Beneath the Badge. Rita Herron

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СКАЧАТЬ stroke. She and Caroline had joked about the three cowboy cops who’d invaded their country club community with their big bodies, hard attitudes and…guns. They’d dubbed Lieutenant Brody McQuade, Kimberly’s brother, the intense one. Sergeant Egan Caldwell, the surly one. And Sergeant Hayes Keller—he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.

      Still, an odd tingling rippled through her as she thought about him—he was all bad attitude. Big, brawny, muscular, with eyes as black as soot and a temper as hot as fire. He was just the kind of man she normally avoided because he looked as if he could snap a person into pieces with just one look. But still, he was dangerously sexy….

      Her stomach clenched. Where had that thought come from?

      She didn’t even like the guy. When he’d questioned her, she’d felt his disdain carving a hole through her.

      She’d be glad when he left the area.

      She swam another lap, counting strokes, but suddenly the lights flickered off, both outside and inside, pitching the terrace into darkness. Her breath hitched. There wasn’t a storm cloud in sight, no reason for a power failure.

      Something was wrong.

      Scanning the terrace and garden for signs of an intruder, she swam to the pool edge to get out and call security. Suddenly a movement at the edge of the gardens by the pool house caught her eye.

      A man?

      Panic shot through her. She had to call for help. But the chair where she’d put her phone was next to the gardens.

      And the only unlocked door was the sunroom door. She’d have to pass the pool house to reach it.

      Taking a deep breath, she took off running, but before she reached the door, someone clamped a gloved hand over her mouth and encircled her neck with the other. She clawed at his hands, but he dug his fingers into her larynx, cutting off her air. Remembering the self-defense moves she’d learned, she jabbed her elbow in his chest, brought her knee up then stomped down on his foot.

      He growled in fury and tightened both hands around her throat. Blind panic assaulted her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Desperate, she reached for something to use as a weapon as they fell against a patio chair. Her hand closed around a garden shovel and she stabbed backward with it, but he knocked it from her hand and it skittered across the terrace.

      Enraged, he punched her jaw so hard her ears rang and she saw stars.

      She had to fight back. But he hit her again, her legs buckled and her knees hit the stone with a painful thud. He shoved her face down, and she tasted blood as her head slammed against the brick wall encircling the patio. Then he dragged her toward the pool.

      Summoning her last bit of strength, she flailed and kicked, clawed at him, but they tumbled into the pool.

      Gasping, she struggled to fight her way back to the surface, but he was too strong. She held her breath, but her lungs were on fire, and he squeezed her throat so tightly that she choked and inhaled water.

      Then an empty darkness sucked her into its vortex.

      HAYES PULLED TO A STOP at the iron-gated entrance to Taylor Landis’s estate, and pressed the intercom button. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited, but she didn’t respond. Dammit, even if she wasn’t home, didn’t she have servants at her beck and call day and night?

      He pressed the call button again, his impatience growing. What the hell was she doing? Lounging in some hot bath with cucumbers over her eyes, sipping champagne? Entertaining one of her rich guy friends? Maybe they were wallowing in bed with all their money.

      Hell, maybe she wasn’t home. Probably out shopping.

      Still, he had to make sure she was safe. Resigned, he scanned the key card through the security system. But the card didn’t work. Dammit, had she changed the system without informing them?

      Or could something be wrong?

      His heartbeat slammed in his chest, and he climbed out, removed his weapon, vaulted over the fence and jogged through the oaks lining the mile-long driveway, scanning the property for an intruder.

      As the house slid into view, he searched the front yard, the sign of the crime scene tape a reminder that Brody might be right—that Taylor Landis might be in danger. He sped up until he reached the house, a cold monstrosity made of stone and brick with arches and palladium windows.

      The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Why were the lights off?

      The lingering odor of smoke and charred grass assaulted him, and he paused, a noise breaking the quiet. Water? A sprinkler maybe? But it had rained last night so why would Taylor have the sprinkler on?

      He hurried to the front door and rang the doorbell. The sound reverberated through the cavernous inside, an empty sound that came unanswered. He pressed it again, then glanced through a front window. Nothing looked out of place. But it was pitch-dark inside. Quiet. No movement. And there hadn’t been a storm to knock out the power.

      What if someone had disarmed Taylor’s security or cut her lights?

      Another noise jarred him, and he jerked his head toward the side of the house, then realized the noise had come from the back.

      Sucking in a breath, he wielded his gun and slowly inched along the length of the house to the side, then around the corner where a terrace held a pool, sitting area, fireplace, cooking pit and a pool house. A clay flowerpot was overturned, dirt spilled across the stone.

      Senses alert, his gaze swept the perimeter and the gardens. A water hose lay on the ground, spraying the stone. He shut off the water, wondering why someone would have directed it toward the pool instead of the lawn.

      His breath caught as he neared the pool. A body was floating facedown inside.

      God.

      It was Taylor Landis.

Chapter Two

      Heart pounding, Hayes laid his gun beside the pool, threw off his Stetson and boots, then dove into the water. He flipped Taylor over, cursing at the bruises on her face and neck as he carried her up the steps. Her long blond hair was a tangled mass around her slender face, and her arms dangled beside her, limp and lifeless.

      He eased her onto one of the pool chairs, guilt nagging him for thinking that she’d been out shopping while she’d obviously been struggling for her life.

      He quickly checked for a pulse. Hell, he couldn’t find one.

      He punched the number for security. “Taylor Landis was assaulted. I need an ambulance and CSI team ASAP, and have your people search the surrounding area!”

      He disconnected the call, then started chest compressions, tilted her head back, gently moved aside her hair, pinched her nose and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Come on, Taylor, breathe.”

      Instead, she lay as limp as a rag doll, deathly pale.

      Sweat exploded across his brow as he continued CPR.

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