Hot Pursuit (7 page)

“What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “When your brother said he was disgusted with you, did he say
why
? Are you sure it was finding out you're gay?”

“No . . .” His eyes widened. “But I thought that's what he meant.”

“What was Jon like before your falling-out? What kind of person was he?”

Blake's brows drew together. “He was cool. A nice guy to everyone, even kids like me who are . . . different. He never struck me as the judgmental type
before
. I know I've heard him make comments about how people should be able to love who they want.”

She thought about that for a few seconds. “Considering what you just told me, is there any chance your parents lied to Jon about you? Drove a wedge between you by telling him you had done something he
would
have a problem handling?”

For the first time since she'd gotten to know Blake, the young man's face lit in an expression of real hope. “My brother hates liars, people who steal and cheat. You think they told him something like that?”

Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hand. “There's only one way to find out.”

He bit his lip. “Would you go with me? When I'm ready, I mean.”

“I'd be glad to, sweetie. Just let me know when you want to go.”

“Let me think about it.” He paused. “I'd like to have my shit together before I face him, you know? I want to have a job, be ready to stand on my own two feet. I don't want him to see me as his poor little worthless brother, looking for a handout.”

“Well, you have a job with me. But I know what you mean.” Something told her Jon would be glad to hear from Blake once he knew the truth.
Please let me be right.

He looked her in the eye. “I'm grateful you gave me a chance, and I'll give you one hundred percent. It's just that I need a second job if I want to rent an apartment and pay for utilities and groceries.”

She nodded. “You're thinking ahead. That's good.”

The rest of breakfast passed pleasantly enough, despite the previous heavy subject, thanks in part to Blake's excitement over not only his job with the band, but finding a second one he was suited for.

“Did you know they opened a Guitar Center over by the mall a few months ago?” His eyes were bright for a change. Excited. “I'd be perfect for that job.”

“You know the employees have to audition to work there, right?”

He snorted. “Obviously you've never heard me play.”

She smiled at that. “I'd like to sometime.”

“Really?” His happiness dimmed some. “I don't have my equipment anymore. Had to leave it at home, and my parents have probably hocked all of it by now for the cash.”

The idea made her furious, but she kept her feelings hidden. “The band can hook you up with a guitar and amp to practice with. And if—
when
—you get that job, you'll be able to buy your own.”

He brightened again. “Yeah.”

After they finished eating, Cara paid the bill and they climbed back into her truck. “Let's do some shopping. Then we'll go around and let you pick up some applications to different places, including Guitar Center.”

“Most of the applications are online now, aren't they?”

“Most, but not all. And it's always good to speak to a manager in person anyway. Makes a better impression.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the day couldn't have gone better. Blake was surprisingly easygoing about her buying him new jeans, shirts, and shoes, though he fussed a little over prices and vowed to pay her back every penny the moment he was able. Ignoring him, she bought designer stuff that looked damned good on him and was pleased with the cool-looking guy that emerged from the cute but scruffy waif. Especially after she took him by the barber and had his hair trimmed.

He made a bit more noise over having his pretty, shoulder-length tresses clipped, but they compromised on a cut that still covered his ears and was layered in a trendy style that gave him a sexy, just-out-of bed look he could brush into place with his fingers. All told, he was happy with the look when they were done.

“Jesus, is that me?” he murmured, staring at his reflection in the stylist's mirror.

“I knew there was a handsome man hiding under all that hair and yards of material!” She enjoyed seeing him blush. “Now, on to visit with some managers.”

Confidence bolstered, dressed to impress, and hair styled, Blake made the rounds. He had a new spring in his step that was nice to see, and bounded to the truck after each stop, beaming. He collected a few paper applications, made some connections, and even bragged that he'd gotten his flirt on with a couple of sexy prospective coworkers who were more than receptive to the attention. She worried privately about that last part, only because she didn't want him to get hurt.

But Blake couldn't live in a glass bubble, and his friends wouldn't always be around to protect him. At some point, he had to fly on his own.

They were halfway home when he glanced at her, a smirk on his lips. “So, have you texted him back yet?”

“Who?”

“Don't play dumb with me,” he said with a laugh. “You've been sneaking peeks at the same message all day when you think I'm not looking.”

“I have not!” This earned an arched brow and a droll stare. She sighed. “Fine. So what? It's not like I'm hung up on Taylor.”

“Aha! So it
is
our Hottie McCop. Yeah, I totally believe you don't have a thing for him when you kept staring at him last night like you wanted to eat him topped with cherries and whipped cream.”

“I did not.” Her protest didn't sound very convincing, even to her own ears.

“If you don't want him . . .” Her friend licked his lips and waggled his brows.

Snickering, she smacked his arm. “He's too old for you, and
way
too straight, you little shit.”

“Not
so
little. In fact—”

“TMI, my friend!”

Laughing, Blake started to fire back a retort. “Yeah, your Ten Inch Boys might get jealous if— Shit! Watch out!”

From nowhere, a big SUV came barreling around her from the left and cut sharply in front of her. She knew a split second before the jolt that the driver wasn't going to clear the front end. The awful crunch, the squeal of tearing metal, rang in her ears as she fought the wheel.

And lost. With no time to correct her truck, it jerked to the right, flew toward a curb. Jumped the small barrier and shot straight toward a telephone pole. She had no time to scream as the truck plowed into the pole.

The impact stole her breath.

And then the lights went out.

Murphy's Law decreed that Taylor should get called in to work on his day off. A lead on a case wouldn't wait, and he wasn't too thrilled about it.

He strode into the station, dragging a bit and wanting nothing more than to head straight for the coffeepot. He'd gotten little sleep last night, thanks to a woman who'd rocked his world, then run like her ass was on fire, and now refused to acknowledge he was alive.

Of course, that was par for the course in his luck with women. He'd texted Cara earlier, just wishing her a good day and saying he hoped to see her again, not really expecting a response. There hadn't been one. Then he spent the morning moping as he worked, interviewing witnesses and doing mounds of paperwork. Now he was edgy and feeling like taking it out on someone, unfair as that might be.

The irritability lasted until he spotted Christian Ford sitting at his desk, head in his hands. The younger detective was slumped in his chair, elbows on the desk top, his defeated posture giving Taylor pause. Chris was one of the most exuberant, positive guys he knew, almost to the point of being an annoying pest, and to see him like this set off alarm bells.

Taylor tried a bit of ribbing to draw him out. “Hey, man. You got the workday flu? I could've told you those extra beers aren't worth the pain.”

Chris was typically primed and ready to engage in a round of witty comebacks, but this time he was strangely sluggish in responding. Slowly he raised his head, sat back in his chair, and blinked at Taylor. “I'm sorry. What?”

“You look like crap,” he said with a slight frown. The man's face was pale, eyes dazed and a little bloodshot. “What's going on?”

“Nothing. Just didn't get much sleep last night.” But the way he stared at the desk top as though it contained the answers to his troubles told a different story.

“Welcome to the club. Anything you want to talk about? We can go for a cup of coffee,” he offered.

“I . . . Sure.” He blew out a breath. “Sounds good.”

“I'll drive.”

“Works for me. I've been waiting my turn to ride in that butch new car of yours.” He shot Taylor a wan smile. “It's the least you can do since I
am
housing your old Chevelle and helping you work on it.”

“You're right. But be prepared to turn green with envy.”

Chris fell strangely quiet again on the way to the hip new coffee bar on the mall end of town. Taylor had chosen that place instead of the diner because they'd be too visible at the aging eatery. It was the type of establishment where everyone knew everyone else and noticed when something was up. Which was definitely the case with Shane's cousin.

The coffeehouse smelled good when they walked in, a mix of coffee beans, sugar, caramel, and baked goodies. They ordered lattes, and after picking them up from the other end of the counter, took seats at a table in a corner. Sipping in companionable silence for a few moments, Taylor studied his friend. The man truly didn't look physically well.

“Okay, man. What's eating you?”

Chris stared at the top of his cup. “That's just it—I don't know.”

“What do you mean?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to say a word to anyone.” He looked up, held Taylor's gaze, expression uncharacteristically serious. “Not even to Shane.”

Taylor whistled softly. “I don't keep secrets from my partner. Never have.”

“You'll keep this one or this conversation is done.” Swallowing hard, Chris admitted, “I really don't have anyone else to confide in.”

“Why not Shane? He's your family.”

“That's just it. He's my
only
family. Might as well be my brother.” He took a sip of his latte, and Taylor noted how his hand shook. “I can't worry him until I know what to tell him.”

“Christ. If Shane finds out I knew something about you and didn't say anything, he's going to kick my ass.”

“Please.” That one word, spoken with such bald need, did him in.

“All right,” he said with reluctance. “I won't say a word as long as you'll talk to him the second you know something solid.”

“I will.” Nodding, Chris took a deep breath. “I haven't been feeling well. You probably didn't know 'cause I've been hiding it pretty good.”

“Until today.”

“Yeah. I haven't been up to par in the past few weeks, but lately I'm so fucking
tired
. Sometimes I get dizzy and I can't see very well.”

“This happens a lot?” he asked with concern.

“More and more lately. I've lost a few pounds, too,” the other man admitted.

“Are you overly stressed at work? Not sleeping well?”

His friend shrugged. “No more stress than usual, and I've been sleeping fine until recently.”

“You need to get to a doctor, Chris. Those symptoms can overlap with a bunch of different conditions, some of them dangerous.”

“I will, I just . . .” Trailing off, he looked away. “What if it's something really bad? I don't even want to speculate what.”

“All the more reason to call today and make an appointment. Don't wait.”

“I don't want to think about it, much less go through a crapload of tests and then have to hear what the doctor will tell me.” Chris was really freaked out.

“I know you don't, but you have to do it. You could be wasting valuable time,” he said bluntly.

That got Chris's attention. “God. Don't even say that.”

“You
needed
me to say it. That's why we're here.”

“I suppose so,” he admitted quietly. “Thanks, Taylor.”

“Don't mention it.”

On the tabletop, Taylor's cell phone buzzed and the display lit up. His heart jumped when he saw an incoming call from Cara, and he grabbed it without thinking twice. “Hello?”

But the voice on the other end wasn't the one he expected. “Taylor?”

“Blake? What's up?”

“Someone ran us off the road,” the younger man blurted, breathless. “Cara didn't want me to call you, but—”

Taylor shot to his feet, almost knocking over his latte. Chris rose, too, expression concerned. “Where are you?”

“About a mile east of Walmart. We'll be the ones on the side of the road, with Cara's truck smashed into a telephone pole,” he said dryly.

“Are either of you hurt?” For a second, he couldn't breathe.

“Just a couple of bruises, nothing serious.”

Thank God.
“On my way.”

Leaving behind his drink, he was barely aware of Chris on his heels. Sliding into the car, he fired it up and was out of the parking lot before the other man could get his seat belt buckled.

“What the hell?” Chris sputtered.

“Couple of friends of mine were run off the road out by Walmart,” he said.

“Shit. Are they okay?”

“Blake said they had some bumps and bruises. But I'm worried because he used Cara's phone, instead of her calling me herself.”

“Blake? He's that kid you've been trying to get off the streets?”

“He's twenty now, not exactly a kid, but that's him. You saw him last night. He's started working for Cara and the band.”

Chris's eyes widened. “You mean Cara
Evans
, your hookup from last night?”

He winced at the term
hookup
. It implied something less than what their time together meant to him. But for simplicity's sake, he nodded. “The same.”

“Just friends, huh? Right.”

“Barely, if that. We have great chemistry in bed, but I don't think she likes
me
very much.” And didn't that suck?

“And yet Blake thought you rated a phone call, and you're running off to the rescue. Interesting.”

“Calling her a friend is a stretch. But Blake
is
, whatever
she
thinks of me and whether she likes it or not.”

Chris made a thoughtful humming noise, but thankfully let it rest for the time being. “They catch the other driver?”

“I don't know. But if they did, it damned well better have been an accident and not road rage or something. If that's the case, the bastard's in for a world of pain.”

The drive across town had never seemed to take so fucking long. Taylor swerved around slow-moving traffic and construction barricades, ignoring Chris's occasional curse. After an eternity, he spotted a black pickup off to the side of the road, front end crumpled into a telephone pole. A quint and an ambulance were on the scene, and a tow truck was backing into place, getting ready to hook on to the rear bumper of Cara's pickup. Blake was hovering near the back doors to the ambulance, anxiety written in his stance and the flat line of his mouth.

Screeching to a stop, Taylor jumped out of the car and jogged over to the ambulance. He nearly sagged in relief to see Cara sitting in the open double doors, loudly complaining to two of the firefighters/paramedics from Station Five whom Taylor happened to know fairly well. Lieutenant Zack Knight and Clay Montana were patiently trying to explain why she should go to the emergency room, while a uniformed traffic officer stood by
not
so patiently, rolling his eyes and likely waiting to finish his report so he could leave.

“I am not running up a bill for an ambulance ride and an ER visit just for a tiny cut on my forehead,” Cara insisted, scowling.

Clay piped up, giving her what Taylor knew was the man's best attempt at a charming grin. “Honey, that's what health insurance is for.”

Unfortunately for Clay, his brand of charm wasn't well-received. “I
know
what health insurance is for, and I also know my own body. I don't need a checkup, and my name is
Cara
, not
Honey
.”

As Taylor approached, he suppressed the suicidal urge to laugh—both at Cara and at Clay. Clay didn't always know when to quit, and Cara wasn't falling for the firefighter's smooth brand of persuasion.

“Unfortunately, Cara, that's not always true,” Zack told her with an understanding smile. “Patients are often the very worst judges of their own conditions, which makes our jobs much more difficult. Remember that country singer who had the bad wreck out on I-49 last year?”

Some of Cara's irritation eased. “No. But I've only been here a few months, and I don't watch a lot of news.”

“Well, the point is he refused treatment because he ‘felt fine.' Turned out he had a slow bleed in his brain, and by the time his wife realized something was wrong, it was almost too late to save him. He had emergency surgery and underwent months of rehab. He's still not back to a hundred percent.”

“I get it,” she mumbled. “I'll go and get checked. But I'm not riding in the ambulance.”

Zack patted her arm. “Fair enough. I'll just need you to sign a waiver, and for my own peace of mind, I'd like to know who's taking you.”

Taylor spoke up. “I am.”

Zack turned, then stuck out his hand. “Hey, Kayne! What brings you here? Isn't traffic duty a little off the beaten path for a detective?”

“Zack, good to see you.” Shaking the lieutenant's hand, he cut a look at Cara, who quickly masked her surprise at seeing him. “Yeah, I'm a bit out of my realm here, but I spotted a couple of friends in trouble and dropped in to find out what happened.”

“That's what I'd like to know,” the traffic cop put in grumpily. “You know, sometime
today
.”

Chris snorted. “Dropped by, my ass.”

Everyone ignored them both—except Cara, who latched onto Chris's words and eyed Taylor with suspicion. “How
did
you know I was here? Did Blake call you after I told him not to?”

Hesitating, he risked a glance at the younger man, thinking he might not want his secret outed. When he merely shrugged, Taylor nodded. “He did, and I'm glad.”

“You are? Why?” She appeared truly puzzled.

Was she serious? He couldn't exactly say
because I tend to care about people I sleep with
in mixed company. Though Chris knew the truth, that detail had been shared in confidence. “We have a mutual friend in Blake, and, to be honest, I was worried about you both. I'd like to think you and I are friends, too.”

Crap, that sounded lame. Might as well pass her a note in class and ask her to hold hands.
He managed not to cringe, just barely. Nearby, Chris was grinning like a jackass, and he shot the man a death glare. Which had no effect at all, except to restore the man's previously missing good humor. At least his friend kept his mouth shut. A minor miracle.

The traffic cop—Schwartz, his tag read—cleared his throat, impatience etched in his posture and expression. “If we're finished with the love fest, I have some questions for Miss Evans and Mr. Roberts.”

Blake made a face at the cop, mimicking the words
Mr. Roberts
behind the man's back while he was paying attention to Cara, and Taylor had to stifle a smile. Schwartz, whom Taylor now recalled seeing around the station but didn't know personally, got down to the important stuff and finally earned everyone's cooperation.

“I heard you telling the paramedics you were run off the road,” the officer began. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

Cara took a deep breath. “It was so fast. All I know is this car passed me on my side and switched lanes right in front of me. Cut me off.”

“What kind of car?”

“It was an SUV,” Blake corrected.

The officer turned to look at him. “Did you see what kind?”

“A
big
one.”

Schwartz wasn't amused. “Make or model?”

“Didn't catch it.”

Cara shook her head. “Neither did I. The other driver cut it too close when he switched lanes, hit my front end, and made me lose control. I was too busy trying not to hit someone else to notice.”