Baldwin smiled. “Well, to his credit, he snuck the call in from the bathroom. I may have to promote his ass when I get my command back. Anyway, it’s going to take more time. Ruth Anderson has been in contact with an awful lot of people.”

“Surely Ewan Copeland is in her system? Can’t we find out where he is from that?”

“They’ve been covering their tracks for years. It’s going to take more than a couple of hours. Kevin’s a genius, but he’s only one man. And as far as we can tell, Copeland hasn’t used that name since he was eighteen and got spat out of juvie. He completely dropped off the radar.”

“Right.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t we head back to the house, take a shower, catch an hour’s worth of sleep. You’re dead on your feet, I can see your molars every time you yawn.”

“I’m not yawning,” she said, just as her jaw spontaneously opened, wide enough that her ears cracked.

“Yeah, right. Make your calls, then I’m taking you home for a couple of hours.”

She had to admit he was right. These were the in between hours, when paperwork created lag time, research was under way and information was barely trickling in.

She decided to be smart. She might as well take advantage of the momentary lull. She had no idea when she’d get another chance to rest. They’d call if they found anything relevant.

“It’s going to take Julia Page a while to secure the warrant, I’ll have Marcus or McKenzie type it up. Callahan won’t be in the office for a couple of hours, no sense dragging her out of bed so early. And she’s on eastern time, it’s an hour later there. Let me tell the boys I’m taking off. A couple of hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt. I’ll meet you in the parking lot in five.”

She watched Baldwin walk away, waited until he was out of site, then started down the hall to her office.

Maybe she could parade through the lot, or wander up the street, see if he took a shot? He wasn’t in the building, and so long as she was safely ensconced in the CJC, he couldn’t get at her. She needed to be outside, out in the open, marking her scent along the trees, drawing him closer and closer.

If only it would be so easy. No. She’d been in Nashville long enough now that if he were here, he’d know she was back and gunning for him. It was time to start hunting.

Thirty-Four

Taylor had never been happier to see her exit.

She’d thought about getting a condo downtown for years, and with the influx of housing in the Gulch, Terrazzo and The Icon opening with their rooftop pools and private security, she was even more tempted. She’d spent most of her adult life in a cabin atop a hill west of town, and when she and Baldwin got engaged, they’d bought a home together, one that was big enough for them both to have offices, and a beautiful bonus room for her pool table. She loved the house. It was open and airy, lovingly decorated in their eclectic style, but at times like these, when she was hauling herself home, twenty minutes from downtown, she wished she had something closer. Driving, hell, walking a few streets over from the office would be a nice change, especially when she was this tired.

Her insomnia was getting worse the older she got, and she’d noticed that lately her waking hours were tinged with a slight fog. Stress and years of sleepless nights were finally catching up with her. When she did sleep it was due to sheer exhaustion. Not good. Situations like that would take her off her game if she wasn’t careful. She would run, run, run then collapse, never getting the right amount of sleep, and to be honest, until now, never really having to. She could do with three or four hours a night and be perfectly fine.

Maybe it was just this case, the horror of what happened to Fitz, the pressure she’d put on herself to eliminate the threat to her life’s order, but she was feeling the lack of sleep keenly. It worried her. She didn’t want to be anything less than razor-sharp right now. Since she didn’t know how long this case would drag on, she really needed to start taking better care of herself. Even the tiniest slip could derail her world, and she couldn’t afford any mistakes. Not now. Not when she was so close.

After this case was over, she could always get Sam to give her something to sleep. Or Baldwin, though she hated admitting her weakness to him. She liked that he reveled in her strength. It made her feel even stronger, more inspired. No, Sam was the place to go. Even if it was just for a night, she could recharge the batteries.

Baldwin had been quiet on the way home. She loved their silences as much as their conversations. It was a sign of true love to her that she could be quiet with him, letting the air charge with electricity without ever saying a word. He had a stillness inside of him, a deep inner peace, which attracted her like a fly to honey. She had the same piece of quietude within her, and the two spoke to each other wordlessly, their bodies flowing in a symbiotic dance.

He pulled into the garage and smiled at her. “Go upstairs. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”

She was happy to oblige. She felt her body dragging as she mounted the steps. The sun getting ready to rise, casting meager light through the blinds. She pulled the curtains shut so the room was totally dark, stripped off her clothes and fell naked into the freezing bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Baldwin paced the downstairs, making laps through the dining room, foyer, living room, kitchen, dining room. He knew he needed to get some sleep. He was just as deep in the slumber deficit as Taylor was, and she’d been visibly dragging. As tired as he was, his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The idea that Taylor had come across Ewan Copeland’s radar earlier than they’d originally thought was haunting him. If he’d known that, he would have approached this case very differently.

He stopped to put the kettle on, maybe some herbal tea would help him relax. He was amped up on caffeine and adrenaline, and pure, unadulterated fear. Losing Taylor was something he’d never be able to handle. He knew that now. The mere thought that he’d miscalculated, that he could have gotten her hurt or killed with his mistake, nearly handicapped him fully. All he wanted to do was get Taylor on a plane, get her the hell out of here. Find some little tropical island where he could buy off the local constabulary to keep them safe and protected, hire a phalanx of bodyguards and nestle down until this bastard was caught.

Not rational, but tempting. Very tempting.

The stove’s small burner was taking forever to heat up. He decided to go out and get the mail from yesterday. They’d been gone to North Carolina and he’d not bothered to get it when they first arrived home. He disabled the alarm so the beeping wouldn’t wake Taylor and slipped out the front door. Sunlight streamed into his eyes, making him squint. He put his hand to his forehead to block the light—fresh, new sun, first of the day, as blinding as a strobe light.

The mailbox was full, the usual crap. He thumbed through the stack as he walked back to the house. Bill. Bill. Credit card solicitation, two of them, one for him and one for Taylor. Catalogs from stores they’d never shopped. Magazines. He sighed. Just a bunch of junk. He shuffled the edges back together as he returned to the house.

He almost missed it.

If he hadn’t tripped on the step and dropped the stack, he wouldn’t have seen it until it was too late. It spilled out onto the brick patio, buried between the magazines. A red envelope, with the name Taylor hand-printed on the front. It wasn’t glued closed, the flap was just tucked into the bottom of the envelope. He used his pen to feed it open. There was a Valentine’s Day card inside.