“Thank you all for being here today. I appreciate it more than you know. But we really should be honoring the entire team who participated. I couldn’t have done any of this without the help of Detective Renn McKenzie, Supervisory Special Agent John Baldwin, Detective James Highsmythe of the London Metropolitan Police, and all the officers of the Metro Police who participated, in small ways and in large, on the case. The city of Nashville owes these men and women a debt of gratitude. Now, enough of the hoopla. Let’s go back to work.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and they clapped again. Lincoln whistled, two fingers stuck in his mouth, and this time she did roll her eyes. Baldwin winked at her, his clear green gaze full of pride. With her back ramrod straight and her ears burning, she thanked the chief and the other dignitaries, nodded at her new boss, Commander Joan Huston, and made her way off the dais. People began milling about; the language of the force rang in her ears like a mother’s lullaby. She was back, and it felt damn good.

Baldwin met her, took her hand. “So how’s the Investigator of the Year?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. “Don’t start,” she said. “This is mortifying enough as it is.”

He laughed and kissed her palm. A promise for later.

Lincoln and Marcus both hugged her, and McKenzie shook her hand.

“Congratulations, LT!” Lincoln’s gap-toothed smile felt like coming home, and she clapped him on the back. Price joined their group, shaking her hand gravely, his red handlebar mustache neatly trimmed and waxed for the occasion.

“What’s your first act as a newly restored lieutenant, Loot?” Marcus asked.

“Buying y’all a beer. It is Halloween, after all. Let’s get out of here. How about we head down to Mulligan’s and grab a Guinness?”

“You’re on,” Marcus said.

She gestured to her stiffly starched uniform. “I just need to change.”

“Us, too. Race you to the locker rooms.”

Ten minutes later, once again in civilian clothes—jeans, cowboy boots, a black cashmere turtleneck and gray corduroy blazer, left open—Taylor felt much more comfortable. She snapped her holster onto her belt, then risked a glance at her shield. Her phantom limb. Losing it had just about cost her everything. She lovingly caressed the gold for the briefest of moments, then attached it to her belt in front of her holster. Complete. Again. She slammed her locker shut and met the boys in the hall. She saw Baldwin’s eyes stray to her waist and pretended she didn’t see his satisfied smile.

As they left the Criminal Justice Center, Taylor’s spirits lifted. The joshing, joking group of men behind her, Baldwin in step at her side, all served to remind her how lucky she was. Now, if she could only find Fitz and do away with the Pretender, life would be grand indeed.

They’d just passed Hooters when Taylor’s cell rang. She looked at the screen, saw it was dispatch. She held up a hand and stopped on the sidewalk to answer.

“Jackson,” she said.

“Lieutenant, we need your response at a 10-64J, possible homicide, 3800 Estes Road. Repeat, 10-64J.”

The J designator made a shiver go up her spine. /meant the victim was a juvenile. She hated working crimes with kids involved.

“Roger that, Dispatch. I’m on my way.” She slapped the phone shut. “Hey, guys, I’m sorry. I’ve got to go to this scene.” She pulled her wallet out of her jacket’s interior pocket and handed Lincoln two twenties. He shook his head.

“Hell, no, LT. You’re back on the job, so are we.”

“But you’re not on today. Go on ahead.”

“No way,” Marcus said. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, a wall of testosterone and insistence. She knew better than to fight. They were all just as happy as she was to be back together.

“I’ll drive,” McKenzie offered.

She smiled at them, then turned to Baldwin. “Well, aren’t you coming, too?”

“What, the Nashville police want the help of a profiler?” he teased, his green eyes flashing.

“Of course we do. Come on then, let’s go. We’ll have to take two cars.”

They drove up West End, McKenzie in the lead, Taylor and Baldwin following. Getting to Green Hills at this time of day was difficult at best, the traffic stop-and-start, so McKenzie was leading them through the back roads. Up West End, then left on Bowling, through the gloriously wooded neighborhoods, wide green lawns, large homes set far back from the main streets.

Many of the houses were decorated for Halloween, some professionally, with complete horror tableaus on their front yards: Black-and-orange twinkling lights and tombstones and full-size mummies—some crafted with the obvious hand of a child—fake spider webs and friendly ghosts. On the corner of Bowling and Woodmont there was a large inflatable headless horseman. It was starting to get dark, and there had been rain earlier in the day. Fog rose in wispy streams from the lawns. A few jack-o’-lanterns had been lit, their insides glowing with sinister comfort.

Acknowledgments

I would like to extend my warmest thanks to the following people: Del Tinsley, JB Thompson, Chuck Sambuchino, Bryon Quertermous, Duane Swierczynski, Tribe, Lee Child, Dave White, Laura Benedict, Pinckney Benedict, Sandra Ruttan, BJ Bourg, Juri Nummelin, Patti Abbott, Steve Weddle, the authors of KILLER YEAR, the authors of FIRST THRILLS, the authors of SURREAL SOUTH II, the authors of DISCOUNT NOIR, Rob Siders, who helped with all the technical parts, my dear agent Scott Miller and of course, my darling husband. Everyone on this list has played a part in the success of my short stories, and I wouldn’t have this collection without them.

About JT Ellison

JT Ellison is the bestselling author of the critically acclaimed Taylor Jackson series, including All The Pretty Girls, 14, Judas Kiss and The Cold Room. Her novels have been published in 21 countries, and she was named “Best Mystery/Thriller Writer of 2008” by the Nashville Scene.

Ellison grew up in Colorado and moved to Virginia during high school. She is a graduate of Randolph-Macon Woman’s College and received her master’s degree from George Washington University. She was a presidential appointee and worked in The White House and the Department of Commerce before moving into the private sector. As a financial analyst and marketing director, she worked for several defense and aerospace contractors.

After moving to Nashville, Ellison began research on a passion: forensics and crime. She has worked with the Metro Nashville Police Department, the FBI, and various other law enforcement organizations to research her books.

Her short stories have been widely published, including her award winning story “Prodigal Me” in the anthology Killer Year: Stories to Die For, edited by Lee Child, “Chimera” in the anthology Surreal South ’09, edited by Pinckney Benedict and Laura Benedict, and “Killing Carol Ann” in First Thrills, edited by Lee Child.

She is the bi-monthly Friday columnist at the Anthony Award nominated blog Murderati and is a founding member of Killer Year, an organization that was dedicated to raising awareness for the debut novelists of 2007.

Ellison is a member of several professional writing organizations, including International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America and Romance Writers of America. She has an active following on Twitter under the name @Thrillerchick, and a robust Facebook community.