Beneath the Badge. Rita Herron
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She didn’t like the path her mind was taking.
Miles wouldn’t try to kill her, would he?
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-white 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?
He picked up the receiver. “Taylor Landis’s residence.”
A long moment of silence. “Who in the hell is this?”
“Sergeant Hayes Keller, Texas Ranger. Whom am I speaking with?”
“Lionel Landis. What’s going on? Why are you at my daughter’s house? And why are you answering her phone?”
Hayes grimaced at the man’s condescending tone. But he had a right to know his daughter had been attacked. And Hayes had to explore every angle. If the assault on Taylor wasn’t related to Kimberly’s murder, it might have something to do with the wealthy Landis family. Then he’d need information on the family and their business dealings.
“Sir, I hate to have to tell you this, but your daughter was assaulted tonight.”
“What? My God, is she all right?”
“Yes, sir. But the paramedics transported her to the hospital for X-rays and observation.”
“I heard about those break-ins in the community. Was that what this was about?”
“I don’t know yet, but I can assure you I’ll find out.”
A long pause. “Maybe I should hire a bodyguard to watch her around the clock.”
Hayes clenched his jaw. Odd that her father didn’t offer to fly back to see her himself. Instead, he wanted to send hired help.
A private bodyguard would mean Hayes wouldn’t have to spend time with Taylor himself.
But damn. He was a ranger, and he had to finish this case, find the man who’d tried to kill Taylor. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Landis. I’ll personally provide protection for your daughter 24-7.”
He hung up the phone but noticed the desk drawer ajar and examined it. The bottom drawer had been jimmied, papers tossed around.
The killer had been in this room. He’d have CSI dust it for prints.
What had he been looking for?
EXHAUSTION WEIGHED ON TAYLOR as the nurse helped her settle into the hospital bed. She’d been treated, had blood drawn, undergone an EKG, then wheeled to X-ray where they’d x-rayed her chest and lungs. Thankfully all the tests were clear.
Other than nearly dying tonight, she was healthy.
Still, they’d hooked her up to an IV, checked her vitals, then the nurse offered her a sedative. But Taylor expected Sergeant Keller to show up any minute to question her, and she wanted to be coherent.
Besides, she avoided taking pills or medications unless it was absolutely necessary. Too many people she’d met at parties relied on drugs or alcohol for recreation and survival, and she was determined not to fall into that dangerous lifestyle so often portrayed in the tabloids as the rich and careless.
Still, fatigue pulled at her, and she finally dozed off. But nightmares of the attack haunted her, and she tossed and turned, battling the terrifying memories.
She was running, fighting, struggling for air, being pushed under the water, held down…drowning.
She