Forty-Nine

Taylor ignored the phone when it rang again.

She hated lying to Baldwin. Even though he’d been lying to her for God knew how long, she didn’t want to be that woman. The one who said she was going shopping with her friends and actually met her lover in the park. The one who calculated a man’s worth before she spoke to him. The one who said I love you and didn’t mean it. She wasn’t that kind of woman, yet here she was openly lying to her fiancé about where she was going. And worse, what she’d be doing.

Greater good, Taylor. You know he’d stop you if he was close. You’re smart to send him away. To send him where he’ll be safe.

And face it, you don’t want him around while you commit murder.

When Kris told her Barclay/Ewan lived with her, her heart sank. A separate address would have been much too easy. Of course he wouldn’t do that. She sat in her car for five minutes, breathing, thinking, deciding. She had a feeling she knew where he was, where he’d taken Sam. If she were Ewan Copeland, it was exactly where she would go to end things in Nashville. He knew her well enough to know she’d figure that out. The stage had been set perfectly.

She placed a quick call to Julia Page, the assistant district attorney she felt most comfortable asking a favor from.

Julia picked up on the first ring. “Taylor, thank goodness you’re okay. I just heard about the shooting.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one? I’m talking about Colleen Keck.”

“We also had a suspected copycat in the parking lot of Forensic Medical. He was neutralized.”

“Good God. Did you shoot him? Did he hurt Sam? Have you found her?”

“No, I didn’t. Jesus, Julia. I’m hardly trigger-happy.” Yeah, right. Like she wouldn’t have taken the opportunity herself, and enjoyed it. This was who she’d become. Blindly seeking revenge. “I don’t know anything more about Sam, but I’m working on it. Hey, Julia, do you have a contact number for Joshua Fortnight?”

Silence billowed through the phone. Julia finally cleared her throat.

“I know the name of the home he’s in. He opted for a group living environment when his father was killed. There was no one left to take care of him, and the estate got locked in an escrow fight, and the staff was let go. The estate will be in probate for years. They released enough funds to pay Joshua’s medical expenses. We were able to get him well placed, the best we could do, considering. He’s at the Guardian facility, off Antioch Pike and Old Harding.”

“Awesome, Julia. Thank you.”

“Do I want to know?”

“I just need to ask him some questions later. Nothing to worry about. This whole case ties back to his father, I just need to clarify something.”

“Okay, Taylor. Good luck.”

Taylor knew Julia had worked hard to take care of Joshua. A victim of Treacher Collins syndrome, he was blind, going deaf, his face deformed beyond recognition. The fact that he was leading a relatively normal, healthy life was a miracle in itself. His mother, Carlotta Fortnight, had died in childbirth. His father, Eric Fortnight, Snow White, dead by Taylor’s hand. His sister, Charlotte Douglas, impregnated by Baldwin, slain by Ewan Copeland…

Joshua’s history was a bloody one. It was remarkable that he’d survived unscathed—he’d saved his father from his creation by shooting Copeland in the shoulder moments before Taylor and the SWAT team burst through their doors.

The whole saga was much too incestuous for Taylor’s liking.

She was already past Ellington Parkway. She whipped it around and took the exit for I-24 East, settled into the fast lane. She could make it to Joshua’s group home in less than ten minutes.

Joshua. The innocent, surrounded by tragedy. The lamb staked out for the lions.

He may have the answers she needed.

She was going to find Sam and see her safely away from the bastard. She refused to give up trying to save the innocents around her, to wallow in her failures. There would be plenty of time to mourn the ancillary players once she was finished.

The phone rang again. She might have to just turn the damn thing off so it wouldn’t be such a distraction.

She glanced at the screen—it was an international call. She recognized the number, with its +44 prefix. Memphis.

What the hell? Why would Memphis be calling now? Should she answer? She pressed the button and connected the call.

“How are you, Special Agent Highsmythe?”

His thick British upper-class boys’ school accent flew out of her cell-phone speakers tinged with relief. “I’m so glad I reached you. Are you all right?”

He actually did sound relieved, the fool.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Taylor, I saw the case on the news. You’re everywhere. It looks like things have gone to hell. Please tell me you are taking care of yourself.”

“Worry not, Viscount. I’m always careful.”

“I’ve seen you in action, remember. Careful isn’t what I’d deem an appropriate term for you. You’re as dangerous as a courting lion.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. He’d always had that ability, at least. Even when she was infuriated with him, he could turn her mood upside down.

“Seriously, I’m all good. What can I do for you?”

“I was worried,” he said simply.

He was quiet then, and she felt that strange guilt that always washed over her when Memphis revealed his true feelings about her. Memphis had formed an attachment to Taylor, and when he’d been selected to work at Quantico as the liaison between New Scotland Yard and the FBI on counterterrorism, she’d been terribly worried he wouldn’t let things lie. But Memphis had kept his distance, and behaved himself. For the most part. Baldwin didn’t know that Memphis called her, and that sometimes, when she wanted a laugh, she answered the phone.

God knew she needed something cheerful now, but this wasn’t the time.

“I’m fine, really. But I have to go. I’m tracking down a lead and I’ve just arrived.”

“Be careful then, Taylor. You and your chap need to come over to England sometime. I’ll show you around.”

“I thought you were in Quantico?”

“Back on the Queen’s soil now. The colonies no longer needed my expertise.”

He didn’t sound bitter, but Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if Baldwin had seen to that. He was wildly jealous of Memphis, and having him underfoot in Quantico was probably too much of an annoyance, even for a man with Job-like patience.

“I’m sorry about that. I know you were enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, well. One can’t have everything one wants, isn’t that right?”

And boom, he crossed right on over the line. Typical of him, he could ride the edge for only so long. He was trouble, with a capital T, and Taylor knew it.

“I’ll talk to you later, Memphis. Have a good night.”

She hung up the phone and forced Memphis, and Baldwin, from her mind. She must focus on Nashville.