“I don’t know yet. I’m looking for her. She worked the overnight shift. I’m going down there right now. Just get to Simon, secure him and the kids, okay?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Call me and let me know what’s happening, okay?”

“I will. Thanks, Renn.”

Baldwin was ending his call, too. “There’s no answer, just the overnight message.”

Taylor tried Sam’s cell again. No joy.

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, felt a shattering tranquility course through her. She would not let anything happen to Sam. No. Absolutely not. This was her responsibility, her job. And the opportunity she’d been hoping for. She knew in her heart he wouldn’t kill Sam, not yet, anyway. He’d want to torture Taylor first, make her run all over town trying to figure out where Sam was. He wouldn’t do anything to her until Taylor could see, could watch. He wanted an audience, wanted her approval, in a sense. Or her fear. Taking Fitz while he was out of town was just meant to get her attention. This was going to be his final showdown.

Taylor wasn’t going to go at this willy-nilly. She had a plan. She’d been preparing herself for this moment for days.

She turned to Baldwin. “We need a BOLO on Sam’s car. Kris will have the license number in the personnel files. I’m going over there right now to talk to Kris. She’ll be there by the time I drive across town. I need to get a hold of Sam’s schedule, see what she had going on last night. I’m going to track every movement she made, and I will find her.”

“I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“What?” His voice, laden with shock, went up an octave.

“No. I need you to do something else for me. I need you to find out why Colleen is involved in this. I’m assuming she’s being targeted, too.”

“Sam is designed to draw you out, Taylor. I will not let that happen.”

“I have the boys outside, remember? They will stay on me, and I’ll be perfectly safe with them. They won’t let anything happen to me. You saw that.”

“I did, but…”

“Honey, we have to split up. There’s too much to figure out. And we don’t have any more time. We are out of time.”

“Taylor—”

She stopped his protestations with her mouth. She kissed him, fierce and hard. There was a wild violence to it, no regret, no holding back. He responded, wrapping his arms around her and practically breaking her ribs. When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged gasps. She let her heartbeat start to slow, then said one word.

“Please.”

He looked her in the eye, and understood what she was saying. She felt his arms loosen fractionally, then he released her.

“Okay, Taylor. We’ll play this your way. But for Christ’s sake, be careful.”

“I will,” she said. And she meant it. She’d carefully aim before she put a bullet in Ewan Copeland’s brain.

Taylor had a regular pace going now—redial, ring, hang up, redial, ring, hang up. Sam could have forgotten to turn the phone on. The battery could have died. She could have left it in her office drawer. There were many, many innocent explanations for why she wasn’t answering. But Taylor knew that wasn’t the case. She knew in her soul that Ewan Copeland had her best friend.

She heard Baldwin’s BMW leave the garage. She didn’t think she was ever going to get him to agree to her plan. But he’d capitulated, for what was probably the first and only time in their relationship.

She needed the key to their safe. They’d upgraded to a 14-gun Sentry safe after the Pretender’s first letter, when she knew he was aware of where she lived. Her home. Her most vulnerable place. It was full to the brim and had a double lock, one keyed, one combination, an extra deterrent to any thieves, or accidental discoveries. She had a lot of important things in that safe, she didn’t want to run the risk of someone accidentally stumbling across them.

They kept the key in Baldwin’s office filing cabinet, probably not the most secure place—even though it locked, they rarely turned the key. It was convenient if they ever needed in quickly. They didn’t get into the big safe regularly anyway. It was there to protect their fun guns and a few important documents.

She’d already decided to take the Ruger with her, and a worn 9 mm Beretta. Both were recently cleaned, road tested first at the gun show where she’d purchased them, then out in the woods behind their house. They were reliable, and disposable. There was a Walther PPK in there as well, plus a few others, not to mention rifles and shotguns, but all of those were registered in either her or Baldwin’s name.

In the off chance that she was able to get the Pretender alone, away from everyone and everything that she stood for, she needed a throwaway weapon, one that was unregistered, off the grid. All the cops she knew had a few hanging around, for whatever reason. She wasn’t dirty, she’d never carried them with her to a scene, never.

But this was different. In this situation, she was dirty. She was going to kill a man, premeditated and in cold blood, and she needed to be prepared for all the contingencies. If she couldn’t make it look like self-defense, she’d have to cover her tracks. She felt soiled, sullied in a way she’d never experienced, but shook it off. This man, this killer, was threatening her, threatening her family. Like a rabid dog, he needed to be stopped. He needed to be put down.

She was just the woman for the job.

Baldwin’s office was spotless. He had everything perfectly organized, the desktop clean, a small stack of paper filed in his outbox, his mouse pad and mouse just so. She smiled at the precision, the cleanliness. The order of his mind, the very essence of his abilities, laid out in the symmetry and perfection that was in evidence before her.

Just like Sam. The two of them were her anchors, her life. If something happened to either of them…

Nothing would. She was going to make sure of that.

They kept the key stashed in between several of his files. She pulled on the drawer, surprised to feel resistance. It was locked. Using her house keys, she unlocked the cabinet. Rifled through to the spot where the key was hidden. Reached into the file and pulled back the metal. She started to close the filing cabinet drawer, but heard something, like a piece of paper was caught in the tracks. She ran the drawer back and forth, yes, something was sticking out, making a shurring noise. It was all the way in the back of the cabinet, past the file she’d just pilfered. She pulled the drawer out fully, extending it as far as it would go. Something was taped to the topside of the cabinet.

She pulled the loose corner, that was what had caught on the edge of the drawer, and felt the paper give way. She backed it out carefully, the tape peeling back slowly. She didn’t want to damage it, she knew immediately that she wasn’t meant to see this.

But she was feeling reckless, and Baldwin would never know. In case something happened, she wanted to find out what was so important to him to hide from her.

The last of the tape pulled free. She extracted it from the cabinet. Flipped it over. Felt the blood drain from her face, her head go swimmy.

It was a picture of a boy. Maybe two years old. Posed, in a soccer uniform. He had flaming-red hair, the color that would darken into bronze as the child aged. His face was still unformed, the skin pale and creamy, barely freckled, just beginning to show the edges of high, slanting cheekbones. It was the eyes that were unmistakable. They were the clear green of the forest after a spring rain. Bright. Wide. Stunning.

Baldwin’s eyes.

She had absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was looking at a child that had been fathered by her fiancé.

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was going to faint.