door was wide open. Her body was sprawled out in the middle of the street, limp and lifeless. Hell. If he’d just gotten to the door sooner, if he could have stopped her from leaving his place, then maybe she’d still be alive.
Another patrol car arrived, but Jordan zoomed in on the conversation between the traffic cop and a twenty-something woman dressed in a fast-food restaurant uniform. An eyewitness. Her body language and nearly hysterical tone told Jordan she probably hadn’t been involved in this as anything more than a spectator to a horrific crime.
“The man didn’t want her car,” Jordan heard the woman say, and he cranked up the volume.
“What do you mean?” the cop asked.
Tears streamed down the eyewitness’s face. “That man dragged her from her car and tried to force her into his black SUV. He was trying to kidnap her or something.”
Or something. Jordan was afraid he knew what that something was. This man wanted information about the baby. But why?
The eyewitness broke down, sobbing while she frantically shook her head. “The woman fought him,” she finally said, her trembling fingers held close to her mouth. “She tried to get away. But he shot her and then drove off.”
There it was. The brutal end of one nightmare and the start of another.
This wasn’t a botched carjacking. Shelly had been murdered. And Jordan instinctively knew the man in the SUV wasn’t finished.
The killer would come after the baby next.
Fourteen months later
December 22nd
Kinley Ford was after two things: Jordan Taylor and the truth. Tonight, she might finally get both.
If she didn’t get killed first, that is.
Because if he did indeed know what was going on, he might take extreme measures to stop anyone from finding out.
Swallowing hard, she stepped inside the reception area of the Sentron Security Agency to find the Christmas party in full swing. The place sparkled, not just with some of the guests in their glittery dresses. There was also an angel ice sculpture on a center table, and it was flanked on each side with white roses in crystal vases and bottles of champagne angled into gleaming, silver ice buckets.
Kinley dismissed all of that and looked around. There he was, on the far side of the room next to the massive Christmas tree.
Jordan Taylor.
He looked lethal. And was. She’d studied every bit of information she could learn about him. Over the years, he’d killed three people. All in the line of duty, of course. But that still gave him a dangerous edge that she would be a fool to dismiss.
Kinley hated to think of him as her last resort, but she had exhausted her list of persons of interest. She’d exhausted her bank account. And herself. She wouldn’t give up if she failed tonight—she would never give up—but she literally had no idea where to go next.
Beside her, her “date,” Cody Guillory, took her coat, then her arm and led her not in Jordan’s direction but toward a tall blond-haired man by the ten-foot-long table filled from corner to corner with party food.
“Anna,” Cody said using the alias she’d given him, “this is Burke Dennison.” Cody checked his watch. “In about three hours, he’ll be my new boss.”
Burke flashed a thousand-watt smile. With that sun-blond hair, blue eyes and tan, he looked every bit the golden boy he was. At thirty-one he was a self-made millionaire and about to take the reins of one of the most successful security agencies in the state.
Burke used his champagne glass to make a sweeping motion around the reception area at Sentron headquarters. “I bought the place,” Burke let her know. “Isn’t that a hoot? I’m a ranch hand’s son from Dime Box, Texas, for Christ’s sake. Who would have thought it?”
Jordan Taylor obviously had, since he was the present owner and about to relinquish control a mere three days before Christmas.
Kinley wanted to know why.
For fourteen months, she’d examined the lives of more than a hundred people and had looked for any changes in their lifestyles. This was a major change for Jordan. But the question was, did it have anything to do with Shelly’s murder?
“Well, if I’d had the cash, I certainly would have bought the place,” Cody remarked. He, too, looked around. Almost lovingly. “My life is here.” He shrugged, then smiled. “And usually my body. Burke, don’t you expect me to give you eighty hours a week the way I gave Jordan.”
Both men laughed, but she didn’t think it was her imagination that there was some tension beneath. Maybe Cody wasn’t thrilled with gaining a new owner, or losing the old one.
When a tuxed waiter moved closer, Cody snagged two fluted glasses of champagne and handed her one so they could toast Burke. Kinley thanked him and pretended to have a sip while she pretended to be interested in the conversation Burke started about some changes he wanted to make.
She’d gotten good at pretending.
In fact, everything about her was a facade, starting with the red party dress she’d bought from a secondhand store. The symbolic necklace that she wore twenty-four/seven. Her dyed-blond hair. Her name. She was using the alias Anna Carlyle tonight, but she had three other IDs in her apartment. She’d lived a lie for so long. Too long.
“Excuse me a moment,” Kinley said to Cody and Burke.
She stepped away and tried to be subtle. She mingled, introducing herself. She even sampled a spicy baconwrapped shrimp from the table, all the while making her way to Jordan.
There was an auburn-haired woman talking with him, but as if he’d known all along that Kinley was coming his way, he slid his gaze in her direction. He whispered something to the redhead and she stepped away, but not before giving Kinley a bit of the evil eye. Probably because she thought Kinley was her romantic competition. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Nice party,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Anna Carlyle.”
He kept his attention fastened to her face. Studying her with those intense brown eyes that were as dark and rich as espresso.
This was the first time she’d seen him up close, the first time she’d gotten a good look at him, and sadly, Kinley realized she wasn’t immune to a hot guy. Funny, after what she’d been through she was surprised to feel any emotions other than grief and fear, but Jordan Taylor had an old-fashioned way of reminding her that beneath the facade, she was still a woman.
Simply put, he was the most physically attractive man she’d ever met.
He wasn’t slick and golden like his Sentron successor, Burke. Jordan had a sinister edge that extended from his classically chiseled face to the casual way he wore his tux. The tie was loose. His left hand was crammed in his pocket. The other held not a glass of champagne but
