by Rita Herron
“Do you have definitive proof?” Taylor rasped.
“Yes, I can fax it over—”
“No, no, don’t do that.” She couldn’t chance anyone seeing the confidential information.
“Then we’ll meet in person.”
“Yes, that’s better.”
Footfalls clattered on the floor and Hayes appeared in the doorway, his brow furrowed.
What should she do now? She couldn’t tell Hayes—he despised her and Margaret’s lifestyle. How would he react if he learned Margaret had given him away? That her fortunes could be his own? That he could have grown up in Cantara Hills with so much more than he’d had?
And what about Margaret? How would she feel when she discovered the baby she’d given up, the one she’d pined for for years, the one she wanted to meet, was the brooding ranger who’d been staying in Cantara Hills? The man who was playing Taylor’s bodyguard and would be following her every day as Margaret planned her wedding to Devon Goldenrod?
Margaret’s father had assured her the child had been placed in a loving home, that the baby was better off being raised by two loving parents instead of a teenage girl, that he’d checked on him over the years and assured Margaret he’d led a picture-perfect life, that all his needs had been met and he’d wanted for nothing.
But he’d either been mistaken or he’d lied.
SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Taylor’s face had turned bone-white.
And as she disconnected the call, her hand trembled and she jammed it through her hair.
He had the oddest urge to pull her in his arms, to soothe her and assure her everything would be all right. But he remained rooted at the doorway, knowing if he did, he’d be crossing that invisible line that divided the two of them so distinctly in his mind. The one built by money and culture. “What’s wrong, Taylor?”
Her breath whispered out. “Nothing.”
He strode to her, then gripped her by the arms. “Then why do you look as if you just saw a ghost?”
She shook her head in denial, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I’m fine….”
He tipped her chin up with his thumb. “Then why won’t you look at me?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed, drawing his gaze to the slender column of her neck. Damn. Her skin looked so incredibly soft, and it would probably taste like sin.
He hadn’t tasted sin in a long time.
“What’s going on, Taylor? Who was that on the phone?”
“Nobody,” she said a little too quickly, rousing his curiosity even more.
“Don’t lie to me. You’re upset. Was it your brother or Sutton?”
Again she shook her head. “No, no, neither of them.”
His mouth thinned. “Someone who threatened you?”
She pulled away, rubbing her arms where he’d gripped them, and regret slammed into his stomach. Had he hurt her? Been holding her too roughly?
“No, nothing like that.” She paced to the Palladian window and stared outside. Night was falling, shades of gray slanting in shadows across the manicured lawn. He felt himself falling into those shades of gray himself, wanting to be her friend, to take care of her, when he needed to keep her at a distance just to guard himself.
“Taylor, it’s my job to protect you and find out who tried to kill you,” he said as much to remind himself as to convince her to talk. “I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me. Tell me what’s going on.”
When she turned to him, her eyes glittered with wariness and other emotions he couldn’t read. “The call was personal business, Hayes. I swear, it had nothing to do with the attack on me.”
“Maybe you should tell me and let me decide.”
She shook her head. “No…it’s not important, just some news about an old friend that took me off guard.”
He narrowed his eyes, searching her face for the truth. But all he saw were lies.
Dammit, just when he’d begun to halfway think she was different from the other rich girls, that she was someone he could trust and like, she proved him wrong.
TAYLOR HATED TO LIE TO HAYES, but she couldn’t very well confide the truth. Not now.
Not yet.
She had to talk to Margaret first. This was Margaret’s secret to share, not hers. And Margaret would have to decide how she wanted to handle the situation, if and when she wanted to tell Hayes about his birth.
Worry knotted her insides, and she knew she had to escape. Hayes’s look of disappointment ripped at her conscience. Relinquishing her privacy for a bodyguard was difficult enough, but trusting him with her emotions and Margaret’s secret was impossible.
Men just wanted money or sex, not love.
Although Hayes seemed to want none of them from her….
But occasionally she noticed a spark of sexual interest flare in his eyes. Desire that he quickly hid.
Disturbed by his presence even more now after learning he was Margaret’s son, she rushed to the sink to clean up from their meal. She needed to do something, keep busy, to occupy her confused mind and prevent her from acting on her raging hormones.
As she began to gather the dinner plates, he took them from her. “You cooked. I clean up. That was the rule at my house.”
Her heart squeezed. “You’re not there anymore,” she said, feeling the slow burn of tears sting her eyes. He should never have been in that home, never suffered, felt unwanted….
His jaw tightened. “Taylor, look at me.” His voice was so gruff that a tingle rippled through her. She didn’t want to see the pain of his past in his eyes.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “Let me take care of the kitchen, and you lie down.”
“I’m fine,” she said, although her protests sounded feeble to her own ears. She wanted to make him see that Margaret loved him and regretted giving him up, so everything would be all right.
Then she’d hold him and kiss him, and feel his lips on hers all night.
“No, you’re not fine,” he said more gently. “You just came home from the hospital this morning, and it’s been a stressful day. Go on to bed.”
His dark brooding gaze raked over her, and for a second, they connected again, and heat flickered in his eyes. She didn’t want to go to bed alone. Was afraid she’d dream about that man trying to strangle her in her swimming pool.
But she couldn’t ask Hayes to comfort her. Not when the secret she carried lay lodged in her throat like a rock. So she nodded, then disappeared up the steps.
Inside her room, she paced like an animal, her nerves tightening her throat, making it impossible to breathe. She was so agitated she couldn’t sleep.
She had to know for certain that the information the private investigator had was correct. Tomorrow she and Margaret planned to meet for lunch to discuss wedding plans. If she had the proof in hand, then she could decide whether or not to show Margaret at the time.
She grabbed her cell phone and punched in the detective’s number. She’d sneak out tonight, meet him and get that proof. Then she’d decide what to do with it.
HAYES LOADED THE DISHWASHER, his mouth watering over the delicious meal Taylor had prepared, his mind chasing suspicions about why the phone call had disturbed her. Who had been on the phone? Was she lying about the news pertaining to an old friend?
Maybe an old boyfriend had called?
For some reason that thought disturbed him, but when he’d asked her earlier if she had a boyfriend who might want to harm her, she’d denied it vehemently.
Hell, if the caller had phoned in on the landline, he could check the number for himself.
He needed to win her trust so he could extract the truth.
He finished stowing the dishes, then phoned Egan.
Two rings later, Egan answered. “How’s it going babysitting the princess?”
He’d used that expression before himself, but hearing Egan say it grated on his nerves. “Fine. Did you hear anything from trace on the crime scene last night?”
“That hair you f
ound belonged to Tammy Sutton.”
“Hell, that doesn’t do us much good. Taylor said Tammy is over here all the time. In fact, all our major players have been in this house for charity functions and other reasons during the past few weeks.”
“I know, it’s frustrating,” Egan said. “What about you? You come up with anything?”
“We had a chat with Miles Landis. The punk is so spoiled he thinks his daddy will bail him out no matter what he does.”
“I’m sure his daddy would,” Egan said.
“Yeah, but if Miles tried to kill Taylor, he’s not getting away with it.”
“Did he have an alibi?”
“No,” Hayes replied. “Claimed he was at the clubs, got drunk and passed out.”
“Sounds like his routine,” Egan said. “What about Sutton?”
“Sutton insists he was at a meeting until eight. Then he went home to the loving wife. So far his story checks out, but his wife is his alibi, so who knows?”
Egan barked a laugh. “Yeah, she loves money and power and knows how to obtain both.”
“Right. Either way, if Sutton is our man, I don’t see us turning Tammy.” Another dead end. Hayes explained about Margaret Hathaway’s upcoming wedding and Taylor’s involvement.
“So I guess you’ll be shopping for bridesmaid’s dresses and flowers with Taylor,” Egan said on a roar of laughter.
Hayes grimaced. Spending any time with Taylor and these country club women was torture, but to look at bridal stuff sucked big-time.
And Margaret Hathaway…something about that woman had thrown him off balance. She’d stood up to him just like Taylor had—in fact, he could see why they were friends. Both were attractive glitzy women with wealth and…dedicated to charity work. So were Victoria Kirkland and Caroline Stallings, two more Cantara Hills residents, and the women Brody and Egan had fallen for.
Frustrated, he hung up and paced the living area, itching to know who Taylor had talked to earlier and why she had withheld information from him.
Muscles coiled with tension, he checked the security system, then stretched out on the sofa, hoping to catch some sleep. The night before he certainly hadn’t, not in that hospital room where Taylor lay a few feet away.
He closed his eyes and was about to doze off when the sound of a car engine sputtering to life startled him. It was Taylor’s car.
Dammit, she was sneaking out. Where in the hell was she going this late at night?
He raced to the door to stop her, but he heard the automatic garage door shutting, and realized it was too late.
Maybe she had a secret lover she hadn’t told him about and she’d gone to meet him. Or maybe the killer had phoned her for a rendezvous.
Anger railed inside him as he hurried to his car to follow her.
TAYLOR FELT LIKE A THIEF sneaking out in the night as she revved up her ice-blue Mercedes convertible and sped toward the private detective’s office in SanAntonio. Traffic was mild for the night, but the temperature had skyrocketed, the heat making her clothes stick to her skin. Still, she loved the freedom riding with the top down offered. A slight breeze tossed her hair around her face, then she noticed headlights zooming closer on her tail.
Was someone following her?
Nerves fluttered in her stomach, and she considered turning around or calling Hayes. But what could she tell him? That she was going to meet a private investigator about him?
As she rounded a curve, she noticed the car had fallen back several hundred yards. Relief surged through her. But she continued to check until she reached the city and the private detective’s office. The building was nondescript and dark, except for a low light burning through a darkly tinted window. Her breath tight in her chest, she hurried to the door. Morris had promised he’d wait on her, so she knocked, then eased inside.
The door screeched and the inside light flickered off. Then a shot rang out, glass shattered from the front window and spewed across the room.
Taylor dove to the floor and screamed, crawling on her hands and knees behind the desk just as another bullet hit the carpet beside her.
Chapter Eight
Hayes heard the gunfire, removed his weapon from his shoulder holster and eased up to the door of the P.I.’s office. What in the hell was going on? Who was firing?
Was Taylor hit?
Darkness shrouded the interior and he inched inside, pausing to scan the shadows. The sound of choppy breathing echoed in the silence, mingling with his own raging heart, and he searched the darkness again but saw nothing.
Outside, a car engine screeched to life, tires squealing as the vehicle lurched from the curb. He ran to the door, but all he could discern were the taillights of a dark sedan spinning around the corner.
He wanted to chase after it, but had to find Taylor. Hurrying back to the door, once again he scanned the office interior.
“Oh, God…”
“Taylor?”
She peeked from behind the desk, her silhouette a trembling shadow against the faint streetlight slanting through the blinds. “Hayes?”
“Yeah, are you all right?”
A whimper tore from her throat. “Yes, is he gone?”
“Yeah.” Anger and fear knotted his insides, and he crossed the room to her, his boots clacking on the floor.
“Hayes,” Taylor whispered, “there’s a b-body here.”
He glanced down at her feet and spotted a man sprawled behind the desk. The scent of blood and death rose to greet him, but he felt for a pulse. “It’s too late,” he said with a curse.
She whimpered in shock, and he grabbed her, pulling her away from the corpse. “What happened, Taylor?”
“I came in, but someone started shooting.” Her voice broke, the horror of finding the man evident as a sob escaped her.
Gritting his teeth, he dragged her into his arms, pressed her head against his shoulder and soothed her. “Shh, it’s okay.”
“No…” she whispered. “He’s dead.”
“I know, but you’re all right,” he said, his own breathing choppy as he moved her to a chair in the corner and eased her into it. “I have to call it in, Taylor.”
She nodded against him, clinging to his shirt, and he held her tighter, well aware of his heart pounding in his chest. If something had happened to her…
No, he couldn’t think like that. Taylor hadn’t been hit.
On the heels of fear, anger shot through him. Before he called it in, he had to know what had happened, why she was meeting a P.I. in the night.
“You know this man?” he asked gruffly.
Her body stiffened, and he searched her face. “Who is he, Taylor? Why did you sneak out to meet him?”
“His name is Morris,” she said feebly.
“He’s a private investigator?”
She nodded, averting her gaze to stare at the body, and he trapped her face between his hands. “What were you doing here?”
Her breath rushed out, but she didn’t answer.
“Taylor,” he said more harshly. “Answer me. What’s going on?”
She clamped her teeth over her bottom lip, shaking her head as if to deny him, and pure rage knotted his insides.
“Listen to me,” he rasped. “Someone tried to kill you last night, and you’re in my custody. If you’re in some kind of trouble, if you know why someone wants you dead, you have to tell me.”
“I really don’t know,” she said in a low voice.
“Why were you meeting this P.I.?” he asked again, more demanding this time.
“I can’t tell you that,” she said.
He released her abruptly, furious. “Why not?”
“Because it’s personal,” she cried.
“Is it business? Related to your father’s foundation?” He hesitated. “Or personal as in a lover you forgot to mention?”
Her head moved from side to side, her face pale in the dim light. “No, nothing like that. It’s…not about me.”
“Then tell me,” he shout
ed.
A strained second passed between them. “I can’t,” she finally said, then turned away from him and folded her arms around herself as if to shut him out completely.
Frustrated and furious with her, he phoned Egan to explain the situation.
“I’ll get a crime unit there,” Egan said. “Find out why Taylor Landis needed that P.I.”
“I will,” he said. Although he didn’t know how he’d do that. She’d clammed up and was refusing to talk.
But this was the second time in two days she’d nearly died. And judging from the timing of their little midnight rendezvous, this man’s death had to be related to her visit.
TAYLOR TREMBLED, THE SIGHT of the blood pooling beneath Morris’s chest so vivid that nausea rippled through her.
Did his death have something to do with the information he’d revealed to her on the phone? If so, she had to confide in Hayes and the police. But her loyalty lay with her best friend.
Fear clogged her throat. Hayes’s face was a mask of fury as he greeted the crime scene unit, medical examiner and a local unit.
CSI began to process the scene, dusting for fingerprints, looking for trace evidence, and Hayes and a local officer approached her.
“Miss Landis, I’m Lieutenant Riley. Ranger Keller said that you and he found the body.”
Hayes’s gaze met hers, and she realized that he’d implied they’d arrived together. Her mind raced with how to answer, but she simply nodded.
“What were you doing here this time of night?” Lieutenant Riley asked.
She glanced at Hayes again, his jaw tense as he waited on her reply. “Mr. Morris called me and said that he had some information he wanted to give me.”
“What kind of information?” he asked.
She chewed the inside of her cheek. “He didn’t get a chance to give it to me.”
“Was he working for you?” the lieutenant asked.
Again she hedged. Technically the investigation was for Margaret. “No.”
His brow furrowed, and Hayes’s eyes flickered with questions.
“Was he blackmailing you?” Lieutenant Riley asked.
She shook her head. “No. Like I said, he phoned me and said he had information to give me. When I arrived, someone shot at me. I ducked behind the desk and that’s when I found his b-body.”