Hot Pursuit (17 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Taylor tensed as she heard a tap at the door. “Who is it?”

“It's Jack.”

She checked the view hole, then slid open the bolt. “Let me have the ice. Go lie down on the bed.”

In another time and place, Jack would have taken great pleasure in those words. But not now. “I can handle this, Taylor.”

“Shut up and lie down.” She locked the door and threw the bolt. “Get moving. I can be as alpha as you are, and I only give orders when I have to.”

Irritated, Jack sat on the bed. “Then get it over with so we can sleep.”

“Hold out your hand.” Taylor drew in a sharp breath as she saw his wrist and the underside of his arm. “This could hurt. There's alcohol in the travel-size mouthwash, which is the only antiseptic I have.”

“Honey, it will take more than mouthwash to bring me to my knees,” Jack muttered.

“No need to sound so smug about it.” Taylor poured on some of the red liquid, then brushed Jack's wrist with a clean washcloth. “There's some gravel here. Are you okay?”

“I think I can stop myself from begging for mercy.” But not, Jack decided, if her legs kept pressing against his thigh and her breast teased his back as she explored his arm.

Then she put the ice bucket between his legs.

“Does that hurt?”

He gritted his teeth. Maybe the ice between his legs was a good idea, considering the way her robe gaped open above her breasts.

“Look, are we about done here?”

“There's more ground-in dirt and gravel.” Her robe gaped open again, granting him an unforgettable view of shadowed cleavage and one perfect pink nipple.

“Finish it.” His voice was hoarse. He was pretty sure he was sweating. “Just do it.”

Taylor stared at him. “You're sweating. It really must hurt. I'm so sorry, Jack.”

She started to take the ice bucket, but he held it in place with one hand. “I'll keep it here.”

“I found a plastic bag. We can fill it with ice, then tie it off to use on your back.” She bent over, scooping up ice by the handful.

As she did, Jack had a circuit-sizzling view of her other breast. He closed his eyes, definitely feeling sweat on his forehead. When the ice bag pressed against his back, he heaved a silent prayer of thanks for the distraction.

“You're a mess, you know that, Broussard?”

No mistake about it. And if her hips kept grinding against his back, he was going to turn around, yank off her robe, and see how she looked wearing nothing but firelight and promises.

Taylor bent closer. “Are you listening to anything I've said?”

He turned his head.

Big mistake. That one simple movement offered an excellent view down the front of her robe. The woman was built, he thought grimly.

And he was the dumb side of a jackass.

“I'm going to sleep.” He brushed past her as he stood up. “You've done enough fussing for one night.”

“I'm sorry if I hurt you.” Her voice was ragged.

“Hell, Taylor. It's not that.” He tried to rub a knot out of his neck, keeping his eyes focused anywhere but on her amazing body. “It's not my shoulder that hurts right now. The fact is, I don't want things to slip out of control.”

She gripped the ice bag, frowning. “Is there a chance of that happening?”

“Speaking for myself, there's a definite chance.”

“Because you're thinking about me. About us.” Her voice fell. “About how that bed might feel.”

“Damn it, yes.”

She swallowed hard. “So was I.” She frowned down at her robe, which had slid open a few inches. “But that would be a stupid thing to do, because we barely know each other and we're both busy people, with busy lives that will probably take us in completely different directions. Which means tonight will end up as merely a short and rather pleasant memory. A few months from now we might even pass on the street without any sign of recognition.”

The hell he would. He'd recognize those legs anywhere. “Probably.”

“My ice bag is leaking.” She took a hard breath. “Why do you make me babble this way? I never babble.”

Jack could think of too many things he wanted to do besides talk, and the bed seemed too close, so he grabbed the dripping ice bag and strode into the living room. “Get some rest. Tomorrow this will be a bad dream. You'll forget all about me and the bed and this conversation.”

“Probably.”

Jack grimaced when he heard her robe hit the floor, but he managed not to turn around. “Night.”

The lights went off in the bedroom. “Night, Jack.” The sheets rustled softly. She released a sigh. “It would have been fun, just the same. Maybe even amazing.”

Jack felt his body tighten. He ordered himself not to move, not to look. Not to think about her body under those soft white sheets.

When the wave of lust finally passed, he looked down and saw that the ice was melting on his shoes, which were now soaked.

A fitting end to the day from hell.

 

The corridor was quiet as the man in the white uniform tapped at the door. “Orderly. May I come in, Mrs. McKade?”

Hearing no answer, he pushed his gurney up to the door.

The woman was asleep. Her husband was off on his little errand, exactly as planned. It was almost too easy, the Albanian thought.

 

Sam watched the floors slip past with growing impatience. When the elevator reached the second floor, he looked out, scanning both corridors.

It took him only a second to register the nursing station and the low
whir
of monitoring equipment. He was in the Cardiac Care Unit.

There was no billing department anywhere in sight, only patient rooms that stretched in both directions.

Cursing, he grabbed a passing doctor. “Get hospital security up to room 9010.”

“Why? Who are—”

“Do it now.” Sam shot out a hand just before the elevator doors snapped shut and prayed he wasn't too late.

 

Noise echoed across the hall behind Viktor. A man rolled closer, seated in a wheelchair. “Who are you?”

“Orderly.” Viktor shoved his syringe out of sight beneath a pillow. “I was told to transfer this patient to the I.C.U.”

“On orders from who?” The man wheeled closer, frowning. One hand slipped to his pocket.

“Feel free to check her medical chart.” Viktor spoke with casual confidence. “The call came in five minutes ago.” He was smiling as he moved to the head of the gurney and pushed open the door to the room. “Nobody tells me anything, of course. Just ‘Henry, go here, Henry, go there. Orderly, take this patient and go get that one.' Never ends.”

“Stop.” The man in the wheelchair shot to his feet. Viktor saw the outline of a gun inside his pocket. A trick. But how?

“Step away from the patient.”

Viktor made a careful movement backward, his hands still on the gurney. “But I'm supposed to take her down to I.C.U. Stat.” Viktor had heard that on a medical show on TV. He liked how the letters rolled off his tongue.

I.C.U. Stat. It sounded so American.

“I said step away. Now.”

“Okay, sure. No problem.” Viktor was busy running through risks and possibilities.

On the bed, the woman made a low sound and sat up sleepily. “What's wrong?”

He saw his moment, driving the gurney into the side of the wheelchair so that the man was knocked off balance. Before his target could twist around and level his gun, Viktor pulled his own weapon from beneath his loose white uniform and shot the man twice in the chest.

On the bed, the woman started to scream. She threw the vase of flowers, soaking him, but doing no damage.

Down the hall he heard the crackle of a walkie-talkie. Calmly he shoved the patient with the IV onto the floor and sat down in his chair, wheeling through the door with his weapon beneath a towel on his lap.

He heard footsteps near the elevator. Urgent voices rumbled down the corridor as he rolled toward the service stairs at the far end of the hall, then walked into the stairwell, calmly stripping off the white uniform to reveal a conservative business suit underneath. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses and a stethoscope looped casually around his neck completed the transformation. Anyone looking at him now would see a tired and slightly distracted physician on his way home after final rounds and a long day.

Viktor even had a fake hospital ID in his pocket. Nothing left to chance.

But his hands were shaking and he shoved down a wail of rage as he tossed his white uniform into the first garbage can he passed. Next time would be different, he swore.

Icily calm, he made his way to the car he had stolen an hour earlier. No more errors would be permitted. The people he worked for had zero tolerance for failure. Viktor knew that well, because he was the person they usually called to deal with any failures.

He was stepping into a shiny black Audi with new plates when a police car shot to a halt outside the hospital entrance, sirens flashing.

Too late.

Viktor smiled as he drove away.

Chapter Eighteen

“What the
hell
went on here?” Sam paced angrily as Izzy's wounded agent was lifted onto a gurney by two orderlies and a nurse.

The hospital security officer beside Sam shook his head, looking baffled. “Shots were heard, and a nurse saw a man heading down the hall in a wheelchair, but she didn't pay much attention at the time.” He gestured at the bleeding man on the gurney. “We can't find any information about him. He's not wearing a patient ID.”

Izzy's man opened his eyes, searching the room until he saw Sam, who bent beside him, touching his shoulder.

“Take it easy,” Sam said, even as fury boiled through him. At least Annie was safe. A nurse was helping her dress right now, and Sam was dead set on having her out of the hospital immediately. But he wanted some questions answered first, by God. “What happened in here?” he asked the man on the gurney.

“One man. White—uniform.” He swallowed as if his throat hurt. “Hit me with the cart. Too slow.” He turned his head, his eyes anxious. “Your wife— Is she—”

“Annie's fine. We got to her in time.”

The agent closed his eyes, his breath a sharp rush. “Thank . . . God.”

Sam looked up as the attendant interrupted. “No more, sir. We have to get him to surgery.”

Sam nodded and stepped back. He had no doubt that someone had come here for his wife. The only question was why—and how soon they would pay for the attempt.

 

Jack shot awake on the couch. The room was dark and there was no noise from the bedroom. He padded across the floor, cracked open the door, and checked on Taylor.

She had one foot dangling over the edge of the bed and a pillow across her head.

Jack closed the door and moved outside. The bolt on the outside door was thrown, the chain securely in place. No sounds came through from the hallway.

But something bothered him, making his shoulders tense as he checked the doors to the terrace. All quiet, all secure. Even then, the cold tension remained.

His pager vibrated. Jack scanned the number.

Izzy.

Something told him the news wouldn't be good.

He dialed Izzy's secure line, trying to rein in his tension. “Broussard here,” he said tensely.

“Report.” Izzy's voice was low and hard.

“Nothing to report. Taylor's asleep, the room's secure. No developments of any sort.”

“Someone went after Annie McKade in the hospital. I just got off the phone with the local police, who were helpful but completely out of their depths.”

“Didn't you have a man in place?”

“Two shots to the chest. He's in surgery right now.”

Jack cursed softly. “And Annie?” He was almost afraid to ask. Unbearable to think that all her light and laughter could be lost.

“She's safe. Sam got to her in time. He had a call to sign some important insurance forms and told my man to keep an eye on Annie. When the office location was wrong, he charged back upstairs and found Annie awake, frightened, but trying to help my agent, who was on the floor, bleeding badly. Needless to say, Sam is furious and he's taking this all the way to the top. Given his heroism with those kids last year, people are going to listen.”

“What about video surveillance at the hospital?” Jack frowned. “Most hospitals have some security at their main entrance.”

“I'm checking on that as we speak. One thing is certain. We're all going to get our asses chewed,” Izzy growled. “And maybe we should. The attack on Annie was too damned close. I wasn't prepared for that.” His voice hardened. “But I will be next time.”

They both would be.

“I'm getting Taylor out of here.” Jack was already reaching for his shirt. “She's going to want to see Annie before she goes.”

“Negative. Sam wants her kept away from Annie, and he's right. Taylor will be furious, but she's no fool. When she starts throwing things, call me and put her on the phone.”

When
, not if, Jack thought. Clearly, Izzy knew Taylor pretty damn well. “Where do I take her?”

“I'll let you know. Right now we've got another problem.”

Jack checked his Beretta and holstered it. “I'm not sure I want to hear this.”

“Remember the bozo in the denim jacket from the convenience store robbery?”

“I remember. He's being held in solitary confinement pending further questioning.”

“Was,”
Izzy said angrily. “He bought it last night. A razor in the neck. It happened right after shift change.”

“The security cameras didn't catch anything?”

“Inoperative. Unspecified malfunction.”

“What about his colleagues?”

“One suffocated with a prison towel. Very messy. The driver has been incoherent after the head wounds he suffered at the robbery.”

“How convenient.” Jack frowned at the door to the bedroom. “I'm getting Taylor out of here now. We could be on the move for a while, so I'll check back in several hours.”

“What do you have planned?”

“A little car-switching. I want to find out who's been shadowing us around Monterey.”

“No direct encounters. Get a plate number and contact me. I'll handle the takedown.”

Jack didn't answer. His mind was too busy screaming for the hunt and the raw pleasure of jerking someone out of a car and tossing him around until he shook loose some answers.

“Broussard?”

“Copy. No direct encounters. But if he makes one move against Taylor, I'm going after the bastard, and you can key
that
into your mission update in big black letters.”

 

Taylor blinked. “What's wrong?”

“Time to go.”

She rubbed her eyes, trying to focus. “Go where?”

Jack was sitting beside her in the darkness. “I thought we should see the moon going down over the bay. After that, I know an all-night seafood place with shrimp to make you weep.”

“Rather sleep.” She burrowed into her pillow, then froze. “Wait.” She shot upright. “Annie. Is she okay? Has something—”

“Annie's fine.”

Taylor just stared at him. Something was definitely wrong. “If she's fine, why are you here frowning and trying not to?”

“Taylor, we need to go. We'll discuss
why
once we're on the way.”

“I'd rather know now.” Her lungs were working but she couldn't seem to get enough air.

“In the car.” Jack softened the order. “Please.”

“I want to call Annie at the hospital.”

Jack was already picking up her clothes, a neat pile on a nearby chair. “She's not there,” he said tightly. “She and Sam left an hour ago.”

“Why? Damn it, Jack, what's happened?”

“In the car,” he repeated. “You've got three minutes.” He tossed over her clothes. The bedroom door shut before she could finish her next question.

 

Taylor was frowning when she walked into the living room, fully dressed, her purse on her arm. “We both know this has nothing to do with moonlight over the bay.”

“It was worth a shot,” Jack said grimly. He checked the view hole, then freed the security chain. “Stay behind me. Do what I say, and no questions.”

“But—”

“
No
questions.”

Taylor didn't like the possibilities playing through her head, but Jack's face told her this was
real
, no tricks and no test, so she nodded impatiently.

Jack opened the door, scanned the hall, and motioned her out after him. Neither spoke until they were in the elevator, headed down.

“When we get to the lobby, lean in close to me and walk slow. Pretend you've had too much to drink.”

She started to speak, then bit off the question, realizing it was a waste of time. When they hit the lobby, Jack scanned every corner with calm thoroughness, moved closer, and guided her toward the front door.

Always keeping to her right, Taylor realized.

So his shooting hand was free.

“Bend over a little,” he said quietly. They were approaching the front entrance. “Hold your stomach as if it hurts.”

Taylor did just as he asked. They were rewarded when the doorman approached at a trot, looking concerned.

“Can I help you?”

“My wife's not well. I wonder if you could bring around our car. It's the yellow Wrangler under the second light.” Jack smiled, holding out Taylor's keys.

“Of course, sir. I won't be a moment.”

He strode off, his red uniform jacket the only color in the shadowed parking lot. As the motor turned over and lights cut through the darkness, Taylor felt the tension in Jack's body. He turned casually, looking from one end of the lot to the other, then out to the adjoining street.

Nothing else moved.

When the Wrangler pulled up, Jack helped Taylor into the passenger seat and handed the attendant twenty dollars.

Taylor gripped her knees, trying to stay calm. “Why the masquerade?”

“I wanted to watch for any reaction. Lights on the street or movement at the back of the parking lot, things like that.”

“Did you see any?”

“Nothing.” He didn't sound relieved, so Taylor decided they weren't out of trouble yet. “Now you can answer my question. Why are we here?”

Jack took his time adjusting the rearview mirror. He scanned the area one more time, then revved the Wrangler into gear and headed toward the main access road. “Something happened at the hospital tonight.”

Taylor felt all the blood drain out of her body.
“What?”

“Someone was shot. The authorities won't release that information to the public, but that's what happened.”

“Not Annie or Sam?” Her voice was strangled.

“No. But the man was in Annie's room when it happened.”

“My God.” Taylor stared out the front of the Wrangler, breathing hard, trying to figure out how far she could trust this man she barely knew. “None of this was coincidence.” When Jack didn't answer, she took that for a
yes
. “Why go after Annie? It all has something to do with me.” She rubbed her face, trying to wake up fast. Trying vainly to make this nightmare go away. “Because you were with me? Because we had a suite?”

“That appears likely.”

“I don't understand any of this.”

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Take the phone. Hit number two.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because you want answers.” Jack continued to hold out the phone. “Call the number. You'll get your answers.”

“I don't want to talk to a stranger. I want to hear it from
you
.”

“Not even if it's Izzy?”

She stared at him for long moments in silence. “You know Izzy?” she said slowly.

Jack nodded.

“You
work
with Izzy Teague?”

“Our paths cross from time to time.”

“How close do they cross?”

“Ask Izzy.”

“Are you a Fed or a freelancer?”

“Ask Izzy,” Jack repeated.

“Great.” She took the phone carefully. “If you're lying to me about this—”

“Dial the number, Taylor.”

She hit the button, then waited tensely.

“Teague here.”

Taylor felt her breath catch. “Izzy? Is that really you?”

“In the flesh. Beautiful and pure of heart, as always.”

There was no doubt about that rich, gravelly voice. “Fine, so talk to me. What's going on and how do you know Jack Broussard?”

“How doesn't matter. What matters is that you can trust him, Taylor.”

“Yeah, right,” she snapped. “Especially when he tells me nothing.”

“He's just doing his job.”

“
What
job is that? Running a divorce investigation for Rains' wife? Since when do routine divorces involve armed assaults in public places?”

“Calm down. I know you're angry, so I'll try to fill in the blanks. I pulled Jack in to help me with some surveillance. In case you don't know it, Rains is playing with some nasty people. We think he owes money to the wrong crowd—the kind who collect by taking out a few family members.”

Taylor had a sudden memory of Annie's tense face as the ambulance raced her to the hospital. “It doesn't fit. I've got nothing to do with Rains.”

“You've been following him. And you were in the convenience store.” Izzy's voice was flat, cold. He was in his professional mode, the way he'd been when Taylor had first met him. “When you started staking out Rains, that tossed you into the mix. We think the robbery might have been meant to cover up an attack on Rains. Whether to frighten him or abduct him, we aren't sure.”

“But they went after me in that store, not Rains.” Taylor turned away, aware of Jack's eyes on her.

“We're dealing with hired muscle, not Fulbright scholars here. When Jack showed up like their worst nightmare, they probably panicked. Given the circumstances, you looked like their best ticket out.”