Hot Pursuit (12 page)

“I'm afraid this isn't a social visit,” Taylor said. Before he could go on, Blake spotted the paper in Shane's hand and his smile faded.

“Oh, shit. You guys here to arrest me? Listen, if I've done something wrong, I sure as hell don't remember what.”

Taylor briefly squeezed his shoulder. “No. We've got a warrant to search the house in relation to a case we're working. This shouldn't take long.” He might as well have been speaking a foreign language.

“The fuck are you talking about? What case?” He glanced between them. “Is this a joke?”

“I'm afraid not. We need to search the house, and you need to stay out here in the living room while we do.”

The younger man's confusion started to give way to apprehension. “Does Cara know about this?”

“Yes, she does.”

“What case are you talking about?”

“It's a murder investigation, but—”

“What?” Suspicion crept into his eyes, and his tone sharpened. “Are you shitting me? Did you, like,
plan
this? Is this the reason you've been so chummy with me and her—so you could
investigate
or whatever?”

The accusation hurt. “Nothing could be farther from the truth,” he said firmly. “And for the record, though there's a connection, we don't believe Cara had anything to do with the actual murder. We're only here to try to find a thread that will help us with the case. I need for you to believe that.”

Giving a snort, he flopped onto the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table. “Right. Well, you do what you gotta do, Officer, and I'll be right here waiting for you to get done pawing through her stuff.”

There was no way to answer that, so he didn't try. Silently, he and Shane started in the living room and kitchen, going through drawers and cabinets. As expected, these rooms yielded nothing more than the usual items one would find. Moving on, they searched the bathrooms. They saved the bedrooms and closets for last.

Searching each bedroom together, they went through every drawer and over every nook and cranny. They even removed the drawers from the nightstands and dressers, looking underneath, and then behind the furniture as well. No stone was left unturned. All that was left was the walk-in master closet, and Taylor had his doubts that they'd find anything.

“I think we're about done.”

Shane set a pair of boots back into place and nodded. “Looks like.”

“Think Blake will forgive me? He doesn't trust easily, and it must seem like a betrayal to him.”

“He will, because you're doing it for the right reasons,” his partner pointed out. “You're looking for a clue that might help the case, and finding one doesn't mean that person is guilty of anything. Sometimes it can clear them, or just shed more light on what's going on.”

“I know that, but the kid might not be so willing to see it that way.”

“Have some faith. He'll come around.”

Taylor was about to say more when he spotted a photo album on a shelf above the rod where the clothes hung. “This is an old album,” he commented, removing it from its spot. “It's kind of falling apart.”

“That's why most people use digital storage now. Saves room in the house, and the photos don't fade.”

“Yeah.” Turning the book over in his hands, he opened the cover and examined the pictures and the names and dates scrawled in pen. “It starts with childhood photos. Looks like Cara and her sister.”

Shane leaned over and smiled. “They were cute kids. And your Cara turned out to be quite the sexy little rocker, didn't she?”

“That she did. But she's not my Cara—yet.”

“That's the spirit. Watch out for Austin, though. You'll have to fly under the radar until this case is solved.”

“That sucks.” Carrying the album, he walked into the bedroom and sat on her bed, turning the pages to examine the contents.

“Looking for something in particular?”

“A photo of Max Griffin, maybe. Could be someone else in here, someone mutual to Cara and Griffin to tie this thing together.”

Shane sat beside him and they studied the photos, which were sort of entertaining to him because they represented Cara's young life. But they were innocuous, for the most part. At least until the sisters began to grow up in the pictures.

As Cara and Jenny aged, a strange feeling began to come over him. The strangeness became something darker, more ominous, as he watched Jenny Evans's face slowly morph from little girl to teen to a pretty young woman.

“Oh, my God.”

“What is it? Taylor?”

Turning a page toward the back of the album, Taylor froze, staring at the face he still saw in his nightmares. But instead of a happy, smiling face like in the picture, the face in his memories was pale, eyes filled with terror.

“Think you're so smart, asshole? Thought you could come in here and be a big hero?” Connor Wright screamed in his face.

“No, I want to help.” Sweat rolled down Taylor's back. “We can end this peacefully—”

“Peace? You want peace?” Wildly, he waved his gun at the three cowering people in the living room. The hostages Taylor had been sent in to help.

One of them was Jennifer Wright—Connor's estranged wife.

“Choose!” Connor bellowed, pressing the gun to the back of Taylor's head.

“Choose what?” Taylor fought to keep calm.

“You want peace? Choose one person to live.”

God, no. “Connor, let's talk about—”

“Which one gets to walk out, huh? Choose, goddamn you!”

“Taylor! Partner, where'd you go?”

He blinked at Shane and realized he was breathing hard, the album still clutched in his hands. The nightmare had come full circle and invaded his life. It was back to devastate him all over again, to leave him awash in blood and guilt, on his knees, begging for an end.

Hand shaking, he pointed to the picture. “Cara's sister—she's Jennifer Wright.”

“How do you know her?”

“I didn't, not really. She's dead.”

“Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, but what—”

“And it was my fault.” That statement dropped between them like a stone, Shane waiting for him to explain, expression concerned. “Do you remember the case that caused me to leave Los Angeles?”

That was all it took for the light to break through the clouds.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane muttered, hanging his head briefly before looking back at him. “You're saying that
same
woman is Cara's sister? How the hell can that be?”

“That's what I want to know.” The reality of Cara moving to Sugarland, meeting Taylor, began to set in. A horrible picture was beginning to form, one that made him sick. “Shane . . . I think her truck is the one that hit me the other day.”

His friend gaped at him. “You think she actually tried to kill you?”

“No.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “I don't know. I spotted a dent in her front bumper that matched the same spot on the dark truck that hit me. At the time I thought it was a pretty strange coincidence and that it might be the same vehicle, but I couldn't think of any reason she'd want to hurt me, so I decided I must've been wrong.”

“We could bring in the truck, do some tests.”

“We can't. Someone ran her off the road and the front end was totaled. It's being repaired and we'd never get anything off it now.” He frowned. “We thought the jerk just cut her off, but what if he was trying to really hurt her? Or worse?”

Shane studied him unhappily. “I think you have to consider that she might've staged the wreck to cover the evidence of trying to run you over.”

“It could've happened that way, but I honestly don't think so.”

But flashes of how standoffish she'd acted with him when they first met invaded his memory. He thought of how he'd seen something very much like hatred in her eyes when she looked at him. Not lately, though. She was warming to him, and they were getting into each other.

Or so he'd believed.

“She had to have known who I was when she came here.”

“Not necessarily,” his partner tried. But they both knew the likelihood of that was virtually nil.

“In the hospital,” he suddenly recalled. “After her wreck. She told the doctor her sister was dead, and she gave me such a strange look when she said it. I wondered why she'd look at me like that, then I convinced myself it was my imagination. She blames me—and she came here to find me.”

“It's possible.”

No. Not just possible. He was as sure of that now as he was that he was breathing.

Old pain and new hurt made for terrible bedfellows. He was drowning under the weight of the past and the present crashing together to remind him that a man never truly escapes his mistakes. To push him down into a sea of screams and death.

“Who walks away? Choose!”

One distraught, cuckolded husband pushed over the edge. Three terrified people. One newly minted, inexperienced undercover cop.

Shake well and watch the explosion.

“I caused the deaths of three people that day, including her sister. I've paid every day since then, Shane. Why has this come back to me
now
?”

“I don't know, buddy. But we're going to find out.” He paused. “We'll find out what, if anything, Griffin has to do with all of this, too.”

“We done here?”

“I believe so. Let's go.”

Taylor took the photo album with him, tucked under one arm. On the way out he stopped to reassure Blake as best as he could.

“Everything is going to be fine for Cara, so don't worry. The man who was killed was a friend of her family, and we're going to find out who did it.”

“Okay.” He seemed uncertain, but relented. “I'll see you after work?”

“Maybe.” Dammit, he couldn't look the kid in the eye. Not when he had no idea whether he'd ever darken Cara's door again. “Good luck with turning in your applications today.”

“Thanks.” That cheered the younger man some, and he smiled a bit as he waved. Then he locked the door behind them.

The drive back to the station was quiet, the mood somber. Shane didn't speak until they were pulling into the parking lot.

“We have no reason to hold her any longer, much less charge her, unless we want to get her on obstruction. But how exactly she was obstructing, we don't know yet.”

“I say we cut her loose, but I want to talk to her first.”

“All right. I'll be at my desk if you need me.”

After acknowledging Shane with a nod, he walked every step toward the interview room feeling like he was going to his execution. It seemed an eternity since he'd left Cara here to wait, but in reality it had only been a couple of hours. When he walked in, he brought forth the photo album and thumped it on the table with more force than necessary. Cara's eyes widened as she saw the album.

“We found nothing to tie you to Griffin's murder, so on that score you can go. But I found something else that might matter in the big picture. Care to tell me what I discovered when I followed your trip down memory lane?”

“Where did you get that?” she asked hoarsely.

“Where do you think I got it? Same place I seem to find all the fascinating items you have hidden—in your closet.”

She licked her lips. “I can explain.”

“So you keep saying.” His voice was low, raw with pain. “Why?”

“Taylor—”

“Tell me! You knew, didn't you? You knew who I was all along.”

“Yes.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Why did you come here to Sugarland?” he asked, leaning over the table toward her. “Be honest with me for once.”

She flinched, and then spilled the truth he'd been anticipating. Dreading.

“I came here to make you pay.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

But she'd held them in too long. They'd been a part of her soul, the truth that demanded justice. A truth that may have been based on lies and misconceptions.

Now Taylor stood on the other side of the table, expression grim, green eyes haunted. Wounded. “You don't think I've paid? That I don't play out that scene in my head every day, that I get any relief from what happened even after I go to sleep?”

“I didn't know how you felt. I didn't know you!”

“Why did you sleep with me? Why crawl into bed with a man you hated?” he asked, almost physically choking on the words.

“When I met you, you weren't what I expected. I—I wanted to find out about you. If you really were the man I believed.”

“That's the only reason?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Wow, I'll try to keep my ego in check.”

She rushed on. “That's
not
the only reason. I was fascinated by you, too. I didn't want to be, but I was. I don't have it in me to sleep with a man simply to get information.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because it's the truth,” she said quietly. “I regret now that I wasn't honest with you. I should've just come to see you when I first got to town. I should've asked you directly what I really wanted to know.”

“How I could've let your sister die. Meaning it was my fault.”

She couldn't deny that, and knew it showed on her face. “I'm only human. I don't understand how you could egg on an enraged man who was threatening everyone with a loaded gun.” Her own anger and bitterness were rising again.

“How I could
what
?” His mouth dropped open. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“You told him to go ahead and shoot, to ruin his life and go to prison! Didn't you? What was that, some sort of screwed-up reverse psychology? Well, it backfired!”

“Where the hell did you get that garbage? Because that's not what happened!” Agony was etched on his face. Disbelief. “I would
never
risk a victim's life by encouraging the suspect to shoot. I failed in my negotiation, but I was never accused of misconduct like that. Nothing I said to Wright made any difference. Nothing
would
have. Who told you otherwise?”

If he was telling the truth, then she'd been fed a lie. Why?

“No one, at first. The police protected the details like they were the lost Confederate gold, and I wasn't thinking straight for the longest time. All I could feel was grief over losing Jenny. Four years ago, I was younger than Blake and I couldn't process anything but loss. I didn't question.”

“What changed that? When did you start to wonder?”

“A year ago, I finally started to emerge from my fog of mourning. I went to the police station, looking for you, but I was told you'd moved away after Internal Affairs finished their investigation and cleared you. Nobody would tell me where you'd gone.”

“You started to think there was some sort of cover-up going on,” he guessed.

“The seed was planted. Partially because my grief had turned to anger. It didn't seem fair that nobody had really paid for Jenny's death.”

“Connor Wright paid,” he pointed out gently. “My backup shot him after they busted down the door.”

“My brain knew that. My heart was another matter.” She paused, trying to form the right words to tell him the rest. “Max found out that I was questioning the details of my sister's death and why Connor went crazy, and he became upset. Then he learned I was trying to find you, and he was livid. He couldn't fathom why I'd invite more emotional pain by locating the cop who got away with murdering my sister.”

Taylor stared at her. “So Griffin was the one feeding you this bullshit?”

Unable to meet his gaze any longer, she dropped her attention to her hands, folded and clenched together on the tabletop. “Now I think he twisted the truth, I just don't understand why.”

“You
think
?” His voice rang with hurt. “He
lied
, Cara. And when people lie, it's to further their own agenda. Frankly, given Max's murder and the accidents you and I have both had in the past few days, I'm guessing it's all related and Max isn't the only one with secrets. That's usually the way these things work.”

Cold settled in the pit of her stomach, and she met his eyes again. “It's almost as if . . . he pointed me at you like a missile. Like, despite his ranting, he wanted me to find you and make you pay for Jenny's death.”

“Yet he had to know what would happen if we compared notes.”

“You think he came here the other day to confess what's really going on, and someone wanted to keep him from talking to me?”

“He ended up with a bullet in his forehead. It's not a stretch.” Softening his tone, he immediately appeared contrite. “I'm sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“No, you're right.” Swallowing hard, she said, “It's eye-opening to realize the man I loved like a second father wasn't exactly the man I thought. I want the truth about everything.”

“I don't think you do. Not yet—”

“Why would you say that?” she cried. “My sister
died
, and I don't know how Connor could do such a thing, especially to his pregnant wife!”

Her words had the effect of a knife thrust straight into Taylor's stomach. Making a noise that sounded like he'd been stabbed, he stepped back, eyes wide. “Your sister was pregnant?”

“You didn't know?” The silence in the suddenly small room spoke volumes. Finally, he found his voice.

“No. I . . . You're free to go. I'll be in touch.”

Spinning on his heel, he turned and strode purposefully for the door, not once looking back before shutting it behind him. Cara stared after him, sick at heart. Taylor had looked like he was about to become ill. If she'd realized he hadn't known, she never would've told him. For several minutes, she sat in the interview room, going back over their conversation in her head.

“You don't think I've paid? That I don't play out that scene in my head every day, that I get any relief from what happened even after I go to sleep?”

And slowly it dawned on her that even if she still wanted to make him pay for her sister's death, there was no need.

Taylor already blamed himself more than anyone else ever could.

•   •   •

He barely made it to the men's room before he hit his knees in front of the toilet and got violently sick.

“Which one gets to walk out, huh? Choose, goddamn you!”

He hadn't been able to do it. And his decision not to choose had cost an innocent baby its life. Oh, God.

He'd never wanted to die more than he did at that very second.

Unfortunately, he kept right on breathing. At least nobody entered the bathroom to witness his shame, for which he was extremely grateful. Still feeling queasy, he rose and splashed water on his face, rinsed his mouth. He wasn't human again, nowhere close, but he could get through the rest of this awful day. Maybe.

Shane was coming down the hallway when he exited the restroom, and frowned. “You all right? I've been looking for you.”

“I'm good,” he lied. “Must've eaten something that didn't agree with me.”

His partner's expression said he didn't necessarily believe that, but he had other pressing concerns at the moment. “If you're going to make it the rest of the day, we got a call from Ace.”

A new informant, hopefully taking up the slack from Blake quitting. “He says he's got a tip on Griffin's murder and needs to talk to us, ASAP.”

“Did he give any indication what he found out?”

“Nope. But he was nervous, said to hurry.”

They were already heading toward the front of the building, then out the door. “Where are we going?”

“Those old apartments off Glenview.”

“He live over there?” At Shane's nod, he said, “Christ, a novice. Never, never be seen talking to the cops in your own hood.”

“No shit.”

The apartments were just shy of an eyesore, an old, worn shoe with a floppy sole among the sleek, modern buildings that surrounded them. Several times the city had proposed tearing them down, only to face fierce opposition from those protecting the lower-income citizens who lived there.

Ace apparently was one of those citizens. He met them near the entrance and led them into an alcove between the buildings. Ace was young, but not as young as Blake. Midtwenties would be Taylor's guess. He was taller than Blake, a handsome boy with chocolate brown skin. His Nikes had seen better days, and though his jeans and T-shirt were worn, they were clean. He struck Taylor as a man stuck in limbo, trying to better himself by taking whatever job would help. But that was only an impression.

Ace turned to them as they found a quiet space near a Dumpster, expression worried. “You got big trouble here, man.”

“Who's got big trouble?” Taylor asked. “Me? The city in general?”

“With a dude like this one, there ain't no difference. You got a badass mofo here to do business, is the word goin' around.”

“This badass have a name?”

“Snyder is all I know. He's a big fucker. A pro, too. He want you dead, you gonna get that way sooner or later.”

Taylor exchanged a look with Shane. His partner was troubled by the news as much as he was. “Any idea who he's after?”

“Man, you slow or what?” Ace eyed Taylor up and down with derision. “Don't know what you did in a past life to end up with a double dose of stupid, but you better figure it out before he kills yo dumb ass.”

Despite the tendril of fear that snaked through his gut, Taylor grinned at his partner. “This Snyder is the badass, and I'm the dumb-ass. I don't think that's very fair.”

“Hey, you've always got your beauty. That's gotta count, right?”

“Probably not.”

Ace was glancing between them as if they were both nuts. Which they probably were. “Whatever, man. I said what I needed to. Cover yo stupid ass, man.”

Shane pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and handed it over to the younger man, who quickly pocketed it. With a nod, he vanished between the buildings like a ghost.

“Well, that was informative,” Taylor said dryly. “If I'm going to rate a hit man, it had
better
be a badass pro the size of a Sherman tank, or I'd feel cheated.”

His partner scowled. “If that's supposed to be funny, I'm not laughing.”

He sighed. “I never said it was funny and I'm
not
laughing. I'm trying not to freak out here as I wonder what the fuck this is all about.”

“Me, too.”

“I guess we see what info we can find on a gun for hire named Snyder. If that's even his real name, which I doubt.”

“I'll ask Chris—”

Shane's words were suddenly cut off by a sharp coughing noise, and immediately a spot next to Taylor's head burst in a shower of brick that stung his cheek. Momentarily confused, he instinctively swung his head around to look at the spot, trying to figure out what had caused the shower of shards. Then, with a curse, Shane grabbed his arm and dragged him from where he'd been standing. Just in time.

Another cough, and the brick exploded right where his head had just been.

“Get down!”

Taylor stumbled, yanking his gun from the holster at his waist, frantically looking for the shooter as they ran in a crouch, ducking around the Dumpster. Bullets pinged off the metal protecting them as they flattened themselves against it.

“Fuck!” Taylor swore, heart pounding. “Where is he?”

“No clue.” Shane tried to get a look around the Dumpster, but another shot rang out and he ducked again. “I'm guessing he's down the corridor, past where we were standing.”

“Should we make a run for it?”

“It's either that or stay here and wait to become Swiss cheese.”

Taylor gestured with his weapon. “I say we break cover, split up. Let's circle behind the building, see if we can cut off his escape.”

“Worth a try. On three?”

Taylor nodded, gun at the ready, and waited for his partner to give the count. When Shane said
three
, they bolted from their hiding place and separated. As Taylor expected, he drew the shooter's fire rather than Shane. There was no time for fear, only pure adrenaline as his legs pumped in a ground-eating run. More bullets pocked the wall, and one plucked at the arm of his jacket.

Relief flooded him as he rounded the corner, safe from the onslaught for the time being. But a woman stepped from an apartment, keys in hand, and her eyes widened as she saw him running toward her with a gun in hand.

“Police! Get back inside!”

She wasted no time in complying. He continued on, making for the tree line on the edge of the property, searching in vain for the shooter. It crossed his mind to wonder if Ace had sold him out, bringing him here on pretext. He didn't know the younger man well enough yet to say, but he'd bring him the hell in and find out.

Once he gained the trees, he hustled from one to the next, but caught no movement as he scanned the apartment windows. Then Shane came around the corner of the building, moving fast, shouting, bringing his weapon down to point it toward the parking lot.

“Look out!” Shane yelled.

Fuck.
That was his only thought as he realized he'd been looking in the wrong direction, that the hunter had done some maneuvering of his own. As he spun, spotted the bulky figure bracing a rifle with a scope on the hood of a Jeep, Taylor knew he was in big trouble. His arm didn't even make the full swing upward when he saw the weapon jerk, the pop eerily quiet.

Then his head exploded in pain and he felt himself falling.

And he knew nothing more.