One of the federal agents goes back and collects her suitcase, and I breathe a little easier.
I’m impressed with Taylor right now. She’s on the brink of being taken into what will amount to protective custody, and she’s pushing hard against it. Being raised in chaos and privilege may have some advantages in times of crisis with law enforcement—a fact I can appreciate when I am not the law enforcement in question.
Captain Woods is waiting upstairs.
“Captain,” Taylor says. “If we could speak a moment about calling my attorney…”
The captain pauses a split second, then she nods. “Right. Come with me. Gentlemen, the conference room is yours. I’ll take that suitcase, thank you. Detective Vasquez, I’ll leave it to you to give them a complete briefing.”
The directive is clear. Whatever Taylor and I are playing at, I can’t let it get in the way of the investigation.
A fine line to walk.
This would almost be more fun than going dancing if it didn’t feel painfully out of control.
14
Taylor
As soon as Luke and the FBI agents disappear, I sag. Just a little.
Captain Woods gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s going to okay.”
“Is it? Apparently, someone wants me dead.”
“We’re not going to let that happen.” She leads me into her office. “You should know that Detective Vasquez was protesting the FBI’s involvement all the way across the continent.”
“Oh.” That explains his insistence that we come here and not wherever they planned to take me.
“He didn’t give you a plan to demand a lawyer?”
“Uh, no. That was all me. Ad-libbing.”
“Do you want to call your attorney?”
“No.” I sag even further. I’m tired. “I want to get some sleep that isn’t squeezed into an economy seat on a plane that smells like feet.”
The captain laughs gently. “Our hospitality is not up to your usual standards?”
“No offense, Captain, but I don’t think Detective Vasquez could even imagine my standards.”
She doesn’t reply to that. “Would you like a drink?”
“Do you have sparkling water?”
“I have Coke and Diet Coke.”
“Then no thank you.”
She gives me a patient smile. “All right. So…what do you want now?”
“A do-over on life.”
“That’s not how this works, unfortunately.”
“Do I need to go with the FBI?”
She opens her soda can and leans back in her chair. “No…” she finally says, drawing the word out. Nooooooo. Which I’m hoping means, it would be better if I did, but there may be a narrow legal loophole that allows me to give the FBI the finger. “But we have limited resources.”
“I have cash. I can disappear.”
“I definitely can’t let you do that.”
One of the other detectives, the white woman, appears in the doorway. The captain turns her attention there. “Yes, McBride?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Captain. You wanted to see this.” She hands over a folder and gives me a warm smile. “You’re back.”
I sigh. “Yep.”
The captain looks back and forth between us. “McBride, can you loiter near the briefing Vasquez is giving, and when he finishes, let him know I’ve taken Ms. Reid out to get some food. Be clear about that. That Ms. Reid and I have gone out for tacos.”
My eyes go wide. I must look like a panicked cartoon character because Captain Woods winks at me.
“Don’t worry. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay right here, in my office, where you are safe. I’m going to get some food, and when the FBI cavalry arrives on my tail, I’ll inform them they were mistaken in what they heard because, of course, I would never take a witness out for tacos. That would be ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous,” I repeat in a confused whisper.
“Very,” she says with more confidence than I feel.
“And then what?”
“Ms. Reid, you are not a suspect here, and the LAPD has limited resources. What you and Detective Vasquez decide to do next, while I am getting tacos, is entirely up to you both. He’s on vacation for the next two weeks. If at any point you would like the FBI to protect you, that option is available to you, I’m sure. But I understand you are a young woman with considerable resources of your own, and my detective seems to have his own reasons for backing you up in your concern with how the federal agents have handled this case so far. Best of luck.”
We both stand up. “Thank you,” I say, my heart pounding. “Thank you so much.”
“Don’t thank me, Ms. Reid. Thank Luke. He’s got your back here.” She pats me on the shoulder then gestures for me to have a seat. “This may take a while. Will you be okay if I turn out the lights?”
I nod and sink back into my chair.
She locks up some of her files then flips a switch, giving me one last smile as the room falls dark, and she pulls the door closed.
With a deep breath, I settle in to play the waiting game.
15
Luke
I’m just finishing up when McBride slides into the back of the conference room. “Sarah McBride,” I say, introducing to her to the room. “One of our detectives.”
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she says. “But if you want a taco order, the captain and Ms. Reid are heading out to grab some food.”
“They’re doing what?” Ferdinand leaps to his feet.
My eyebrows hit the roof.
“I think Ms. Reid said something about needing fresh air.” Sarah gives him an innocent look of alarm. “You could probably text her if you want some, too.”
“Is she crazy?” He whirls on me. “What if Taylor runs for it?”
Then I’ll track her down if she’s still got my GPS tracker on her bag.
But my captain is the opposite of crazy. I spread my hands wide. “You got me. That doesn’t sound like the captain, though. If Ms. Reid has walked, it’s on her. Not the LAPD.”
Ferdinand scowls at McBride. “When did they leave?”
“Just a few minutes ago.” She points to the door. “Why?”
The Feds all head out the door as one monolithic group of suits and frustrated scowls.
Ferdinand stops in front of me and shakes his head. “You guys need to work with us here if you want us to catch this guy.”
“Of course,” I say smoothly. “You’ll give me a call when your lab is ready to walk me through the evidence? I’m going on vacation, but I’m not leaving the city. I’ll come in any time.”
“Good.” He scowls again. “We’ll be in touch.”
I wait until they’re out of sight, then pull out my phone.
I do a double-take and laugh under my breath when I see where the GPS tracking app lights up Taylor’s location. Ducking out into the unit space, I double-check to make sure the Feds have left.
First I go to the locker where I left my Glock before we went to D.C. It feels good to put on my shoulder holster again.
Then I crack open the door to the captain’s dark office.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
Taylor doesn’t open her eyes. “This was your plan, right?”
“Sort of. I think the captain ran with it.”
“Hmm.” She cracks one eyelid open and looks over at me. “So now what?”
“We get the hell out of here.”
She doesn’t move.
“Taylor, time might be of the essence since you aren’t really getting tacos with my boss. Window of opportunity here. Let’s seize it.”
She has a white-knuckle grip on her bag. “You understand this is the stuff that dark thrillers are written about? Scruffy cop stalks you, sets a bomb, writes a threatening note, says he needs to protect you, and takes you off to parts unknown where he will chop your body into a thousand pieces and feed you to his pet swordfish.”
“Hey, whoa, I am n
ot scruffy.”
“You’re not denying the pet swordfish, Detective Vasquez.”
I grin. I can’t help it. She’s funny when she’s staring danger in the face. “I want to keep you safe. I promise I’m not going to chop you into pieces. And I think I like it better when you call me Luke. So what do you say? Want to do something reckless with me?”
“Will it keep me alive?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then I’m in.”
“What just happened?” Taylor doesn’t ask the question until we’re up in the canyons, almost at my house.
For years, I lived closer to San Bernardino, where a lot of cops live. Out in the suburbs, away from where we work.
But two years ago I grabbed a sweet opportunity to move back into the city. A two-bedroom foreclosure that had stood empty for a couple of years, and needed a shit ton of TLC.
Fixing it up replaced going to the gym, and now it’s a decent home.
It’s also pretty off the grid because my official address is still the place I own out in the suburbs. That I rent out.
This one, I bought through a numbered corporation, which at the time gave me a chuckle, because who the fuck am I to play with shit like that?
Turns out my real estate lawyer was smart, and now I know this is a safe place to bring Taylor. At least for the night. At least to let her get some sleep.
I’m not kidding myself into thinking the Feds won’t ever check me out, but right now, they’re hunting for Taylor elsewhere.
Rodeo Drive, hopefully.
“My boss just bought you a night of sleep without federal agents watching you, that’s what.”
“Just one night?”
I turn onto my street and tap the remote button for my garage to open. “Let’s play that by ear. If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to have to follow my rules. For real this time. No more running away. No more diva acts.”
“If I say okay, are you going to believe me?”
That gets a half-smile. “I don’t know. Try me.”
She doesn’t say anything. I park then go around to the trunk to grab her suitcase. She’s still sitting in the front seat like she might just go to sleep there.
“Hey, Princess. Out of the car. You can deliberate on whether or not you want to trust me inside.”
She gets out and rolls her eyes for effect.
I’d like to spank the brat right out of her.
It’s a sudden, brutal thought. Unbidden and unwelcome. My throat goes tight as I picture what it might be like to bring her smart mouth to a breathy, happy pause. Make her focus her remarkable energy elsewhere.
Oh, Princess. If only we’d met under different circumstances.
I shove that thought away and let us into the house through the interior garage door then punch in my security code into the keypad on the wall.
Maybe I don’t shove the thought far enough down, though, because when I catch her looking askance at my living room—my house, that I renovated with my bare fucking hands—the nickname rolls off my tongue again, and this time, it’s deliberate. “How do you like your new digs, Princess?”
“Stop calling me that. You want me to call you Luke, you can call me Taylor. Or Ms. Reid, I like that.”
“Deal. Now stop sneering at my house.”
She whips around, her mouth dropping open. “Yours?”
“Yes, my house. Where did you think I was taking you?”
“I…don’t know.” She sighs. “My brain stopped working like ten hours ago.”
“Well, nobody knows I live here. So it’s pretty damn secure.”
She worries her lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry. Your house is lovely.”
That’s better. And if things were different, I would reward her for being polite.
Things are not different.
She wanders around my living room. “You believed me that the federal government wasn’t to be trusted?”
“I was on the fence before the threatening note. As soon as I got word of that, I knew you weren’t safe unless nobody knew where you were. Too many potential leaks. Too many conflicting priorities. Too many cases, period. You’re my only case right now, Taylor.”
“Aww, I feel so special.” She takes a deep breath and lightens her tone. “This place is nice. And clean.”
“High praise from someone who thinks I’m scruffy.”
“It was more of an evocative image than an accurate description.” She hesitates a beat. “Of course you aren’t scruffy.”
I was trying to lighten the mood, but given the circumstances, maybe that’s impossible. “This isn’t a dark thriller, Taylor.”
“I hope not.”
“Whoever it is, and whatever they want to achieve, they will be caught. As much as I don’t trust the leak on the FBI team—or whoever the leak is—I do trust the system. The process.”
“The FBI doesn’t always get their man,” she says darkly. “Sometimes people get away with awful things.”
I can’t tell her she’s wrong. She’s not.
She’s lived it.
“That can be tomorrow’s big question, okay? How about I show you your room so you can get some sleep.”
She nods, and I lead her up the stairs. The guest room is at the back of the house, overlooking the pool. It’s bachelor basic. The bed doesn’t even have a headboard, because I’ve never had a guest stay here until now.
“Here you go. Nobody’s slept on this bed in a couple of years. It used to be mine, and when I moved here, I got a new bed, so…you’re lucky I’ve got it. I don’t entertain a lot.”
“You don’t say.” She looks around the spartan space then drops her bag on the bed. I move in after her and set her suitcase against the wall.
When I turn around again, she’s holding the pill bottle she got from the hospital. Staring at it. Rolling it back and forth in her palm.
“Those the sleeping pills they prescribed?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to take them. You slept pretty well without them on the plane.”
Her head jerks up. “Yeah. I know.”
“You’ve been through a lot in the last two days.”
A weak laugh. Then a hard, jerking nod. “Yeah.”
“On the other hand, sleep is good, and if they’ll help…”
She takes a deep, ragged breath. “Sleep is where the mess in my brain can roam freely, though.”
I frown. “Do you have nightmares?”
A hesitation, then another nod. This one is nervous and little. “Yeah.”
“That’s okay. I’m here, just down the hall. I promise I won’t ever be gone while you’re asleep. And those may help.”
“Or they might trap me in the nightmare, and I won’t be able to wake up,” she whispers.
Fuck. “That sounds terrifying.”
“Yeah.” She breathes in and exhales slowly. “The only way to know is to try them.”
But she doesn’t move.
“Come here,” I say, reaching for her.
“What?” Her eyes go wide.
Jesus, has this woman never been hugged before? I hold my arms open. “It’s called a hug, Taylor. It’s a common way for one human being to comfort another. They feel good.”
“I—” She stutters to a stop. “Oh.”
“If you don’t want one, that’s—”
“Sorry,” she mutters softly. “I’m a bit of a mess.”
I drop my arms. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Nevermind me. Can I get you a glass of water for those pills? If you decide to take them.”
“Sure.”
I jog back downstairs and run the tap, hoping the sound of the water will drown out my groan of stupidity.
A hug? What the fuck was I thinking?
I’m not.
I need to realize I’m tired, too.
After filling a glass for her, I double-check the locks, the security system, and the camera feeds that go to my phone.
We’re all locked up tight for the night.
And when I get upstairs, Taylor is stretched out on top of her blanket, fast asleep.
I set the glass on the bedside table, turn out her light, and leave the door ajar before going to my own room.
16
Taylor
I don’t have a nightmare. I do have a panicky freakout for a second when I wake up, and I don’t know where I am—and when I do remember. It’s all very awful for a gross second before relief slides in. Limited, cautious relief.
I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
I don’t know who to trust. But I passed out in Luke’s house and he didn’t hurt me, so that’s something.
First order of business is having a shower. I feel disgusting.
I tiptoe out onto the landing. Downstairs, I hear Luke moving around in the kitchen. His house is small; he can probably hear me, too.
“Morning,” I call down.
He appears at the bottom of the stairs. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Bare feet. And a concerned expression. “Hey. How’d you sleep?”
No idea. So I don’t answer. “Can I take a shower?”
“Sure. There are fresh towels in there.”
I go back to the room I slept in and unzip my suitcase. Toiletries, new clothes. Maybe I can burn the ones I’ve worn for the last thirty-six hours.
Gross.
I stomp into the bathroom. So much for sleep being all that I needed to feel steady on my feet again. I’m angry, I realize. And then, with a start, other feelings pile in hard.
Grief has so many layers.
Tears are sliding down my face as I turn on the water. The part of my brain that is always a judgmental bitch notices how nice the bathroom is. Luke’s house is tiny, and his guest room has the decor of a prison cell, but this room is completely modern. And he didn’t buy most of these fixtures at a discount home store, either.
Count all the fancy shit, my brain screams. I try to guess at the cost of the mosaic tile, the marble floor, the European toilet. But I don’t get to the tub before the tears take over, blinding me, and I sink to my knees, letting my sorrow become one with the steamy spray.
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