“Did you find anything?”
Dillon shook his head. “If I’d been the investigating officer, given the same evidence, I would have come to the same conclusion. There’s no reason to believe Brad’s death was anything other than suicide.”
“What about the clippings?” Taylor shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “How can you explain those?”
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He started to take a bite of his chili, then put the spoon back down. “Is there anyone you can think of who might be doing this to you? For any reason?”
Taylor frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, do you have any enemies, someone who might want to hurt you, mess with your head? It could be anyone. An irate parent of one of your students, a jilted boyfriend, anyone.” His dark gaze studied her.
Taylor’s scowl deepened. “No. No. There’s no one like that.”
“What about Brad’s mother? You said she blamed you for his death.”
“Well, yes,” Taylor admitted, feeling a little quiver of apprehension in her stomach. She didn’t like the tone of this conversation. Dillon seemed to be getting sidetracked from the real issue at hand. “She made a scene at the funeral, but that didn’t have anything to do with the newspaper articles.”
“Has she done anything else? Threatened you in any way?”
Taylor hesitated. “Not really.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s been…an incident or two.”
“Like what?”
“Like hang-up calls in the middle of the night. Once I thought I saw her car parked down the street from my house. Things like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t think it was important.” Taylor paused, then said, “Look, I’ll admit her behavior has made me a little nervous during the past couple of weeks, but I still don’t think she has anything to do with the clippings. If Deirdre blames me for Brad’s suicide, why would she send me a newspaper article about a suicide that turned out to be a murder?”
“Maybe it’s a subtle kind of message,” Dillon suggested.
“Meaning I’m the murderer? I see what you mean.” Taylor bit her lip, not willing to be persuaded so easily. “But what about the other two clippings? What would baby-swapping have to do with Deirdre’s animosity toward me?”
Dillon took a swallow of his beer. “I don’t know. Unless she’s trying to make you think your baby didn’t die at birth. Like I said, maybe she’s just trying to mess with your mind. Make you believe—then take it away.”
Taylor stared at him in shock. “My God. Could anyone really be that cruel?”
Dillon nodded, his expression grim. “I’ve seen what death, especially a suicide, can do to the family members left behind. Some people can’t handle it. Their own guilt makes them look for someone else to blame. Sometimes they go completely off the deep end.”
“I think I see where you’re headed.” Taylor shoved aside her coffee. “You don’t want to pursue the investigation, do you?”
“I told you before, it’s not my investigation to pursue. I said I’d do some checking unofficially and I have. Based on what I’ve learned—”
“You’ve decided not to believe me.”
Dillon dragged his fingers through his hair. “It’s not a matter of believing you. We don’t have any evidence, Taylor. Nothing concrete to go on.”
“I see.” Taylor gathered up her purse and stood. She planted her hands on the table and leaned toward him, anger pulsing through her. “You can bury your head in the sand if you want to, Dillon, but it isn’t going to change things. Our child is alive whether you want to believe it or not. He’s out there somewhere, and I intend to find him. With or without your help.”
She turned and all but ran out of the restaurant. Even when she heard him call her name, Taylor didn’t stop. She had to get away from him, had to be alone, had to figure out why he found it so hard to accept the fact that they had a child together. And that the child was alive.
Was he afraid of being tied to her? Afraid she would expect more from him than he was willing to give?
Why did he have to make things so difficult? Why couldn’t he see that she was right about this?
Blinded by angry tears, Taylor stepped off the curb. As she crossed the street, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
The car came out of nowhere. The headlights were off and the street was dark. Even when Taylor heard the engine revving and looked up, she didn’t immediately see the vehicle. It was almost upon her before she realized she was standing in the middle of the street, and a car was speeding toward her.
Chapter Seven
Fear froze her.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. As if trapped in a nightmare, Taylor stood paralyzed, staring at the car racing toward her.
From a distance, she heard someone yell, “Look out!”
But she still couldn’t move. Her heart pounded in disbelief. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.
At the last possible moment, some remote instinct for survival took over and she started to run, but something hit her in the back and sent her flying through the darkness to land with a hard smack against the pavement.
Death roared by only a breath away. Tires screamed as the driver took a curve without slowing and disappeared into the night. Then all was quiet.
Taylor lay facedown on the street. For a terrifying moment, she thought the car must have hit her. She couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Panic rose inside her. How badly was she hurt? Why couldn’t she move her arms and legs?
Then suddenly a weight was lifted from her, and she realized that someone had been lying on top of her. That same someone was calling her name tenderly, over and over.
Taylor tried to get up, but Dillon’s hands gently turned her over. “Easy now,” he said. “We’d better see if any-thing’s broken.”
Taylor became aware of his hands moving over her arms and legs. She still couldn’t believe what had almost happened. “That car tried to run me down,” she said.
“No shi—uh, tell me something I don’t know.” Dillon examined her palms and whistled. “Your hands and knees got the worst of it. Other than that, you seem to be okay. How do you feel?”
“Like I was almost hit by a car.”
He gave a relieved little laugh. “At least you can still joke about it.”
“To keep from crying,” she assured him. She glanced up. “You saved my life.”
“You would have gotten out of the way in time.”
“I froze. I couldn’t move. It was like a dream. If you hadn’t pushed me out of the way—”
He shrugged. “Forget it. I did what I’ve been trained to do. Let’s not make more of it than it was. Can you sit up?”
Taylor struggled to rise, aware of Dillon’s arm around her, supporting her. She wished his arm didn’t feel quite so strong and sturdy. Quite so familiar.
She wished her heart would slow down, now that the danger was over. But Taylor had the sudden thought that, for her at least, the danger was just beginning.
When she looked at Dillon, her pulse raced even faster. I can’t let this happen, she thought. I can’t let myself feel anything for him.
But he was so close and the memories were so strong. He’d once meant everything to her and he’d just saved her life. How could she fight that?
Several people had come out of the restaurant to gather around them, and Taylor thought it was probably a good thing they weren’t alone. She was glad she didn’t have to put her shaky resolve to the test.
“Did anyone see anything?” Dillon called out.
One man stepped forward. “The license plate was missing on the car. I happened to notice because I was just getting out of my truck—” he turned to point down the block “—when the car came around the corner. I saw that the lights were off, so I tried to get the driver’s
attention. When he just sped up, I glanced down and saw that the license plate was gone.”
“You said the driver was a he,” Dillon said. “Did you get a look at him?”
The man hesitated. “Actually, I guess it could have been a woman. The windows were tinted, and with the lights off, I couldn’t see inside.”
“Did you notice what kind of car it was?”
The man scratched his head. “I think it was a BMW. Or maybe a Mercedes. Dark blue or black.”
“Anything else?”
The man shrugged. “No, that was it. It all happened too fast. Hey, shouldn’t we call the police or something? It looked to me like the guy was trying to hit her.” He nodded toward Taylor, and she felt a nasty shiver creep over her.
Dillon pulled back his sport coat to reveal the shield clipped to the waist of his jeans. “I’m Sergeant Reeves. Did anyone else see anything?”
When no one came forward, Dillon took down the man’s name, then broke up the crowd. He turned back to Taylor. “Maybe I’d better drive you to the hospital.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. It was just a fall. The car didn’t touch me, thanks to you.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but then he shrugged. “All right, I’ll take you home. You’re not in any shape to drive. We’ll have someone pick up your car later.”
Taylor nodded gratefully. She was much too shaky to get behind the wheel. Reaction was setting in, and the thought of being home, safe and sound, was irresistible. Her knees were starting to hurt and her palms stung like wildfire. Stiffly she allowed Dillon to lead her across the street and help her into his car.
He gave her a long once-over as she slid into the front seat. “You may feel okay now, but trust me, tomorrow you’ll feel like hell.”
TAYLOR ALREADY FELT like hell and it wasn’t even morning. It was just a few minutes later, and she was sitting on her couch, staring at her raw hands. Her knees still hurt, too, and her head throbbed. But she couldn’t seem to muster enough energy to go into the bathroom and dig out the first-aid kit. All she could do was sit there on her couch and shiver.
Someone wanted her dead.
The words were like a mantra inside her head, echoing over and over through her mind until she wanted to cover her ears and scream.
Someone had deliberately tried to kill her tonight.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as it all came rushing back to her. Every nuance of the terror and disbelief she’d felt the moment that darkened car had come out of the night, racing straight for her.
If it hadn’t been for Dillon, she’d be dead right now.
She couldn’t stop shaking. She reached for a throw pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest, wondering if she would ever feel safe again. Ever since Brad’s death, strange things had been happening to her.
Taylor took a deep breath and let it out. She’d refused to make the connection until now, but there it was. Brad’s death. Everything that had occurred to her in the past few days all came back to her husband’s suicide. Only now, she was more certain than ever that Brad hadn’t taken his own life. Someone had killed him because of something he knew.
And now that someone wanted to kill Taylor before she found out what it was.
She closed her eyes as the terror replayed itself over and over in her mind.
After a few minutes, she heard Dillon hang up the phone in the kitchen, and then his footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor as he walked back out to the living room. She looked up and their gazes touched.
In spite of all that she’d been through—or maybe because of it—a spark of awareness flashed through her. His dark hair was all mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it several times in the past few minutes. Taylor hadn’t really noticed earlier what he’d been wearing, but now she took it all in—the jeans and the white collarless shirt that looked incredibly soft and inviting. Comforting.
Taylor wanted that comfort now. She wanted him to take her in his arms, so that she could press her cheek to that softness.
But it was never going to happen and she knew it. The past would always be between them.
Dillon sat down in an armchair, a safe distance away, and steepled his fingers beneath his chin as he studied her in the lamplight. “How are you feeling?”
“Not bad, considering.” She held up her palms. “My hands sting a little.”
“Do you want me to put something on them for you?”
Taylor wanted it more than anything. But she shook her head. “I’ll do it myself in a minute.”
One of those electric silences fell between them. It seemed so strange to have Dillon here in her house. To have his sport coat thrown so casually over the back of her sofa.
With a start, Taylor realized that, other than repairmen and deliverymen, Dillon was the first male she’d invited into her home. Maybe that’s why his presence in her living room seemed so dominating. So overpoweringly masculine.
“Do you want me to call Miranda for you?”
Taylor looked up at him. “Why?”
He shrugged, not quite meeting her gaze. “She could come over and stay with you. You probably shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Meaning he had no intention of staying any longer than was necessary. Taylor read him loud and clear. She said coolly, “No, thank you. I’m meeting her for supper later, so I’d better get myself cleaned up. She’ll be upset if I don’t show.”
“Still jumping through Miranda’s hoops, Taylor?”
Anger flared inside her, but before she had time to respond, Dillon held up his hand. “Sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
Dillon and Miranda had never gotten along. Taylor used to feel like the rope in their endless game of tug-of-war.
She said wearily, “If you don’t want to drive me over there, I can always call a cab.”
“I don’t mind driving you. Taylor—” He hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think we need to talk about what happened tonight. You were almost killed.”
She raised her blue eyes to meet his, and something drifted through Dillon. A memory as elusive as it was precious.
He had always felt a powerful need to protect Taylor. He felt that need now. Felt an almost irresistible urge to pull her into his arms and hold her until that frightened, haunted look faded from her eyes.
But he wouldn’t.
He would keep his hands to himself even if it killed him. And at that moment, Dillon thought that it just might. He had never wanted to touch anyone as badly as he wanted to touch Taylor.
“Is there any chance…it could have been an accident?”
“With the lights off?” Dillon shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His words sent a shiver of dread up his own spine. The thought of someone deliberately out to get Taylor made him break out in a cold sweat. “Tell me everything Deirdre Robinson has been doing to you. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Then…you think she might have been the one driving the car tonight?”
“I don’t know. But I want you to tell me everything you can about her.”
Taylor hesitated for a moment, as if she were going to refuse, then to Dillon’s relief, she nodded. “Like I told you earlier, she blames me for Brad’s death. She…threatened me at his funeral, and since then, I’ve been getting a lot of hang-up calls in the middle of the night. Once I thought I saw her car parked down the street from my house.” She faltered again, pressing her hand to her throat. “A few days ago someone vandalized my car at school.”
“Vandalized it how?”
“The tires were slashed,” she said, her voice quivering.
“Why haven’t you reported any of this?”
“I thought she’d stop. I thought she would finally give up and get on with her life. But she seems so obsessed…”
Dillon could see the growing terror in Taylor’s eyes, and he wished he could just leave her alone, let her try to forget what had happened tonight. But he couldn’t. She’d almost been ki
lled, and he knew he wouldn’t rest until he found out who was responsible. Until he made sure it never happened again. “What kind of car does Deirdre drive?”
Taylor lifted her gaze to meet his. “A BMW,” she said. “I think it’s dark blue.”
WHILE TAYLOR CLEANED herself up and changed for dinner, Dillon wandered around her living room. He couldn’t help thinking how very different this house was from the one she’d grown up in.
When Dillon had thought about Taylor over the years—and he’d tried very hard not to think about her—he’d pictured her in her mother’s huge mansion on Tamarind Street. That image had always served to remind him of the fool he’d once been, harboring delusions that someone like him could have someone like her.
Dillon had learned a lot from that experience. He knew his place in life now, and he was comfortable with it. He certainly wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Absently he picked up a framed photograph on Taylor’s piano and studied it. The picture was of Taylor flanked by a group of kids all wearing Claymore Academy T-shirts.
Dillon was familiar with Claymore, a ritzy private school located in the heart of midtown that catered almost exclusively to the offspring of Memphis’s elite.
Taylor had probably gone there herself.
“Those are some of my students,” she said from the doorway.
Dillon, still holding the photograph, turned. He glanced up.
And caught his breath.
She’d changed into a soft, floral dress of some airy fabric that floated around her legs as she walked across the room toward him. She’d removed the clasp from her hair, and the blond tresses fell softly past her shoulders, gleaming like polished gold in the lamplight.
The high heels she’d worn earlier were gone, too, replaced by a pair of delicate beige sandals that bared most of her feet and enhanced the light pink polish on her toenails.
Blushing slightly, as if aware of his perusal, she took the photograph from him and studied it.
“It’s hard to imagine you as a teacher,” he said. “You always wanted to be an artist.”
“Things don’t always work out the way you want them to.” Taylor shrugged. “I wanted to be an artist and you wanted to be a lawyer. Look at us now.” She turned and set the photograph on the piano behind her. The scent of her perfume, a light, floral fragrance with just a hint of something deeper, drifted up to him. “I’m a guidance counselor and you’re a police detective. Not bad choices, considering. Maybe things worked out for the best.”
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 27