Last Man Standing

by Julie Miller

  Not bad. She’d been at the estate fewer than twenty-four hours and she already had the family pegged.

  “You’re selling them out,” she added.

  Selling out. Cole plunged his hands into his pockets and straightened. It hadn’t been an accusation so much as an observation. She had him pegged, too. As far as the world knew, he’d sold out his family, his fellow cops, even his hometown to work for Jericho. Two years of living the lie had blurred his memories of the truth.

  He did love the vintage cars and the slick suits. But he’d loved his family and friends more. He’d loved being a detective. He’d been trained by his former partner, A. J. Rodriguez, the best UC man on the force. Now Cole was so damn good at blending in with the bad guys that it felt as if he was betraying both sides of the law.

  And now he was using Victoria to do it.

  “You call it selling out. I call it survival.” He turned away and grasped the railing to peer out into the night. The trees were thick beyond the water’s edge, broken only by the stone picnic pavilion on the far side of the lake and the road that wound through the park. “Jericho’s sick. He wants me to do two things before he dies. One is find out who murdered his son. The other is find out who’s killing him.”

  “Killing him? As in ongoing?” Her body stilled. Then she joined him at the railing. “That doesn’t make any sense.” The sarcasm was gone. This was real curiosity, real concern talking. “You know someone is plotting to kill him? I read about a shoot-out at a private clinic up in Liberty a couple of weeks ago. Jericho’s chauffeur, a suspected hit man and an orderly were killed. Do you know who’s behind it? Is that what you want me to tell Rodriguez?”

  Cole had no desire to relive that particular morning. He wondered if he was sharing too much, if he was foolishly giving this woman more inside information than he held over her head. But the park was empty, the night was calm, and the only sounds were the lapping of the water against the concrete pylons beneath them and Victoria’s strong, steady breathing beside him.

  The moment almost felt…real.

  Separated from the world by moonlight and shadows, he felt as if he could slide his hand across the railing and hold on to hers. As if he’d find solace taking her in his arms again. As if, like any normal man, he had a woman, a partner who wanted to listen, who wanted to comfort. Who saw something worth loving inside him.

  The man in him, who’d been separated too long from the real things in life, kept right on talking. “The doctor at the clinic did some bloodwork. Jericho’s being poisoned. Something slow-acting but cumulative in his system.”

  “Like lead or other heavy metals that build up to toxic levels?”

  Her knowledge impressed him. “Exactly. Except this is something new. Undetectable until he’d ingested enough to damage his heart and lungs. We can treat the symptoms, but the doctor says it’s too late to reverse the deterioration of healthy tissue.”

  He could feel her looking at him now. He imagined her polite curiosity was compassion.

  “How long does he have?”

  Not long enough. If Cole did manage to bring down Jericho, the old man wouldn’t do any time—he’d probably be dead before the arraignment was over. And the hell of it was, Cole was half afraid he was going to miss the guy when he was gone.

  Maybe she misread his heavy pause, mistook confusion for sadness. Whatever the cause, her soft sigh was like a balm to his shattered soul.

  “It’s that bad?”

  “A matter of weeks, days maybe…who knows. It’s a synthetic toxin, one the doctor hasn’t seen before. Probably from out-country. He’s working on an antidote, but…” Cole had a feeling that looking at Victoria would involve the urge to touch her. And without an audience to justify putting on a show, he didn’t want to risk spoiling this tenuous truce between them.

  So he was half glad when a nondescript black sedan rounded the corner and splashed through a puddle before pulling into the pavilion parking lot across the lake. It was too far away to get a bead on the license plate or passengers. Since he didn’t recognize the car itself, he didn’t overreact. He pushed away from the railing, checked the Glock at his side, and kept his eye on the car until it disappeared from view.

  “Once I expose the killers, I’ll be a marked man. I thought I’d be smart and try to have the law on my side to protect me. Once Jericho’s gone, I won’t have an ally to trust inside that house.”

  “Someone in his own family is poisoning him?”

  Cole nodded. He’d restricted Jericho’s activities enough to narrow the source at least that much. And there was certainly no shortage of motives when it came to taking over a multimillion-dollar empire. Beyond that, he’d need access to a lab to pinpoint how the poison was being administered.

  “Now do you see why I need your help?”

  Victoria looked him straight in the eye, the mood broken. “How do you know you can trust me?”

  He didn’t. It was more a case of ruling out everyone else he knew he couldn’t trust. “My gut, sweetheart. And a little bit of logic. You’re after something. Something you want badly enough that you’re willing to do this for me instead of being exposed as a fraud.”

  Her fingers flexed and coiled into fists. She was moving again. “I’m not sure willing is the right word. But I’ll do it.”

  “Good.” He fell into step a few paces behind her as they headed back toward the parking pull-off near the entrance to the deck. Nice view. Side to side. High and tight. He’d liked it naked, too. Of course, the ultimate turn-on would be to see it live and naked. Lowlife. Cole could think of a dozen worse names to fit his perverted obsession with Victoria Westin.

  He tipped his face to the stars and shook his head, calling down some bad-ass attitude to replace the tender cravings and provocative fantasies that were wreaking havoc on his common sense.

  “If word of what we’ve discussed tonight gets back to Jericho or anyone else—”

  “I’ve got your back.” She halted abruptly. “I’m assuming you’ll guarantee the same—”

  “Whoa—” Cole skidded, unable to stop himself from plowing into her as she spun around. Automatically, his hands shot out to grab her arms above the elbows to keep her from falling.

  Her startled gasp blended with his hasty apology. Her hands landed on his biceps as slingshot momentum carried her back into him. Her grip tightened convulsively and she caught herself just shy of making full contact. A wisp of her hair fanned across his chin and that light, fresh scent she wore filled his nose. It was pure sex and all lady and damn appealing. They froze in that mock embrace, her gaze riveted on his mouth with the same longing she’d denied in the hall outside Jericho’s office. Her pupils dilated and every yearning instinct in Cole’s body wanted to give her exactly what her sweetly parted lips silently asked for.

  He heard his own voice as a husky whisper in the night. “I’ve got your back, babe.”

  They stood close enough to feel the heat of her searing his chest and arousing points well south of his belt buckle. Cole wasn’t inclined to move away.

  But she was. A quick shove and she was beyond his reach. Her abrupt retreat was as effective and insulting as a slap in the face.

  “My legs will cramp up if I don’t keep moving. Good night, Mr. Taylor.”

  Man, she had burn-hot-and-blow-cold down to an art form. If she bolted every time that flash-fire chemistry ignited between them, they’d never fool anyone with their charade. Forget the havoc it was playing with his ego, his conscience and every male hormone in his body.

  She’d already reached the sidewalk, putting a good fifteen feet between them.

  “Victoria!” She turned and jogged in place. He wished he knew the magic words to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face. But then, he didn’t suppose he’d earned a friendly smile. “At least let me give you a ride.”

  “No.”

  “It’s late. Let me drive you so I don’t worry.”

  “Your worry is your problem, Taylor.
”

  “It’s Cole,” he corrected, wondering if she got some kind of thrill out of butting heads. “You’d better get used to saying it so you don’t slip in front of an audience.”

  “I won’t slip. And you should call me Tori. Keep your babe’s and sweetheart’s and worries to yourself.”

  COLE WATCHED TORI JOG around the arc of the lake, fading into the shadows and reappearing like a wraith as she passed through each circle of light from a street lamp. When his weary thoughts turned to what else those strong, toned legs could do, he knew it was time to hit the road.

  He climbed behind the wheel of the cherry-red Mustang and started the engine. The prowling hum of the motor reminded him of one extremely stubborn redhead. Though Tori’s confident pace would get her back to the house in fifteen minutes, an echo of his mother’s voice from years past played in his head: “You see that girl home, Cole Taylor. It’s what a gentleman does. And I expect all my boys to be gentlemen.”

  Whether Tori would appreciate the effort or see it as some other means of spying on her, Martha Taylor’s training had been ingrained long before he’d become a cop or a mob boss’s bodyguard. He hadn’t been able to protect his sister, but this woman he could help. Whether she liked it or not.

  With no traffic to speak of, Cole shifted into gear and followed her at an unobtrusive distance. He’d shadow her until she hit the main road to the estate, just in case she tripped or landed in a pothole, or some other fool tried to take her on. When she was safely in range of the front gate, he’d zip on past, giving her the distance from him she so obviously craved.

  Cole tapped on the accelerator when she disappeared around the bend in the road. The pavement forked left into a private drive and to the right out of the park. The moonlight shone between the trees, reflecting on the moisture that frosted the long stretches of asphalt. It cast shadows everywhere else.

  He didn’t see Tori anywhere.

  Fatigue vanished in a heartbeat. Alarm surged through him, clearing his mind, sharpening his senses. “Where’d you go?”

  He spotted her to the right, cutting through the trees toward the pavilion parking lot. A shortcut? At this time of night? “Where the hell did you learn your survival skills?” he muttered, speeding up to keep her in sight.

  She ran past the black sedan in the parking lot and dashed out of sight beyond the shelter’s stone facade. The black car’s dark interior suddenly flashed as the front doors opened and two men climbed out. Dark clothes from caps to fingertips to the soles of their feet. Furtive glances. Armed. The doors closed and they blended in with the night.

  “Tori!” Cole’s shout rang inside the Mustang. Potential danger had just become very real.

  Cole shifted into high gear and floored it, leaving the smell of burned rubber on the road as he ninety-degree’d it into the parking lot. His headlights picked up the two men jogging around the corner where Tori had gone. Gravel pinged beneath the floorboards and spat out behind him as he sped straight across to the shelter. He slammed on the brakes, swung open the door and shot out of the car while it was still bucking from the abrupt stop.

  He charged into the clearing at the side of the shelter. Tori was running toward the trees on the opposite side. The two men were nearly upon her.

  Bending low to pick up speed on the slippery grass, he closed the distance. Cole was built more for playing the line, but he’d done his fair share of running down tight ends and criminals.

  One of the men called out. She eased up. No! “Tori!” Cole shouted. “Run!”

  She hit the line of trees and Cole dove for the closest man. With a flying tackle, they landed with a crunch of bone and ground and muscle. “Son of a—” Cole muttered through the jolting pain. They slid several feet and jerked to a stop in a patch of mud.

  “Cole!”

  There was no time to answer her warning cry. The struggle was brief. Cole rose up on his knees above the dark-skinned man and brought his fist crashing down against the guy’s jaw.

  His opponent sank into the grass. Ignoring the throbbing in his knuckles, Cole pushed to his feet again. The second man was pulling a gun, turning.

  Cole thrust up with his hand, knocking his attacker’s arm out of range and sending the gun flying through the air. Cole twisted his shoulder into his opponent’s gut, lifted him off his feet and dropped him flat on his back.

  Curses and moans and warnings were so much white noise buzzing in the background. Cole was on top of him now.

  This guy was younger, quicker. Only momentarily stunned, he rolled beyond the reach of Cole’s fist and scrambled for his gun. Cole snatched a leg, dodged a kick and—

  Something hard and solid slammed into Cole’s back, knocking him onto his stomach. He sprawled across the other man’s legs, trapping him short of reaching his weapon.

  Pain radiated from his right kidney. How the hell did the old guy—? Adrenaline shocked the ache into submission and Cole rose to his knees.

  Another blow hit him across the shoulders. “Dammit!” He couldn’t curse long enough or hard enough to short-circuit the pain and frustration spiraling through him; he couldn’t spare the energy if he wanted to win this battle. He had to protect Tori. She was his ticket out. A woman alone against two men. He had to defend her.

  Cole kicked back with his right leg, catching his attacker below the knees and knocking him off his feet.

  “Ow!”

  He spun around and leaped, pinning him to the ground. “Listen, you son of a—!”

  Pinning her.

  Cole froze. “What the…?”

  Tori had been behind him. She’d delivered those blows.

  Now she lay wedged beneath him, and his body leaped at the vibrant imprint of every long, svelte inch of her through his soggy clothes. Strands of red hair had fallen loose and stuck to the dampness on her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes glared deeply into his.

  “I’m soaking up the mud, Taylor. Get off me.”

  Her ragged gasp for air swelled her chest in counterpoint to his, thrusting the delicate points of her breasts against him. His body shuddered in an instant response while his mind tried to catch up.

  “What are you doing?” He pushed up onto his elbows, giving them both a chance to catch a deep breath. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Click. Click. He recognized the sound of a bullet sliding into its chamber. And judging by the volume so close to his ear, he knew he was target.

  Something recently awakened went still and cold inside Cole’s chest. He didn’t spare a glance for the man with the gun; he directed every bit of his ire at Tori. “This is something I’m going to laugh about tomorrow, right?”

  She wasn’t smiling. There was something almost apologetic in the arch of that brow now. “I don’t think so.”

  The man with the gun had a more direct answer. “U.S. Customs Department, pal. I want you facedown on the ground. Now!”

  “I thought you were in trouble.” Cole moved slowly, but did as instructed.

  “I don’t need rescuing. Never have, never will.”

  She might have been a little too adamant, but he was a little too ticked to process that observation right now.

  Tori scrambled to her feet as he crawled off her and spread-eagled himself in the grass and mud. The man with the gun moved with him. She wrenched her smushed fanny pack onto one hip and rubbed the small of her back. He wasn’t the only one hurting. But it wasn’t slowing her down.

  “He’s armed,” she warned the agent.

  Cole inhaled the dank smell of earth against his cheek and the tang of grass stains on his suit and tie as they subdued him like the criminal he claimed to be. But it was her hand that reached inside the front of his coat and removed his Glock. Her hand that patted him down and pulled the Beretta from his ankle holster.

  Steamed barely described his reaction at being played for such a fool. He was the professional liar. Yet he was the one who’d been set up. Ambushed. Betrayed.

  Tori quickly skimme
d every pocket, nook and crevice, leaving no doubt she’d done this kind of thing before. His clothes were soaked and ruined, his back ached, his legs burned with the strain of his run, and his body was heating with all sorts of inappropriate responses at every sweep of her hand.

  And he’d felt guilty about taking advantage of her?

  “This isn’t the time or the place, babe.” He deliberately used one of those endearments she hated. “When I said you had to be friendly in front of an audience, I didn’t mean these bozos.”

  “I’m not being—” She snapped her mouth shut.

  Got her. She pulled her hand away and stood, her cheeks blazing with color. It was one tiny piece of satisfaction in an altogether unsatisfactory night.

  The younger bozo tried to sound tough. “Shut your trap.”

  “Bill.” Tori’s voice, though a little out of breath, was the one in control. “Put your cuffs on him.”

  “You want me to read him his rights?”

  “Not yet. I just don’t want him to give us any grief until we sort this out.”

  Cole would have considered taking out the guy the second he fumbled switching his gun with a pair of steel handcuffs, except that the gun in Tori’s hand, his gun, was sure and steady and aimed his way.

  The first cuff pinched his wrist. There was a tug on his shoulder, the ratchet of a second steel bracelet, and then both arms were anchored securely behind his back. Cole tilted his gaze and looked hard at Victoria, admiring her victory almost as much as he hated his own failure.

  He was done.

  For two years, he’d survived fights, attempted hits, threats, grudges, backstabbing and loneliness. He’d been that close to breaking the case against the Meade empire.

  And he’d been taken down by a skinny redhead with passion in her veins and fear in her heart.