Hot Pursuit

PRAISE FOR THE

SUGARLAND BLUE SERIES

Sworn to Protect

“Davis's new Sugarland Blue series, a spinoff of the Firefighters of Station Five series, features detectives from the Sugarland, Tennessee, police department. In the strong series launch, Detective Shane Ford can't forget his brief affair with fellow officer Daisy Callahan. Though hurt and betrayed by his rejection, Daisy doesn't hesitate to offer Shane support when his best friend, NFL star Brad Cooper, is found dead from a suspected drug overdose, and Shane becomes the guardian of Brad's sixteen-year-old son, Drew . . . a satisfying, fast-paced read.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“What's not to love about sexy men in blue with fast hands, true hearts, and the courage of their convictions? Davis certainly knows how to draw the perfect balance of vulnerability and strength, giving readers a superhero without a cape and pairing him with his perfect mate. She wraps it all up in an action novel that falls just shy of a police procedural, but with plenty of pure steamy romance and family drama. A great start to the Sugarland Blue series!”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4½ stars)

“
Sworn to Protect
by Jo Davis brings us characters we are familiar with and the long-awaited return to Sugarland, the setting of the Firefighters of Station Five series. This book was well worth the wait and Jo Davis delivers a rich story filled with emotion and intrigue.”

—Night Owl Reviews (top pick)

 

PRAISE FOR THE FIREFIGHTERS OF

STATION FIVE SERIES

Ride the Fire

“The perfect blend of romance and suspense. Neither element overshadows the other. Jo Davis creates a great combination of romance, steamy love scenes with mystery and suspense mixed in. I was pulled right into the book, and before I knew it, the last page was turned. I wasn't ready to let go.”

—Fiction Vixen Book Reviews

“Once again, Jo Davis has rocked it in this series!”

—Night Owl Reviews

“Jo Davis continues her steamy, heat-packed romantic suspense stories with
Ride the Fire
.
This book is a great blend of hot romance with suspenseful, well-plotted action.”

—Fresh Fiction

Line of Fire

“Grab a fan and settle in for one heck of a smoking-hot read. . . . Fiery-hot love scenes and a look inside the twisted mind of a killer make
Line of Fire
stand out. Add in the behind-the-scenes look at the other characters and I could read this book over and over!”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“Full of romance and steamy love scenes with a splash of mystery and suspense. This combination had me eager to turn the page and left me wanting more. The love scenes were scorching hot!”

—Fiction Vixen Book Reviews

Hidden Fire

“Surprisingly sweet and superhot . . . one of the best heroes I've read in a long time. If you want a hot firefighter in your room for the night, grab a copy and tuck right in with no regrets. Four hearts.”

—The Romance Reader

“A fast-paced romantic suspense thriller.”

—The Best Reviews

Under Fire

“Four stars! A totally entertaining experience.”

—Romantic Times

“Scorching-hot kisses, smoldering sex, and explosive passion make
Under Fire
a must read! Experience the flames of
Under Fire
!”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“Exhilarating [with] a two-hundred-proof heat duet . . . a strong entry [and] a terrific, action-packed thriller.”

—Midwest Book Review

Trial by Fire

“A five-alarm read . . . riveting, sensual.”

—Beyond Her Book Blog

“Jo Davis turns up the heat full-blast. Romantic suspense that has it all: a sizzling firefighter hero, a heroine you'll love, and a story that crackles and pops with sensuality and action. Keep the fire extinguisher handy or risk spontaneous combustion!”

—Linda Castillo, national bestselling author of
Gone Missing

“Jo Davis . . . completely reeled me in . . . heady sexual tension, heartwarming romance, and combustible love scenes.”

—Joyfully Reviewed

“One of the most exciting ‘band of brothers' series since J. R. Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood. It's sweet and sexy, tense and suspenseful.”

—myLifetime.com

“For a poignant and steamy romance with a great dose of suspense, be sure to pick up a copy of
Trial by Fire
as soon as it hits the bookstores! Five bookmarks!”

—Wild on Books

“Hot, sizzling sex and edge-of-your-seat terror will have you glued to this fantastic romantic suspense story from the first page to the final word. Do not miss the heart-stopping, breath-stealing, incredibly well-written
Trial by Fire
.”

—Romance Novel TV

BOOKS BY JO DAVIS

The Sugarland Blue Novels

Sworn to Protect

The Firefighters of Station Five Novels

Ride the Fire

Line of Fire

Hidden Fire

Under Fire

Trial by Fire

H
OT
P
URSUIT

A SUGARLAND BLUE NOVEL

JO DAVIS

SIGNET ECLIPSE

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street,

New York, New York 10014

USA | Canada | UK | Ireland | Australia | New Zealand | India | South Africa | China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC

Copyright © Jo Davis, 2013

Excerpt from
Raw
copyright © Jo Davis, 2013

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

ISBN 978-1-101-63003-7

PUBLISHER'S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To my mother, Trena Davis. Every day you teach me the meaning of strength and how to be a better person. To look ahead and not behind, to keep going when the going gets rough. And, boy, did it get rough this past year and a half! But we made it, and now we can smile.
Most of all, you teach me the meaning of family, and I know how blessed I am to have you for my mother. I love you so very much.
Taylor's story is for you.

Acknowl
edgments

As always, special thanks to:

My wonderful family for always being there to support and encourage me. I love you all.

My best friend, Debra Stevens, for saving my sanity with impromptu lunches and refreshing spiked beverages, and always being there when I need a shoulder to cry on.

My friend Mary Anne Rocha for making sure I take a “gamble” on life and unleash my inner wild child from time to time.

My agent, Roberta Brown, for always being my cheerleader and my guide.

My editor, Tracy Bernstein, for endless support, patience, and words of wisdom.

All of the crew at NAL, including the managing editors and copy editors, art department, marketing team, and publicists. You guys are awesome!

And the readers. Your support for our boys in blue means the world to me. You rock!

God he
lp me, I'm only twenty-eight. Too young to die.

Taylor Kayne bolted upright in bed, bathed in sweat, heart beating a sharp, painful rhythm against his sternum. The ghost sensation of cold steel pressing into the back of his head slowly evaporated, bringing him to wakefulness. The nightmare was usually the same each time. Once, the real-life incident that spurred the terror had been nicely suppressed and compartmentalized in a tight little box in his brain, but lately the dream descended with alarming frequency.

Delayed PTSD. Wouldn't that tidbit give the Sugarland PD's shrink an orgasm?

Shane Ford, Taylor's partner in Homicide, would be shocked, too. Shane knew the story of what had happened four years ago, but had no idea the past was riding Taylor hard. Driving him to lose sleep, affecting his appetite, costing him focus at work. And nobody could find out, especially Shane. Why the hell was this happening
now
, when his life was mostly together?

Pushing from bed, he stood and shook it off one more time. One more day. He could do this.

Glancing at the clock, he grimaced. Just shy of five thirty in the morning. Jesus, that sucked. But since he'd skipped his run for the past few days, he might as well take advantage of the extra hour before he had to get ready for work. He knew he'd feel better once he got his blood pumping, but lately it had been damned hard to get motivated.

“Get your ass moving, slacker,” he muttered to himself.

In less than two minutes, he was dressed in jogging pants, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Sucking in a deep breath he headed downstairs and out the front door, locking it behind him and then hanging the spare key on a cord around his neck. After tucking it under his shirt, he started off.

Settling into a brisk pace, he regulated his breathing, enjoying the feeling of stretching neglected muscles, his soles hitting the pavement. He loved to run. He wasn't a fitness nut, not even close, but the fresh air was good for him. Helped him clear his head. Especially in the early summer, like now, before the weather turned too hot.

As always, he admired the older homes in his neighborhood, with their tidy yards and beds full of flowers. He had a healthy competition going with the neighbors on his street as they tried to outdo one another for who could cultivate the best yard. They even held a yearly contest at their block party. Shane liked giving him shit about that.
Sue me—I like plants and flowers, and I'm social.

Whatever.
Focusing on his home gave him something to do to take his mind off his single, lonely status for a while. Besides, ladies loved that sort of shit, right? When he found The One, she'd admire his botanical handiwork and realize she'd found the
perfect man
. The idea made him smirk at his own idiocy.

He was so into his thoughts, the steady pounding of his feet on the asphalt, that he didn't register the whine of an approaching engine. Acceleration.

Not until it was almost too late.

Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder—and his eyes widened. A black pickup truck was barreling down on him and swerved in his direction. Twisting his body, he dove for a row of hedges just as the bumper of the truck clipped his left side. The shock of the impact barely had a second to register and then he was flying over the bushes. He hit the ground hard, skidding, one knee and an arm taking the brunt. Coming to a stop, he rolled to sit up, half-expecting the truck to burst right through the hedges and mow him down.

At the sound of the vehicle squealing around the corner, he let out a sigh of relief and sat there, pushing a shaking hand through his hair.

“Shit!”

Sharp pain began to make itself known, and he inspected the damage. His right forearm was scraped, bloody, and dirty, but once it was cleaned it wouldn't be too bad. The laceration across his kneecap might be more problematic. Probing it, he hissed a breath. The cut was nasty, and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. It was a tricky spot for stitches, though, so he'd just have to tend it as best he could.

Getting to his feet was more difficult than he expected. He was already hurting all over, getting stiff. Of course, there was nobody around on this quiet street to help him, and he hadn't brought his cell phone. He'd jogged about four miles and his watch showed it was after six, and he was looking at a painful walk home. He was going to be late to the station.

He started off, wincing with every slow step. His body was throbbing everywhere, so to occupy his mind, he tried to focus on what he recalled about the truck.

The vehicle was black. Completely. Tinted windows that were beyond legal. Thinking harder, he realized it was a Ford. Newer model, from the grille and logo. He hadn't been able to get a glimpse of the driver or the plates. As for who might hold a big enough grudge to try to run him down? Fuck, he'd been a cop since he was twenty-one. That list would take all day to compile.

That was all he had, and it wasn't much.

The walk home took almost an hour. By the time he limped up the porch steps, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and give the finger to this whole day. Instead, he took a hot shower, paying special attention to getting the dirt out of his scrapes and the cut on his knee. It hurt like shit, and he knew he'd feel worse tomorrow.
Joy.

Once out of the shower, he toweled off and gathered some first-aid supplies, then sat on the toilet lid. The arm could wait. His knee was still bleeding like a bitch, and he doused it with antiseptic. Several gauze pads later, the bleeding had slowed, and he closed the laceration as best as he could using some wound glue he'd bought at the drugstore a while back. It worked okay, and he bandaged and taped it for good measure. He'd have to watch that wound for infection.

The scraped-up arm he couldn't do much for. He hit it with antiseptic as well, downed a couple of ibuprofen, then hobbled into the bedroom and spotted the time. Just after seven. Before getting dressed, he had to make a call. Picking up his cell, he sat on the bed, brought up his contacts, and punched the number.

Shane answered on the second ring. “Hey. What's up?”

“I'm going to be a little late, half hour or so. I, um, had an incident.”

“What kind of incident? What happened?” He could hear the concern in his partner's voice.

“Truck tried to turn me into roadkill while I was out running this morning.”

“On purpose?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck,” Shane breathed. “You okay?”

“I'm fine, just moving slow. Scraped my arm and cut my knee after he hit me—”

“The bastard actually
hit
you?” his friend barked. “Why the hell aren't you in the ER, getting checked out?”

“Calm down, partner. Like I said, it's not that bad. I got clipped by the bumper is all.” He cut Shane off before the man could get started again. “After I get there, I'm going to file a report so the guys on patrol can watch for the truck. Black Ford.”

“The one with the fucking
dent
in the front.”

He had to smile. “That'll be the one.”

“I'm already at the station. I'll give them a heads-up so they can go ahead and start looking,” he said, an angry edge to his words.

“Thanks, man.”

“You need a ride? I can send a squad.”

“No, I'm good.” The last thing he wanted was to call even more attention to his situation.

“All right. Take your time and I'll see you soon.”

Ending the call, Taylor went to the closet and chose an acceptable pair of jeans that were comfortable. Then he lingered over the shirts. A short-sleeved one would be better because it wouldn't rub on the scrapes, but then he'd have to field questions all day from people who hadn't heard about this morning. Debating, he settled on a dark, long-sleeved cotton shirt that would hide the wounds and any dots of blood that might seep through.

Once he was dressed, putting on his shoes was an effort. Amazing how fast the body became bruised and sore. Good thing he was going into the station—the longer he sat around here, he might never move again.

Downstairs in the kitchen, he settled on coffee and half a toasted bagel. He needed something in his stomach, and he couldn't live without his daily jolt of caffeine. Especially today. He carried both with him, and eyed his new Challenger before climbing in.

He loved muscle cars, and this was a really cool one. But he missed his old Chevelle, which had been fucked up a few weeks ago when he and Shane had taken a dip—car and all—in the Cumberland River while in pursuit of a suspect. The car was currently sitting alone and forlorn in Christian Ford's big garage out in back of his house. Chris was Shane's cousin and fairly new as a detective at the department, having transferred in from Texas. The three of them tinkered on fixing the Chevelle when they had time and Taylor had the extra cash, which wasn't often.

God, he missed that car.

The Challenger started with a throaty roar, which he had to admit was pretty butch. Too bad he couldn't enjoy driving it today, with his knee screaming every time he switched from the gas to the brake. Maybe he should've accepted the ride. Too late now.

He made it to the station and was thankfully able to give his report with little fanfare. Apparently, Shane had told only those who needed to know, including Captain Austin Rainey and a couple of uniforms, and he was grateful. He had no doubt that the entire department would know within the hour, but at least he was able to have some breathing room. A few minutes later, he limped into his partner's office and closed the door.

Shane looked up from some papers, giving him a half smile. “Hey. He must've winged you good.”

“For sure. No point in sitting around at home, though.”

“You might reconsider tomorrow, when it's worse.”

“We'll see.” He wouldn't call in sick unless he was on his deathbed, and they both knew it. Shane just shook his head.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

He spent the next few minutes giving his partner the rundown, though there wasn't much to tell. They went back through some of their most recent cases to try to form a list of who might still carry enough of a grudge to commit attempted murder, but although there were several candidates, none were that strong.

“I might have to go back a few years.” Taylor tried to get comfortable in his chair, wincing as he squirmed. “Most of these are in prison or dead. As far as the ones that are out, I can come up with a list as long as my arm of who would run me over if they had the
chance
, but . . .” He frowned.

“What?”

“This had a different feel. More deliberate. Nothing I can put my finger on, just intuition.”

“Like he was waiting for the opportunity?”

“Exactly. I've got no proof, though.”

“You and I both know people kill for two main reasons: passion or money.” His partner eyed him. “Which one do you fit?”

Taylor snorted. “Since I'm not loaded, I'm guessing passion. And there's all kinds of passion-motived killings. Specifically hate, when it comes to cops.”

Unbidden, his nightmare intruded. Viciously, he shoved it into its box.

“Okay. Someone you or we arrested, then.”

“Maybe.” Rubbing his eyes, he let out a tired breath. “Can we talk about this later? It might not even happen again.”

“Sure.”

Somehow, he didn't really believe that. A chill slithered down his spine, telling him this was only the start. Could be his overwrought, stressed mind, but it didn't seem likely that's all there was to it.

A knock interrupted his thoughts, and Captain Rainey stepped into Shane's office. “We've got a body in the Sugarland Motel. Anonymous caller reported the sound of a gunshot, and Jenkins found the guy plugged between the eyes.”

“Anonymous,” Taylor repeated. “A possible lead right off the bat.”

“That would be too easy.” Shane stood, groaning. “And let me guess: it's our turn.”

“Yep, you're on.” The captain looked at Taylor. “You up for this?”

“I'm here, aren't I? If I was going to laze around, I'd stay home.”

Rainey grinned. “That's the spirit. Now go get fucking busy.” Turning, the captain strolled out, whistling.

“He's all heart,” Shane said, making a face.

“At least he's in a good mood today. Wonder what's up with that.”

Their captain was having serious marital problems—as in going down the tubes permanently. He'd been tired and haggard the past few months, and they had all been worried about his health. Today, however, he had a spring in his step.

“No clue, but let's not rock the boat.”

Taylor rose with some difficulty and stiffly followed his partner out the door. Turning down his partner's offer to drive, he slid behind the wheel and they were off.

On the way, he thought he saw a black truck in traffic, three cars behind. Then it turned and was gone.

•   •   •

As though nearly being run over wasn't enough, the corpse with the neat little hole in the center of its forehead turned out to be a harbinger.

A sign of a shit storm heading his way.

Taylor stood next to Shane as both of them studied the dead man sprawled faceup on the floor. His salt-and-pepper hair was surrounded by a sticky pool of blood congealing on the industrial-grade carpet, and his expression was vaguely surprised.

“Who the hell was the poor bastard?” Taylor muttered. “And why did he get popped here, of all places?”

Shane snorted. “He could've had the decency to get his ass killed in Nashville, out of our jurisdiction.”

Taylor rolled his eyes at his partner's crappy joke. “You know what I meant.”

“Yeah.”

Both of them glanced around the small motel room, but there wasn't much to see. At least on the surface. Carefully stepping around the body, Taylor noted a few clothes hanging in the closet next to the bathroom.