the kitchen. His father was lighting the burner beneath a kettle of peeled potatoes.
“Where’s Taylor?”
“I think he took the dogs for a walk.”
“Taylor did?”
His father looked up. “Any reason he shouldn’t?”
“No. Just that Nature and Taylor don’t get along.”
Bill smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re winning him over. You could give him a shout. We’re going to eat before too long.”
Will nodded. He glanced back at the living room, but there was no one around. Grant had still been sleeping in the den when he walked past. “Grant isn’t taking this well,” he said.
“Your brother has to work this one out for himself.”
Not exactly what Will had been hoping for.
He mulled it over and said resolutely, “You haven’t said. What do you think?”
Bill, placing trout in an iron skillet, looked up. “About what?”
“About MacAllister. Taylor.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
“Kid.” Will snorted.
“You’re all kids to me.” Bill went back to arranging the fish, but he must have felt the weight of Will’s gaze. He said slowly, “I think he’s a straight shooter, son. He won’t let you down. Not if he’s still standing.”
Will thought about that still standing comment as he crossed the meadow to where he spotted Taylor standing motionless, watching a Cooper’s hawk hunting.
His dad had unknowingly zeroed right in on Will’s deepest fear. That reckless streak of Taylor’s, that apparent, terrifying belief that he was impervious to harm, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary.
But he wasn’t forgetting that conversation with Taylor the night before they’d left Ventura. Whatever his private anxieties — the fear that his happiness was tied to the safety and well-being of someone who didn’t give a damn about his own safety and well-being — he could not afford to let any of that show. They could not have a repeat of Paris. He could not treat Taylor any differently on the job than he had when they’d first been partnered.
Or he would lose him.
As much as Taylor loved him, and Will didn’t doubt that for a second, he saw now that this was Taylor’s line in the sand. Why it should be so, he didn’t know, but he had seen it on Taylor’s face in Paris. And he’d heard it in his voice the other night.
Riley came tearing across the meadow toward him, followed by Roxie. Taylor turned, and seeing Will, smiled and started back to meet him.
“Enjoying yourself?” Will greeted him. “Sorry for sacking out like that. I must be getting old.”
Taylor shrugged in a doesn’t matter gesture, kept walking till he was face to face with Will, and Will’s arms closed around him automatically. Taylor fastened his mouth on Will’s, wrapped his arms around Will’s shoulders. Will held him hard, absorbing all that warmth and energy and strength in one wiry, lithe body, enjoying the aggressive press of Taylor’s cool mouth on his.
They broke the kiss, smiling.
“And sorry for the Black Bear Inn,” Will said, holding him still tighter.
Taylor laughed. “It could have been worse. It could have been four minutes later, and then I would have killed Cousin Dennis.”
“Pop says the marshals will be extracting Dennis on Sunday.”
Taylor nodded absently, stepping back, and Will let him go reluctantly. “I got hold of Euphonia at the DMV.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The black Porsche is registered to a Stuart Schwierskott. He’s a private investigator. He works for Schwierskott & Associate. He’s the associate. His old man owns the company.”
Will took a moment to digest this. “Not a coincidence then. He was following us.”
“Yep.”
“And you did see him going into the Laundromat.”
“Yep.”
“I think we need to pay Schwierskott and his associate a visit next week.”
“Yep.”
They started back to the house, the dogs racing ahead. “I wonder who the hell hired them.” Will said.
Taylor shook his head.
“And who the hell conducts surveillance in a
“Where’s Taylor?”
“I think he took the dogs for a walk.”
“Taylor did?”
His father looked up. “Any reason he shouldn’t?”
“No. Just that Nature and Taylor don’t get along.”
Bill smiled faintly. “Maybe we’re winning him over. You could give him a shout. We’re going to eat before too long.”
Will nodded. He glanced back at the living room, but there was no one around. Grant had still been sleeping in the den when he walked past. “Grant isn’t taking this well,” he said.
“Your brother has to work this one out for himself.”
Not exactly what Will had been hoping for.
He mulled it over and said resolutely, “You haven’t said. What do you think?”
Bill, placing trout in an iron skillet, looked up. “About what?”
“About MacAllister. Taylor.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
“Kid.” Will snorted.
“You’re all kids to me.” Bill went back to arranging the fish, but he must have felt the weight of Will’s gaze. He said slowly, “I think he’s a straight shooter, son. He won’t let you down. Not if he’s still standing.”
Will thought about that still standing comment as he crossed the meadow to where he spotted Taylor standing motionless, watching a Cooper’s hawk hunting.
His dad had unknowingly zeroed right in on Will’s deepest fear. That reckless streak of Taylor’s, that apparent, terrifying belief that he was impervious to harm, despite plenty of evidence to the contrary.
But he wasn’t forgetting that conversation with Taylor the night before they’d left Ventura. Whatever his private anxieties — the fear that his happiness was tied to the safety and well-being of someone who didn’t give a damn about his own safety and well-being — he could not afford to let any of that show. They could not have a repeat of Paris. He could not treat Taylor any differently on the job than he had when they’d first been partnered.
Or he would lose him.
As much as Taylor loved him, and Will didn’t doubt that for a second, he saw now that this was Taylor’s line in the sand. Why it should be so, he didn’t know, but he had seen it on Taylor’s face in Paris. And he’d heard it in his voice the other night.
Riley came tearing across the meadow toward him, followed by Roxie. Taylor turned, and seeing Will, smiled and started back to meet him.
“Enjoying yourself?” Will greeted him. “Sorry for sacking out like that. I must be getting old.”
Taylor shrugged in a doesn’t matter gesture, kept walking till he was face to face with Will, and Will’s arms closed around him automatically. Taylor fastened his mouth on Will’s, wrapped his arms around Will’s shoulders. Will held him hard, absorbing all that warmth and energy and strength in one wiry, lithe body, enjoying the aggressive press of Taylor’s cool mouth on his.
They broke the kiss, smiling.
“And sorry for the Black Bear Inn,” Will said, holding him still tighter.
Taylor laughed. “It could have been worse. It could have been four minutes later, and then I would have killed Cousin Dennis.”
“Pop says the marshals will be extracting Dennis on Sunday.”
Taylor nodded absently, stepping back, and Will let him go reluctantly. “I got hold of Euphonia at the DMV.”
“Oh yeah?”
“The black Porsche is registered to a Stuart Schwierskott. He’s a private investigator. He works for Schwierskott & Associate. He’s the associate. His old man owns the company.”
Will took a moment to digest this. “Not a coincidence then. He was following us.”
“Yep.”
“And you did see him going into the Laundromat.”
“Yep.”
“I think we need to pay Schwierskott and his associate a visit next week.”
“Yep.”
They started back to the house, the dogs racing ahead. “I wonder who the hell hired them.” Will said.
Taylor shook his head.
“And who the hell conducts surveillance in a
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