God, no. He dashed to Lees side and rolled him onto his back. Cole swore, every last vicious, damn-the-universe curse he knew. He smoothed the scraggly hair off the investigators forehead, revealing the bullet wound that had taken his life. Lee had taken out the driver, but somewhere in the melee, hed gone down in the line of duty.
A mist stung the corners of Coles eyes. Damn. Damn. Damn. Lee still held his gun in his frozen grip. His badge was peeking out of his front pants pocket. Respect and regret swamped Cole. He didnt even know if Lee had a family. This wasnt right. It wasnt any damn way to liveor losea life.
A stroke of divine fortune had him pushing the shield down into Lees pocket and hiding it an instant before he felt the tugging at his sleeve. Paulie.
We go now, Taylor.
Yeah. Yeah. Cole rolled to his feet and followed Paulie out the door. Jericho was already in the back of the limo. Cole climbed in beside him while Paulie got in behind the wheel and floored it.
The painted trees passed by in a blur, as did his conversation with Jericho. Yes, he was all right. Pissed off. Sore. But all right.
Cole had done his job. Followed his instincts. Made his shot. Put his life on the line for the man to whom hed sworn his loyalty. He couldnt protect his own mother and nephew, but hed kept these murderers alive. The gall of it burned in his throat and chest, as Jericho promised a substantial bonus and a thorough check into Kramer and his clinic.
And as they sped down the highway toward the riverwith Jericho on the phone to Chad while Cole checked his gun and holstered itanother, even more disturbing realization churned the bile in his throat.
His contact was dead.
He had no connection to the real world now. No backup. No lifeline. Nowhere to go for safety. No one to call for help.
He was on his own.
The surrounding danger and guaranteed death that such a deception could cost him didnt bother him as much as it should have.
It was the madness that scared him. Knowing just how easy it would be for him to turn now. To forget who he really was. To never find his way back to life and love and the reasons hed agreed to this assignment in the first place.
Hed killed a man today. He was more Meade than Taylor now.
Chapter Two
Victoria Westin sweated.
Let the upper-crust grande dames like her mother perspire or glow like a lady. When Judeen Westin wanted to improve her appearance, she had something lipoed or lifted or nipped and tucked. When she wasnt feeling good about herself, she got a new boyfriend.
When Tori wasnt feeling good about herself, she ran. As she started her last mile, the coolness of the June morning was rapidly dissipating as a canopy of river town humidity set in for the day. But she didnt mind. The rhythm of her feet hitting the rubberized track drowned out the memory of last nights phone call with her mother.
You really should make peace with your grandfather, Victoria.
Is something wrong? Is he ill? That momentary flash of concern that snuck around her hardened defenses should have warned her. If she didnt care, she couldnt be hurt. But once her emotions kicked in, she made an easy target. And her mother rarely failed to hit the bulls-eye.
No. But hell die someday. When your father died unexpectedly, we never had a chance to say goodbye. This isnt just about your inheritance, but about living with a clean conscience. I know you have your work as a diversion, but Id hate for you to be all alone and dealing with the rift between you two. You really should plan ahead.
Father. Inheritance. Alone. Three direct hits.
Mother, Im a little busy now. And weve covered this ground before. Is there another reason you called?
Though her mother believed Toris work at the Nelson-Atkins art museum was her life, it was her real job as a federal agent that gave her a sense of purpose and accomplishment. But she couldnt tell her mother that. For a variety of reasons, shed never been able to tell her mother much of anything. Already stung by the mention of her fathers death in a plane crash twelve years ago, she wasnt surprised as the conversation continued to spiral downhill.
Have you thought again about having your breasts augmented, dear? Ive met the most delicious cosmetic surgeon here in California. He says theres a procedure that
Mother.
Ive always thought youd have the most lovely figure if
It was the damn if that always stuck with Tori. No matter what she achieved with her life, that if never seemed to completely fade from the back of her mind.
What if her father hadnt died?
What if her grandfather wasnt one of the wealthiest men in Kansas City?
What if shed been born the son her family had always wanted instead of the daughter who never quite measured up?
And so she ran.
Tori worked damn hard to stay in top shape, to replace skin and bones with endurance and muscle, to toughen up the outside in an effort to toughen up the inside, too. Running was her escape. It had been the saving talent that a too tall, too skinny, too smart high school girl could master while other girls got dates and her world fell apart.
Now, as a twenty-seven-year-old woman, it was vital to her job and mental health to exercise regularly. Running was almost as good as coffee ice cream with chocolate sauce. It was almost as rewarding as bringing down the bad guys. After wrapping up her most recent investigation and providing the key evidence to indict a gang of drug smugglers whod used shipments of paintings to transport cocaine across the country, she should be feeling pretty good about herself.
If
She sprinted her last lap at her high school alma mater, the Pembroke Hill School, slowed her pace and turned for home.
Maybe if she had a new case to dive into right now, her mothers biannual chat wouldnt bother her so much. Maybe if her date the night before hadnt been such a dead end, her mothers insinuation that Tori wasnt as pretty or perfect as she could be might not have a ring of truth. Ken Burford had told her that her greatest asset was her red hair. But shed read between the lines of his tedious conversationher greatest asset had always been her grandfathers bank account.
Tori jogged north, up along Rockhill Road, toward the art museum and her renovated condo. Traffic was getting heavy with Kansas Citys lunchtime rush, and the sun had popped through the clouds to warm the bare skin of her arms and the pavement beneath her feet. She stopped at the red light and jogged in place, pressing two fingers against her pulse and checking the second hand on her sports watch to monitor her heart rate. As cars and pedestrians gathered at the intersection around her, she ignored curious glances andsomething else.
One particular look she couldnt ignore.
Though she couldnt immediately place the source, Tori felt the thorough, personal scrutiny like a tap on the shoulder. She curled her fingers into fists and slowly dropped them to her side. Someone wasnt just scanning the crowd, giving a second look to the tall, slender jogger. He was watching her. Intently.
Professional training, which she trusted more than personal intuition, kicked in. The light changed to green, the flow of traffic switched, and Tori jogged out ahead of the slower walkers. She inhaled deeply through her nose and lengthened her stride, her face fixed straight ahead, her eyes scanning the street from curb to curb.