He had only meant to offer her comfort, but suddenly the emotions rushing through him had gone way beyond that. His arms tightened around her waist. His lips skimmed her hair. She was standing very still in his arms, but he heard her breath quicken. A tremor coursed through her, and for a moment, neither of them said or did anything. They just stood there, letting the tension mount to an almost unbearable level.
And then slowly Taylor lifted her face to his.
Her eyes were startlingly clear, so lovely Dillon felt everything still inside him. His hand came up to caress her cheek, her hair, the back of her neck, and he felt her shiver again.
What am I doing? he thought. Why can’t I resist her?
Why couldn’t he remember how she’d once hurt him?
But it didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the way she was looking at him now.
“Dillon?” Her voice trembled with emotion. She reached up and stroked his cheek.
He closed his eyes as a wave of emotion washed over him. He lowered his mouth to hers and the moment their lips touched, Dillon’s heart exploded. Not with passion but with tenderness. With wonder. He was a cop who had witnessed the darkest side life had to offer, and yet he could still experience something this pure. This good.
This right.
The gentleness of the kiss stole Taylor’s breath away. She’d known the moment she’d first seen Dillon again that she was still wildly attracted to him. But she’d told herself she could control it. She could get past it.
But this was different.
This wasn’t passion. This was…
She wouldn’t allow herself to form the word in her mind. Because if she did, she’d realize how badly she wanted it to be true. Had always wanted it.
Dillon’s hands wove through her hair, tilting her head back as his mouth moved over hers, deepening the kiss. Taylor’s heart pounded inside her. The emotions storming through her were more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. More profound. She felt dazed, weak, overwhelmed.
She felt…loved.
Dillon lifted his lips from hers and Taylor laid her head against his chest. She could feel the uneven rhythm of his heart, and it thrilled her to know the kiss had affected him, as well. A deep sigh shuddered through her.
“I don’t know what to say.” His voice sounded shaken.
Taylor pulled back to gaze up at him. His eyes were soft and clear, his smile tender as he gazed down at her. Taylor felt everything inside her tremble. “Maybe words aren’t necessary.”
“Maybe not.”
When she would have moved away, he pulled her back against him. “Not just yet,” he murmured against her hair.
Taylor sighed as she melted against him. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“How did things go so wrong for us, Dillon? We had everything—”
“Shush. I don’t want to talk about the past. Not now.”
“But—”
“Taylor.” His hand swept down her hair. “In a few minutes, I’m going to have to tell you why I came over here. We’re going to be pulled back into the past whether we want to be or not. But right now, I don’t want to talk. I just want to hold you.”
Taylor smiled tremulously. “I want that, too.”
At that moment, she had never wanted anything as much.
BUT AN HOUR LATER, just as Dillon had promised, the past was very much with them again.
They were in Dillon’s car, crossing the Hernando DeSoto Bridge into Arkansas. Behind them, the lights along Riverside Drive shone in long, wavering beams against the river, while ahead of them the town of West Memphis crept toward the fringes of cotton and soybean fields, a rather plain stepsister to the more glamorous and somewhat more dangerous lady across the river.
Taylor turned to Dillon, studying his profile in the dim light from the dash. His features were set in a determined line, the tender moments they’d shared earlier long since forgotten. Or at least put aside for the moment because they had what they had been looking for for days. A lead.
As Dillon exited the freeway and turned down a street that took them passed the dog track, Taylor’s excitement mounted. What if they were about to learn what really happened the night their baby was born? What if they were about to discover the truth about their child?
“I know what you’re thinking.” Dillon spared her a brief glance. “But try not to get your hopes up, Taylor. This woman may not be able to tell us anything. She may have had nothing to do with sending you those clippings.”
Taylor nodded. “I know. But you don’t really believe that, or you wouldn’t have brought me with you. You would have just gone without me.”
Dillon lifted a hand from the steering wheel to massage the back of his neck. “If she is the one who sent you those articles and called you, then obviously she’s trying to tell you something. I thought she might be more receptive to you than to a Memphis cop.”
“I hope you’re right,” Taylor murmured. Using a flashlight, she located Lara Mendoza’s address on the key map and gave Dillon further directions. Then she turned and stared out the window, watching the streetlights fade away as they approached the edge of town.
Lara Mendoza lived in a run-down subdivision that had sprouted in the middle of a soybean field. The houses all looked alike, though some of them had been maintained better than others. The neighborhood was probably no more than fifteen years old, but the line of cars in varying degrees of disrepair parked against the curbs and the boat trailers hanging out of garages gave the whole area a disreputable look.
They turned down the street Lara Mendoza lived on, and Dillon slowed to a crawl, checking the faded addresses stenciled on the curbs. Some of the numbers were hidden by the parked cars, which made the search a little more difficult, but they finally located the house near the end of the dead-end street.
Dillon parked in the driveway and they got out. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the house wore an air of neglect. The concrete walkway to the front door was badly cracked and the flower beds overgrown with weeds. The curtains were tightly drawn at the front window, but a thin stream of light showed at the bottom.
The night was sticky hot. Taylor’s cotton blouse clung to her back as they approached the front door. She wondered if it was the heat or her nerves causing her to perspire so.
Dillon, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm. He rang the bell, then quickly checked the mailbox.
He pulled out two newspapers. One was a Miami paper, the other the New York Times. He stuffed them both back into the box, then rang the bell again.
“Maybe she’s not home.” Taylor glanced around, uneasy. Voices rose in an argument across the street, a car door slammed and a dog began to bark. The neighborhood suddenly seemed a very unfriendly place to be. Taylor shivered in spite of the heat.
Dillon reached out and rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still no answer.
“I’m going to have a look around back,” he said.
“I’m coming with you.” Taylor wasn’t about to wait behind. She followed Dillon around the side of the house, through the wooden gate that stood open and into the backyard.
The property lay in almost complete darkness, but Taylor could make out the silhouettes of the crepe myrtles lining the fence and a few pieces of lawn furniture scattered under a large tree. One of the chairs lay overturned, as if someone had bumped into it in the dark.
The night suddenly seemed unbearably still. Taylor glanced around. There was no breeze, no moon, no anything to break the deep, dark silence that fell over the yard.
And then off to the left, the bushes rustled. Taylor turned. At the same instant, something whizzed past her cheek with a curious humming sound. One of the bricks in the wall of the house behind her exploded.
Before Taylor had time to react, the hum sounded again and another brick exploded. Then another.
“Get down!” Dillon grabbed her arm and pulled her to the g
round, taking cover in the small, recessed area that served as a patio.
He pushed her behind him. “Stay down!” he whispered, whipping out his own gun.
Taylor’s heart hammered in her throat. Someone was shooting at them with a silenced gun. Someone was trying to kill them!
Crouched against the wall of the house, she scanned the darkness for the would-be killer. The window above her head shattered, showering her with bits of glass. Taylor screamed; Dillon bit out a curse.
He fired into the darkness, the report of his weapon cracking open the stillness of the night. Taylor lay on the concrete floor amidst the shards of glass and waited for the next round of bullets. After a few seconds, when none came, she crawled to the edge of the patio, her blood pounding in her ears.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
“He’s going over the fence,” Dillon said. “I’m going after him.”
At first Taylor saw nothing, but as she peered through the blackness, a dark shape took form just before he disappeared over the fence. Dillon was right behind him, leaping to the top of the fence, then down with a soft grunt of pain as his feet hit the ground on the other side.
Taylor sat down on the concrete patio in the darkness, wrapping her arms around her legs and trembling uncontrollably.
Someone had tried to kill them, and that someone was still out there, possibly waiting for Dillon.
DILLON FLUNG HIMSELF over the fence and tried not to think about the white-hot pain shooting through his knee. He concentrated instead on the dark figure several yards ahead of him, hurtling through the darkness.
A trash can went clanging to the ditch. Dogs barked like crazy in the backyards along the alley. Lights were coming on, and he heard someone holler, “Is that you out there, Josie? I’ll blow your friggin’ head off.”
Dillon ignored the warning as he plunged on through the darkness. Another fence was coming up, and he wasn’t sure his knee would hold out. “Stop! Police!” he yelled.
The figure stopped long enough to squeeze off another silenced round, then turned and easily leapt to the top of the fence, then over.
“Damn,” Dillon muttered, but he didn’t stop. He concentrated on his steps, tried to time it just right so he could use his momentum to scale the fence. He was up, over and landing with a soft thud that sent waves of jagged pain streaking through his knee.
He kept going. He was young, he had stamina, he could do it. He could catch him. They were on an open street now, sporadically lit by porch lights and street lamps. For the first time, Dillon got a good look at the shooter. He wore dark pants and a black, hooded sweat-shirt pulled up over his head. He was tall and slender, obviously in good physical condition. But he was tiring, and Dillon was gaining on him. Their steps pounded against the pavement.
“Police!” Dillon shouted again, though he hated to use any of his wind power. But if he had to use his weapon, he wanted to make damned sure he followed procedure. He’d be in enough hot water as it was, just being here.
They were off the main street again now, cutting through a yard back toward the alley. Another fence was coming up. Even the suspect had trouble getting over this one. He hung at the top for a minute, then rolled over, losing precious time.
Time Dillon intended to use to his advantage.
As he neared the fence, he took a deep breath, once again timing his stride. He made it to the top easily, but when he landed on the ground, his heel caught a rock and turned just enough to throw him off balance, shifting all his weight to the injured knee.
Dillon cursed as he fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Seconds later a door slammed somewhere up the street, an engine started up and then a car roared off into the night.
THE MOMENT TAYLOR SAW Dillon limping through Lara Mendoza’s backyard, she got up off the patio and hurried to him. “My God, you’re hurt. What happened? How bad is it?” She took his arm and helped him toward the house.
“I’m okay,” Dillon said. “It’s just an old injury acting up, but the suspect got away.”
“I didn’t know what to do.” Taylor bit her lip worriedly “I didn’t know whether to call the police or 9-1-1 or…what.”
“Obviously no one else did, either,” Dillon said dryly. If he’d expected to hear sirens screaming in the night, he would have been sorely disappointed. As it was, he felt only relief. “Let’s take a look around.”
“But…are you sure you’re okay?” Taylor said anxiously. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Later. I’d like to find Lara Mendoza first, find out why the hell someone at her house tried to kill us.”
“How did anyone know we would be here?”
“I don’t know. But I sure as hell intend to find out.”
The back door of the house had been left wide open, as if someone had left in a great hurry. Dillon walked over and drew his gun.
“I don’t like this.” Taylor glanced over her shoulder. She was still scared out of her wits from being shot at. From worrying about Dillon. “This always happens in the movies, and then you go inside and someone is always waiting for you. We’re not going inside, are we?”
“What do you think?” He stepped across the threshold. “Police!” he called again. “Anyone in here?”
Taylor followed close on his heels. The kitchen was dark, but as they walked through the door into the living area, a lamp shone from one of the end tables, illuminating the room in a pale, sickly glow. The carpet was green, faded and worn, and the walls were a dirty beige.
A wet bar with a dripping faucet occupied one corner of the room, while a TV blared from another. Dillon walked over and turned down the set.
Though the furniture had obviously seen better days, Taylor was surprised to see that the few pieces scattered throughout the room were of good quality, had once been quite elegant.
But what was even more surprising were the rows of newspapers, head high, stacked against one whole wall and overflowing into the hallway beyond. Lara Mendoza, if nothing else, was an avid reader.
“I don’t think we should be in here,” Taylor said. But she found herself heading for the newspapers. She rifled through one of the stacks, amazed to find papers from all over the country, and some from out of the country. She picked up a Spanish newspaper. Something had been clipped from the front page.
“Look.” She held up the newspaper for Dillon to see, but he’d already disappeared into another room. Taylor returned the paper to the stack. “Dillon?”
“In here.”
She followed him down the hallway. Light spilled from an open doorway and she saw Dillon glance in, then duck inside.
When she found him, he was kneeling down, his back to the door, examining something on the floor. Taylor moved into the room to get a better look.
Dillon said quickly over his shoulder, “Don’t come in here.”
“What is it?” She walked up behind him, then gasped, her hand flying to her heart.
The woman was lying crumpled on the floor, her knees bent at an odd angle and one arm flung wide. Her hair was long and black and matted, and the shapeless blue romper she wore was splashed with red. Above the elastic band of the romper, blood had recently gushed from the hole that had been blown in the woman’s chest. But the blood poured no longer.
“Oh, God.” Taylor’s stomach started to churn. She turned away, holding her hand to her mouth.
“Go back outside,” Dillon said. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”
“She’s…dead?” A shudder wracked Taylor, and for a moment the nausea rose to her throat. Waves of dizziness rolled over her, but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t leave the room as Dillon had instructed. In spite of the terror rushing through her, something held her to the spot, a kind of perverted fascination that drew her gaze to the floor again.
I won’t look at the body, Taylor thought weakly. I can’t.
But she did. She couldn’t help herself. And as her horrified stare fell on the woman’s pale face, recog
nition slowly dawned.
IT WAS HOURS before they were able to leave West Memphis. The police came, then the coroner, and both Taylor and Dillon were questioned extensively. Afterward, Taylor sat huddled on the sofa, numb with fear and shock as the officers moved methodically through the house, searching for evidence.
Although the officers who had responded to the call had seemed initially hostile toward Dillon—a cop from the big city intruding on their turf—their attitude had quickly changed to one of grudging respect, even though Dillon was several years younger. But the air of competence, of quiet confidence, that surrounded him commanded the officers’ respect, and Taylor saw the investigator assigned to the case defer to Dillon’s opinion more than once.
A thrill of pride raced through her. She had always felt a measure of regret and guilt that he had dropped out of law school, had thought of his career in law enforcement as a second choice for him. But it occurred to her now that Dillon liked being a cop and he was good at it. Very good.
He caught her staring at him and walked over to her and sat down. Grimacing, he straightened his leg as best he could. “We’re almost through here.” He glanced over his shoulder where the body, encased in a black plastic bag, was being wheeled toward the front door.
Taylor shuddered, averting her gaze. “I can’t believe she’s dead. She was our only lead.”
“At least now we know exactly what we’re dealing with,” Dillon said. “If someone was willing to commit murder to shut her up, they very well could have done it twice.”
Taylor glanced up. “Then you think Brad was murdered, too?”
“I wouldn’t bet against it. You said Lara Mendoza was one of the nurses in the delivery room with you the night our baby was born. She was also the one who handed you the newspaper clipping at Brad’s funeral, and probably the one who called you. She knew something, and she must have been trying to tell you.”
“But why not go to the police, if she suspected Brad was murdered? And if she knew about my baby being stolen, why wait until ten years later to get in touch with me?”
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 37