Marcus Wade, her youngest detective, had been out for four days doing his in-service training rotation. Without the two detectives, the squad had been too quiet.

“He’ll be in bright and early tomorrow. We can get him up to speed with the Wolff case, let him go to town. Media’s having a field day with the 911 tape.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. I heard it last night. It’s gut-wrenching.”

“Wish they wouldn’t do stuff like that. Makes our life harder.”

“No kidding.” She took a bite of quesadilla, wiped her mouth off with a napkin. “When we finish here, I want to take a run out to the Wolff house. The second interview with Todd Wolff is scheduled for two o’clock. Corinne’s whole family came to Forensic Medical this morning, did I tell you that?”

“No.”

“Yeah, well, they were all in the lobby when I left the autopsy. It was miserable. They told me Todd took Hayden to his parents’ house. Do you know where they live?”

“Not offhand. Did they say it was far?”

“Didn’t say. I haven’t gotten a call telling me he isn’t going to make round two, so I assume it’s close by. Think he’ll show up with a lawyer?”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “If he knows what’s good for him, but with any luck, no.”

“We can tag team him, see if he’s come up with anything else. The autopsy was pretty straightforward. 120

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Someone beat the living hell out of Corinne. There were signs of strangulation too. I want to look closer into Mr. Wolff’s days away.” She set her fork down on the edge of the plate, suddenly not hungry.

“So, tell me. Do you know what case Lincoln is on?”

Fitz dunked a tortilla chip in the spicy salsa and crunched before answering. “No, but I can guess. While you and the fed were off gallivantin’, he had several calls with that confidential informant he’d been wrangling, the kid working as a deejay?”

Taylor nodded that she remembered, and Fitz continued. “Well, the CI started talking big that he would be willing to distribute drugs through the club. He needed a dealer. Lincoln was the behind-the-scenes guy for a week, and then he dropped off the radar. I think Vice decided to keep him on it. Linc’s a smart kid. He can land on his feet. But couple all that information, and I’d assume it’s something to do with our good friend Terrence Norton.”

Taylor groaned. Terrence Norton had been a fly in the department’s ointment for years. A hoodlum, a generic neighborhood thug, he’d risen through the ranks of the underbelly of Nashville with meteoric speed. Drugs, shootings, assaults—the kid had a rap sheet fourteen pages long but skin like Teflon. None of the charges would stick. With each hung jury, each dismissed case, Terrence grew stronger. He was the main conduit of heroin and cocaine into Nashville, running the drugs up I-24 from Atlanta. But Terrence reported to someone, wasn’t high enough to be running the operation himself.

Taylor desperately wanted to see him nailed and Judas Kiss

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out of her hair. She’d thought the chance was there—

two months earlier, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had taken over a case of possible jury tampering. The final report had been on top of Taylor’s files when she returned from Italy, finding no apparent wrongdoing. The TBI had happily dumped Terrence squarely back in the locals’ lap, but kept the task force open, just in case something broke.

Terrence had been relatively quiet in the time since she’d been back, hadn’t killed anyone that they knew of.

A thought hit her. “It can’t be Terrence. He’d recognize Lincoln, wouldn’t he?”

“Well, he kept that cue-ball look after you left, and grew a beard.” Fitz laughed. “Scruffy, moth-eaten curly shit, too. He looks like a hood, not at all like his usual dapper self. And Terrence only dealt directly with you and me. So he’ll fit in okay. Besides, until his little foray onto the wild side, he was only working with the CI. Terrence wouldn’t have ever seen him.”

“I worry about him. I’d never forgive myself if we lost him. He gave me the sense things would be breaking soon, so hopefully we’ll have him back.”

“Amen to that, sister.”

Taylor pushed away her plate, let the companionable silence build. She hated to drag everyone into her paranoia, but she knew she needed her back watched.

“Someone’s watching me.”

Fitz met her eyes, didn’t blink, or shake his head, or pat her on the arm. She appreciated that. He knew her well enough to know if she felt she was being watched, she was.

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Pretender?” He made little quote marks with his fingers. “Why would he call himself a pretender, anyway? Seems derogatory to me.”

“I think he’s shooting for something like a pretender to the throne. Someone who should rightfully rule, but circumstance has taken their monarchy. A self-anointed king of serial killers. No one said he wasn’t cocky.” She took a drink of her tea and shifted in her chair, glancing around as she settled back in.

“No, I don’t think it’s him. I don’t know why, but this feels different. Wrong, somehow. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and I can feel it, you know? Like electricity. It’s so strange. Ah, hell. I’m just getting spooky. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Now who’s kidding who?”

She smiled. “I know. It will be fine. I’m aware of it, so that’s nine-tenths of the solution right there. So. You want to go to the Wolffs’ house with me? Do a runthrough before the interview?”

“Why not. I don’t have anything better to do. Let’s go.”

The Hillwood neighborhood that the Wolffs lived in was quiet on this Tuesday. Much less frantic than the day before. The crime scene tape was still strung across the Wolffs’ driveway, a patrol officer was sitting quietly in his cruiser in front of the mailbox to discourage any thrill-seekers from coming by and messing with the scene.

Until the scene was officially released, they needed someone to keep guard. Taylor hoped that would happen today, there was no sense in wasting resources that could be used elsewhere.

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Taylor pulled in behind the cruiser. The officer left his vehicle as she and Fitz climbed out of the Impala. Official business, they needed to have department vehicles on the scene. Taylor had never been fond of the Impalas, but what could you do? Couldn’t exactly ask the new chief to assign Porsches to the troops. The Chevy had some get-up-and-go at least, could haul ass if needed, unlike the Mercury she’d been forced to drive as a junior grade detective. She always felt so conspicuous in the white sedans, figured it was from too many years driving an SUV in a town where bigger was always considered better and a GMC Suburban was de rigeur for any class.

Fitz had started talking regional barbeque contests with the patrol, so Taylor took the opportunity to examine the Wolffs’ house. On the face, it was no different than yesterday—a handsome two-story tan brick colonial with a narrow white picket front porch, blue shutters, four curtained windows symmetrically set on either side of the front door, up and down. A chimney rose from the left side, the great room’s fireplace. Taylor had noticed that both the Wolffs and Mrs. Manchini had converted to gas fireplaces. It was difficult to find newer homes in Nashville with the traditional wood-burning style, and Taylor had warned Baldwin that no way, no how was she going to go with gas. Pretty, convenient, easy, yes, they were all of those, but Taylor liked the real deal—the smell of smoky maple or popping oak hardwood, the action of piling in the kindling, stuffing the paper, stacking the wood. She’d much rather spend some time and effort to have a fire than stare at glowing coals and fake flames. A closer look at the house revealed the slightest dif-124