Death surrounded them. Again.

Taylor’s eyes met hers and Sam could read the thoughts of her best friend clearly.

That was no accident, the look said.

CHAPTER NINE

It took two full hours to get the scene under control. Taylor had remembered the license plate on the Jag, but a quick search revealed that the plates had been stolen off a truck that had been left out on Eastland Avenue overnight. East Nashville—half beautifully gentrified, half crime-ridden and dangerous. Taylor knew who’d win in the end. The stubborn landowners would force the drug dealers and prostitutes and ruffians out and be left with a quiet little oasis with excellent restaurants and cool shops. They were probably sixty percent there already.

The family of the woman, if that’s who they were, had clammed up. They wouldn’t say why they were coming to the courts, or who the woman was. Their faces were pinched, eyes darting, tawny skin white with fear, and Taylor knew without asking that they were probably all illegal. A search of the afternoon’s court docket revealed nothing that would explain the woman’s presence; no outstanding warrants matched her description, and no one had a Hispanic woman her age on their current case lists. She wasn’t on the rolls for jury duty. She was a mystery, and Taylor felt the stirrings of life at the idea of figuring out the story. But she wasn’t allowed. Without batting an eyelash, Huston gave the case to Marcus.

Dejected, Taylor let Sam drive her home.

They didn’t talk on the way. The horror of watching a woman die in front of them was enough to steal Sam’s tongue as well.

Taylor’s head was pounding. She palmed a Percocet from the bottle in her pocket. Sam usually had a juice box or two lying around in the backseat, but there was nothing today. She dry swallowed the pill, hoping it started to work quickly.

When they were close to Taylor’s neighborhood, she put a hand out and signaled to the side of the road. As Sam pulled to the curb, Taylor wrote her a note.

Memphis invited me to Scotland.

Sam took one glance at it and turned to her in horror. “Surely you’re not thinking of going? That’s insanity!”

Taylor shook her head.

I just think a break would be good.

Sam put the BMW into Park and adopted her most exasperated tone.

“Taylor Bethany Jackson, you are a first-class fool if you think that running into the arms of the Viscount of what’s its-name will solve anything.”

Dulsie.

“Fuck Dulsie. Don’t fuck Memphis. That will ruin your life, I guarantee it.”

I’m not planning to fuck him. I’m thinking a little time apart would be good. Baldwin and I aren’t exactly getting along.

“So you run off to Scotland, to the man who’s desperate to make you his own? Girl, are you out of your mind? Are the drugs they’re giving you addling your brains?”

Sam’s voice was going up an octave with each declaration. Her face was turning red, and Taylor had to fight not to laugh.

He won’t be there. I’ll be alone at the estate.

“Ooh, the ‘estate.’ Don’t you mean his castle? He is the son of an earl, isn’t he? They do have a castle, don’t they? You can go play Rapunzel.”

Cobwebby. Hard to heat. At least that’s what he said.

Sam slapped the steering wheel. “Don’t get smart with me, girl. And don’t pretend like you’ve never looked it up online, either. Taylor, this is a mistake. A huge, huge mistake.”

I haven’t looked it up. What’s the point in that? Besides, I’ll ask Baldwin to come.

“Brilliant, kiddo.”

Sam took three deep breaths through her nose, shut her eyes for a moment. Taylor waited her out.

“Good grief. I called you for an escape, and now look at me, yelling at you. And you can’t yell back. That’s not fair.”

Sure it is. I deserve it. Sam, I’m so sorry.

That did the trick. Sam burst into tears, and Taylor took her in her arms.

She couldn’t say the words aloud, so she stroked Sam’s hair and thought hard at her, hoping she could at least feel the energy.

I’m so sorry, Sam. I failed you. I won’t let that happen again. I think I should go away. I have to get my head straight, too. I think this might fix me. Please be happy again, Sam. It breaks my heart to see you cry.

Sam started to snuffle and regain control. She pulled a tissue out of the box in her dash and wiped her eyes.

“You’ve already decided?”

Taylor nodded, realizing as she did that, yes, she had. She wanted to go. She wanted to get away from everyone, everything. To escape into a world that wasn’t her own, just for a little while.

“Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? Memphis can be dangerous, on too many levels to count. I love you too much to see you fall apart again.” Taylor wrote I promise then opened the car door.

“You want to walk in?” Sam asked. “It’s freezing out there.”

Taylor nodded again. She needed to stretch her legs and try to get the smell of death out of her head.

“Don’t stay out in the cold too long, okay?” She touched Taylor on the cheek, a butterfly caress. Taylor got out of the warm car and breathed deeply. She felt so much better. They’d needed to have that fight. Things weren’t fixed, not by a long shot, but at least she knew Sam still cared.

And now, she needed a few minutes alone to figure out what to tell Baldwin.

Taylor walked in the cold, chilled to the bone. She didn’t want to capitulate to the weather and head inside, not just yet. One foot in front of the other. Again and again and again.

She’d always been stubborn, a true Taurus, bullheaded, as her mother would pointedly say. She knew deep inside that it was her stubbornness that would get her out of this mess and back to normal, even though she barely believed the small voice inside her who promised all would be well.

It was a blessing that she lived in Nashville, where many people’s livelihoods depended on their supple voice box, and all the hospitals have occupational therapists that specialize in voice therapy on staff. As she walked, as each step unfolded, her mind spinning, she did the basic exercises they’d given her at the hospital: strengthening her vocal cords by letting her tongue lie flat against the bottom of her mouth, then rolling the edges together, sounding out a single syllable. Having found that Mmm was easiest, for some unknown reason, she’d been going about her days humming the Campbell’s soup song.

“Mmm, Mmm Good.”

“Mmm, Mmm Good.”

On her friend Ariadne’s advice, she approached her recovery from the holistic side as well, with herbs meant to soothe and relax her throat. She drank green tea with honey. She took the Percocet to relieve the pain. Sometimes, she even took her Ativan. Dutifully exercised and followed most of the doctor’s instructions.

She had felt like an idiot, getting Botox in her throat. It had helped, but only temporarily. The minute she started to talk again, during a conversation with Baldwin about the shooting, she clammed up. Literally felt her throat close. She’d had a cat once who would have coughing fits—almost as if it couldn’t breathe and began to choke. That’s exactly how she felt, constricted, no air, no way to scream.

The nightmares were the worst. They were fever dreams, which amplified and grew simple situations far beyond their proportions—a dark room turning into a cold grave with dirt thrown on her head, figurines who came to life and threatened to strangle her, Sam’s baby talking to her, though it wasn’t bigger than a speck of dust. She’d wake in the night, body rigid, hair clinging to her head, chest covered in sweat, mouth open, nothing coming out. She couldn’t scream in her dreams, either, and she couldn’t help but think if she could just let loose there, this would all stop. She’d get her voice back.