Chapter Eleven

There had been a few low points in the past five months since moving to D.C. to work for the DEA, but without a doubt, this day had been the suckiest one of them all.

Taylor was sick at heart as she drove home from the office after a long, miserable day of meetings and interviews with investigators, all about Dillon’s connections to the Baker case and Veneno cartel.

She’d barely slept last night after the forensics team had finally left, and only because Logan had stayed down the hall in her guest room. He’d waited until she left for work before leaving, and just having him under the same roof had made her feel safer.

The agency had assigned someone to watch her house 24/7 until authorities could find and arrest Dillon. The agent taking the night shift was behind her now, following her home through the dreary April rainstorm. And her stupid conscience kept needling her about Dillon.

All day long she’d obsessed about the entire situation, torn between anger toward Dillon and guilt, even though the logical part of her knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. He’d put her in this position. He’d brought this on himself, and he’d basically threatened her. Anger felt a hell of a lot better than the guilt had.

She pressed a hand to her stomach as she turned onto her street, the windshield wipers slapping back and forth. At lunch she’d grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria, but it hadn’t settled well.

Once again, the highlight of her day had been Logan. Even though he’d been busy with medical appointments and team-related business he’d checked in with her by text a couple of times throughout the day.

The intensity of that kiss last night had stunned her. There’d been no awkwardness, no fumbling. He’d taken complete control, and now she was hungry to see how that translated into more than just kissing. It made her stomach flutter just to think of it. But she wasn’t interested in casual sex. She needed far more than attraction before she was willing to sleep with a guy, needed emotional intimacy to go with it. Which was why she hadn’t had many partners.

Since she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her and he was otherwise occupied for the evening, she was looking forward to curling up in front of a warm fire with a hot cup of soup and one of her Sudoku puzzles for a while.

Once she’d parked in her garage, she waited for the agent to park across the street and jog up to meet her. In his early thirties with medium brown hair, he held his black jacket over his head to shield him from the rain.

After disarming the security system, she stepped back and waited for him to sweep the house. The agent in charge of watching it had reported no incidents, but they weren’t taking any chances.

“All’s clear,” he told her a few minutes later, slipping his weapon back into the holster at his hip. “I’ll keep watch tonight from across the street. You’ve got my number?”

The agency wanted him posted close enough to her house for him to keep watch, but not in her driveway in case Dillon or anyone else was planning to come back. If anyone did, they’d be arrested. “Yes. Thanks.”

“No problem. Have a good night.”

Ha. Not likely, but at least she was home now and could at least try to unwind and find something to take her mind off everything for a bit.

In the kitchen she opened a can of vegetable soup with noodles and poured it into her favorite mug to nuke it, then popped a couple pieces of frozen cheese bread into her toaster oven to bake. While it cooked, she carried the soup up to the loft and started the fire she kept laid in the grate.

The crackle and flicker of the flames instantly eased her anxiety level. Curled up on the couch with a throw blanket over her legs and Nimbus purring away in her lap, she ate the soup and set the cup on the coffee table with a relieved sigh. A bubble bath was definitely in order later, but right now she’d just rest her eyes for a few minutes.

Laying her head back on the cushion she wedged against the arm of the couch, she closed her eyes. Nimbus settled deeper into her lap and curled up with his fluffy tail over his nose.

When her eyes snapped open sometime later, the fire had died down to a mere flicker. A grayish haze hung in the air, and the acrid smell of smoke stung her nose.

The cheese toast. “Shit.”

She threw the blanket off her lap. Nimbus leaped down, his ears flattened against his head. Taylor ran past him, down the steps to the main level, and rushed into the kitchen. The smoke hung in a thick layer near the ceiling.

The moment she came in sight of the toaster oven, she saw the flames. “Dammit…”

Yanking the electrical cord out of the socket, she grabbed a pair of tongs from the utensil drawer and gingerly opened the toaster oven door. Two hunks of charred, smoldering toast met her gaze, little flames licking around the edges. She coughed as she hauled the pieces out and dumped the cremated remains in the sink.

God, who knew two little pieces of bread could make so much smoke?

Eyes watering, she pushed open the sliding window above the sink and grabbed a tea towel to flap it around in an attempt to clear the air. Wait, her smoke detector hadn’t gone off as she opened the window? And just how freaking much smoke did there have to be before it registered a problem?

Even more annoyed, she marched into the hallway to stare up at it on the ceiling, then noticed the little green light wasn’t on. Muttering to herself, she first crossed the room to open a few more windows, then grabbed the step ladder from the hall closet and carted it over to the smoke detector.

Flapping her hands around to create a clean pocket of air to work in, she pulled the plastic cover off. And froze.

No batteries.

That just wasn’t possible, because she’d replaced them just after Christmas, something she did every year as a precaution. She lowered the cover to her side and stared up at the unit, thinking fast.

She’d had an electrician in a few weeks ago to fix a faulty breaker and he’d done an inspection for her. Would he have removed the batteries to test it and forgotten to put them back in? Or…

Dillon.

Even as she thought it, she felt terrible. And ridiculous. What, he’d known she would come home tonight and start a fire by burning dinner? If he’d wanted to kill her, smoke inhalation from a freak incident in the kitchen wasn’t probably a top five choice. Unless she was missing something? She had to be missing something.

“God, you’re a hot mess,” she muttered to herself. Her nerves were more shot than she’d realized.

Climbing down, she got some fresh batteries from her kitchen “junk drawer”—a misnomer in her house, because as with everything else, it was neatly organized—and put them in the smoke detector.

The alarm went off within seconds, screeching in her ear.

Problem solved.

It took another twenty minutes for her to create enough human-powered wind with both arms flapping tea towels around to push the smoke out the windows she’d opened. When it was finally safe to breathe, she closed everything back up and cleaned the kitchen.

Since there was no more cheese bread to be had and she wasn’t all that hungry anymore, she poured herself a bubble bath. Soaking in the vanilla-scented water in the dimly-lit bathroom was heaven, and soon she was yawning. Changed into her favorite, ultra soft sleep shirt, she crawled between her cozy, cotton flannel sheets and read for a while.

She checked her phone first, saw Logan had messaged her while she’d been dealing with the smoke, and smiled. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen between them moving forward, but she had no regrets about kissing him last night. In fact, she wanted a whole lot more than just kissing with him. And it touched her that he’d volunteered to stay the night to make sure she was safe.

Hey, hot stuff. You home safe yet?

From anyone else the hot stuff comment would probably have irritated the shit out of her, but from him she didn’t mind. She liked knowing he found her hot. Yes. Nearly started my kitchen on fire by burning dinner, but all is well now.

Ouch! I guess I should never ask you to cook for me then?

She laughed. Probably safer not to. You still at work?

Yes. Just finished a team meeting. Want me to come over when I’m done here?

She hesitated. She had to admit she felt safer with him in the house, but she didn’t want to rush things between them and if he stayed she wasn’t sure if either one of them would be able to put the brakes on. It’s okay. Long day and I’ve got a babysitter watching the house from outside.

You sure?

Yes, but thanks. Her thumb paused on the electronic keys. She didn’t want to seem like she was blowing him off.

Dinner tomorrow? If you have time.

Getting out of the house, especially with him, seemed like the best idea she’d had in a long time. I’d love that.

It’s a date. Sleep tight.

A date she would actually look forward to. She bit her lip, couldn’t help but smile. You too.

 She was still smiling as she picked up her e-reader and opened to the book she was partway through. After an hour, she finished the chapter she was on, turned out the light, and fell asleep in minutes.

Only to jolt awake in complete darkness sometime later to the bleating of a loud, shrill alarm. Confused, heart thudding, she threw back the covers and surged to her feet. She didn’t smell any more smoke than there had been before bedtime.

Hurrying to her bedroom door, she put the back of her hand against it to check for heat, just in case. It wasn’t hot. She cracked the door open and stuck her head out into the hallway. Only a tiny haze of smoke near the ceiling. So what was with the alarm?

And then it dawned on her that this alarm was different from the one she’d heard earlier. And that the smoke detector also had a carbon monoxide sensor in it.

Unease trickled down her spine as she stood there for another moment in indecision. Maybe the smoke from earlier had built up enough to lower the oxygen level.

Deciding it was smarter to err on the side of caution rather than assume it was a false alarm, she hastily threw on her robe, grabbed her phone and headed for the front door, dialing the agent watching her house from across the street. It rang three times before she got to the door, and he didn’t answer.

His voicemail picked up as she stepped outside into the darkness and looked around, her bare feet cold on the wet cement of her walkway. Hunching under the robe while the light rain pattered down on her, she darted across the street and headed for the gray sedan at the opposite curb.

A few strides from the driver’s side, her gaze landed on the small, round hole in the window, the glass spider-webbing outward.

The agent was slumped in his seat, his head lolling to the side.

No.

She grabbed the door handle and jerked it, but it was locked. “Corey, can you hear me? Corey!” She banged on the window.

He didn’t move, and as she leaned closer to squint through the rain-streaked window she saw the blood spattering the passenger side of the car.

“Jesus!”

Panic punched through her. Her fingers were stiff as she dialed 911. With the phone to her ear and her back to the car, she scanned up and down the street for a threat. Had whoever had shot Corey taken off? A crawling sensation at the base of her spine told her otherwise.

Dillon or someone from the Veneno cartel had done this. And they were still watching.

She ran back across the street and pounded on her neighbor’s door just as the operator answered.