Chapter Thirty

JACK PULLED THE CAR INTO THE PARKING LOT OF A SMALL highway motel and turned the ignition off. Taylor glanced at Jack’s hand as he pulled out the keys and remembered his touch. He had strong hands. They were nice hands, she thought, not too big but still masculine. They were hands you could depend on. Or they were once. Forget about his hands. What was wrong with her? She sighed.

He put on dark sunglasses and went to the front office. Minutes later he returned with a room key, and she looked up as he got back in the car.

“Any problems?”

“Nope. The guy hardly looked at me. I gave him an extra twenty to let us bring in Beau.”

“Good thinking.”

In the room, Taylor threw her bag on the bed and sorted the dishes and food they had picked up for the dog.

“Tomorrow we’ll go to the library and find the address. This time tomorrow night we could be talking to Jeremy,” Jack said.

Taylor nodded at him absentmindedly while she fed Beau.

“Any luck on tracking down the pharma company involved with the vaccine?” he asked.

“No, but I did some digging on Brody Hamilton and he has sponsored a number of bills relating to a company called Alpha Pharmaceuticals, mostly lessening of regulations, like labeling and side effect warnings,” Taylor answered. She pursed her lips. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they’re the ones developing the vaccine.”

“Could you find any connection between them and the latest bill? Or the vaccine?”

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Hopefully Jeremy can shed some light on it,” he said.

“We’ll know soon enough.”

She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

“Taylor! Come here!”

She ran out. “What’s wrong?”

He pointed to the television screen. “Guess who’s on the news again.”

She listened, horrified, as the anchor spoke.

“Police are still looking for Senator Phillips’s widow, Taylor Phillips, who went missing the same day her husband was found dead on an overseas diving trip last week. It’s now been confirmed that she’s been kidnapped by Jack Logan, an investigative reporter who spent some time as a mercenary. A motive is unknown at this point. He’s believed to be armed and dangerous.” Jack’s picture flashed on the screen.

“Mercenary? What is she talking about?” Taylor asked.

He swore. “They’re making it up. I was a bodyguard. This is bullshit!”

“Why would they say that, then?”

He sighed. “Taylor, come on. If I was a mercenary, would I be writing articles about civil liberties and living in a tiny apartment in New York? I went there after Dakota . . . did what she did. I was protecting people, not killing them.”

Taylor had to admit, she didn’t see him as a killer, but she couldn’t think straight anymore.

“I’m beat. Why don’t we get some sleep?” she said, climbing into the bed closest to the wall.

Beau hopped up and nestled by her side. Her mind was racing. A part of her wanted to call out to Jack, to feel his arms around her and relax in his comforting embrace. It would be so nice to just pretend everything was good between them. She shifted again, restless. Stop thinking ridiculous thoughts. She felt disloyal to Malcolm, then a quick surge of anger coursed through her when she remembered she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t even know who he really was. She still didn’t understand how she could have been so easily deceived.

Watching as Jack bolted the door and pushed a chair against it for good measure, she noticed how the T-shirt he was wearing showed off his muscled back and trim waist. The stirrings of desire fluttered as she remembered the feel of those strong arms. She flipped over to face the wall, her back to him, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

When he got into the other bed and turned the light off, she closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She kicked her leg out from under the sheet, trying to find a comfortable position.

“You still awake?” Jack whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Did you ever have any idea about Malcolm? Any suspicions that something was off?”

“Of course not. Some journalist, huh?”

“It’s not your fault. People aren’t always what they seem, and we want to see the best in those we care about.”

They had both married frauds, she realized. But surely, there had to have been more to her marriage than Malcolm’s deception. She couldn’t believe that everything between them had been a lie. No one could be that good an actor. Lying there in the dark, it felt comforting, unburdening, to talk about it.

“I met him the night I returned from a trip to Greece. My father had invited him to dinner.”

“Were they friends?”

“My father supported his campaign for Senate. I’d heard about him, but it was the first time I’d ever met him. At first, I wasn’t interested, thought he was too much older than me. When you’re in your twenties, a ten-year age difference seems like a lot. And you know how I’ve always felt about those Washington-power types. With Dad’s position at the paper there was always some blowhard politician or another over for dinner. But Malcolm was different. When he told me that he’d lost both his parents when he was a teenager, it made me feel close to him.”

“I can see that. What you went through, losing your mom—not many people get what that does to you.”

She thought back to the days following her mother’s funeral, after everyone had gone back to normal and expected her to do the same. Everyone except Jack. He’d been by her side, not asking anything of her, instead offering a steady and consistent comfort.

“I’ll never forget how you helped me through it. Looking back, I don’t know how you stood it.”

“What do you mean?”

“All those nights when I snuck next door to your house and crawled in your room, and you held me while I sobbed. That went on for months. It had to get old.”

She heard him shift in his bed. “It never got old. But it broke my heart.”

The raw pain of that memory took her by surprise, and she brushed a tear from her cheek. All of a sudden, she didn’t want to talk anymore. “Good night.”

“Taylor . . . Good night.”

She tried to empty her mind and fall asleep, but memories bombarded her, playing like a video reel. Images of Jack faded and were replaced by Malcolm. After Jack, it had felt impossible for her to trust again. The hard shell she’d built around her heart had served her well. She had gotten her career on track, she was doing work she loved, and she was happy. When she finally opened her heart again, she’d believed she had found someone who would never hurt her. The bond she and Malcolm had shared over the tragedies they had suffered, and then their ardent desire to create their own family, had eradicated any remaining reservations she’d had about opening herself up again. Malcolm’s betrayal wasn’t just hurtful, though—it had caused her to lose faith in herself. If both times she’d fallen in love she’d been deceived, what did that say about her? Maybe there was some part of her that sought men who were incapable of true intimacy. Masks. Everyone wore one. She was done being a fool. She would take nothing and no one at face value ever again.