They went back to the overheated living room. 364

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Wendy sat on the decrepit couch. She was crying quietly. Baldwin was perched on the milk crate next to her, holding her hand.

Baldwin spoke without taking his eyes off the girl.

“Anderson lives in East Nashville. He holds this house as an address for the police, rents it out. Wendy hasn’t seen him for weeks. I believe her,” he added. A fragile trust had obviously been forged between them. Baldwin handed her something. His card, Taylor assumed, and they bid the girl goodbye.

Out in the yard, Baldwin ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. Taylor saw a glint of silver deep in the black, a precursor to the more salt than pepper look he’d obviously have in a few years. He had a few strands starting in his temples already; this streak was new.

“I’ve got the address for Anderson. She mails him a money order biweekly to cover the rent. She just lost a baby. You were right, the boyfriend kicked her in the stomach a few days ago, she miscarried yesterday. Didn’t miss her shift at work though. She said she couldn’t afford to skip work. Poor girl.”

Marcus leaned against his car. “Are we going to go pick him up?”

“You betcha,” Taylor replied. “Let’s go.”

Judge Sophia Bottelli was less than pleased with Taylor.

“And why didn’t you know about this alternate address for this Anderson, Lieutenant?”

“I’m sorry, Your Honor. This is a breaking case, moving quickly. We only discovered Anderson’s involvement less than twenty-four hours ago.” C’mon, Judas Kiss

365

lady, just initial the fucking amendment to the warrantand let’s be done with it. Quit busting my chops, time’sa-wasting. She couldn’t say that, of course, there’d be no surer way to a cell for contempt charges if she spoke aloud. You’re being bitchy to the bench, do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. But jeez, busting her balls wasn’t helping things.

“I trust that this is the last time I’ll be hearing from you about this warrant, Lieutenant. I’ll have it faxed with my signature. But no more. I expect to see results from you.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Actually, Taylor kind of liked Judge Bottelli. She was tough as nails, but so far had treated them fairly. She’d see what time brought. Obviously her fall from grace earlier in the week was still fresh on the minds of Nashville’s judicial branch. Damn it. She was going to be rebuilding herself for quite some time. The Oompa’s overreaction in stripping her of her badge would have lasting effects.

The fax machine spit out a single sheet of paper.

“Got it,” Taylor yelled. No more time to feel sorry for herself. It was time to roll.

She hustled out to the homicide office. Marcus and Lincoln were in consultation, Baldwin standing behind them, leaning in with interest.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing yet,” Lincoln answered. “I’m working on something, but if it doesn’t pan out, I don’t want to waste your time. Go snatch up Anderson before he gets wind of your imminent arrival.” He nodded once at Baldwin, then left the room.

Taylor looked at Baldwin, who threw his hands up in the air. “I know nothing. Let’s go.”

366

J.T. Ellison

The drive to East Nashville only took five minutes. As they turned onto Eighth Avenue North, the leafy street filled with restored Victorian homes, Taylor shook her head.

“You realize that he lives one block away from Betsy Lerner, our Lieutenant in Sex Crimes? He must be using a false name.”

Baldwin shook his head. “He isn’t. Marcus pulled the records while you were talking to the judge. The property rolls for this address have him listed as owner, but he had a cosigner on the loan, so that name is primary.”

“What’s the cosigner’s name?”

“Antonio Giormanni.”

Taylor expertly whipped the vehicle into a parallel spot that didn’t look large enough for their sedan, then slammed the car into park and turned in her seat.

“I am going to spit nails in about two seconds.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve met the son of a bitch. Though he uses the name Tony Gorman in public. Baldwin, I have been played. Royally played. Tony Gorman and Henry Anderson are buddies, and hoo-boy, I have been played to the fucking hilt.”

She banged her hands against the steering wheel. Marcus came to her door. She put the window down.

“Antonio Giormanni is listed as the co-owner of this house,” she said. “Does that name sound familiar?”

Marcus looked at her for a long moment, then smacked his hand against the roof of the car. “Tony Gorman?”

“Exactly.”

“No wonder we couldn’t get anything good on him. Judas Kiss

367

He’s using false names. The Tony Gorman is a legit ID, that’s what he’s registered in Tennessee’s DMV system as, the property rolls too. That’s how we picked him up. Wow, they’ve got some kind of vendetta against you, don’t they, LT?”

“Excuse me,” Baldwin cut in. “Care to give me a clue what you’re talking about?”

Taylor was shaking her head, a smile on her face that wasn’t borne of amusement.

“Tony Gorman manhandled me at a charity dinner earlier this week. Called me Tawny. That’s how we got to the sex tapes on Selectnet. This entire wild-goose chase was engineered, up to and including me getting my badge pulled. Though I’m guessing they thought their handiwork was good enough that it would be permanent, or that I’d slink away with my tail between my legs and resign from the shame. Oh, they are going to regret the day they were born.”

She got out of the car with fury in the pit of her stomach. The last laugh would be hers.

Baldwin looked at Marcus. “We might want to go after her. She looks like she could burn down the whole neighborhood if we don’t get her calmed down.”

Marcus laughed. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. You know how she is when she’s fired up. A train couldn’t stop her. I wouldn’t be laying money on Anderson surviving this one.”

They started after her. As they crossed the street, Marcus called in to Lincoln, asked him to execute a warrant for Antonio Giormanni ASAP, and to get him picked up. Lincoln put the pieces together immediately, cursed and promised to handle things on his end. Baldwin signaled he wanted to talk to Lincoln. After a 368

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few moments, he hung up, and they caught up with Taylor.

“You ready to do this?” Baldwin asked her.

“You know it. Let’s take this fucker down.” She unholstered her weapon and went to the door. Banged on it like she’d done at Anderson’s other house. “Police!

Open the door.”

Open sesame, she thought. The door was opened immediately and a familiar face stood in the doorway. Michelle Harris looked completely and utterly shocked. Her face went white, and she moved on instinct, away from the brandished weapon Taylor had in her right hand, pointed right at her. She turned to flee. Taylor took three steps after her and got a handful of her hair, yanked her to a stop.

“Ow!” Michelle screamed.

“Shut up!” Taylor screamed right back at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Thirty-Eight

Baldwin was through the door now, Marcus too. Taylor looked at both of them, released Michelle’s hair.

“Where is Henry Anderson?”

“He’s upstairs, taking a shower. What in the world are you doing here? And why are you looking for Henry?” Though she sounded genuinely shocked, Taylor wasn’t falling for it. She knew that Michelle Harris wasn’t here by accident.

“I’ll get him,” Marcus said, charging up the oak staircase. Baldwin followed right on his heels. Taylor steered Michelle by the arm, settled her roughly on a cinnamon-colored leather couch in what could best be described as a den. Dark wood, bookshelves lining the walls—there was a fleeting impression of beauty, but the irony of the situation was too strong. She blocked everything out but Michelle’s horror-stricken face.