Beneath the Badge Page 2

  The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Why were the lights off?

  The lingering odor of smoke and charred grass assaulted him, and he paused, a noise breaking the quiet. Water? A sprinkler maybe? But it had rained last night so why would Taylor have the sprinkler on?

  He hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. The sound reverberated through the cavernous inside, an empty sound that came unanswered. He pressed it again, then glanced through a front window. Nothing looked out of place. But it was pitch-dark inside. Quiet. No movement. And there hadn’t been a storm to knock out the power.

  What if someone had disarmed Taylor’s security or cut her lights?

  Another noise jarred him, and he jerked his head toward the side of the house, then realized the noise had come from the back.

  Sucking in a breath, he wielded his gun and slowly inched along the length of the house to the side, then around the corner where a terrace held a pool, sitting area, fireplace, cooking pit and a pool house. A clay flowerpot was overturned, dirt spilled across the stone.

  Senses alert, his gaze swept the perimeter and the gardens. A water hose lay on the ground, spraying the stone. He shut off the water, wondering why someone would have directed it toward the pool instead of the lawn.

  His breath caught as he neared the pool. A body was floating facedown inside.

  God.

  It was Taylor Landis.

  Chapter Two

  Heart pounding, Hayes laid his gun beside the pool, threw off his Stetson and boots, then dove into the water. He flipped Taylor over, cursing at the bruises on her face and neck as he carried her up the steps. Her long blond hair was a tangled mass around her slender face, and her arms dangled beside her, limp and lifeless.

  He eased her onto one of the pool chairs, guilt nagging him for thinking that she’d been out shopping while she’d obviously been struggling for her life.

  He quickly checked for a pulse. Hell, he couldn’t find one.

  He punched the number for security. “Taylor Landis was assaulted. I need an ambulance and CSI team ASAP, and have your people search the surrounding area!”

  He disconnected the call, then started chest compressions, tilted her head back, gently moved aside her hair, pinched her nose and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Come on, Taylor, breathe.”

  Instead, she lay as limp as a rag doll, deathly pale.

  Sweat exploded across his brow as he continued CPR.

  Another breath. More chest compressions. Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. “Come on, Taylor, don’t die on me. Fight, dammit.”

  He inhaled, closed his lips over hers again, and said a silent prayer that he hadn’t lost her already. Suddenly her body jerked and she gasped, a strangled plea for air. She was alive….

  He muttered a silent thanks as he watched her eyes flicker.

  She coughed, choking and gulping in air, and he tilted her head sideways so she could release the excess water trapped in her lungs. Her body trembled, then she slowly opened her eyes and her terrorized gaze met his.

  Did she remember what had happened? Could she identify her attacker?

  TAYLOR SHIVERED, CLAWING her way through the darkness. She was cold and shaking and ached all over. And she was so weak…What had happened?

  Muddied, terrifying memories crashed back and panic bolted through her. The pool…the attack…she’d been fighting off the man, but he’d pushed her under water…

  She had almost died.

  A strangled cry escaped her, and she blinked to clear her vision, then stared in confusion at the man above her.

  Sergeant Hayes Keller.

  His black eyes pierced her like lasers, while his hands gripped her by the shoulders. For a brief moment, fear seized her, but he stroked her cheek so gently that a tidal wave of emotions welled inside her and tears flowed down her face.

  “Shh, you’re going to be all right now, Taylor. I’ve called an ambulance.”

  She gave a slight nod, then swallowed hard to stifle another cry, but the pitiful sound came out anyway. Embarrassed, she pressed her hand over her eyes to regain control and shield herself from his probing look.

  She hated to appear weak in front of anyone. Especially this big tough guy with the bad attitude. He didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him.

  “Are you hurt anywhere?” He lifted her fingers from her face, his voice husky and low.

  “I’m…okay,” she whispered, although her throat felt raw and her voice sounded strained and broken. The effort it took for her to talk triggered a coughing spell, and he lifted her at an angle, murmuring comforting words until the fit subsided, and she sagged back against him.

  “Taylor, did you see your attacker? Do you know who did this?”

  She shook her head. “Too dark…”

  “Was he on foot? Did you hear a car?”

  “I don’t know.” An involuntary shudder rocked her. “He jumped me from behind….”

  He clenched his jaw, looking harsh, yet his hands were tender as he stroked her back. “Just relax,” he said. “Let me get you a towel or something.”

  He eased her back down on the chair, and she clutched his arm, not wanting him to leave.

  “I’ll be right back.” He rushed away but returned in seconds and wrapped a thick, plush bath towel around her.

  “I need to open the gate for the ambulance,” he said. “The security system was off and I couldn’t get through.”

  She frowned, then realized that her attacker must have disarmed the alarm. But when? And how?

  “Inside,” she said in a ragged voice. “By the mud-room entrance.”

  He nodded, raced to the side entrance then disappeared inside the house. Terrified that her attacker might still be lurking nearby, she glanced around the terrace. There hadn’t been a car in the drive when she’d arrived home. And she hadn’t heard one after she went in the house. He must have come in on foot.

  The rose garden with its canopy of trees, bushes and elaborate labyrinth of flower beds normally looked inviting but now it seemed eerie, a place for an intruder to hide. Even her home with its fortress of rooms would provide cover. He could be in a closet or one of the extra suites or even in her bedroom, for that matter.

  Another chill swept through her.

  What if her attacker was inside? What if he killed the ranger, then returned to finish her off?

  HAYES HAD TO HURRY. He didn’t like leaving Taylor alone for a minute. She was too pale, scared to death, and her attacker might still be on the premises. With ten thousand square feet of house and three acres, no telling where the bastard might be.

  He could even be in the house. Had he tried to kill Taylor so he could rob her? Or could her brother, Miles, have attacked her because of her inheritance?

  He yanked his boots back on, and they squeaked on the Italian marble tile as he entered the mansion. He paused to listen, but it was quiet. Too quiet. If the security system had been breached because of the power outage, it should be beeping. The security team would also have been notified and would have shown up by now.

  Someone had disarmed the alarm intentionally.

  He located the security system panel and pushed the manual button to open the gates, grateful to hear the sirens approaching. Then he jogged back outside to Taylor. He’d do a thorough search of the property, house and system once she was taken care of.

  She was crouched in the lounge chair, clutching the towel around her, trembling. He scanned the area, walked to the edge of the gardens and checked. But he saw no movement in the carefully tailored layout of trimmed bushes and rose vines. Something caught his eye on a low tree branch. A hair had gotten caught in the twig. A long blond hair but not as blond as Taylor’s. A woman’s hair.

  But Taylor said she’d been attacked by a man.

  He bagged the hair anyway for trace.

  On edge, he strode back to Taylor, this time standing guard. His jaw clenched at the sight of the scrapes and abrasions on her
knees and hands. A bruise darkened her cheek and her nails were jagged and bloody, indicating she’d fought her assailant. Good for her.

  Damn bastard. He couldn’t stand the thought of any man beating on a woman. Maybe they’d find some trace evidence or DNA.

  “What happened?” he asked bluntly.

  She winced, biting down on her lip as if the horror of the memory was haunting her. “I came down for a swim,” she whispered, coughing in between the words.

  He grimaced, knowing her throat was hurting, her vocal chords damaged from the attack.

  “He attacked you inside or out here?”

  “Out here.” She shuddered visibly. “I was swimming laps, then the lights went out.” She paused, and her hand went involuntarily to her throat. Whether from pain or trauma he didn’t know. Maybe both.

  “Then I saw a movement beside the garden and got scared, so I swam to the edge and climbed out. I tried to make it inside, but he grabbed me from behind.”

  The siren screeched, announcing the arrival of the paramedics and Hayes leaned over Taylor. “I’ll take you around front to them, then I’ll search the premises.”

  She nodded although she tensed when he lifted her and raced to the ambulance. The EMTs met them, and two security officers screeched to a stop, also vaulting into motion. The CSI unit followed a second later.

  A thin wiry security guard for Cantara Hills spoke first. “We have other teams dispatched, searching the surrounding houses, canvassing the neighborhood.”

  Hayes nodded while the EMTs examined Taylor. The CSI tech approached with a kit.

  “Process her,” he told them. Although the chlorinated water might have washed away or destroyed trace evidence.

  “We’ll need to take her in for X-rays, an EKG and lab work,” one of the paramedics said.

  Hayes angled his head toward Taylor. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. I want to search the house first in case the perp is inside or left evidence.”

  Taylor’s gaze sought his, and he offered a brusque smile. She looked incredibly small and fragile, as if she didn’t want him to leave, but that was shock talking. She’d never given him the time of day before.

  Shaking off the thought, he left her with the medics so he could focus on the crime scene.

  One of the CSI agents began with Taylor while the second one followed him around to the terrace. “Consider the crime scene as the pool area and backyard,” he told the criminologist. “Our victim first saw her attacker by the gardens, so check for footprints, trace, anything you can find.”

  He gestured around the terrace. “My guess is he knocked over that plant while trying to escape. He probably ran through the gardens, jumped the fence and disappeared on foot, so look for footprints. Maybe his car was parked on a neighboring street. Or maybe he lives nearby.” Hell, by now he might have cleaned up, disposed of the clothes he’d worn during the attack and be safely in his house or bed.

  Then again, Taylor hadn’t been in the pool that long. Maybe he hadn’t escaped.

  Hopefully one of the security guys would turn up something. “I’m going to check the inside premises, see if our guy might be hiding in one of the rooms.”

  He hoped to hell he was inside Taylor’s. Then he could arrest the SOB and make him pay for hurting her.

  But first, he’d like to take a fist to him for the bruises on her face and neck.

  And if he’d hired Montoya to kill Kimberly…

  Well, if he had, Hayes had a good excuse to kill him.

  TAYLOR COULDN’T SHAKE the realization that she’d almost died as she allowed the EMTs to examine her. If it hadn’t been for Sergeant Hayes Keller, she would still be floating in that pool. Dead. Her life over.

  And who would care?

  Her opulent mansion with its thirty-plus rooms mocked her. She had Caroline, Margaret and Victoria, but no significant male….

  The CSI technician, a young woman with sandy-blond hair, offered her a friendly smile. “We need to photograph your injuries, ma’am.”

  Taylor frowned, feeling violated all over again as she dropped the towel and the woman began to snap pictures.

  While she tried to lift prints from Taylor’s neck, then scraped beneath her fingernails, Taylor closed her eyes, focusing on anything besides the attack. But images of the Texas Ranger’s eyes flickered in her head. She could still feel his breath on her face, his touch on her mouth. His dark eyes had held worry….

  Impossible.

  He didn’t even like her. He was simply a cop doing a job.

  But no man had ever treated her as gently as he had when he’d comforted her.

  Good grief, she was pathetic. Was she so desperate for comfort that she’d conjure an attraction between them, and a heart in the cold man beneath that badge?

  Her ping-ponging emotions must be due to her upcoming birthday. She was turning the big three-oh. Her biological clock was ticking like a time bomb. And although people assumed she’d host a big bash to celebrate, she wouldn’t.

  Besides, turning thirty had its own consequences. She’d inherit the millions from the trust fund her father had reserved for her.

  Yet he wouldn’t personally show to celebrate the big day.

  And Miles, her half brother, would hate her even more.

  The argument she’d had with him earlier taunted her. The resentment in his tone, the accusations in his eyes. For a moment, she’d been afraid of him. He’d gripped her arm and shouted at her, had sounded out of control, almost threatening. And then that phone call…

  No. She didn’t like the path her mind was taking.

  Miles wouldn’t try to kill her, would he?

  Chapter Three

  Hayes checked the circuit breakers and restored power before searching the mansion. Throwing some light in the house might drive out the perp, or at least strip the guy of his advantage.

  He gripped his weapon in one hand and kept his eyes trained for the intruder as he moved through the lower level. Taylor’s basement housed a fully equipped gym, rec room with pool table, bar and a movie theater, as well as a separate kitchen and two suites. Hell, her basement furnishings were nicer than anything he owned.

  He slowly climbed the stairs, pausing to listen, but other than the hum of the air conditioner and the padding of his boots on the kitchen tiles as he eased through the breakfast room, the house was silent. He crossed the formal dining room, to the living room, to the office. Built-in bookshelves held a variety of titles, while the room held a state-of-the-art computer system, sitting area and conference table. Photographs of Taylor and her father, then Taylor at various charity functions, decorated the walls, along with award plaques and a framed diploma from a private school in Switzerland. She’d apparently earned a business degree and now ran the Landis Foundation.

  So she was not only beautiful and rich but smart.

  He stored that information while he checked the family room with fireplace and twelve-foot ceilings and a ballroom with Palladian windows which obviously was used to host her elaborate parties. He’d seen photographs of them in the society section of the newspaper.

  A place where he wouldn’t be caught dead.

  Finally, he found his way through a hallway to a bedroom suite the size of an apartment.

  He wondered if this was Taylor’s suite, but saw no personal belongings in the room. Decorated in earth tones, it held a king-size brass bed, dresser, flat-screen TV and sitting room. A massive bath in gold and white with a Jacuzzi and dozens of plush towels overflowing a baker’s rack opened to a large walk-in closet.

  The suite was empty, so he headed back to the foyer, then climbed the curved staircase, again pausing to listen. But he heard nothing. He still couldn’t relax, not until he’d searched every square inch of the house.

  Taking a deep breath, he clenched his hand tighter around his gun and combed the suites to the left, then retraced his steps back to the bank of rooms on the right. In the first bedroom, a white four-poster bed draped in blue-and-whit
e satin drew his eye.

  Judging from the lived-in look and feminine furnishings, he guessed it was Taylor’s room. A black satin robe lay draped across the bed and a pair of slippers peeked from beneath the footboard. The room looked like her—tasteful, classy, soft.

  For a moment, he imagined her sprawled on the satin sheets wearing nothing but a skimpy teddy or…nothing at all, and his body hardened with desire.

  He quickly shook off the image. What in the hell was wrong with him?

  An iPod and speaker system sat opposite the bed on a cluster of shelves holding candles, and in the corner a dresser held a silver brush and comb set and a jewelry box. He wondered if Taylor kept all her jewelry so accessible, but assumed she had a built-in safe somewhere in the house for her more expensive pieces. When she was released from the hospital, he’d have her check the house to see if anything was missing.

  A bay window with chaise and reading lamp occupied one corner with a window seat separating two oversized chairs. He bypassed them and entered an elegant bath in blue and white, and a set of closets. Inside, he clenched his jaw at the sight of glittery gowns, expensive wraps, designer shoes and business suits. The second closet held Taylor’s casual clothes, he assumed, since it was filled with sundresses, slacks, designer sweaters, and one wall housed shelves holding bathing suits and summer wear.

  He snarled. His yearly salary wouldn’t equal her monthly clothing allowance.

  It didn’t matter. He had to focus on his mission.

  The rooms were empty, and didn’t look as if they’d been touched by an intruder, meaning the perpetrator probably hadn’t attacked her with the intention of theft.

  So not a break-in gone awry. The perp’s intentions had been more sinister—murder.

  Moving on, he searched the other rooms, sighing as he descended the steps. Just as he was bypassing the office, he noticed a broken fingernail caught on the edge of the rug by the desk. He stooped and picked it up, wondering who it belonged to. The phone jangled so he bagged the fingernail, then hurried to the desk and checked the caller ID. An international call. Her father?