Hot Pursuit (10 page)

Chapter Ten

FROM TAYLOR'S BOOK OF RULES:
Whoever said surveillance is fun should try peeing into an empty Starbucks cup at midnight from the front seat of a freezing Wrangler.

Did the man
ever
sleep?

Taylor watched the deserted corner, fighting to keep her eyes open. It had been no fun rolling out of bed in the dark, especially when she still had bruises from her fall, but she couldn't relax. She wanted answers about Rains and why he had sent her that sick funeral arrangement. Even her writing was suffering now, and she had to resolve Candace's questions before she could get back to work.

Hence her current position in a cold, cramped car at the bottom of a trendy street in Nob Hill. Rains would have an incredible view of the bay from his tenth-floor terrace. Taylor wondered what kind of lab job paid for such a swank apartment.

Springsteen started to sing a raw, smoky lament. Her fingers tapped in time to “Hearts on Fire” as a car passed, all hip-hop bass drilling her eardrums. She shook her head. People today didn't recognize decent music. Springsteenwould always be the king in her book.

She pushed away a wrinkled copy of
Premiere
, which landed on an empty container of yogurt and a giant bag of M&M's with peanuts, the remains of her on-the-job dinner. Much more of this surveillance business, and she'd gain twenty pounds along with a severe insulin imbalance. Then she'd have to go back to rock climbing for exercise.

Taylor almost choked on an M&M at the mere thought.

Candace had called her late the prior night. Like almost every other resident of greater San Francisco, she had seen the news broadcasts about the convenience store robbery. When she was finally convinced that Taylor was fine, Candace confided that Harris had called her to recount the story of his bravery.

“Here's the weird part,” Candace had explained. “Harris asked me what I'd done with our climbing equipment. When I lied and told him I'd thrown everything away, he blew up. He seemed so emotional about it that I hardly recognized him.”

Candace had pleaded with Taylor to help her for two more days. If Taylor found out that Rains was involved with another woman or committing a crime, Candace reluctantly agreed to break off all ties with him.

Yet it was clear from her voice that she hoped Taylor would fail.

Which was why Taylor was sitting in her car staring at Rains' apartment and wishing she hadn't drunk quite so much coffee.

Up on the tenth floor the lights went off.

Hel-lo.

Taylor's hands tightened on the wheel of her Wrangler as Harris Rains sailed out the front door three minutes later. Keys in hand, he crossed the street and slid into a shiny white BMW.

Taylor followed half a block back. At midnight, there wasn't much traffic, and she kept her distance as Rains cruised along the edge of Chinatown, then pulled onto a side street and parked in front of a building with a flickering sign that read
TONY
'
S LITTLE SHANGHAI
. A big man with a gold earring opened the heavy brass door, releasing waves of loud bass music, and Taylor caught a glimpse of Rains greeting a blonde with very big hair. The two made a big deal of kissing, then Rains put a hand on her rump and said something that made her laugh.

Clearly the two were more than lab buddies.

Rains and his companion went at it a little longer, then Rains said something to the man with the earring and money changed hands. With the woman still plastered to his arm, Rains vanished inside the club.

Taylor was trying to decide how to break the news to Candace when the door closed.

Sighing, she wrote down the time and address in her notebook and sat back to wait.

 

Taylor sat up, blinking. Rain streaked the glass, and her shoulder was completely soaked. Water traced a dirty path onto the floor.

Damn. She must have fallen asleep with the window open.

She pulled out a pile of napkins and went to work on her shoulder, then mopped up the floor. Peering through the cold gray light, she started the car and flipped on her wipers. Down the street, the man with the earring was sitting on an overturned crate, listening to a portable radio. Yawning, he watched a torn newspaper skitter up the street, carried on the wind. Rains' car was still parked where he'd left it.

5:20.

Harris Rains was a regular party animal, Taylor thought grimly. And she felt like the
Titanic
had just rammed her.

She was dreaming about coffee—black with lots of sugar—when she heard a tap at her window.

“You okay in there, lady?” A gray form appeared in the darkness, rain sheeting off a plastic parka.

Taylor saw the gun and the uniform beneath the poncho as she rolled down the window. “Just fine, Officer.”

Hard eyes swept her face. “Lost?”

“Not exactly.”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Er . . . sort of.”

The beat officer glanced at the seat beside Taylor, taking in the open magazine and the general litter. “Had a fight with your husband and decided to teach him a lesson, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah. That's it exactly.”

“Better go home. This isn't the best place to sleep.” He glanced up the street. “Some of these clubs can get pretty rough.”

“I guess you're right.” Taylor reached for the ignition.

“Wait a minute.”

She swallowed. Had Rains called in a complaint? Was she going to get arrested as a stalker?

Could her life get any worse?

The policeman stared at her. “You were at that robbery, weren't you?”

Taylor nodded, wondering where the question was headed.

“You're the one that blasted the perp with a brick, then kicked his gun across the parking lot.”

“That would be me.”

The officer shook his head, grinning. “Wish I coulda seen that, especially the part with the brick. If your husband gives you hell after an afternoon like you had, get rid of the bum. He's not half-good enough for you.”

Taylor smiled. “Can I tell him you said that?”

“Damned straight. Better yet, send him down to the precinct if he gives you any lip.”

“I'll remember. One question, Officer. How did you know I was here?”

He gave a shrug. “Got an anonymous complaint. Person thought you might be dealing drugs from your car.”

Dealing drugs?
Taylor felt a stab of anger. “I can assure you, the report was wrong. I don't even have any Tylenol handy, and believe me, with the day I've had, I could use a few dozen.”

“Probably just some kook with nothing better to do.” He tipped his hat. “Have a nice day.”

Taylor rolled up her window and stared out at the rain. Had someone in the area seen her and phoned in the complaint? She glanced up at the surrounding buildings. No lights were on. No one was peeking through a curtain, staring down at the street.

Had Rains phoned in the complaint?

The officer was waiting for her to leave, so she started her car and pulled out. At the door of the club, old newspapers littered the front step. The man with the earring was asleep on a box, snoring.

Harris Rains was nowhere to be seen.

So much for Taylor's crack surveillance.

 

Jack Broussard sat in his dusty, government-issue van as the yellow Wrangler raced past him. He had to admit, the woman was stubborn. She'd been sitting out there waiting for Rains for hours. Finally, he'd asked Izzy to call in an anonymous police complaint to roust her.

Given the high priority of this mission, everyone with even a remote connection with the Navy's vaccine research program was being watched, and Rains had met the Navy's missing vaccine scientist twice last year. Until the connection between Taylor, Candace, and Rains was clear, Jack's orders were to watch her 24/7.

To watch
over
her, too, if necessary. Her brother-in-law had pulled strings to see to that.

The SEAL cursed, remembering his recent reprimand. No way was he going to stick out his neck again. If Taylor O'Toole insisted on stalking Rains, he'd be right behind her, short-circuiting her every step of the way.

As Jack studied the private club, the front door opened, and Harris Rains appeared, all smiles, a woman on both arms. To his left was a blonde with a dress that stopped just short of being indecent. To the right was a high-maintenance brunette who could have eaten a dozen Harris Rains for breakfast.

Jack swept up a camera and fired off a dozen shots with his long-range lens, then climbed out quietly and framed a shot of Rains enjoying a wet good-bye kiss with the blonde. With a Federal team assigned to handle Rains, this material would be used strictly for backup, but Izzy had asked for anything Jack could collect. The Feds were being tight-assed with their information, releasing only what they had to, which left Izzy busy filling in the gaps. Thanks to Izzy's resources, Jack now had some new toys. He shifted the long-range microphone and triggered his recorder. Even if the talk was gibberish, Izzy and his team back at the lab would tweak it until every syllable rang out, loud and clear.

Moments later, Rains' car was brought around by a sleepy attendant and Jack watched the white BMW angle off into traffic. The BMW was followed by Taylor's yellow Wrangler, slow and steady, four cars back.

Jack muttered a long, graphic curse. What did it take to scare the crazy woman off?

Scowling, he eased into traffic a little behind Taylor and headed south toward San Jose.

 

Jack punched in Izzy's number forty minutes later, stiff, tired, and grouchy as hell. “Rains is inside a warehouse facility near San Jose and he hasn't come out. Taylor's parked outside.”

“She's
still
on him?”

“Like a nasty tick on a dirty dog. You want me to go sniff around the warehouse?”

“Negative. The Feds have warned us off, so you stick with Taylor. What we need are contacts and a pattern of activity. We'll send someone in later to check the facility.” Izzy made an irritated sound. “Doesn't the man ever sleep?”

“Maybe he got a little mind candy at the club. No one coming out seemed to be feeling any pain.”

“We'll check the club out, too,” Izzy said tightly.

“I got photos of the women he was with. I also recorded their conversation, but the tape may need some enhancement.”

“Enhancement is my specialty,” Izzy said. “Follow Taylor back to her place, then bring everything here. After that you might need a few hours sleep.”

Sleep? What was that? Jack thought cynically. He cleared his throat. “You know, Taylor could be involved.” The possibility had to be faced.

“Taylor O'Toole wouldn't know a weaponized biohazard from a golf cart.” There was a long silence. “Trust me, she isn't involved with Rains or the missing scientist.”

“You're absolutely certain? If so, you must know her pretty well.”

“It doesn't take a genius to see she's not the type to fall for Rains or his promises—even if
some
people here insist that she is.” A muffled voice interrupted him. “Hold on, Broussard.” When Izzy returned, he sounded rushed. “Someone should be there to relieve you shortly. He'll follow Taylor back to her place. I need you back here.”

Jack felt a sudden kick of adrenaline. “Why?”

“We just got word on a possible biohazard threat near Nogales. A border guard was running a standard crossing check and when he went in for a closer look, the dogs picked up something in a produce truck inbound from Mexico City.”

“Plague? Anthrax?”

“Ricin. The company usually sends several workers along inside the compartment with the produce. When the guard opened the back, both men were dead. We have a team prepping the bodies for autopsy right now.”

Jack frowned at the quiet warehouse. If he hadn't been pulled away for this surveillance, he would have been part of the team working with the biohazard unit. He felt a stab of anger at being reassigned to a lightweight assignment, baby-sitting a lunatic female with more energy than sense. “I belong with the biohazard team, Izzy. Not carrying out surveillance on a secondary suspect.”

“Point noted, Broussard, but I'm not handing down the orders.”

A car pulled up, and Jack recognized the driver. “We're ahead of schedule. Your man just arrived.” He gave a two-finger wave to the driver.

“Good. Get back here pronto. Is she still parked outside the warehouse?”

“Can't miss her.”

Izzy's voice hardened. “In that case, I need you to do one more thing before you leave.”

 

Rains still hadn't reappeared.

Taylor finished the last of a warm soda and tossed the empty can in the backseat with two others, then sat glaring at the gray sky. Jeeps were great cars, totally cool cars, but they simply weren't made for cold weather and large quantities of rain.