Hot Pursuit (35 page)

“And those would be?”

“Attitude out to here.” He tongued her damp lower lip. “A really big mouth.” He circled one taut nipple, then kissed it gently. “Hell-if-I-care stubbornness. Oh, did I mention you have great breasts?”

She was already melting, already damp, already wanting him again. “What's not to like?”

“Two weeks ago I would have said a great deal.” His voice fell, suddenly grave. “I'm a man who goes by the book—and you just keep
rewriting
it.”

He shifted and Taylor felt him grow inside her.

“Jack, this isn't—” She fought for words, furious that when she needed them most they should desert her. “You don't have to make promises. We're both adults. Eyes wide open and all that. There's no need to think this changes anything.”

“Speak for yourself.” The words were so low she could have imagined them. But she didn't imagine the pressure of him shifting or the first rocking thrust, hot and powerful inside her.

She took a sharp breath. The heat was already driving her crazy again. “No promises, Jack. I don't expect them. I—”

“Could you please shut up?” He was moving in lovely, controlled strokes that had her circuits frying all over again. “You're interrupting my plans.”

Her legs tightened around his waist. “Such as?”

“Making you scream again.”

She tried to look disappointed. “Only once?”

He slid her back against the counter, huge and hard, making her pant and clench around him. “Actually, this time I'm going for double digits.”

 

The sun was hidden by the mountains when Taylor opened her eyes and dragged in a breath. Her knees were cellophane. If she tried to get off the counter, she'd end up kissing the floor.

Not bad for an old woman, she thought smugly.

She groped blindly around her. “You there, Broussard?”

“Let me get back to you.” He was on his face, an arm outstretched on her breasts.

She slapped him on that amazing butt and smiled wickedly. “Three times. Not bad for an old man.”

“Four.” His pained laugh rumbled through their locked bodies. “
Who's
old?”

“We are. Sort of.” She grinned up at him. “Or not.”

“Not if hormones count for anything.”

Boots grated on gravel. Through the open window Taylor heard the gate scrape. She was pretty sure it was Sheriff McCall.

“Hell, why can't he come back later?” Jack stretched an arm over the counter and pushed to an elbow. “We're sleeping.” He groaned. “Maybe we're dead.”

The bell rang above the arched adobe gate. “Hello in there?” More gravel sounds. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone?”

Taylor dug an elbow into his ribs. “It's the sheriff.”

Jack stood up awkwardly. “How many laws did we break?”

“I stopped counting after the third scream.”

He smiled, a dark slash of male pride that had her senses fogging again. “No kidding.” Grimacing, he looked around for his jeans. “I'll go.”

Taylor groped until she found her robe. “No, I'll go.” She took a staggering step toward the door. “As soon as I remember how to walk. You know, there's a word for sex like that.”

“Stupendous?” Jack carefully zipped up his jeans.

“I was thinking more along the lines of illegal.” Taylor tugged on her robe and took a wobbling step, fighting down a giggle. Her belt was mostly knotted by the time she reached the door, where Jack stopped her.

“Let me have a look first.” He moved silently around the house, pulled himself up the wall and looked over, then slid down, giving Taylor a thumbs-up. “Sheriff,” he said.

She shoved aside the little wooden opening at the top of the door. “Sorry, Sheriff. We were asleep.”

T.J. McCall looked anxious. “The fire alarm went off down at the main house. Is everything okay?”

Taylor flushed. “I was making some biscuits and they got a little overcooked. Completely black, actually. Sorry about that.”

“That's what triggered the alarm? You're sure?”

Taylor gave an embarrassed grin. “I guess I'm not cut out to be a cook.”

“So you're both okay?”

“Just great.”
Sated. Dazed. Extraordinary, actually.
“We're fine. No problems here, Sheriff.”

Jack moved in behind her. “Sorry about the smoke alarm, Sheriff.”

He searched their faces, then shoved his Stetson back on his head and looked away. “Well then, sorry to bother you. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Absolutely.” Like hell. Over her dead body. Taylor wasn't leaving this casita for hours, and neither was Jack. They weren't even going to leave the kitchen until they worked this thing out of their system, no matter if it took hours.

Long, hot hours of amazing sex.

Taylor froze as muscular arms slid around her waist. Hard fingers snaked under her robe and cupped her hips.

“Fine. I'll be down at the main house if you need me.” The sheriff turned with a wave.

“Thank you.” Taylor swallowed as Jack's fingers slid between her thighs, stroking expertly, making her neurons sizzle. She felt the scrape of denim. “We—we'll be sure to call, Sheriff. If anything comes up.”

Something came up just then, hard and heavy and male, nudging her backside. “Wow.”

T.J. turned. “Did you say something?”

“Oh—I meant, will. We will call. You can count on it, Sheriff. Soon.” Taylor blinked as Jack's teeth bit gently at her shoulder, just out of sight of the small window in the courtyard door.

Her fingers closed on the wooden latch. She was going to lose it any second. Right here, with Jack's fingers searching, slipping into her, hard and warm. “Thanks.” She shivered against Jack's chest. “Talk to you later.”

“Right.” Sheriff McCall's tongue ran over his teeth. “You two enjoy your rest.”

“Definitely,” Taylor murmured. Boots crunched, moving away over the gravel and down the hill.

“I wouldn't exactly call it a rest,” Jack murmured behind her.

Taylor shoved the window shut and arched back against Jack's hard body, hungry for his hands, wanting all of him. As the pleasure grew, she looked at his face. At the eyes that too often carried wariness and regret. At the lines carved by duty and hard responsibility.

She loved him.

Oh, God, how had this happened? How had she lost her logic and her heart without any hint of warning?

Wind blew over the adobe walls, sweet with the scent of sage, and Taylor tried to talk but it was too late. She was in that blind place again, panting, twisting, while Jack's hand touched her mouth and she bit down hard, stifling her scream as the boots moved all the way down the hill and Jack's fingers moved inside her.

With the wind brushing her shoulders, she came in a wild, truly amazing rush of pleasure.

Chapter Thirty-nine

She was panting when he flipped her back against the adobe wall and wrenched open her robe.

“How ready are you?” he asked hoarsely.

She was seeing double. Probably oxygen deprivation.

No problem. Both versions of him were naked and sexy as hell. “Is this a trick question?”

“I need you now, Taylor.” He filled her, then cursed and drove into her again.
“Right—now.”

She managed a throaty sound. “Am I arguing?”

“The wall.” He put up one hand, cupping her shoulders. “Your back—”

“Can't—feel a thing.” She closed her eyes, lost in a blur of sensation, feeling him pant as he drove into her again. Just as lost as she was. “Whatever happens, don't stop. Even if I appear to stop breathing.” She moaned as he filled her again. “
Especially
if I stop breathing.”

“Hell.” His forehead touched hers. “It's not supposed to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Get better.” His breath whispered across her cheek. “It's not supposed to feel this good.”

“Good doesn't even come close. I'm a writer,” she panted. “Trust me. I know about descriptions. I'm a highly trained professional who—”

He lifted her knee and made the angle even better.

“Oh, God.” Her head tilted back. “
Again
. Just like that.”

She might have stopped breathing then, but his hands gripped her and sunlight touched her shoulders, and he didn't stop so it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered but what he was doing to her and what she was feeling while he did it, so that even the rough adobe scraping her shoulders didn't matter, as the world blurred hard and she collapsed against him while he shuddered and ground out her name and lost himself inside her.

 

So deep.

The thought came dimly, more instinct than real reflection.

This deep in a woman, this deep with
this
woman, and a man could get lost forever, never finding his way back to who he was and what really mattered.

For some reason it didn't seem important. Not with Taylor's nails digging into his back and her voice panting out his name.

Yeah, this was definitely where the messy stuff began.

Odd, but Jack couldn't summon up the energy to care.

 

They collapsed against the wall.

Jack's face was hard as he stroked her hair.

After several moments of labored breath, he carried her over the flagstones to the little pool beneath a cascade of boulders. Crimson petals dropped around them as they stumbled into the bubbling water. “I sure hope he doesn't come back.”

“Who?”

“Sheriff. The man in the uniform. The one you were talking to before I made you come, screaming.”

“Oh—him.” Taylor drifted on the hot, lazy currents. “Too bad my biscuits were duly noted.” She turned her head lazily. “Our Sheriff McCall is a careful man.”

“He would be, if Izzy chose him.” He stared down at her. “We're not out of the woods yet, you know.”

“Is this the part where you get all professional and cold again?”

Jack didn't move.

“Because if it is, Commander Broussard, I don't want to hear it.” Her fingers found him, cupped him, traced him slowly. “I'd rather think about what we just did. Several times, if my memory holds.”

He didn't want to count. He definitely didn't want to remember. “Look, Taylor, I need to make some calls. Why don't you rest?”

She stared at him. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing that I know of, but Izzy should have some answers by now. We'll be missed, and I want to find out who's asking the most questions.”

“Because that will be the person who set us up.”

“That's how I figure it.” He took a hard breath. “Look, I'll admit I'd rather stay out here right now. I'm not half finished with you.” He frowned. “With
us
. But the responsibilities don't end until you're out of danger and all mission objectives are secured.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I do the work I'm trained to do.”

After what felt like a lifetime, she nodded. “Understood, Captain. Aye, aye. Over and out. Roger.” She looked away, her face wreathed in drifting mist. “Just bear with me if I don't want to think about that other world yet. If I do, I'll see Nancy Rodriguez's face.” Her voice tightened. “I'll see her body, twisting as she falls, and I'll feel your blood, fresh on my hands. So make your calls, Navy. I'll be here, trying to put the pieces together so I can be strong again, too.”

“You are strong,” Jack said quietly. “Never doubt that, Taylor.”

Then why did she feel so weak? Taylor didn't watch him pull on his jeans and walk back to the casita. As the silence fell around her, she closed her eyes.

She didn't want the world to come back, and strong was the very
last
thing she felt.

 

Jack put away everything but the mission as he dialed the new number Izzy had left him.

As usual, Izzy answered on the first ring. “Yo. How are things in sunny Arizona?”

“Nice place. Good people. The sheriff sends his regards.” Jack frowned. “What have you found?”

“The U.S. Marshals are going nuts after what happened in San Jose. They've got people looking everywhere for you and Taylor. Of course, I'm demanding answers, since this happened on my watch.”

“Give 'em hell,” Jack said dryly.

“Damned straight. Whoever passed the information is staying very cool. No one has given away any clue of involvement. I've planted a story that Rodriguez was worried about a possible leak, and I'm getting some interesting reactions. Pretty soon someone will make a slip, and when they do, I'll be waiting.”

Jack nodded. It was a good plan, and no one could bluff like Izzy.

“Did you get anything out of Taylor? Any information she'd overlooked?”

“Nothing.” Jack rubbed his neck. “But we'll go over it again.”

“There's got to be something.” Izzy's voice fell. “Someone coming.” His tone changed, suddenly surly. “And I don't give a damn how many people you've got working on this. Put on a dozen more. I want that van. Check all abandoned vehicle lists, and don't forget Canada and Mexico. They could be out of the country by now—assuming they're still alive.”

After a moment, Izzy came back on the line. “You there?”

“Yeah. Nice misdirection.”

“I do my best.”

“Who was that?”

“Rodriguez's partner. This really hit him hard, and he's putting in a lot of overtime. So is her boss, though not so willingly.” He ruffled some papers, and a door closed. “Listen, I've got a secret weapon headed your way. This will help facilitate your search.”

He spoke tersely, and when he was done Jack nodded. “It might work. What's the E.T.A.?”

“McCall should be arranging it as we speak,” Izzy said grimly. “Happy hunting.”

“Count on it.”

After Izzy rang off, Jack stood in the gathering twilight, studying the distant mountains and trying to juggle the bits of information they had so far. What was Taylor's real place in all this? Had they overlooked some small detail?

Or was Taylor lying to them?

He forced himself to consider the question with cold, unbiased logic. She'd been a target from the start, and there had to be a reason for it.

But no matter how he tried shifting the pieces, he came to the conclusion that Taylor wasn't hiding anything. The woman would be a terrible liar, and her fear was no act.

Remembering Izzy's plan, he picked up the phone and called Sheriff McCall, who told him their package had just arrived. Jack's eyes narrowed on the big purse next to the window. He remembered Taylor carrying it into the store where she'd been taken hostage along with Rains. She carried it just about everywhere, in fact.

He fingered his cell phone. “Izzy, I need you to go back to the convenience store. See if you can track down their security videotape from the robbery.”

 

“Come on, Cinderella. Time to rise and shine.” Jack bent over Taylor, who was drowsing in the mist-covered water.

Taylor opened one eye. “Don't tell me my coaches are turning into pumpkins already.”

“I think all our coaches are turning into pumpkins,” Jack said tightly as he held out a towel.

Taylor sat up straighter. “What's wrong? Has someone been hurt?”

“Not yet, but we may have a lead on what Rains gave you.”

She wrapped the towel around her, frowning. “There was nothing. Not a single thing.”

“But now we're going to try it a different way. We'll go over everything again until we get it right. We can do this, Taylor. Trust me.”

“I can't bear the thought of people dying.” The words were a whisper.

Jack knew just how she felt, but he was trained at boxing up those emotions and putting them away until the mission was done. It was the only way you survived as a soldier.

Jack was starting to understand that a writer survived by acting just the opposite. A good story demanded opening up the box all the way. Then you got right inside with all your personal demons and explored the emotions until you came away raw and bleeding. A hell of a thing to do for a living, he thought grimly.

Sometime, he'd tell her just how brave he thought that was.

“Forget about what could go wrong, Taylor. Do the job. That's your best contribution.” Jack stroked her hair, then raised her face to his. “Besides, we've got a special weapon.”

“Izzy sent a team?”

“Not a team. Someone who's very good at his job.” At Jack's whistle, a big brown dog trotted out of the house. “Sheriff McCall just brought him up from town. Izzy had him flown in from a special Navy program in California. Now L.Z. is going to earn his chow.”

“L.Z.?” Taylor shook her head. “I don't understand.”

“It stands for Landing Zone. This dog does things you wouldn't believe,” Jack said tightly. “Let's go inside and I'll show you.” He patted the big Belgian Malinois, who was watching him alertly. “Come on, L.Z. It's time to do a search.”

At the last word, the dog barked once, ears erect.

Taylor looked confused. “But what's he going to search?”

 

Lightning flickered over the mountains as Jack stretched out on the rug near the big glass-and-granite coffee table, while L.Z. sat expectantly, pressed against his shoulder. “Put your purse down in front of me on the floor.”

Taylor studied him warily. “I still don't understand. We've been through my purse a dozen times already.”

“Not with L.Z. along, we haven't. Izzy's had someone train him to Harris Rains' scent. He can find things we'd never notice.”

Taylor scratched L.Z.'s head. “Well, now, aren't you a clever fellow? Not that I think this is going to produce anything new.”

“If it's there, L.Z. will tell us. He can target a scent too minuscule for any human to pick up.”

“I hope you won't have to damage my purse. It always brings me good luck.”

“I won't shoot it unless it talks back,” Jack said dryly. “Take the contents out one by one and put them on the floor. Wait for my signal before you move to the next item. And no hair spray or perfume.”

Taylor unzipped the purse and delved inside. “Any particular order?”

“You call it.” Jack patted the dog on the head. “Search, L.Z.”

Taylor pulled out a hairbrush and set it on the floor in front of L.Z., who sniffed delicately, then raised his head and didn't move.

“That's a no.” Jack gestured to the purse. “Next.”

“Travel aspirin.” Taylor put the foil-wrapped square on the rug, where the dog gave it a cursory sniff, then turned away to look at Jack.

“Next, one pearl earring.” When L.Z. had no response, Taylor moved on. “Mascara.” The dog didn't move. “Mascara.” Another no response. “Mascara.”

“How much mascara does one woman need?” Jack muttered.

“Don't crowd me, pal. Getting sexy is hard work.”

“You don't need mascara to be sexy,” he answered gravely.

Taylor clutched the mascara. “Don't look at me that way, as if you want to start something dangerous.”

“I do,” Jack snapped. “Later. Keep them coming.”

Taylor fished a length of shiny black fabric out of one large pocket. L.Z. showed no interest, but Jack raised an eyebrow. “Planning on attending a Hell's Angel's convention?”

“Faux leather capri pants. They're extremely comfortable and go with nearly anything.”

“Sexy as hell, I bet.” Jack rubbed his neck. “If I stop breathing, just keep going,” he muttered.

“I'll pretend I didn't hear that.” Taylor held up a pair of black lace stockings. “Gee, I thought I'd lost these.” When L.Z. still showed no sign of interest, she proceeded to a heated eyelash curler, followed by a book of postage stamps and some breath mints.