Beneath the Badge. Rita Herron

An involuntary shudder rocked her. “He jumped me from behind….”

      He clenched his jaw, looking harsh, yet his hands were tender as he stroked her back. “Just relax,” he said. “Let me get you a towel or something.”

      He eased her back down on the chair, and she clutched his arm, not wanting him to leave.

      “I’ll be right back.” He rushed away but returned in seconds and wrapped a thick, plush bath towel around her.

      “I need to open the gate for the ambulance,” he said. “The security system was off and I couldn’t get through.”

      She frowned, then realized that her attacker must have disarmed the alarm. But when? And how?

      “Inside,” she said in a ragged voice. “By the mudroom entrance.”

      He nodded, raced to the side entrance then disappeared inside the house. Terrified that her attacker might still be lurking nearby, she glanced around the terrace. There hadn’t been a car in the drive when she’d arrived home. And she hadn’t heard one after she went in the house. He must have come in on foot.

      The rose garden with its canopy of trees, bushes and elaborate labyrinth of flower beds normally looked inviting but now it seemed eerie, a place for an intruder to hide. Even her home with its fortress of rooms would provide cover. He could be in a closet or one of the extra suites or even in her bedroom, for that matter.

      Another chill swept through her.

      What if her attacker was inside? What if he killed the ranger, then returned to finish her off?

      HAYES HAD TO HURRY. He didn’t like leaving Taylor alone for a minute. She was too pale, scared to death, and her attacker might still be on the premises. With ten thousand square feet of house and three acres, no telling where the bastard might be.

      He could even be in the house. Had he tried to kill Taylor so he could rob her? Or could her brother, Miles, have attacked her because of her inheritance?

      He yanked his boots back on, and they squeaked on the Italian marble tile as he entered the mansion. He paused to listen, but it was quiet. Too quiet. If the security system had been breached because of the power outage, it should be beeping. The security team would also have been notified and would have shown up by now.

      Someone had disarmed the alarm intentionally.

      He located the security system panel and pushed the manual button to open the gates, grateful to hear the sirens approaching. Then he jogged back outside to Taylor. He’d do a thorough search of the property, house and system once she was taken care of.

      She was crouched in the lounge chair, clutching the towel around her, trembling. He scanned the area, walked to the edge of the gardens and checked. But he saw no movement in the carefully tailored layout of trimmed bushes and rose vines. Something caught his eye on a low tree branch. A hair had gotten caught in the twig. A long blond hair but not as blond as Taylor’s. A woman’s hair.

      But Taylor said she’d been attacked by a man.

      He bagged the hair anyway for trace.

      On edge, he strode back to Taylor, this time standing guard. His jaw clenched at the sight of the scrapes and abrasions on her knees and hands. A bruise darkened her cheek and her nails were jagged and bloody, indicating she’d fought her assailant. Good for her.

      Damn bastard. He couldn’t stand the thought of any man beating on a woman. Maybe they’d find some trace evidence or DNA.

      “What happened?” he asked bluntly.

      She winced, biting down on her lip as if the horror of the memory was haunting her. “I came down for a swim,” she whispered, coughing in between the words.

      He grimaced, knowing her throat was hurting, her vocal chords damaged from the attack.

      “He attacked you inside or out here?”

      “Out here.” She shuddered visibly. “I was swimming laps, then the lights went out.” She paused, and her hand went involuntarily to her throat. Whether from pain or trauma he didn’t know. Maybe both.

      “Then I saw a movement beside the garden and got scared, so I swam to the edge and climbed out. I tried to make it inside, but he grabbed me from behind.”

      The siren screeched, announcing the arrival of the paramedics and Hayes leaned over Taylor. “I’ll take you around front to them, then I’ll search the premises.”

      She nodded although she tensed when he lifted her and raced to the ambulance. The EMTs met them, and two security officers screeched to a stop, also vaulting into motion. The CSI unit followed a second later.

      A thin wiry security guard for Cantara Hills spoke first. “We have other teams dispatched, searching the surrounding houses, canvassing the neighborhood.”

      Hayes nodded while the EMTs examined Taylor. The CSI tech approached with a kit.

      “Process her,” he told them. Although the chlorinated water might have washed away or destroyed trace evidence.

      “We’ll need to take her in for X-rays, an EKG and lab work,” one of the paramedics said.

      Hayes angled his head toward Taylor. “I’ll meet you at the hospital. I want to search the house first in case the perp is inside or left evidence.”

      Taylor’s gaze sought his, and he offered a brusque smile. She looked incredibly small and fragile, as if she didn’t want him to leave, but that was shock talking. She’d never given him the time of day before.

      Shaking off the thought, he left her with the medics so he could focus on the crime scene.

      One of the CSI agents began with Taylor while the second one 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