Hot Pursuit (9 page)

“Guess the day caught up with her,” Blaze said from the back.

“Was bound to happen.”

She looked so vulnerable. Young. Seeing her like that did something weird to his heart.

When he pulled up in front of her house, he gently shook her awake. “Hey, sleepyhead.” She stirred and blinked at him in confusion. “We're at your house. Let's get you inside.”

She didn't protest as he and Blake ushered her into the house and herded her down a hallway and into the bedroom the younger man indicated. Amazingly, she settled on the bed without protest and began to drift off. As her eyes shut, she must've been too tired to protest when he touched her face gently, then kissed her forehead. They left her, pulling the door shut quietly, and went back into the living room, where Taylor stood uncertainly.

“I don't want to leave her, but I've got to get back to work.”

“I've got this,” Blake assured him. “Come by and check on her later if you want.”

Taylor smiled. “She might not like you inviting me here.”

The boy shrugged. “She might be confused about what she wants, but it's plain as day to me and anyone else who cares to notice that she's into you. The stubborn little thing just needs a push, that's all.”

“More like a hard shove.”

“I don't think it'll take much for her to give in.”

Taylor regarded his young friend thoughtfully. “Any idea what her problem is with me? She blows hot and cold, and it's driving me crazy.”

“Not a clue, but I'm thinking someone took a giant shit on her at some point,” he guessed. “You gotta be patient.”

“Yes, thank you, oh, wise one,” Taylor joked.

“Hey, you asked.”

“That I did.” Giving the boy a playful shove, he headed for the door. “Tell her I'll be back later.”

“Will do. I'm sure she'll be waiting with baited breath.”

“Smartass.” With a laugh, he left.

His humor didn't last. Thoughts of Blake and Cara being run off the road, and how much worse that story could've ended, tormented him all the way back to the station. By the time he arrived, he had a singular focus.

Search the entire fucking city for a dark SUV that might have been brought into a body shop with damage to the right rear quarter panel or bumper.

Find the bastard and make him pay.

Cara awoke slowly, the aroma of something rich filling her senses. Tantalizing her and making her mouth water.

Stretching, she peered at the digital clock by the bed and wondered how she'd lost almost four hours. She'd gone out like a snuffed candle—one second conscious, the next fading fast into nothingness. Her last clear memory was of riding in Taylor's awesome car, the purr rumbling in her head. The scent of his cologne drifting to her nose, making her feel surrounded by his strength.

And then being tucked into her bed, his hand caressing her face. His lips kissing her forehead like a lover would. As though he genuinely cared.

Taylor couldn't care about her. It wasn't possible. Despite his badge and the respect he seemed to command from his coworkers and friends, he was a liar at best, murderer at worst. Wasn't he?

Voices floated to her ears and she sat up in confusion. Two men were talking and laughing from somewhere in the house. One of them was Blake, and the other . . . No way. “Taylor?”

Curious, she slid out of bed and stood, and got a head rush for her trouble. The accident, if it
was
just an accident, had taken more out of her than she'd realized, especially since she and Blake had spent almost a full day together before the incident. The dizziness passed and she left the bedroom, making her way down the hall. The sound of dinner in progress became clearer—the metallic scrape of a lid on a pot, the clang of the oven door, a timer going off. Whatever the smell was, it was damned tempting, and her stomach gave an angry growl.

Entering the kitchen, she was about to call out, ask what was for dinner, but the sight before her stole her voice.

Blake and Taylor were in a standoff across the island, rolled-up kitchen towels in hand. Each one was trying to anticipate the other's move, ready to pursue or be pursued. Then Taylor lunged around the island to the right, popping his towel at the younger man, and Blake took off. Both were laughing like loons as Blake whirled and made a stand, snapping his towel in retaliation and catching his tormentor on the arm.

“Ow!”

“Take that, ya mangy dog!”

“You're gonna pay for that, little shit!”

“Bring it, old man!”

Cara watched them race around like ten-year-old boys and a smile bloomed on her face. They were completely unaware she was observing, and there was such unfettered joy in their game. Such innocence. Her attention was riveted on Taylor, on his smile that lit up the room. The unguarded happiness on his handsome face. Golden blond hair was disheveled, falling into green eyes that danced with mischief. She damned near forgot how to breathe.

She must've made an involuntary noise, because both men froze, spotting her in the doorway. Taylor spoke first. “Hey! We made you dinner.”

“It was my idea,” Blake insisted. “I made most of it.”

“You boiled the noodles.”

“And baked the chicken. All you did was make the sauce.” Blake managed to look down his nose at his mentor, even though he was shorter.

“My Alfredo sauce is homemade, if you'll remember. I wouldn't touch that crap from the jar with a ten-foot pole, and it's worth the effort.”

Cara giggled. “Enough, you two. I'm sure I'll love the dinner you
both
worked so hard to make for me.”

Looking pleased, they stopped their good-natured squabbling and led her into the dining room, where they made a fuss over getting her settled with a glass of iced tea. Impressed, she surveyed the table. They'd gone to some trouble, providing a Caesar salad, bread sticks, and chicken fettuccine Alfredo that looked positively divine.

“Gosh, that smells so good,” she said, sitting forward in anticipation. “That's what woke me, and I can hardly wait to dig in.”

“Then let's do it.” Reaching for her plate, Taylor filled it with a generous portion of salad and fettuccine.

“Thanks.”

They ate in silence for a few moments, and Cara studied the detective while trying not to outright stare. It wasn't easy, however. The cop was the finest man to cross her path in a very long time. She couldn't help but wonder what he would think if—no, when—he learned that their meeting would've happened eventually, even if they'd never hooked up at the Waterin' Hole.

She suddenly dreaded that day, when before she'd looked forward to outing him as a fraud and then slamming him with the truth of her identity. But the thing was, nothing about this man, from the moment they'd met, struck her as being the monster she'd been told about.

Twirling some pasta on her fork, she addressed Taylor. “Have they caught the person who made us crash?”

“Unfortunately, no.” The detective's expression darkened. “I checked with every local body shop I could find, hoping to get a lead on an SUV that might have been brought in for repair, and so far nothing. Witnesses from the scene didn't have much to add, according to the traffic officer on duty.”

Blake spoke up. “I doubt the driver would be dumb enough to take his vehicle somewhere local for body work after committing a hit-and-run. He'd go outside the area.” The boy took a bite of his bread stick. “At least that's what I'd do, if I was a piece of shit like him.”

“Good point.” Taylor sipped his wine. “I'll broaden the search area tomorrow.”

Cara had the feeling he would've done that anyway, but was acknowledging that Blake was using good thinking. Despite her reservations, her opinion of him went up a notch.

Okay, I may have been wrong about him. Or, rather, believed the wrong information. So, what am I going to do about it?

“I filled out a couple of those job applications,” Blake said, interrupting her thoughts. “I'm gonna turn them in tomorrow.”

She smiled. “Good for you. Don't forget to ask to speak to a manager. Makes a more lasting impression.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Don't
ma'am
me,” she warned playfully. “I'm not old enough to be your mother.”

“You're not?”

She almost choked on her food before she saw the teasing light in his eyes. “Very funny, twerp.”

He grinned. “Okay, maybe a much older sister.”

She arched a brow. “I can always look for a new sound man.”

“I meant
young
,” he blurted, laughing. “Young and stunningly
beautiful
. Have I mentioned I love the purple thing you have going on, girlfriend?” He waved a hand at her hair.

The detective snickered. “Looks like I could use some lessons in charm from the kid.”

“More like lessons in bullshitting.”

Blake stuck his tongue out at her before turning to the other man. “Like you'd need advice from anyone. I'll bet you've got half a dozen ladies eating out of your hand.”

Taylor shook his head. “Not so much. I was always kind of a failure with women, even in high school.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” The boy winked. That prompted more laughter, as the younger man had intended. Once it died down, he regarded Taylor thoughtfully. “Seriously, though, you don't strike me as the kind of guy who fails at anything he does.”

The detective's expression softened into something almost . . . sad. “Oh, I've made plenty of mistakes. You can't be a cop as long as I have without fucking up a time or three.”

Cara thought Blake would ask for specifics out of curiosity, but he surprised her by staying away from a potentially painful topic. “Have you always worked here in Sugarland?”

“No. I was a beat cop for the Los Angeles PD. Started when I was young.” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Not much older than you are now, in fact. I made detective not long before I left there four years ago, and then I came here.”

“Do you like it here better?”

“Much. There's not nearly as much noise or pollution here, not to mention the added bonus of low gang violence. Don't get me wrong—we still have plenty of crime, or my colleagues and I wouldn't have jobs. But we've got nothing on L.A.”

“What's the weirdest situation or call you've ever had?”

Taylor chewed while he considered that one. “Gosh, that's hard to say. There was the time Shane and I were on our way to speak to a witness in a case, and we found a naked eighty-year-old man wandering down Cheatham Dam Road. No relation to our case. Turned out he was off his meds.”

Blake wrinkled his nose. “What happened to him?”

“Since he wasn't lucid, we called the paramedics and they took him to the hospital. Don't know what happened to him after that. Depends on whether he had family to take care of him.”

“Does it ever bother you, not knowing?”

“Sometimes. It's part of the job, though. We work a case and move on, and we don't always find out what happened to the people we try to help.”

Cara absorbed that as they finished eating. It seemed to be more evidence that there was more to this man than she'd believed.

The guys cleaned the kitchen, despite her protests, and insisted she take it easy. Blake disappeared to his room with his new clothes and a netbook of Cara's that she didn't use much. She was letting Blake have it for now, to surf the Internet and job hunt, until he earned enough money to buy his own. She would've just given it to him but he'd insisted. In his eyes, he needed to earn it himself. She could understand and respect that.

“That should distract him for the rest of the night,” Taylor commented, settling on the sofa close to her. “He probably hasn't had a computer in years.”

“If ever. Things were pretty bad at home, from what I gather, so I'm not sure if that's a luxury he was allowed.” She paused. “He told me this morning that he has an older brother.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “I thought he was an only kid.”

“I assumed so, too. The brother's name is Jonathan, Jon for short, and the last Blake heard he lives in Nashville.”

Taylor frowned. “So, this brother refused to take Blake in after their parents kicked him out?”

“So it appears, but that's the thing. I don't know that Jon knew what was really going on at home. Blake said that after he was forced out of the house, he called Jon. Before he had a chance to say anything, Jon told Blake that he was disgusted by him and hung up.”

“And Blake hasn't tried to contact him since?”

“From what I understand, no.”

“Then it's possible the parents got to Jon before Blake could and fed him a bunch of bullshit,” he speculated. “But why would Jon be so quick to buy it?”

“I don't know. Blake said Jon was a good brother before Jon left home. He made it sound like they were close.”

Taylor thought for a moment. “I could do some digging, see what I can find out about his brother. Discreetly, in case he's not the stand-up guy Blake remembers.”

“I think that's a good idea,” she said. “I could tell by the way Blake talks about his brother that he really misses him. It hurt him when the guy wouldn't give him a chance to tell his side. I can only think the parents purposely drove a wedge between them.”

“If so, maybe it can be fixed.” He sounded hopeful.

“You really mean that. You want to help.”

“Of course I do,” he said, cocking his head. “Why would that surprise you? I've known Blake for a few months and I've been working on helping him from day one.”

“I guess I'm not used to cops being so nice, that's all.” She knew she sounded a little terse and she couldn't keep it out of her tone.

“A lot of people have that perception about us. But, believe me, I didn't get into this profession to ignore those in need or to screw up people's lives.”

“But sometimes you do, don't you? Screw up. Just like you told Blake.”

“Okay,” he drawled, sitting back and giving her a hard look. “Am I missing something here? Because I get the distinct impression that every word out of your mouth is aimed right at my head. Like you're waiting for me to clue in on something I'm the last to know about.”

Bull's-eye. That's exactly what I've been doing.

“No, I—”

“Why don't you tell me what the hell your problem is, and then maybe we can move on?”

She stared at him, heart pounding. Five seconds. Ten. It was an eternity. Here was her golden opportunity, laid at her feet. Years of agonizing over her sister's murder, and this man had the answers. He might even give them to her straight.

But that niggle of doubt kept her silent. Letting go of four years of thinking a certain way about the events of that horrible day was so damned hard. She wasn't ready.

“Nothing. I don't like cops much, and it's been an eye-opener for me to realize you're different.” There. That much was the truth—it just wasn't the
entire
truth.

“What happened to make you distrust them so much?” he asked quietly. He didn't seem offended. Probably wasn't the first time he'd ever heard someone say that. He seemed genuinely concerned about why she felt the way she did.

“Someone I loved was killed because of a police officer. I don't like to talk about it.”

He nodded. Reached over and laid his palm on her thigh. “I understand. Whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here, all right?”

Mother of all ironies.

“Thanks.”

“How's your head?”

“It's good. I didn't mean to sleep for so long, but I think the day and the way it ended caught up with me.”

“On top of putting in late nights at the bar. You work too hard.”

“Not really.” She shrugged. “My day starts later, that's all.”

He considered her, as though weighing something. Cara had a pretty good idea what it was: he was still chewing on his earlier question of how she could afford her house, truck, and all the rest on her measly salary. For a nosy detective, it had to be driving him crazy. To his credit, though, he didn't ask again. And she still wasn't ready to indulge him.