Hot Pursuit by Jo Davis Page B

yard.
    When the last song was finished and she took her bow with the band, she searched the area where Taylor and his friends had been sitting. He was still there, but the others were apparently getting ready to leave, which suited her fine. She needed to get into his confidence, but that didn’t mean she wanted to get too close to his friends. Too many cops in her face was
so
not a good thing in her book.
    After putting her own guitar in its case, she made her way to the bar and took a seat. “Scotch on the rocks,” she told Chandler, one of the bartenders she sometimes worked with.
    â€œYou got it, Cara. Great show, by the way.”
    â€œThanks.” She eyed her coworker as he fixed her drink, and wondered why he didn’t rev her motor.
    The guy was good-looking, for sure. He was former military. Beefy arms and torso, gorgeous face. But his brown hair was buzz cut—not her preference. He was a little too muscular for her taste, too much like a serious weightlifter. She preferred sexy blonds. Ones with plenty of gorgeous locks for a girl to dig her fingers into.
    Like Taylor.
    â€œShit.”
    â€œHey, you’re getting a head start on me,” a deep voice said.
    She turned slightly to see Taylor take the stool beside her. His smile made her breath hitch, and those green eyes held her captive. He was just the right height, somewhere around six feet, and perfectly muscled. God, the man could model for a calendar or something.
    What’s more, his eyes and his demeanor were kind. She’d seen that before when he was talking to Blake and hadn’t wanted to admit it. But it was hard to deny what she could see plain as day. Maybe his kindness was only because he’d learned some hard lessons from his mistakes. Maybe these days he was trying to make up for the lives he’d taken years ago.
    As if he ever could. That steeled her resolve once more. She’d set her hook and then reel in her big fish.
    â€œNot too big a head start,” she said with a slight smile. “You can catch up.”
    Chandler set her drink down. “What’ll it be?”
    â€œJust water for me,” he told the bartender. “I’ve had enough.”
    Her coworker filled a glass with ice and water, then set it in front of Taylor. He took a healthy drink.
    â€œA man who knows when to stop,” she observed. “Sort of the exception around here.”
    â€œWell, it
is
a bar. But you’re right—I make a point not to overdo the alcohol.”
    â€œA regular Boy Scout, huh?” She couldn’t keep the slight edge from her tone. With his next words, she wished she had.
    â€œHardly.” He gave a low chuckle. “I had a dad, loosely termed, with a drinking problem, a nasty temper, and a hard fist. He left a lasting impression.”
    Her glass froze halfway to her lips, and she set it down. “He beat you?”
    Taylor made a face. “What a downer. I didn’t mean to get into that.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” She meant it. Because now the kindness in those eyes was tinged with sadness, and it was her mocking that had brought back a horrible memory and put it there.
Shouldn’t I be glad?
    â€œDon’t be. It’s ancient history.”
    Not so ancient that it no longer hurt, but she didn’t say it aloud. “Is that why you became a cop? To help people who went through what you did?”
    â€œPartly. I meet people like Blake all the time and it never ceases to sicken me how one human being can treat another.”
    â€œYou really love your job.”
    â€œMost of the time, yes. I like being a detective, putting puzzle pieces together to solve a crime. Or stopping criminals before they hurt someone again.”
    Right there. Right that moment, she almost blurted out the whole reason she was in Sugarland—because of the one time he’d failed. Not only failed, but fucked up spectacularly and gotten her sister killed.