behind her, hands on her shoulders. “Who called?”

“It was Izzy.” She swallowed. “Something's happened to Taylor.”

Sam's fingers tightened. “Where is she?”

“In a hospital. Izzy wouldn't say where.” Annie's voice wavered. “He said not to call, because he used a false name.”

Sam said nothing, drawing her back against his chest.

“She should have told me she was in trouble. Now I don't know what's wrong or where she is, and it's serious, Sam. I heard it in Izzy's voice. I feel so
damned
useless.”

“Izzy will take care of her. So will her friend Jack.”

Annie shook her head, tears sliding down her face. “They're not her family. They don't care the way I do.” A foghorn droned somewhere out to sea as Annie turned to look at her husband. “I understand why you told her not to come here after what happened in the hospital. I know you did it to protect me, but it was wrong.”

“Annie, you don't understand.”

“Maybe not.” She spoke slowly, carefully. “Maybe what you and Izzy do is too far outside my world. But I understand one thing.” She took a step away from Sam, one hand on the full curve of her stomach. “I understand family, and Taylor's all I have left. If she asks me to come, I will.”

“No, Annie. You can't—”

She reached up, tears glistening on her face, and covered his mouth with two fingers. “I can, Sam. And I will. Because she's my sister.”

 

She was curled up in a small place with darkness all around her.

The walls began to close, pressing in on all sides, making her smaller and smaller, swallowing her in painful pieces while she tried to scream, but nothing came out. There was no one with her in the darkness, no noise as the gray walls slowly drew shut, collapsing inward in a rush until there was nothing left of who she was but fear and darkness.

Chapter Thirty-one

“Admiral Braden called again. He wants an immediate report on Taylor's condition and a mission assessment.” Izzy spoke quietly as the two men watched Taylor being moved into a private room.

“We
have
no assessment, not until Taylor wakes up. Maybe not even then, if she didn't see her attacker.”

“We've got a new set of problems, too.” Izzy's eyes were hard. “I finally tracked down a friend who was at the charity event. He didn't like talking to me, but I pushed him hard, and he admitted he was on assignment.”

“Not for Taylor.”

Izzy shook his head. “If it weren't so damned screwed up, it might almost be funny. He was there to provide backup security for a federal operation. They had a cordon in place for a key witness going into the protection program.”

Jack bit off a curse. “Rains? He was going into federal custody at the gala? What genius came up with that scenario?”

“Rains did. He insisted that the crowd would make things safer for him.”

“So where are they holding him now?”

“Nowhere. They lost him after the lights went out. He was snatched from the men's room.”

Jack stared at Izzy in disbelief. “The Feds
had
him and they let him get away?”

“That's what they're saying. Of course, there's another possibility,” Izzy said quietly.

“Somebody leaked information to the right people, who scooped Rains up under everyone's noses. After all, electricity doesn't get cut for no reason. It takes time and planning—which means a well-placed leak.”

“That would be my guess.”

“So what happened to Rains?”

Izzy crossed his arms tensely. “There was blood in the men's room downstairs. A section of plaster was removed from an interior wall that led to a crawl space. Beyond that, a maintenance area opened to the loading dock.”

Jack shook his head. “Didn't anyone check the damned bathrooms?”

“Only once, and that was the night before.”

“So Rains is snatched and no one saw anything?”

“The Feds are investigating, but most of their team was pulling inside duty. No one was watching the loading dock.” Izzy sounded disgusted as he rubbed his neck. “We were outplayed, outsmarted, and outgunned, no way around it. Heads are going to roll for this.”

“Maybe they should,” Jack said grimly.

On the bed, Taylor's fingers moved.

Jack went very still. “Did you see that?”

“I saw it. What do you think?” Izzy said softly.

The two moved closer.

Taylor's other hand twitched.

Abruptly, her eyes opened. She stared in confusion at the white walls and the noisy machine near her bed. Her head turned and she looked at Jack.

He could almost see her fighting to piece together fragmented memories.

She raised one hand slowly. “My—my throat hurts.”

Jack took a gulp of air as emotions hammered at his heart. “Okay,” he said hoarsely, bending down beside her. “No problem. We'll get a nurse in here.” He cleared his throat. “Do you know who I am?”

She blinked. “You?” She looked down at her fingers, gripped tightly inside his. “Broussard, Jack. I hope you have those shoes I bought.” She coughed a little. “Hurts to talk.”

“Then don't talk.” Jack glanced at Izzy. “Maybe you should get that nurse.”

“Coming right up.”

Taylor watched Izzy's retreating back, frowning. “Did I have some kind of tube put in?”

“That's right. You were unconscious, Taylor. Do you remember what happened?”

She rubbed her throat. “Noise. The crowd.” She closed her eyes as if remembering hurt. “I saw someone upstairs. Harris Rains. I tried to signal to you, but there were so many people.”

“What happened then?”

“Pain in my side. I turned around—saw a man in a waiter's uniform coming toward me. He had a linen towel over his arm.” She frowned. “I remember what you said, so I watched his hands. When the towel moved, I saw a knife.”

Jack's hands tightened. “Did you see his face?”

“Too many people around us.” She shook her head. “You were right. I was a walking target, and I thought you were being pigheaded and overprotective.”

“Forget about that now.”

“I can't forget. I remember the pain—but knowing you were fighting to get to me.” She took a shaky breath. “I'm pretty sure I owe you my life.”

“You don't owe me anything,” he said gruffly.

Taylor looked around the room. “Do you have my purse? I need to check something.”

“Right over here on the table.” Jack held out the ornate evening bag.

Taylor rummaged around beneath her cell phone, then pulled out the glittering circle of rhinestones Jack had given her in the limousine. “I used your brooch on the man who attacked me. I think I had a solid hit, because he cursed for about a minute. A funny language, not quite Slavic. Not Turkish either, but something close.”

“Albanian?”

“Maybe.” Taylor shifted restlessly. “I'd have to hear a sample to be sure.” She handed the brooch carefully to Jack. “Better wrap that up. You might be able to get a DNA sample if there's enough blood on the blade.” She tried to smile at him. “Afraid I broke it. Have the government charge me for the repairs. Not too much though.” She sounded very tired. “I may not have a career left . . . if I don't finish this book on time.”

She sighed. This time her eyes stayed closed.

Jack sat back, trying to take it all in.

She'd checked the hands.

She'd spotted Rains.

She'd fought back with the brooch.

“Not bad for an amateur,” he said softly. He realized he was grinning, riding a strange mix of relief, irritation, and pride, along with something far deeper and more dangerous.

“Damned straight,” Taylor murmured sleepily.

 

She left the hospital twenty-four hours later, carrying a dozen red roses, courtesy of Jack, and a box of Belgian chocolates, courtesy of Izzy. Despite her complaints, they'd insisted she use a wheelchair—and a basement exit that led directly to a waiting car.

“It's about time. I'm dying to get home,” Taylor said.

Jack shot a glance at Izzy, who slid behind the wheel. “You're not going back to the apartment,” Jack said. “It's too dangerous.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I'm going back. All my clothes are there. All my research notes, my books, my laptop—”

“Your suitcase is in the trunk.” Jack held up a nylon backpack. “I took the notes on your desk, a few books, and your laptop. Even got that big French purse you love so much. If you need anything else, we'll send someone to pick it up.”

Taylor stared at him. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“As serious as it gets.” He opened the door and put out a hand.

Taylor didn't take it. “I'm supposed to walk away?
Boom
—they run me out of my apartment, away from my friends?”

“It's just temporary, Taylor. Until we find these people and determine what they want.” An elevator opened at the other side of the basement. “You need to get in the car,” Jack said quietly, but there was steel in his voice.

“I'm tired of people telling me what I
need
to do,” Taylor said. “When is this going to stop?” Her voice was angry, but a little shaky, too.

“As soon as we can make it end. You can help by getting in the car.” He held out his hand a second time.

“I feel like a drowning swimmer. And the water is very cold.” She sighed and took his hand. “One day I'm on dry land, the next day I'm sinking fast.”

“All of us feel like that sometime or other.” Jack helped her stand up. “The trick is to ignore the cold and keep on kicking.”

“You sound like maybe you've done that.”

“I've done some swimming,” he said calmly. “Now let's go see your new digs.”

 

The house was a California Craftsman with a wide porch and stained-glass windows. Set on a steep slope at the top of the Berkeley Hills, it overlooked Oakland and the whole panorama of the east bay.

A black Saturn was parked in the driveway when they pulled up. Two people got out, a man with a body like a linebacker and woman with dark, cautious eyes. They nodded to Izzy, then led the way into the house, saying nothing until the door was closed.

Izzy made terse introductions. “Taylor, this is Agent Nancy Rodriguez. She'll be with you while we're here, along with Agent Davis.”

Taylor shook hands.

“There will be someone outside with a dog,” Izzy continued. “He'll be on the move. You may not see him, but he'll be there.”

They walked through the house and ended up at a deck on the top floor, where they could see for twenty miles. Fog was creeping in, lapping at the streets below them, making them feel cut off from the rest of the world.

“Why don't you settle in and get some rest?” Jack said quietly, after Izzy and the others left.

“I'm still pretty jumpy. Maybe I'll try to read.” Taylor studied Jack's face. “You're leaving, aren't you?”

He nodded.

“Something's wrong.”

Up the hill, eucalyptus trees rose in a dark, whispering line, scenting the damp air. “It's Rains. He was supposed to be taken into witness protection last night, but he vanished.”

“They got him.” Taylor felt icy fingers of fear slip down her spine.

“We don't know that for certain.”

“But that's what happened. The man with him was a federal agent.” She put the pieces together as she spoke. “Rains was arguing with him, then he held up his bag and walked away. He was at the bottom of the stairs when the electricity went off.” She rubbed her neck, frowning. “Doesn't this mean that I'm finally off their radar screen? With Rains in hand, why would they bother with me?”

“They've come after you before, and they may again. Besides, we don't know
where
Rains is. He might have gotten clear in the chaos.”

“You don't believe that. I can see it in your eyes.”

“No, I don't.” He touched her face. “Meanwhile, you are still presumed to be a target. Do exactly what Agent Rodriguez tells you, and you'll be fine. Izzy and I will be back as soon as we can.”

Taylor took his hand and brought it to her lips. She bit the callused skin lightly. “You saved my life, so I guess that means you can have your way with me, Broussard. Did you have anything particular in mind—just in case you're interested?”

Jack's eyes went dark. “I'm interested. Stay out of trouble and we'll discuss the details when I get back.”

Taylor forced herself to smile and not to beg him to stay, even though the thought of being alone with two strangers terrified her. “Count on it.”

 

The mission debriefing was worse than Jack had expected. Fifteen team members were interrogated, and fifteen team members were reamed out royally for two hours. No one came out unscathed.

Which was probably fair, Jack decided. A key player had been either killed or kidnapped right under their noses, and everyone had to answer for that.

The only comfort was that the Feds had been in charge of bringing Rains in. Now they'd have to start sharing their information.

Jack was going over surveillance photographs of the gala guests when Admiral Braden opened the door. Jack stood up immediately. “Sir?”

“New assignment, Broussard.” The admiral didn't look pleased, but then he never looked pleased.

Was he being pulled off? Jack couldn't say he'd mind. This whole op appeared to be going south fast. Hell, it was like trying to catch smoke with your hands.

But where would that leave Taylor?

Jack tried to hide his impatience as his c.o. drummed his fingers on Izzy's battered metal desk. “I'm sending you two to check the crime scene in the bathroom. See if you can find something the others missed. I've cleared it with all the other agencies involved.”

He tossed a file folder onto the table beside Jack.

“Meanwhile, it appears your author friend has a lot of clout.” The admiral's mouth tightened. “Mobsters. Policemen. Politicians. You know that her sister is married to a SEAL named Sam McKade, the same officer who rescued that bus full of kids in D.C. last year. Two senators had kids on that bus.” Admiral Braden's voice hardened. “So did the vice president. Did you know
that
?”

“No, sir, I didn't.”

“Neither did I. But I have been personally informed that we are to keep Taylor O'Toole safe at all costs, and not just because she keeps coming up ringside in this mess. Your job is to keep her quiet and keep her out of trouble. Meanwhile, I'll expect a full report on the crime scene within two hours, Teague.”

“We'll get right on it, sir.”