by Karen Rose
‘Which way?’ Ford asked lightly. ‘Overbearing, crass, bossy, negative? Stevie says those are his good qualities.’
Taylor laughed but Clay did not look amused. ‘Watch it, kid,’ he said grumpily.
‘Miss Dawson.’ Lilah stopped on the sidewalk in front of them, breathing hard. ‘Mr Maynard.’ Her eyes narrowed slightly when she looked at Ford, as if trying to place him.
‘I’m Daphne Montgomery’s son, Ford.’
Lilah smiled, but it was a stiff bending of lips. Not a true smile. ‘Is Jazzie here yet?’
Ford stiffened. Something was wrong. Taylor had gone very still beside him, studying the older woman’s face.
‘Is something wrong, Miss Cornell?’ Taylor asked before Ford could.
Clay was already scanning the area, back on alert.
‘No, no,’ Lilah said. ‘The girls’ grandmother and I may have had a mix-up in plans. I went out to the mall, and when I came home, they weren’t there. I figured she was bringing Jazzie here. Let me call her and—’
‘Let’s get inside,’ Clay interrupted. He stepped in front of Taylor, taking her arm and hustling her toward the restaurant’s front door.
The first burst of gunfire took Clay down like a ton of bricks, and after that everything went into slow-mo. Lilah screamed and ran back in the direction she’d come. Taylor went to her knees, dragged down by Clay, who hadn’t released her arm, despite the fact that his leg was shooting blood like a damn geyser.
Ford dropped to his knees next to Clay’s leg. The wound was bleeding faster than he had thought possible. ‘Dammit, Clay. That’s gotta be an artery.’
Clay grabbed Ford’s shirt. ‘Go. Get her out of here.’
Ford gave her a push. ‘Taylor, run!’ he ordered, but he didn’t move from Clay’s side. Stop the bleeding, was all he could think. He ripped at the buttons of his shirt as he looked up at the rooftops, scanning for a person, a shadow, a gun. Anything. But there were no shooters, no guns, not even any metal glinting in the sunlight.
Totally ignoring Ford, Taylor shoved her phone at him and took Clay’s arm, wrapping it over her shoulders. ‘You call 911,’ she said. ‘I don’t know exactly where we are.’ She dragged Clay to his knees. ‘Dammit, Ford, help me get him on his feet. We need to get him inside and he’s heavy as hell,’ she said through her teeth, her jaw clenched as she struggled to lift him.
The street between Clay’s truck and the restaurant was a fire zone. There was no cover. Not a tree, not a parked car, nothing. Where the fuck is JD? Ford fought back his panic, fought to stay calm. JD was in the restaurant, too far away to hear if they yelled for help.
Hooking one arm under Clay’s armpit, Ford stood up, hefting the older man to his feet. He and Taylor took off running, Clay hopping on one foot, but mostly being dragged between them.
‘Call JD,’ Clay commanded harshly.
But Ford didn’t know JD’s number and didn’t have time to search for his own phone. He’d started to dial 911 on Taylor’s phone with his free hand when pain ripped into his back, a second shot splitting the air. He stumbled, going back down to his knees, and the phone flew forward, landing somewhere in the street. For a moment he knelt there, the breath knocked out of him. He reached behind him to touch his back, relieved when his hand came away free of blood. His own, anyway. Clay was still spurting blood like a fire hydrant, and it had splashed onto Ford’s jeans and the front of his shirt.
He grabbed for Clay, but a third shot was fired, nicking his own thigh, followed by a fourth, which brought a pained grunt from Clay and another rapidly spreading red stain, this time on Clay’s arm.
Ford looked around, panic clawing up his throat. Nothing to hide behind. Dammit. ‘Where the fucking hell is JD?’
‘Get inside, Taylor,’ Clay ordered, but weakly. His face had paled, his skin growing gray at an alarming rate. ‘Now.’
‘Not leaving you,’ she gritted through clenched teeth. ‘Shut up.’
He’s bleeding to death, Ford thought, new horror spurring his muscles to move, and he crawled over to crouch next to Clay’s leg. Dipping his head low, he presented his back to the shooter, using his body to shield Clay and Taylor.
‘Dammit, woman, get inside!’ Ford yelled at Taylor, shrugging out of his shirt so that he could wrap it around Clay’s leg. ‘Go get JD. Get some help.’ Luckily he’d ducked, because a spray of bullets came whizzing past his shoulder, hitting the restaurant wall, spraying concrete shards onto their heads. The next bullet hit Ford in the back again, but he was prepared. He rocked forward with the momentum, then gritted his teeth and straightened back up.
Clay grabbed the collar of Taylor’s turtleneck and tried to shove her away, but he’d lost too much blood to budge her. ‘He’s shooting at you, Taylor. For God’s sake, take cover.’
Once again Taylor ignored them both, going into what Ford could only describe later as robot-ninja-warrior mode. She pressed Clay’s chest until he lay back against the pavement, sliding backwards on her stomach in the same movement so that her body was flat to the ground.
Before Ford realized what she intended, she’d unsnapped Clay’s holster, pulled out his gun, racked it and started shooting back as two more shots were fired from across the street, both going over her head.
She fired twice, the first shot shattering glass, the second producing a blood-curdling scream. She took a microsecond to adjust her aim, then fired a third time before calmly putting Clay’s gun aside, whipping the belt from her jeans, wrapping it around Clay’s leg above the wound and cinching it tight.
All while Clay stared in open-mouthed disbelief at his daughter.
Ford was mesmerized as well, but for very different reasons. Oh my God. That had been amazing. And hot. So damn hot. He took a deep breath to control the sudden jolt of adrenaline mixed with the most potent arousal he’d ever experienced. Don’t get a hard-on. Not now. Not in front of her father. Later. Now, save Clay or Stevie will beat you senseless. Although no one could blame him for being aroused. Taylor Dawson was fucking hot.
You know, California really isn’t that far. And they have companies to work for there, just like here. He shook his head hard. Dammit, boy, focus.
Somewhere a door slammed and three suits came running around the restaurant from the rear exit, led by JD Fitzpatrick. ‘What the hell?’ JD shouted, taking in the scene. ‘Holy God. Oh shit. Clay.’ He radioed for an ambulance, while sending the other two cops to the car in the alley across the street.
‘Tell the paramedics to hurry before he bleeds to death,’ Ford snapped, then forced his attention back to Clay’s leg. Balling up the body of his shirt, he pressed it against the wound, then wrapped the sleeves around the leg and knotted them tightly, securing the makeshift bandage until the paramedics arrived.
‘How bad’s he hurt?’ JD asked anxiously.
‘I’ll live,’ Clay said irritably.
‘The bleeding has slowed down,’ Ford told JD, ignoring Clay. ‘Partly because Taylor applied a tourniquet and partly because he’s lost so much blood already.’
Clay snorted weakly. ‘He’s right here and he’s still conscious, so how bad could he be?’
JD dropped to a crouch beside them. ‘What just happened here?’
‘Give me something to wrap his arm,’ Ford said tightly, ignoring the question for now. ‘He can’t lose any more blood.’
A cop rushed up, a first-aid kit and towels in his hands. ‘Towels are clean, Detective. Restaurant owner gave them to me.’
‘Thanks. Go back inside and maintain crowd control. Keep everyone away from the windows,’ JD said to the cop, immediately beginning to wrap the wound on Clay’s arm. ‘This one doesn’t look as bad as the leg wound. You were damn lucky to make that shot after getting hit in the arm.’
Clay shook his head, his eyes sliding closed. ‘Not me,�
�� he protested, his voice thin. ‘Ford shielded me and Taylor took care of the shooter. Hell of a shot, baby,’ he added proudly.
With a double-take, JD looked across the street to where the two other detectives had already stretched crime-scene tape across the alley entrance. The front of a rusty vehicle was visible, its side window completely shattered.
‘Taylor made that shot?’ JD asked in disbelief.
Clay nodded, his eyes still closed. ‘Hell, yeah. Probably saved our lives.’
I didn’t even see the car, Ford thought, stunned by the knowledge that he never could have made a shot like that, even under the controlled conditions of a target range. But Taylor had simply . . . acted. Wow. Now that what she’d accomplished was sinking in, he found himself more than a little intimidated as well. And still far too aroused for his own comfort.
Stunned, JD shook his head. ‘Okay, let’s start from the beginning. What exactly happened here?’
‘We were approaching the restaurant and he opened fire,’ Clay said. ‘He’s either dead or he’s run. All I know is he stopped shooting.’
‘He was standing behind his car door,’ Taylor said, her voice nearly as thin as Clay’s.
It was then that Ford realized that Taylor was too still, her face way too pale. She was sitting back on her heels, her body slack, her dark eyes gone glassy. Adrenaline crash, he thought, coupled with the reality that she’d just shot a man.
‘He had a rifle with a scope,’ she went on tonelessly. ‘That’s what I first saw – the flash of sunlight off the scope. He had dark hair. Don’t know his height. He was bent forward with the rifle balanced on the top of the open car door, so that’s where I aimed.’
JD pushed to his feet. ‘Thank you. Stay here while I check it out.’ He jogged across the street, leaving the three of them in a bubble of eerie quiet.
‘Taylor?’ Ford reached across Clay to touch her arm, and she flinched.
Clay tried to pull her close with his uninjured arm, but she shook her head silently. ‘Taylor?’ he asked roughly, his voice strained with pain. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Did I kill him?’ she asked, sounding hollow.
Ford knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently. She went limp, like a doll. ‘I don’t know,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘But no one can blame you if you did.’
Baltimore, Maryland,
Sunday 23 August, 3.58 P.M.
Taylor shivered despite the blazing heat of the August day, and Ford tightened his arms around her. No one can blame you if you did. Well now, Taylor thought numbly, that was where Ford was wrong. I can blame me. If I killed that man, I will blame me. Because I pulled the trigger. Nobody else but me.
She’d heard his scream. Seen him fall. Watched the rifle he’d aimed at them slide out of his hands to clatter to the asphalt. When she closed her eyes, she saw it all again, in a never-ending video loop.
Please don’t let him be dead. She hadn’t been aiming to kill him. She’d just wanted to disable him. But years and years of intense training had taken hold of her mind, moving her limbs like a marionette on a string. Muscle memory, her father had called it. He’d started teaching her to handle a gun from the very first day they’d moved to the ranch. He’d trained and tested her skills, then trained and tested some more. A laugh bubbled out of nowhere, coming out hysterical and shrill. ‘He taught me because of you.’
‘Who taught you?’ Ford asked softly. Carefully. Like she was fragile glass that would shatter into pieces any moment. Maybe I will.
‘My dad.’ She tried to swallow, but the gulp stuck in her throat and it hurt to breathe. ‘My other dad. He taught me to shoot.’
‘Because of me?’ Clay’s question was raw and sharp and filled with the same hurt that was squeezing her chest like a vise.
Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Black spots floated in front of her eyes and she clenched them shut. Panic. This was a panic attack. She’d had them before. But not like this. Never like this. Duh. You never killed a man like this. She pressed her face into Ford’s chest. You don’t know that he’s dead. Maybe you just wounded him.
Please don’t let him be dead.
Through the curtain of panic she heard a high-pitched keening sound and nearly laughed again. Me. That’s me. Goddammit, Taylor. Stop this. Right now. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Like running down a hill, faster and faster, until her feet wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.
‘Ow!’ A sharp pain in her scalp abruptly yanked her out of the panic. Another hard tug had her turning in Ford’s arms to see Clay still holding her hair with his uninjured hand.
Her father was watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘You back with me, Taylor?’
She scooted out of Ford’s hold, instantly missing his warmth. She pulled her hair from Clay’s hand with a frown. ‘That hurt.’
‘I know. You were spiraling into a panic attack and your hair was all I could reach.’
Taylor rubbed her scalp. He hadn’t pulled any of her hair out by its roots, but it still smarted. ‘Gonna make me bald,’ she grumbled, then sighed. ‘But thanks. Mostly.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Clay’s gaze was still narrowed. ‘Dawson taught you to shoot like that? What was he? Special Forces or something?’
‘Or something,’ Taylor murmured. She knew her dad had been a soldier, long ago. She’d asked once and he’d become uncharacteristically broody for days. So she’d never mentioned it again. ‘He wanted me to be ready in case you came to grab me when he wasn’t home.’ She hunched her shoulders forward. ‘I never thought I’d actually shoot someone.’ She closed her eyes, her heart beginning to race again. ‘What if I’ve killed him?’
Clay grabbed her hair again, tugging lightly. ‘Look at me, Taylor. Now.’
The barked command stopped the panic attack in its tracks and she met his eyes, dark and intense. Like looking in a mirror. ‘I’m okay.’
‘You’re more than okay,’ Clay said, his fierce pride on full display. ‘You saved our lives, because that asshole was going to keep shooting.’
‘And I don’t know how many more hits I could have taken,’ Ford confessed.
That got her attention. Taylor swung her gaze to Ford’s. ‘How many hits did you take?’
‘Two to the back,’ he said, ‘but the Kevlar stopped them. Still hurts like a bitch.’ He pressed his fingers to the side of his upper thigh and pulled them back covered in blood. ‘And apparently one to the leg.’
Taylor stared at his bloody fingers for a heartbeat, then reached for one of the towels and the first-aid kit that had been brought from the restaurant. She wiped the blood from Ford’s hands, then pressed the towel to his thigh. Now that she was focused, she could see the dark stain on his black jeans, but thankfully it wasn’t very large.
From the back pocket of her own jeans she pulled the Swiss army knife her other dad had given her for her thirteenth birthday. Flipping it open, she sliced away the torn fabric of Ford’s jeans until she could see the wound.
‘It’s small,’ she said. ‘Barely a scratch.’
Ford sat placidly, allowing her to check out the wound, and all at once she realized that this was his equivalent to Clay pulling her hair. It had distracted her from her panic.
She glanced up, saw his tolerant expression. ‘You knew it was only a scratch, didn’t you?’ she asked. When he only nodded, she smiled ruefully. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s okay to be shaken up, Taylor. I’ve never had to shoot a man before. Came close a few times, but I never had to do it.’
Back when he’d been abducted, Taylor knew. She’d read the entire account in the court transcripts. He’d done what he had to do to get away. To survive.
‘You had to,’ Ford went on, his voice calm. Rock-steady. ‘There’s no shame in post-adrenaline jitters
. And whether he lives or dies, that’s not on you. He shot at us. And if he’s who I think he is, he killed Jazzie’s mother and he would have killed Jazzie if she’d been here.’
Detective Fitzpatrick rejoined them, looking grim. Taylor’s heart sank.
‘I killed him,’ she whispered. ‘Shit.’
‘No,’ Fitzpatrick said unhappily. ‘He got away.’
Taylor sucked in a breath that was both relieved and horrified. I didn’t kill him. But he’s still out there. She did a visual scan of the street, but didn’t see anything suspicious. You wouldn’t see him. He’d make sure of that.
Ford swore. ‘Where?’ he demanded. ‘How?’
‘He left a trail of blood in the alley that ended abruptly at the other end.’
‘He stole a car,’ Clay muttered.
A scowl twisted Fitzpatrick’s face. ‘Or he can fucking fly. I’ve called in additional units to canvass the neighborhood. We need to know who was parked there and what they were driving. One of my guys is doing a door-to-door in the building on the other side of the alley right now.’ He glanced at Taylor. ‘One of your shots hit his tire.’
She nodded with numb satisfaction. ‘Good.’
‘The third shot,’ Ford said, marveling again. ‘You were aiming for the tire?’
His open amazement made her uncomfortable. ‘Yes. I didn’t want him to be able to get closer to us with the car. You know, to do a drive-by.’
Fitzpatrick’s brows rose. ‘You thought of that,’ he murmured, as if to himself, then gave a half-shake of his head. ‘That’s why he left the car there. That and the shattered window, of course. He would have been noticed and stopped once the BOLO went out. It’s a lucky break for us. Hopefully we’ll get prints or something else that IDs him.’
‘It was Jarvis,’ Ford bit out, his blue eyes now flashing fury.
Fitzpatrick nodded. ‘Probably. But I want a positive ID.’
Clay lifted his head and squinted at the rusty car the shooter had left behind, then blinked hard several times. ‘Sonofabitch. Is that pile of rust a Chevy Malibu?’