He was quiet, and she could feel him wrestling with the request.

Finally, he sighed, a great, heavy wet sound. “There is a path into the house. Out the back. From my garden. You can go in there. I’ll explain how the houssse is laid out, but he’ll have her in the attic. He alwaysss liked the attic. You can get in and he’ll never know.”

Taylor felt a huge rush of relief. She’d hoped for a key, and instead she’d been given the kingdom.

Baldwin stood over the cooling body of Ruth Anderson. Lincoln had done a textbook shoot, three clean shots to the chest. Ruth was sprawled backward on the cement, one leg crumpled beneath her, the other sticking straight out. Baldwin couldn’t shake the sense of justification seeing her like that. The last time he’d looked into her eyes, she’d had a gun pointed at him, was still impersonating Renee Sansom of the SBI. Justified. Deserved, really.

He usually hated the loss of life; in this case, he was happy about it. He would have liked to delve into her brain, would have liked to have both Ruth and her half brother Ewan to study for years to come, but her death was a fitting end to her sad, pathetic, psychopath’s life.

He wondered if Ewan knew Ruth was dead, and Colleen with her. He’d sent her to kill Colleen Keck, knowing Colleen was at the CJC. Baldwin assumed that Ewan had planned this to a tee, knowing he was sending Ruth into the lion’s den would assure that she was either killed or arrested. He’d bet on killed, because he knew his little sister Ruth wasn’t the most stable. It was a gamble, but if it went his way, the elimination of Ruth would allow him the freedom to escape with no strings attached.

Ruth had been flanked by two men in North Carolina. One confirmed dead, the other still missing. Could he be the Boston Strangler copycat? Anything was possible at this point. Baldwin made sure to mention that to Joan Huston when she approached him.

“What would you like us to do with the body, Dr. Baldwin?”

“Forensic Medical will be fine, Commander. I take it there’s been no word on Dr. Loughley?”

Huston waved to the crime scene techs who had been patiently waiting off to one side while Baldwin examined the body. They sprang into action, breaking out their evidence kits, taking photographs.

Huston pulled him aside.

“Dr. Loughley? Something’s wrong with her?”

Oh, Taylor. What are you up to?

Baldwin needed to tread carefully. The last thing he wanted to do was get Taylor in trouble, but he had a sinking, horrible feeling that she was on a path straight there. He calculated his answer.

“Have you spoken with Lieutenant Jackson this morning, ma’am?”

“Just for a moment, after the shooting at Forensic Medical. I told her to stay put and shepherd the scene. She’s still on administrative leave after her shooting incident last week. She’s not supposed to be working cases. Now tell me what’s happened to Dr. Loughley.”

“She seems to be missing, ma’am. I’m assuming that Ewan Copeland is responsible, just like he was responsible for sending his sister Ruth to eliminate Colleen Keck.”

Huston snapped to attention. “Then why the hell haven’t we been notified? She’s the head medical examiner, not some stranger off the street.”

“Lieutenant Jackson didn’t notify you, ma’am?”

“She damn well didn’t. Does her team know?”

Carefully, Baldwin. “I don’t know the extent of their knowledge of the situation.”

Fury looked good on Commander Huston. Baldwin knew Taylor trusted her; despite their formal relationship, Taylor had always felt she could count on Huston to be fair. Baldwin decided to gamble. Taylor’s safety and Sam’s recovery were the most important things now. They could mop up her career afterward.

“Commander, I believe that Ewan Copeland has kidnapped Sam Loughley, and the lieutenant is going after them herself. It’s gotten personal for her, ma’am.”

“Shit. It’s always been personal. This man has tried to ruin every aspect of her life, he’s hurt her friends… My God, look at Sergeant Fitzgerald, in the hospital, recovering from having his eye plucked out of his head.”

He followed when she started to walk, brisk, purposeful steps. “I don’t know why she didn’t come to me. She knows I’ll do whatever I can to help. She’s too valuable to lose.” She stopped and grabbed Baldwin’s arm. He was amazed at the strength in her grip.

“I’m trusting you to stop the lieutenant before she does something stupid. Do I have your word on that, Dr. Baldwin?”

“Yes, ma’am. You do.”

“Then take Wade and whoever else you need, and find her. Find them both. Now.”

Fifty-Three

Taylor ignored her phone.

A quick glance at the screen told her it was Baldwin again, trying to reach her. She just needed a little bit more time. She wasn’t crazy, wasn’t a total idiot. When she got to the house in Belle Meade, Fortnight’s house, she would call Baldwin and tell him where she was. He’d come lights and sirens, with backup, but it would be too late. She had her words planned out—she’d heard a scream, knew Sam was inside. She had no choice but to eliminate—no, wrong word—shoot the suspect before he hurt Dr. Loughley or her unborn child further. She ran it through her head like she did her usual court testimony. Dry. Just the facts. Only a few words at a time. Don’t answer questions that haven’t been asked. That way you won’t have to lie.

She would be in court over this, she knew that, though her union lawyer would fight to the finish for her. Baldwin would figure it out soon. It didn’t take a genius to see that Copeland wanted to end things where they’d begun, in the home of the Snow White. Symmetry, above all, was paramount to him.

Taking Sam was simply an insurance policy. A perfectly calculated move designed to bring Taylor directly to him so they could finally go at it one-on-one.

Thank God she’d lost her tail. At this point, ordering them to stand down would have looked much too suspicious. She had planned this moment out, but wouldn’t have to execute it. She was going to ask them to stop for some coffee while she took a potty break, and when their backs were turned, take off in her truck out of sight. Hope that they were unskilled enough to allow for an amateur mistake. But now she could relax, and focus on the task at hand.

The light was red, traffic in the turn lane backed up. There was a Shell station on her left. She swung the truck into the gas station, crossed the lot and wheeled out onto Woodmont. She turned left and powered up the hill. Illegal as hell, but it would be the least of her transgressions today.

Her phone rang again and she glanced at it. Baldwin wasn’t going to let up.

She felt a spark of anger, pushed it away.

She made her way through the labyrinth of Belle Meade’s backstreets to Iroquois, then hurried across Belle Meade Boulevard. Almost there.

She needed to keep the end in sight. Instead, every time her phone rang and the caller ID said Baldwin, all she could see was the small round face of a redheaded child.

Damn it, Taylor, focus. You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t focus.

She breathed in carefully through her nose. Blew it out slowly. Imagined Ewan Copeland begging on the ground.

Better.

Fortnight’s house was on Leake Avenue, a massive three-story gray stucco mansion with curling ivy and dark windows. She didn’t want to run the risk of being seen, so she turned on Westover and came in the back way, stopping the truck at the neighbor’s house.