What sort of punishment would she receive if she pulled this off?

She was shocked to realize she didn’t care. She just wanted the whole thing to end.

What would Baldwin think?

She squirmed in her chair, messed with her ponytail.

Baldwin had killed before as well. He knew what it did to the soul. No amount of forgiveness or justification could fix that dark spot. Would he blame her for taking matters into her own hands? Applaud her? She got the sense he was thinking the same thing, though she would never ask. This was something that she could never, ever say aloud. Not to Baldwin.

She wished she could use a backup piece. She had a few unregistered pieces that fit the bill. She didn’t want to sully her service weapon with her blood revenge. If she managed to pull it off, she’d still have a job, responsibilities, a life with Metro. She’d have to touch that weapon daily, knowing it had done her bidding, had purposefully tracked a man down and taken his life. She’d never be able to forget. Perhaps that would be a fitting punishment after all.

Long range, or close up? She forced herself to be honest. Close up, definitely. She wanted to look the Pretender in the eye as he died. It was the only way she could be sure.

She ignored the rush of adrenaline that plowed through her. Just the thought of facing off against him filled her with a combination of lust and dread. She really didn’t recognize herself anymore. He’d driven her to this, this base desire to end another human being’s life. To walk away from every commitment she’d ever made to herself, to the force. She’d sworn to protect, not to indulge in the darkness.

But hurting the ones she loved…that was beyond the pale. The Pretender had chosen this path, and Taylor was the only one who could stop it before too many more of her people got hurt. Fitz, Sam, Lincoln, Marcus, even McKenzie, they were more than colleagues, more than friends. They were her family, just as much as Baldwin. Maybe even more so.

She just had to find the son of a bitch. Find him, and get a few precious minutes alone. This nightmare would end.

Taylor needed to make arrangements that suited her plan. She couldn’t have federal bodyguards looking over her shoulder. She needed insiders. Friends. People who, if challenged, would look the other way.

She picked up the phone and called her old boss, Mitchell Price, at home.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hell-ooo, Miss Jackson! How are you this fine evening?”

“Pretty good, Mitchell. You heard we found Fitz?”

“I did. Went to see him this evening. He’s in good spirits, considering. Have to say I’ve been celebrating the news a bit.”

Taylor smiled at the admission, Mitchell did sound a little in his cups. Not in a bad way, just happily tipsy.

“I can tell.”

“Am I that bad?”

“Goodness, no. I just know you well enough to hear the fine Irish lilt in your voice.”

“Ah. Good. What can I do for you? Have you finally decided to chuck Metro and come join my merry band of thieves?”

“Not exactly. I was hoping to do some business with you.”

She heard the music in the background soften, and he coughed slightly. His voice was solemn.

“Investigation or protection?”

“To be honest, protection. Baldwin is freaking out on me and planning a barricade of FBI agents. I don’t want to be…hampered. I have things I need to do, and his phalanx of suits will get in my way.”

“You’re not planning on going hunting, are you?”

Price always had known her too well. She avoided answering truthfully.

“We’re pretty certain the Pretender’s next play will involve me directly. I just want some extra backup. After hours. Off-site. My place. That kind of thing. Do you have a couple of folks you could detail to me for a week or so?”

“Only a week?”

“If it lasts longer than that, I’m doing something wrong,” she said softly.

Price was silent for a few moments. She held her breath. Surely he wouldn’t say no. She was right.

“Okay, Taylor. I’ve got a couple of guys who might work for you. They’re discreet. Quiet. And damn good at their jobs. I save them for our more private endeavors.”

Private. Right up her alley.

“That sounds perfect. When can they start?”

“Tonight, if you’d like. Give me a couple of hours to wrangle them up.”

“Just let them know one thing. The Pretender is mine. They are not to engage him if he gets close, they are to alert me and back off. Okay?”

“Taylor…” His voice held a note of warning.

“I just want to be the one to bring him in, that’s all.”

Price harrumphed, but let it go.

She hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair, smile gone from her face. There. Step one was in place.

Now she could worry about the second part of the plan.

She’d felt the darkness inside her, writhing like a snake in its warm nest, the deadening of her spirit becoming more and more complete as she grew older. Each death meant more blood on her hands, more pieces of her soul shattered and sloughed away. Why would this be any different? He was a threat, and threats needed to be neutralized. Simple as that. Taylor knew she could do it. She knew she was capable.

She’d left the church years before, but she found herself praying to an unknown, unseen God, the words moving past her lips soundlessly.

Let it be me. Let me be the one to end this.

Sixteen

Taylor awoke with a start. Damn it. She’d closed her eyes for half a second and drifted off.

A wave of emotion cascaded through her. She needed to move, to breathe in the night air, to find him. It was all well and good to dream about taking the fight to the Pretender, but the truth of the matter was, he was probably bringing it to her.

The walls grew too close and she stood, fast. As she rose, her holster caught on the edge of her inbox, dumping the contents to the floor.

“Son of a bitch!”

She looked at the mess, the parallel to her own emotions.

Be hunted, or be the hunter.

When it came right down to it, she knew which path she would choose.

She dropped to her knees and began assembling the mess. She’d gathered the papers and files into three significant piles when her phone rang. She reached up to her desk and pulled the phone to her. An internal call, from the switchboard.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” she answered, pushing all the morbid thoughts from her mind.

“LT, it’s Marcus. I’m out on a call, and I think you need to see this.”

She glanced at the clock, 10:11 p.m. Crap. Baldwin would be mad at her, she wasn’t supposed to be here that long. And seeing as she was deskbound, Commander Huston would be very displeased if she went out on a case in an official capacity. But Marcus Wade wasn’t prone to histrionics. Steady and smart, he was the one she counted on to see past surface appearances and into the heart of the matter. If he was calling, he actually needed her.

A quick look couldn’t hurt anything, and if the Pretender was watching… A shot in the proverbial dark, perhaps?

“It’s late. Why didn’t B-shift get the call?”

“Lincoln and I pulled it earlier. It’s taken us hours to get the body out of the water. He’s still in there, tied to something. We’ve got the OEM divers trying to get him untangled.”

That was right, Lincoln had mentioned getting called out to a drowning. And now Marcus was calling… “You have an inkling about the identity of the victim?”

“I think it might be Peter Schechter.”

Taylor groaned inwardly. Yet another teenager dead, more parents to engulf in sorrow. That would be nine of Nashville’s kids murdered in less than a week, not counting the one she’d taken down. She didn’t know how the city was going to recover. She didn’t know how she was going to recover.