Fifty-Six

Baldwin drove while Marcus called it in and got them backup. They weren’t taking any chances, but Baldwin knew they were going to be too late. Taylor would do anything to save Sam, including going into the house guns blazing and getting herself killed in the process.

Did she think she would get away with killing Copeland? Was that why she’d been so quiet over the past few days? He should have seen it, should have recognized that she was going to take it upon herself to end the Pretender’s life.

If he’d been less worried about himself and his own stupid problems, he’d have seen her withdraw. He could always read her, and he hadn’t even bothered. This was his fault. It was all his fault.

His phone rang, Charlaine Schultz’s name popped up on the screen.

“Charlaine, what’s up?”

“I just sent you the most recent picture of Ewan Copeland. The plastic surgeon said he’d done at least five facial procedures on him in the past ten years.”

“We know who he’s supposed to be, let me just confirm with your picture. Hold a sec.”

He pulled up the attachment, recognized the face easily as the death investigator Barclay Iles.

“That’s him. Good job, Charlaine. We know where he is now, I’ll let you know how things shake out.”

“Be safe, boss.”

“I will. Thanks.”

They were screaming down West End. Thank goodness they were going against traffic, people were still flowing into downtown, the morning rush hour compounded by the untimed stoplights and joggers, mostly Vanderbilt students getting a run in before classes started for the day. They were at the tail end of rush hour, though, and heading out of town, so they were able to make good time. They passed Centennial Park and the roads cleared. Baldwin ran the red light at West End and Murphy Road. Time. He looked at the dashboard clock, it had been two minutes since he’d hung up with Taylor.

He shared Charlaine’s information with Marcus. “It’s confirmation, at the very least.”

Marcus shook his head, face tight. “I can’t believe we’ve been working with this guy the whole time. What a devious prick.”

“No kidding. Go faster.”

It would take another five minutes to get to Belle Meade, even speeding through the lights.

He caught himself praying. “Please, God. Don’t take her from me. Let me get there in time.”