Hot Pursuit (20 page)

“Connor killed them,” Taylor said firmly. In that moment, Cara knew he really had forgiven himself. “I did the best I could in a bad situation. I believe he would've killed them all no matter what.”

The gun waved as Dmitri fought his anger. “It no longer matters what you believe. You murdered my brother, my lover, and my child. Now you're going to die.”

Cara caught Taylor's gaze for a second and knew he was thinking the same thing.

Where are Chris and Shane?

•   •   •

Chris was guiding the van into a parking place when the sound feed on the microphone crackled. Taylor and Cara had been on their way downstairs to eat something; then Taylor was taking her home. Now Chris was getting some annoying interference.

“Are those other voices?” Chris said quietly.

“Shh.”

They listened intently, catching pieces of phrases. With the feed acting up, it was hard to tell who was speaking.

“Should we go back?”

Shane listened harder, fiddled with some of the buttons on the sound recording system. The unit crackled again and the feed cleared up.

“Takes a real pussy to kill old men and con married women into sleeping with him.”

“There was no con. She was lonely, and I wanted her. I always get what I want.”

“Since she's dead, I'm inclined to disagree.”

The sound of a hard punch could be heard. Coughing.

“What did you do? Blackmail Jenny into being with you?”

“There was no need, since she was in love with me. And when she turned up pregnant with my child, even better. She wanted to be with me, and she didn't want darling hubby to find out before she was out the door.”

“But he did find out. How? Did you tell him after all?”
Taylor pressed.

“No. I don't know how he learned about the baby, and I guess I never will. Could be that she told him herself, out of desperation when he caught her packing, but we'll never know. What I do know is that you're going to pay for getting Jennifer and my brother killed.”

“Connor killed them,”
Taylor said.
“I did the best I could in a bad situation. I believe he would've killed them all no matter what.”

“It no longer matters what you believe. You murdered my brother, my lover, and my child. Now you're going to die.”

Chris laid rubber, wheeling the van from the lot.

In the van two miles away, Shane shouted to Chris, panic blinding him.

“Go, goddammit, go, go!”

Dmitri Constantine had waited years to make Taylor pay for the death of his brother and unborn child. Now he planned to have his vengeance.

His companion floored the accelerator while Shane prayed.

If Dmitri Constantine touched one hair on his friends' heads, he was one dead son of a bitch.

•   •   •

“I can almost forgive Max's sudden attack of conscience that led him to disobey me. This is going to give me great pleasure.”

Dmitri shoved Taylor into the room, hard, and Taylor stumbled and fell to his knees.
Shane!
She knew Taylor had to make sure his partner heard enough to put this creep away for good.

If Dmitri realized the button was a wire, they were screwed.

Taylor sat up and looked into Cara's eyes, his face etched with regret as he spoke for the benefit of the van's recordings. “Dmitri here was having an affair with Jenny. The baby Jenny was carrying was his, not Connor's. She wanted to leave her husband for this cocksucker, though God knows why—”

That earned him a swift reprimand. Dmitri lunged, swinging the butt of his gun to deliver a blow to the side of Taylor's head. Cara cried out as he slumped to the floor. Immediately, he pushed to his hands and knees, head hanging.

His shaggy blond hair enveloped his face, blood dripping to the polished floor. Just as he tried to stand, Constantine kicked him forcefully in the ribs, sending him crashing sideways into the coffee table.

“I loved Jennifer. You killed her and my child! You should have chosen
her
life when you had the chance!” Lips pulled back into a feral snarl, Constantine advanced, kicking him again and again in the ribs, the head. Moaning, Taylor curled into the fetal position, but it offered no protection against the vicious onslaught.

“Stop!” Cara screamed, dropping to his side. “You're killing him!”

Her plea penetrated Constantine's rage, but not for the reason she'd obviously hoped. While she gathered Taylor into her arms, the man stood back, face flushed from exertion.

“You're right.” He gave a cold smile. “I can't have him dying on me too quickly, after all. That would be rather anticlimactic. Boys, let's take these two to a place where I can introduce them to the full meaning of a slow, painful death.”

From somewhere outside, the squeal of tires could be heard rounding a corner down the street.

Constantine gestured with his gun. “Take them out the back and hurry the fuck up. Put them in your truck; make them keep their heads down. You know where to go. I'll follow in my car.”

They won't get away. Shane is coming,
she consoled herself. But not fast enough to stop them. Yet.
Thank God Blake is at work!

Snyder reached down and jerked Taylor from her arms, half-dragging him toward the kitchen. “Try anything, and your sweetheart gets a bullet in the head.” Web went along, the muzzle of his gun against Taylor's temple.

Pushing up, she started after them, her knees like water. Constantine walked behind her, his gun digging into the small of her back. All the way through the kitchen and out the back door, she numbly tried to grasp how things had gone bad so quickly. How this could be happening in broad daylight.

These men were planning to kill them. And Dmitri would make sure Taylor suffered first.

They were taken to a double-cab pickup parked next to the back fence. Taylor was shoved headfirst into the backseat of the truck, his forehead smacking the doorframe. He dragged himself in and collapsed across the seat, unmoving.

“You can kneel on the floor beside him. Move it!” Snyder growled.

She got in as the truck peeled out, and wedged herself between the seats, facing Taylor. His beautiful green eyes were half-open, and his bruised cheek lay against the leather upholstery in a smear of blood.

“Cara.” He coughed, grimacing in pain. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't talk, baby,” she whispered, taking his hand. “We'll be fine.”

God, don't let that be a lie.
Constantine, that monster, had beaten him badly. A widening patch of dark hair glistened, sticky with blood. A crimson droplet trickled from his temple down his exposed cheek, like a tear. Grabbing the edge of her shirt, she leaned over him, wiping it away. When she dabbed the side of his head, he winced, sucking in a sharp breath.

No use. Pressing on the wound didn't staunch the flow, and only hurt him more. She settled back again, squeezing his hand.

“I love you,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I love you, too, so much.” No response. “Taylor?”

He'd passed out, a mercy for him. But she felt so alone and scared, she wanted to cry.

No time for the luxury of tears. Constantine's thugs were silent as the truck left the paved road and began to bounce wildly over rough terrain. She couldn't tell whether Shane had caught up and given pursuit or not.

You have to stay calm. Think of a way to help
.

But nothing came to mind just yet. There was no thought of anything except survival.

Bending to Taylor, she kissed him on the cheek and whispered her love to him, again and again.

Shane hung on as the van tore around the corner. The driveway of Taylor's house came into view.

“Around back—cut them off,” he yelled to Chris.

Constantine had hurt his partner. He could tell by the sickening thuds of a body being struck repeatedly, Cara's frantic scream. Yeah, the asshole was fucking dead.

Oh, God, this nightmare was his fault. He should've moved faster. Everything had exploded in their faces with such dizzying speed, he was reeling with gut-wrenching fear.

The department's new surveillance van was state-of-the-art, jacked up with all sorts of spy equipment, definitely not built for high-speed pursuit. Chris did his best, barreling down the driveway and taking out the mailbox on its post, which splintered with a sharp crack and went flying. He swerved, barely missing a tree as the van careened around the side of the house and across the lawn.

“Jesus, they're heading through the woods,” Chris hissed, fighting the wheel. “We're not catching them in this fucking tank.”

Dammit, he was right. The big truck and Constantine's car were almost out of sight. They needed backup
now
.

Ahead of them, the car swung to the left, allowing the front passenger of the truck a clear target. One of the thugs stuck his arm out the window, and Shane found himself staring down the sights of the man's pistol.

“Shit!” He dove behind the dash as bullets pinged off the grille, smacked the windshield.

Cursing, Chris jerked the van to the left, hunching down behind the wheel. Keeping cover, Shane pressed the button to lower his window. The hail of bullets abruptly ceased, and he bolted upright, levering his torso against the door and sticking his pistol out the window.

“Swing it to the right,” he yelled to Chris.

His cousin did, lining him up with the truck again. From inside the cab, Snyder's jerky movements told him the guy was probably slamming in a new round.

Shane couldn't risk firing at the men inside the cab, for fear of hitting Taylor or Cara, and the sorry bastards knew it. He squeezed off several shots at the right back tire, but the bouncing of the van ruined his aim and they ricocheted harmlessly off the tailgate and bumper.

Reloaded, his nemesis returned fire. Shane ducked inside as more bullets pelted the windshield. This time, glass shattered, spraying shards. Chris let out a soft grunt, and the van swerved left. Shane glanced over to see his cousin slumped, face bloodied.

“Oh, God.”

Loose, out of control, the vehicle veered off the worn path, bucking like a wild horse across the uneven ground. Shane lunged for the wheel as the two vehicles ahead disappeared into the woods, making their escape.

With his partner, whom Constantine planned to murder.

He'd failed Taylor.

That was his last, agonizing thought as he scrambled to reach the brake. He stomped down hard, sending the cumbersome van into a sideways skid. He fought, but couldn't correct the motion or stop in time.

He hit the copse of trees at forty miles an hour.

The impact tossed him like a rag doll. His head smashed into something, snuffing the light, hurling him into darkness.

From far away came the screeching, tearing of metal.

More glass shattering.

A final, jarring collision.

Silence.

•   •   •

Gradually, Taylor became aware of the truck slowing. Of Cara stroking his hair. And the band of pain tightening around his ribs like a fist. His head throbbed in tempo to his pulse.

He tried to move. A mistake. Nausea cramped his belly, and he groaned.

“Taylor?”

Opening his eyes, he looked into Cara's sweet face. “Hey, baby. Not much of a courtship so far, huh?” He tried a smile, but it came out lopsided. “Next time I'll just bring flowers.”

Her pretty green eyes filled with tears. “Oh, honey. Don't talk. Save your strength.”

“I'm okay,” he lied. Looking past her, he noted that their captors didn't seem in a particular hurry now. Snyder sat calmly in the passenger's seat, facing ahead. Heart sinking, he turned his attention back to Cara. “Shane didn't catch up.”

She combed a lock of hair from his eyes, her expression sad. “No, sweetie. There was lots of gunfire and . . . I think they wrecked.”

God, no
.

“Shut up back there,” the other man barked, making Cara jump.

Anger swelled, hot and choking. He owed those two sons of bitches—and Constantine—big payback. How to dole out retribution in his condition, one injured man against three, posed a slight problem.

Somehow, before they killed him, he'd find a way to take the fuckers with him.

Sweet Jesus, what will they do to Cara once I'm dead?

No, don't think about that.
If he did, he'd lose his mind and any opportunity to get out of this mess.
Watch, plan.
Try with everything in him to keep them away from her until he drew his last breath; that's all he could hope for. Buy some time until Shane located them, if he was able.

The truck stopped, idling, while the rumble of a mechanism came from outside. Then they were moving again, the sunlight disappearing. He struggled to sit up, Cara grabbing his arm to steady him, and saw they'd driven into a cavernous parking garage. If anyone had worked here, the place was deserted now.

“Where are we?” he asked their captors. “Is this a warehouse?”

“Shut up.” Web opened his door.

Web was out of the truck and yanking open Taylor's door in two seconds. The wiry younger man proved stronger than he looked. He grabbed Taylor's shirt, dragged him out of the vehicle, and threw him to the concrete with a forceful shove. Dammit, he hated for Cara to see him this beaten. The punk never would've bested him in a fair fight.

Before Taylor could stand, he found himself staring down the barrel of Web's pistol. Grinning, the man pressed the muzzle between his eyes. Strange calm stole through him. No, he wasn't going to die like this. Dmitri had something much more sinister planned, and he wouldn't let his minion kill him this easily.

He was right.

“Web!” Dmitri shouted, emerging from his car. “Quit pissing around and get those two inside now!”

Web glanced from him to Dmitri and back, the smirk vanishing. Obviously he was displeased.
This one actually loves the kill. Snyder, for all his efforts as an assassin, is the brainless muscle
.

Taylor stood, shoulders knotted with tension as Snyder waved Cara out of the truck with his gun. Web got behind him, giving him a push toward her. He limped over to her, gait unsteady, his body aching. Dizziness threatened to topple him, but she hooked her arm through his, acting like a human crutch. No one stopped her, and he was careful not to lean on her small frame too heavily as they followed Constantine.

He led them to a security door with a square panel to the left of the frame. Making no move to block the box from view, he punched in a six-digit code. Taylor memorized the combination, praying he got a chance to say it for Shane.

A buzzer whined and the lock popped. Inside, they were confronted by three white, sterile-looking corridors branching off left, straight ahead, and right. Constantine turned down the one to the right. A cold finger trailed down Taylor's spine and he thought,
This is the end. I won't leave here alive.
Beside him, Cara was tight-lipped, her face white.

God, why had he let her stay with him after he'd been injured? Constantine obviously had planned to kidnap him when the other attempts on his life had failed, and she'd gotten in the way. If only he could wish her away from this evil place. He'd never wanted to experience this horrible helplessness again, and the rage made him want to tear these monsters limb from limb.

Near the end of the corridor, Constantine pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked a door on the left. At the same time, he jerked his head to indicate another set of doors across the hall. “Web, make sure everything is ready.”

“Sure thing.” The man left, ducking into the room.

Constantine turned to Snyder. “By tomorrow we'll be in Europe, setting up our new lives. Is Mr. Kayne's grave prepared?”

Shit
. Cara clung to him, shaking.

“Yes, sir. Dug it earlier in the hills west of town, where you told us. What about her, though?” He shot an uneasy glance at Cara.

Constantine waved a hand in dismissal. “We'll take care of her later, after I've had my fun. I'll find out if she's as sweet as her sister.”

Taylor lunged at him. “Don't touch her, you bas—”

Snyder countered with a swift kick in his sore ribs that sent him sprawling through the door Constantine had unlocked. Gasping, he pushed up. Cara stumbled inside and immediately wrapped him in her arms.

They sat, holding on to each other, giving what little comfort they were able. Over the top of her head, he glared his hatred at Dmitri.

“So touching. Brings a tear to the eye,” the monster said. “Enjoy these next few minutes, because that's all you have. Don't bother trying to escape. This is a solid ten-by-ten storage closet with no vents and a lock you can't pick. I'll return soon; don't worry.”

The door slammed shut, engulfing them in darkness. Letting go of him, Cara reached over and tried the knob anyway, to no avail. She settled into his arms again, snuggling her face into his neck, and they clung together. He breathed her scent, could still smell the flowery shampoo she'd used in her hair.

“I love you, Cara, more than my own life. Whatever happens, never forget that,” he whispered. Fingering her silky purple-streaked hair, he searched his heart for the right words.

“I could bitch about how unfair it is that my time might be cut short just when I finally know what it means to have someone to love. But at least I found what so many others spend their whole lives looking for and never find. And in the end, nothing else matters.”

He had so much more to say, but his throat locked up.

“Oh, Taylor. I'll always love you, never doubt that.”

She tilted her head up, and he bent to her. His lips grazed hers, gently at first. Then deeper, kissing her with every ounce of passion in his soul. Kissed her as though for the last time. The last breath. Suspended in this moment, no more words necessary between them. He tasted the salt of their tears, bittersweet.

Finally, he pulled back and spoke to the button on his lapel. “Hey, partner. Are you out there? We're in a warehouse of some kind, and make it quick, if you don't mind,” he quipped, letting his sarcasm come through. God, this sucked. “Through the parking garage, code on the security door is five-five-one-zero-zero-two. Take the right corridor. We're in a storage closet at the end of the hall on the left, but not for long. There's another room across the way, and that's where Constantine's taking us next.
Hurry
.”

He paused, closing his eyes in the dark, even though he couldn't see. “Shane, if I don't get to tell you in person . . . I don't think I ever thanked you for what you did, pulling for me to get the position at the department after the nightmare in Los Angeles and dragging me out of hell. So, I'm doing it now. You're a fantastic partner despite all the shit I give you, and I love you like a brother.”

His voice broke and he couldn't say more. Just held on to Cara and prayed for one more miracle.

I don't care what happens to me. Please keep Cara safe
.

Swear to God, I'll never ask for anything else.

•   •   •

Sitting in the rear of the mangled van where he'd been thrown, Shane clamped a hand over the nasty gash in his arm. Blood dripped between his fingers and onto his chest from the cut on his face. Tangled wires hung from black consoles like globs of spaghetti, and something sharp poked him in the spine.

By the grace of God, the receiver putting out the transmissions from Taylor's microphone survived the wreck. But if help didn't arrive soon, the blessing would become a curse. He'd be forced to listen to his partner's murder as Constantine carved him into pieces.

“Chris?” A groan was his answer, and relief swamped him. His cousin was alive.

Fishing around, he located his cell phone under the driver's seat. The captain was on his way, and several of the other detectives were scrambling to locate the warehouse Taylor described. But not fast enough. Not by a long shot.

Seething, he heard Constantine spouting his vile poison. Ordering his partner's imminent burial somewhere west of town. If that happened, even with search dogs they'd never find Taylor in time.

Listening to Taylor and Cara essentially telling each other good-bye yet desperately clinging to their love, unraveled him. Slowly, painfully. As if that weren't heartbreaking enough, the asshole had to go and spill his guts to Shane.

“You're a fantastic partner despite all the shit I give you, and I love you like a brother.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ . . .” He panted through the agony of vicious claws raking across his heart. No, the shit wasn't going down like this. He would not accept that. No way in hell.

He was spared from contemplating more horrifying images of Taylor's death by the grinding of an approaching vehicle, maybe two or three, judging by the noise.

One motor shut off, then another. Three doors slammed in succession, the crunch of footsteps rapidly jogging for the van through the weeds.

“Shane?” Austin called, anxious. “God, look at this mess.”

Buddy, it gets worse.
“I'm in the back. Chris is in the front and he needs medical attention.”

More rustling. The van's double rear doors jerked, refusing to budge.

“Damned frame must be bent,” muttered another.

After several hard yanks, the doors gave, swinging outward with a loud squeal. Austin and Tonio Salvatore filled the open space, a barrel-bellied lieutenant named Henry Palmer hovering behind them. Grim-faced, Austin and Tonio reached for him, taking him by his upper arms, easing him to sit on the edge of the van.