Hot Pursuit (4 page)

She swallowed, taking another reluctant look. “Judging by this, I think we can forget about a secret admirer.”

Chapter Four

FROM TAYLOR'S BOOK OF RULES:
Breathe fast. You might not feel it.

“Let me see.” Sunny shoved her aside. As she did, the basket tipped and half a dozen black blooms spilled onto the floor. “Is this some kind of joke? These are black. For
dead
people.” Her voice rose shrilly.

Taylor's heart hammered as she shoved the fallen flowers back in the basket, where they spilled over an intricate funeral wreath, of black irises, tulips, and lilies. “See if the receptionist got the name of the messenger service.” Taylor stood up awkwardly, half in shock. “But first tell me where your service entrance is.”

“Past the bathrooms and through the storage area. Be
careful
.”

Taylor didn't need a warning. The situation had turned nasty, and she was taking no chances on a direct confrontation. With any luck she could get a name, description, or a truck number to be traced later. Someone was going to pay for this sick little joke.

She hit the back door at a run, scanning the sunny parking lot. Two Jaguars. Red Beemer. A young Hispanic man stacking cartons near a Dumpster.

No floral delivery truck.

No messenger.

Taylor felt oddly surreal. Things like this didn't happen in her safe, ordered world. The Hispanic man, whom she had often seen cleaning up for Sunny, was staring at her, and Taylor realized her whole body was shaking.

“Hey, lady, you okay?”

Was
she? How were you supposed to feel when someone sent you a funeral arrangement as a demented and very cold-blooded warning?

“Are you sick or something, lady? You like me to get a doctor?”

Taylor shook her head. “No—I'm fine.” Not in a million
years
was she fine. “I just need to . . .”
To stop panicking. To stop shaking.
“I need to sit down.”

“Here, use this box.” The young man frowned, shoving a sturdy box in front of her. “Had a bad day?”

Taylor sank blindly onto the box. “A bad week, actually.”

“Yeah, I've had plenty of those. What happened? You lose your job or something?”

“Worse.” Someone had just sent her a death threat, clear and simple.

It still felt surreal, like a nightmare happening to someone else. She had been followed and warned off in clear terms, and she could think of only one person with a motive.

Harris Rains. She was involved now—
dangerously
involved.

“Have you seen a truck or a deliveryman outside the salon?”

“Not in the last fifteen minutes. I don't know about before that.” The young man moved back a step, looking worried. “Maybe you should see the police.”

He was right, of course. Taylor would have to do that next—as soon as her legs stopped shaking long enough for her to stand up.

Just then the back door shot open, and Sunny sprinted outside. “Find anything?”

Taylor shook her head.

“The receptionist didn't get his name. He was wearing a blue uniform, but she doesn't remember the company.”

“It was probably a phony name anyway.”

Sunny braced one hand against the wall. “I'm not feeling so good.”

Taylor took a deep breath. “We don't have time to be sick. We've got to think.”

“About what, the sleaze that would do something like this?” Sunny's eyes narrowed. “Don't tell me—Harris Rains.”

“Harris Rains is looking very likely.” Taylor had a sudden, horrible thought. She dug in her purse for her cell phone and punched in Candace's number. “Candace, where are you?”

“At home. Why—”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course. What's wrong?”

Taylor puffed out a breath in relief. “I just got a little present delivered to me, and I suspect it came from your dear friend Harris.” Taylor heard the words in an echo that seemed very faint, like a television heard from a nearby room.

“What kind of present?” Candace asked nervously.

“A funeral arrangement.” Taylor stopped as Sunny shoved something into her hand.

It was the gift card that had been taped on the outside of the arrangement. “He sent a message, too. ‘In memorium.' ” Taylor stared at the neatly typed card. No way to trace that. “Your friend Harris is starting to seriously piss me off.”

“But you can't be
sure
that Harris sent it. Maybe I should call him and—”

“I want you to stay
away
from him,” Taylor said grimly. “If he calls, hang up. If he knocks at your door, throw the bolt and call the police. I'm serious about this.”

Candace didn't answer. Taylor had a bad feeling that she wasn't really listening.

“Candace?”

“I hear you, Taylor. I—I appreciate your advice, but I'm confused and I need to think, okay? I'll call you later. And—and I'm sorry.” There was a
click
and the line went dead. With a sinking feeling, Taylor realized her friend hadn't agreed to anything. Candace still loved the scum, even now. Harris had
really
done a job on her.

She put away her phone and followed Sunny back inside. The basket was still on Sunny's chair.

“I'm taking this to the police.”

“Wait.” Sunny gripped her hand. “The police won't do anything except file a long report and make you sign in triplicate. You need help
now
. Let Uncle Vinnie handle this.”

“What can he do?”

Sunny reached for the phone. “Plenty. Trust me.”

Taylor wanted to argue, but she was starting to feel like throwing up. She realized her hair was still wrapped in dozens of foil rectangles, being stripped of all color even as she spoke. “Okay, call him. Maybe he can ask the right questions in the right places. But if he gets nowhere, I'm going to the police.”

“Reasonable enough.”

Taylor stared at the flowers, wondering what she would do next. “Can you finish my hair, Sunny? I've got to go.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“First, I'm going to throw up,” Taylor said. “After that, I'm going to dose myself with caffeine, then go stalk Harris Rains.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Sunny said slowly.

“Don't worry, this is strictly a fact-finding mission. The man won't even know I'm there. But I'm not giving up, Sunny. Not until I find out exactly what's going on.”

 

Cars streamed in a noisy rush down Market Street forty-five minutes later as Taylor sat parked in afternoon traffic, facing a glass-and-chrome skyscraper. Thanks to several comments Candace had made, she knew Rains had worked on the fifteenth floor for the last three years.

People came in and out of the front door, but none of them was Rains. Taylor summoned up the image of Candace's friend, whom Taylor had seen once or twice in the building. The man wasn't exactly movie-star material. Energetic smile, but a definite underbite. A thin nose and something aggressive in the eyes, as she recalled.

She kept her eyes trained on the front door, which was the building's only entrance except for the loading area and the lower-level parking garage. If Rains came out on foot, it had to be through this door.

She flipped on her car stereo and tried to avoid her reflection in the rearview mirror, painfully aware that her hair was too bright, with too much gold and copper. But the layers were nice and Taylor had tugged on a black beret to cover most of her new iridescence.

Just as well that Mr. Fixit had been nowhere in sight when she'd left her apartment. If he'd been baking fresh bread, she might have wrestled him to the sawdust and had her way with him.

She glanced at the passing traffic. No police. No cars circling. So far, there had been no sign of a Lexus SUV either. If only Rains would put in an appearance.

As the minutes crept past, caffeine withdrawal began to set in. Taylor glanced at her watch as she scratched her knee where the stitches were starting to pull.

Still no sign of Rains.

After writing half a dozen books on the subject, Taylor knew surveillance inside and out. On the passenger seat were a bottle of water, sandwiches, and a notebook. The telephoto lens on her camera would document everything Rains did. But as the afternoon dragged on, more people came and went, and none of them was Candace's boyfriend. Novelty turned to boredom, then irritation, and finally Taylor tried calling his office number, but the secretary said he was in a meeting.

Muttering, she cranked up Radiohead and watched the front door some more, reasonably certain that none of the businessmen in Armani couture was Harris Rains.

Taylor tweezed one eyebrow and glared at the copper strands spiking out beneath her beret. She fidgeted, then tried calling Candace, but there was no answer. By now her cell phone battery was almost dead, so she pulled out her notebook marked
surveillance
and wrote
buy car adapter
in big letters.

After that, she ate her last sandwich and wrote
buy more egg salad
.

Then she sat some more.

She had eaten most of a bag of corn chips, without any sign of Rains, when she decided the magical coffee sign shimmering across the street could no longer be ignored. She was halfway across the intersection, carrying an extra-large steaming moccachino with double whipped cream, when her target finally showed.

She took a quick drink of her coffee, moaned as her throat suffered third-degree burns, then tossed the rest in a nearby garbage can and sank to a crouch behind a dusty Suburban while she staked out Rains. Walking beside him were two men, and one of them was the top science aide to the governor of California. Taylor didn't recognize the other man, but he walked as if he was important, too.

Taylor stayed out of sight as the trio passed, talking quietly. The two men shook hands with Rains, then left, and Rains continued walking. In no particular hurry, he stopped to buy a paper. Barely ten seconds later, three men got out of a parked car and moved up beside him. Rains looked startled and began gesturing a lot, which made the other men move even closer. Taylor sidled closer, too, straining to hear the conversation, but they were talking low and fast and she couldn't pick up any details.

As she continued to watch, Rains tried to pull away, but one of the men caught his arm, forcing him down the busy street. People passed, but no one seemed to notice Rains' fear or the tense group of men flanking him. Taylor followed, staying several cars back and out of sight. One of the men gripped Rains' shoulder, talking fast, while Rains bobbed his head, his face a sickly gray.

Suddenly Rains called out a name. Taylor saw that the governor's aide had appeared and was walking directly toward Rains, who forced a smile and pulled away from the angry men circling like sharks in chum-filled water. When the aide was a few feet away, the other men smoothed their ties, turned, and vanished down a side street.

Candace's boyfriend closed his eyes, going slack with relief. If he hadn't been such scum, Taylor might almost have felt sorry for him. Just what kind of trouble had he gotten into?

In a matter of seconds, the scientist seemed to regain his equilibrium, joking with the aide as they walked toward a nearby parking garage, where the aide got into his car. The instant he was gone, Rains pulled out a cell phone.

Taylor closed the distance between them, trying vainly to overhear the conversation. When Rains walked down the street, she stuck right behind him. Five minutes later she was still on him like glue when he walked into a convenience store, talking quietly on the phone. Taylor shoved on sunglasses, pulled a newspaper in front of her face, and followed at a cautious distance, determined to hear what he was saying.

The store was quiet as Rains walked down the snack aisle, still speaking quietly on the phone. Taylor stopped near the checkout area where he wouldn't see her, and leaned on the counter. “I'm looking for imported chocolate and feminine hygiene products.”

May as well kill two birds with one stone.

The Asian man at the counter looked at her blankly, and she repeated the question, ignoring the sound of the door opening or the big man in a torn sweatshirt buying coffee at a nearby machine.

Taylor tried another tack. “Do you speak English?”

The old clerk's expression didn't change.

The door opened again. A chunky man in a denim jacket entered, heading straight for the beer cooler.

Taylor sighed. Rains was at the back of the store now, staring at one of the shelves as if it had grown horns. He had a frozen look of fear on his face, and his cell phone was dangling from his fingers.

Behind Taylor the door opened again, and another man entered. Suddenly she realized it was unnaturally quiet in the store.

She leaned closer to the clerk. “Hygiene? Paper? You know—women's things.”

When the clerk showed no sign of comprehension, Taylor gave up and ducked into the nearest aisle, intensely aware of the growing silence. The chunky man was standing beside Rains, who looked even paler than before.