“Worry not, Viscount. I’m always careful.”

“I’ve seen you in action, remember. Careful isn’t what I’d deem an appropriate term for you. You’re as dangerous as a courting lion.”

She couldn’t help herself, she laughed. He’d always had that ability, at least. Even when she was infuriated with him, he could turn her mood upside down.

“Seriously, I’m all good. What can I do for you?”

“I was worried,” he said simply.

He was quiet then, and she felt that strange guilt that always washed over her when Memphis revealed his true feelings about her. Memphis had formed an attachment to Taylor, and when he’d been selected to work at Quantico as the liaison between New Scotland Yard and the FBI on counterterrorism, she’d been terribly worried he wouldn’t let things lie. But Memphis had kept his distance, and behaved himself. For the most part. Baldwin didn’t know that Memphis called her, and that sometimes, when she wanted a laugh, she answered the phone.

God knew she needed something cheerful now, but this wasn’t the time.

“I’m fine, really. But I have to go. I’m tracking down a lead and I’ve just arrived.”

“Be careful then, Taylor. You and your chap need to come over to England sometime. I’ll show you around.”

“I thought you were in Quantico?”

“Back on the Queen’s soil now. The colonies no longer needed my expertise.”

He didn’t sound bitter, but Taylor couldn’t help but wonder if Baldwin had seen to that. He was wildly jealous of Memphis, and having him underfoot in Quantico was probably too much of an annoyance, even for a man with Job-like patience.

“I’m sorry about that. I know you were enjoying yourself.”

“Yes, well. One can’t have everything one wants, isn’t that right?”

And boom, he crossed right on over the line. Typical of him, he could ride the edge for only so long. He was trouble, with a capital T, and Taylor knew it.

“I’ll talk to you later, Memphis. Have a good night.”

She hung up the phone and forced Memphis, and Baldwin, from her mind. She must focus on Nashville.

Fifty

Baldwin had been using the Nashville field office for his day-to-day needs for a couple of years. Its biggest advantage was its proximity to downtown, and to Taylor. Morning traffic into town from the east side was usually terrible, and today was no exception. He took advantage of the crawl to call Garrett back.

“It’s about time you rang. Don’t your minions give you messages anymore?”

“I have no minions. Just loyal, hardworking souls who would never take the chance of contacting me while I’m on suspension.”

“Yeah, right. Tell Salt I believe that.”

“Things are going to hell, Garrett. Taylor’s bodyguards just killed the Zodiac copycat at Sam’s office. Sam is missing. Our best lead is dead. Everything is falling to pieces.”

“I know that. Which is why I needed to talk to you. I’ve spoken with the director. We’re reactivating you and rescinding your suspension. There’s too much happening out there to have our best player on the bench. Try to stay away from the media, but get a handle on these copycat killers and wrap this case. Where are you with things?”

It was about time.

“I’ve been working the angle with Ewan Copeland, trying to figure out who he is and where he’s from. He’s been working at Forensic Medical as a death investigator named Barclay Iles. We nailed his sister—she’s the shooter from North Carolina. She’s from Raleigh, North Carolina—the SBI are on that part of the case. Her name is Ruth Anderson, and she’s on the run. Copeland can’t be far behind her—he sent Taylor a CD with the license plates of the copycats. He blew their cover on purpose. It was probably just another part of the game, or he got bored. Who the hell knows. And the true-crime blogger is dead.”

“I heard. Salt says they have one of the other copycats in custody. I want you to talk to him face-to-face.”

“He’s in Knoxville, Garrett. I need to stay here. The game in is Nashville.”

“The pawn of the game is in Knoxville. You need to get up there.”

“But—”

“Baldwin, your return is conditional. The director feels the media attention to the case warrants finding out why three men decided to start pretending to be famous serial killers. We have too many dead, all over the country, and two more killers in the wind. This fool has had direct contact with the Pretender. The director wants answers, and results, and he thinks the key to the case lies in Knoxville. So get up there. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make plans to get to Knoxville right away.”

“Let me know what you find out. And no cameras, you hear me?”

“Got it.”

“Good. One other thing. On a more personal note.”

Baldwin knew exactly what that meant. Garrett had news about the child Charlotte claimed to have aborted.

“He’s overseas. A foreign adoption. That’s all I’ve gotten, but I’m still working on it.”

Baldwin felt the breath whoosh out of him.

“He’s okay though, right?”

“It’s been at least two years since anyone’s seen paper on him. With Charlotte’s death, all sorts of agencies got involved. You know how the government octopus works. That picture is very outdated. I’m doing the best I can.”

“All right, Garrett. Thank you.”

He clicked off. The traffic was finally moving. Once he got past the 440 split, things went smoother. He could see downtown clearly. The clouds had retreated, typical Nashville weather, teasing a storm and delivering sunshine instead. The cold sun glinted off the buildings. It all looked so normal. It felt so right.

The idea of leaving Nashville for Knoxville scared the hell out of him. He couldn’t leave Taylor unprotected. It was bad enough that they’d split to work different angles of the case. He needed to be with her, by her side, helping her track down Copeland and Sam.

But if he defied orders when he was on such precarious ground, everything he’d worked for all these years would go out the window.

A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have said to hell with the FBI and attached himself like a limpet to Taylor’s side.

But there was his son to consider now, too. Garrett’s support in finding the boy had been phenomenally helpful. Could he purposefully turn his back on his boss, his friend—his son, maybe—to follow his own path?

He never thought he’d have to choose. He was going to fail this test, he could feel it in his bones.

He got on the phone to Kevin as he took the exit to swing through downtown to the CJC. Arranged for a chopper to take him to Knoxville. If he had to go, he needed to do it quickly.

The CJC was a mess when he arrived. The roads were closed at the bridge. He had to park on Second Avenue, in front of Hooters, and walk himself in. He did it quickly, worried. There was an ambulance, but the EMTs were standing around, not acting. When he turned onto the street, two fire engines pulled away. First responders were done. Was all this for Colleen Keck? Or had something else gone down?

He felt a moment of sheer panic. Taylor. Where was Taylor? He flipped open his phone to call her and broke into a run. The call connected, then went to her voice mail. Damn it. Did she have her phone off? Or had Ewan Copeland’s final piece of the puzzle dropped into place?

The medical examiner’s van pulled up to the light next to him. He ignored the red hand telling him to stop and sprinted across the street. Marcus Wade was standing on the corner, talking to Lincoln Ross. Taylor’s boss, Joan Huston, was taking Lincoln’s weapon from him. But he didn’t see Taylor.