“No problem, LT. What’s his name?”

“Tony Gorman. I’d assume the full name is Anthony. I don’t have much more than that, and it’s a generic name, but if you pull the DMV records, I can ID him. Then you can dive in, see what his story is.”

“I assume I’m doing this quietly.”

“You got it, puppy. He’s tied-in somewhere, was at Judas Kiss

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a charity dinner last night, so he’s got some money. I didn’t recognize him, but he knew me. Only he called me Tawny. When I challenged him, he thought I was being coy. And that makes me uncomfortable.”

“Tawny? That sounds like—”

Taylor blushed. “Exactly. And that’s about how he treated me. Look at this.” She shrugged out of her cotton sweater, pulling her right arm out to show the underside of her bicep. There were four distinct round bruises. Marcus’s eyebrows disappeared beneath the shock of bushy brown hair that flopped over his forehead.

“Why didn’t you arrest him?”

“I thought about it, but if he was truly mistaking me for someone else, I had no cause. He was just an overzealous jerk. Not a prison offense, you know? But he won’t forget meeting me anytime soon. I got him in a forearm lock and he tried to get away. Another few seconds and I would’ve snapped his arm in two. I bet he’s got a nice bruise this morning too.” She slipped her arm back into the sleeve of her sweater, pulled it down.

“I’ll find out what his deal is, Taylor. You can count on it.”

“Thanks, Marcus. Let me know when you find something. I’m sure it’s nothing, just a mistake.” Her words were stronger than her mind. Gorman had looked at her like he knew her intimately; she had the distinct feeling that there was more to the sexy moniker than met the eye. Either she had a doppelganger out there plying her wares, or something was up. Combine that with the dead rabbit from this morning…. 166

J.T. Ellison

Marcus was just outside the door. She called after him. “Marcus, one other thing?”

He turned back. “Sure, what?”

“Have Tim Davis take a run out to my house. Someone left me a present in my backyard this morning, a dead rabbit. It had been garroted. I secured the remains. Ask him to run some forensics on it for me, okay?”

Marcus came back into the office, eyes filled with concern. “Someone killed a rabbit and left it in your backyard? Are you sure it wasn’t caught in a snare and flailed into your yard?”

Taylor saw the desecrated creature in her mind’s eye, gray and red commingled, the wound ends of the silver wire thrusting out of its neck. A shudder ran through her.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Marcus was eyeing her. She could see the speculation rampant behind his gaze. He shut the door and sat opposite her.

“Is everything okay, boss? You seem a little…”

She pulled the rubber band from her hair impatiently and slung it back up. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a long couple of days, and someone is playing a sick joke on me. That’s all. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She gave him a winning smile, but he didn’t smile back. He just nodded and rose, looking at her with obvious concern.

“I’ll let you know what we find, okay?”

“Thanks, Marcus.” She hesitated a moment. “While you’re at it, put a trap on my line. I’ve been getting hang-ups. I’m sure it’s just someone trying to make me Judas Kiss

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uncomfortable.” When he started to speak again, she just shook her head. He stared at her, but kept his mouth shut.

After he’d left, she looked at the phone. She really should call Baldwin, let him know everything that was going on. She toyed with the phone receiver, her hand tracing figure eights on the smooth black surface. The phone lit up, the caller ID indicating the call was from Forensic Medical. There was plenty of time to call Baldwin and play damsel in distress. Later.

“Lieutenant Jackson,” she answered, her voice strong once again.

“Taylor, it’s Sam. I’ve got something you need to hear about Corinne Wolff.”

Fifteen

Taylor listened to Sam, writing down the words to make sure she had the record in front of her, then hung up the phone. She toyed with the cord for a moment, wondering. On its face, the news wasn’t anything significant. But considering the victim’s previous delicate condition, it was…interesting.

More questions for Todd. Taylor glanced at her watch. Ten thirty-five.

“Oh, shit.” She scrambled up from the desk, bringing along the yellow notepad with her scribbles. She was already five minutes late to her third interview with him.

Taylor met Fitz outside interrogation one. He gestured for her to follow him into the printer room where they had the camera feed from the interrogation rooms. The antiquated television monitor was on, the cameras rolling, capturing the movements of the two men ensconced in the room. Todd Wolff had brought a lawyer this time, not willing to make the same Judas Kiss

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mistake twice. They were sitting side by side at the table, each man sitting with his arms crossed across his chest, not speaking. They looked impatient, slightly annoyed, and worried. Perfect.

Taylor watched for a moment. “Look at Wolff. He looks nervous, don’t you think?”

“He doesn’t look happy, I’ll give you that.”

Taylor pulled her hair down, reworking the ponytail.

“I just talked to Sam. We’ve got some interesting items to discuss with Mr. Wolff.”

“Well, the hotel he claimed to have stayed at said he wasn’t there over the weekend. So he’s got one whopper of a lie in the bank already.”

“Really? That’s interesting. Can the cell phone company triangulate where he was when he got the call?”

“There’s a warrant being drawn up as we speak.”

Fitz looked at the monitors again. “Think he’s responsible?”

“I don’t know. I want to gauge his reaction to this information Sam just gave me, see what he gives us.”

“Then let’s get this over with, shall we?” Fitz gestured toward the door. Taylor nodded and knocked, rapping her knuckles along the wood for effect, then entered the close room.

The lawyer jumped to his feet, hand out expectantly, a broad smile across his swarthy features. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a thick bridge of a nose that amply supported a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. His eyes were slightly bulbous, irises blue but whites bloodshot, whether from too much alcohol the night before or stupendous allergies, Taylor couldn’t tell. He pumped her hand, asked if she was well, 170

J.T. Ellison

greeted Fitz, all in a capable, no-nonsense way. Then he sneezed, ah…ah…ah-chooing with gusto into a white embroidered handkerchief. That explained the eyes, Taylor thought.

“Miles Rose. Good to meetcha.”

Todd Wolff barely acknowledged their presence. She studied him. Was he grieving, and too distressed to play nice? Or was he upset to be treated like a suspect? Taylor couldn’t tell. Wolff had completely shut down since their last conversation.

They got situated, Fitz and Taylor on one side of the table, Rose getting resettled in his makeshift office on the other side with Todd staring silently at the wall. Taylor watched Rose decant his briefcase onto the table, waited patiently while he chose a particularly fine ballpoint from his collection of pens, placed the pen on a yellow legal pad, then grinned.

“Ready,” he said.

Amused by the display, Taylor asked, “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah. Got everything I need right here.” He tapped the pen to the legal pad, then touched it to his temple. She heard Fitz sigh through his nose with the utmost derision.

“Okay then.” She turned to Todd. “Mr. Wolff, I’d like to continue where we left off yesterday. We are concerned about the time frame on the day of your wife’s death. You were notified of her death while you were in Savannah, is that correct?”