Sworn to Protect (30 page)

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 some clothes hanging in the closet next to the bathroom.

“Another suit, a couple of pairs of jeans, and three polo shirts.” He peered into the bathroom. “A shaving kit in there. That’s all.”

“Got a small leather carryall on the table containing underwear and socks. A plane ticket, too, round-trip from LAX to Nashville International and back. Looks like he arrived yesterday, was supposed to fly back in three days. Car keys and his wallet beside the bag.” Shane left the leather trifold sitting on the dresser and flipped it open with the edge of one latex-covered finger. “Max Griffin, born December 12, 1946. San Diego address.”

Taylor’s heart gave a lurch. He stared at Shane, his friend unaware of his sudden chill.
It means nothing. San Diego is not Los Angeles. They’re two different cities, 121 miles apart, almost a two-hour drive.

“Interesting,” he managed. “So the car outside is his rental. He was here for a specific reason, but there’s no evidence of what that might’ve been.”

“Not yet.” Turning, Shane yelled out the open door to the officer who’d arrived first on the scene. “Jenk!”

Aaron Jenkins, their new hire at the department, stuck his head in the door. “Yes, sir?”

“Take these and open that rental. See if you can find anything inside to give us a clue why our dead guy was in town.” Shane tossed him the car keys, and the kid caught them one-handed. “Be careful about touching stuff.”

“On it!” His boy-next-door face lit up at the prospect of helping with the investigation.

As Jenkins ducked out again, Taylor chuckled. “Damn, were we ever that young and green?”

“Probably, once upon a time.” His partner quirked his mouth in a half-smile. “Do you ever wish you could go back to your early twenties?”

“For the wild social life and the hot young bod? Sure. For being the low cop on the totem pole again? Not so much.”

“True.”

“Though my bod is
still
hot.”

“If that’s what you want to tell yourself, old man.”

“Says he who turns the big three-0 next week,” Taylor shot back. “I’m only two years older than you.”

“Just fucking with you.”

“When are you not?”

In truth, Taylor gave as good as he got when it came to his partner. Shane and he had worked in Homicide together for over four years, since Taylor had moved to Sugarland, Tennessee, from Los Angeles. His mind shied away from the disaster that had prompted his move, and he focused on how content he was here, among people he liked and respected.

Shane and he might trade barbs, but it was all in good fun. His partner had become one of his best friends, and he’d do just about anything for the man. He had no doubt the feeling was mutual.

“Nothing much in the car, sir,” Jenk said, stepping into the room. “Just some fast-food wrappers and a map. Isn’t that odd?”

“What’s that?” Shane asked.

“Well, who uses a paper road map anymore, right? Most people use their smartphones or a GPS, especially if they’re traveling alone. Hard to read an old-fashioned map when you’re driving.”

That gave Taylor’s partner pause. “You’re right, though sometimes people prefer the old way of doing things. Reading a smartphone while driving alone would be just as tough.” He sighed. “Come to think of it, we didn’t find a phone at all. Good work.”

The kid beamed at the praise. Taylor suppressed a grin and was about to play razz the rookie when Medical Examiner Laura Eden arrived, along with the police department’s forensics unit.

The room got crowded, so Jenk, Taylor, and Shane moved outside to let the others process the scene. There wasn’t much to find, and in less than an hour, Eden was giving them the short version.

“No surprises. Well, not counting the man with the bullet in his brain,” she said drily. “Based on the blood splatter, this is indeed the murder scene. Mr. Griffin was shot in the forehead at point-blank range with a smaller-caliber handgun. Nothing much to bag except a couple of hairs and some other fibers.”

“They finding any prints?” Taylor asked.

The striking brunette arched a brow. “In a motel room? Seriously, Detective?”

His face heated. “Right.” How stupid of him. Not to mention it sucked to sound like an idiot in front of a gorgeous woman who’d turned him down flat for a dinner date. Twice.

“Anyhow, I’d say he’s been dead for about an hour and a half. That’s all I know, but I’ll send you what I’ve got when I know more.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “We about done here, then?”

Shane nodded, running a hand through his longish brown hair. “Yep. Thanks, Laura.”

“No problem. See you, guys.”

It kind of smarted how she just went back inside without a backward glance, all cool professionalism. His partner must’ve noticed something in his expression as they walked to Taylor’s car, because he couldn’t resist making a comment.

“It’s not you, buddy.
You’re
the one who told me she had a thing for the captain.”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumped as he slid behind the wheel. “Why do women always want the guy who’s not available?”

“They’re twisted like that, my friend. Well, not all of them.” Shane buckled his seat belt. “Just find a different horse to bet on than Laura.”

“Easy for you to say. You snagged a fine woman, and you’ve got a great kid.”

A dopey smile split his friend’s face. “I did, didn’t I? I’m a lucky SOB.”

I will not be jealous. I’m happy for him.

He was, truly. Shane and his new wife, Daisy, had been through hell and so had Shane’s seventeen-year-old godson, Drew Cooper. Being colleagues at the police department had been a minor obstacle for the couple compared to their other troubles, especially helping Drew deal with the trauma of his father’s death. Then there were the awful secrets Drew had been keeping and the danger those secrets had brought into their lives.

But it was over now, and the three of them were forging a new life together.

“Hey, you’re a great guy,” Shane said, sensing the dip in his mood. “You’re going to find a fantastic lady who loves everything about you. You’re funny and easygoing, and you’re a good friend to everyone who knows you.”

“Is this the part where we hug?”

“Shut up, asswipe.”

But he laughed, and Taylor couldn’t help but be a little cheered as he pulled out of the parking lot.

Maybe this day would take a turn for the better after all.

•   •   •

Max is dead! Oh, God.

Cara Evans pulled the baseball cap low on her head and watched the activity from her hiding place in the park across the street from the Sugarland Motel. Angrily, she swiped away the tears that refused to quit falling. Just as she’d done for the past four goddamned years.

Max had come to town, looking for Cara. Then he’d phoned, urging her in a hushed voice to meet him at the motel. Why had he come to her? Especially now, after all this time? Who killed him, and why? His visit could be related to her sister’s murder. Or their father’s estate. Any number of things. But the answers to those questions had died with Max in that awful room.

One thing for sure—the murdering asshole would pay for snuffing out the life of a good man. The only person she had still counted as a friend in the entire sorry world. Leaning her head against the rough bark of the tree, she gave up and let the tears flow. For several long moments, she allowed herself to grieve, barely aware of the sounds of activity across the street. Gradually, however, she gained a measure of control. Her fingers tightened around a solid object she’d forgotten about.

Max’s iPhone.

She’d be in a fuck ton of trouble if and when the cops thought to track its whereabouts. It would be hard to explain her presence in Max’s room and why she’d lifted the device. Harder still to convince them that she hadn’t killed him, that he’d been dead when she arrived. But she planned to get rid of the phone. As soon as she took a peek to try to determine why he had wanted to see her so badly. Why he had possibly died for it.

Voices across the motel’s parking lot snared her attention. Peering around the tree, she saw two men in plain clothes emerge from the room. Detectives, from the glint of the shields hooked to their belts at the waist. She’d been too stricken with panic and raw grief to pay attention when they had arrived, so she studied them now.

Both were tall, but the brown-haired one was taller and leaner than the other. The man who was presumably his partner was maybe an inch or two shorter and more muscular. Golden blond hair just covered his ears, layered in a loose, casual style with some wisps of bangs falling into what looked from here to be quite a handsome face—

Recognition hit her like a baseball bat to the head, and though she’d half-expected him to show up, she felt sick. If not for the tree, she would have tumbled to the ground.

Taylor Kayne. Untouchable. Man’s man. Lauded hero.

“Fucking lying murderer,” she whispered, rage welling in her chest. Despair, rotten and black, clogged her throat.

Once again, Kayne was smack in the middle of the hell that was her life. That suited her fine, though. Because the bastard probably didn’t know Cara had come to Sugarland or even have a clue who she was in the first place. He sure as hell didn’t know that he was the reason she was here. Or that she knew where he worked, lived, ate, shopped, jogged.

But he would find out soon. She was biding her time, waiting for the perfect moment. Then she’d spring her trap. Force him to spill every last filthy secret that should have corroded his guts by now.

Detective Taylor Kayne was going to confess to murdering her sister.

And then Cara would exact long-awaited sweet revenge.