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 sandyblond 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?
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
