Hot Pursuit by Christina Skye

hesitated, but decided that taking the bag would raise too many questions. Taylor would never buy a simple explanation that he was having the things repaired as a gesture of his neighborliness.
    That meant his inspection would have to wait.
    He let himself out, closing her front door quietly. He could have used the key he’d been given to throw her bolt, but that would have been another dead giveaway to Taylor.
By the book,
he told himself sternly.
    But somehow he couldn’t shake the memory of her staring up at him from that blue sea of pillows on her bed.
She’s getting to you,
a voice warned. Big mouth, big attitude and all.
    Like
hell
she was.
    The woman was major trouble, and nothing was going on here, even if she
did
have gorgeous legs and more courage than most men.
    Back in his apartment, he set his unneeded sugar on the nearest counter. Now that he’d checked on Taylor, he had to shower, then phone in a report to Izzy. After that—
    His cell phone vibrated in silent mode. “Broussard.”
    â€œMy office. Twenty minutes.” The voice was tight, just on the edge of anger.
    Jack cursed silently as the line went dead.
    Apparently his commanding officer had just seen the latest news footage about the convenience store robbery.
    Â 
    â€œI expect an explanation, Commander.”
    Here it comes,
Jack thought.
Right between the eyes.
    His gaze didn’t stray from a spot on the opposite wall. “I was handling surveillance on Taylor O’Toole, sir. I saw Harris Rains enter a convenience store on Market Street without any Federal presence visible. When Rains and Ms. O’Toole didn’t come out, I became suspicious.”
    Admiral Reed Braden steepled his big fingers. Forty years of active duty had taught him how to make a man sweat by the simple force of silence. He tried to do it now, but Jack wasn’t sweating.
    After what seemed like a century, the admiral glanced down at the file on his desk. “What made you assume there was trouble inside, Commander?”
    â€œI realized no one was moving around.”
    â€œDid you see any actual signs of threat?”
    Jack reviewed the afternoon’s events to that point. “No, sir.”
    â€œWere weapons drawn?”
    â€œNone in evidence, sir.”
    â€œSo you had no concrete proof that the men in the store were planning violence?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œAnd yet you made that vast leap of intuition. Do you have mental skills you haven’t told the Navy about, Commander?”
    â€œNo, sir.” Jack stood stiffly, controlling his anger. He’d used deadly force in a civilian situation. One man was dead, and the mission could have been seriously jeopardized, so his c.o. had every reason to ream him out.
    â€œI see. What exactly
was
your mission, Commander Broussard?”
    â€œTo stand surveillance on Taylor O’Toole, noting all contacts and establishing a pattern of movement, sir. Especially in regard to Harris Rains and Candace Jensen, who is a friend of Ms. O’Toole.”
    â€œI see. So you weren’t assigned to go kill civilians in the middle of San Francisco?” The admiral’s voice could have scored marble.
    â€œNo, sir.”
    A chair squeaked. Admiral Braden tossed a photo across the table. “What do you have to say about
this
?”
    Jack glanced down, wincing at his face caught in a grainy shot that appeared to be pulled from an amateur’s video footage. Hell, he hadn’t appeared on the six o’clock news, had he? There had been no TV vans in sight when he’d left the scene. “Nothing, sir.”
    â€œNo? In that case, let me fill in the words for you.
This
is a material breach of orders.” He jabbed at the photo on his desk. “
This
is grounds for pulling you off this mission and sending you up to Alaska to count Russian trawlers for the next eight years. If you were photographed on television, your usefulness would be nil.