“Fuck,” Taylor spat. She reached her truck, climbed in, and drove off before she opened her cell phone. She speed dialed Mitchell Price’s number. He answered on the first ring.

“Price, it’s Taylor. We have a problem. Channel Five has the Garrison rape.”

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proud. When Price finally calmed down, Taylor relayed the entire incident with the reporter.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to do anything,” he replied. “I’ll get on the horn, see how we can spin it. Dammit, Taylor, you were supposed to keep this quiet.”

“C’mon, Cap, I have. Only Marcus and Lincoln have the information. The leak came from somewhere else. The hospital, maybe, or the lab. It was a long shot that we were going to be able to keep this quiet.”

“The press isn’t supposed to give the names of rape victims on air or in print without their prior authorization. So hopefully they won’t name Betsy personally. If they do, we’ll light them up like a Christmas tree.”

“It’s the kid’s first day, so I can’t give you an estimate on the amount of integrity she has. But you’d best find a way to quash the story.”

“We won’t be able to quash it entirely, but I’ll make sure they don’t use her name. Dammit!”

“Sorry, Cap. All I can tell you is it didn’t come from me or mine. Good luck with it.”

“Not a word about it, Lieutenant. Hear me? Make sure there’s nothing but a ‘no comment’ coming out of our side of the building.”

“Gotcha. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up, desolate. Nothing was going her way today. Nineteen

Taylor rolled into the parking lot at her favorite watering hole lost in thought. She shoved the worries about Betsy Garrison and the leak from her mind for the moment. There was nothing she could do if the press had the information. Better to let Price deal with it. She had enough worries of her own. Her conversation with ADA Page was fresh in her mind, and she had taken the drive from downtown to Bellevue to think it through. Unfortunately, she had no answers. She was greeted warmly as she entered the bar. It was smoky and dark but situated in a large, almost cavernous space. Big-screen plasma televisions were positioned over the bar, affording sports fans multiple views and coverage of all their favorite pastimes. Regulars nursed whiskey in the corners of the huge U-shaped bar, pushing quarters into the gambling trivia machines as if they’d get some money back. A few college-age coeds giggled at a table, throwing glances over their shoulders to see who was watching them. Ads for the latest beer 150

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hung from banners and were backlit with neon lights. It was a happy place.

Before Taylor was fully seated on her favorite highlegged chair, a chilled glass of Guinness appeared in front of her. She’d taken a liking to Baldwin’s beloved beverage, and had ordered it so many times that the bartenders didn’t bother to ask what she wanted. She gazed at it longingly. She had the presence of mind to know that she shouldn’t drink, but the release she would get from numbing herself begged her for a ride. She rationalized; she’d had at least three beers last night. If she hadn’t talked to her doctor today, hadn’t gotten the news, she would have had at least three more tonight. Perhaps she could just pretend that this wasn’t happening and have it anyway. It sounded like a good idea. The glass almost magically appeared at her lips and she gulped greedily, as if she hadn’t had liquids in weeks. The second pint went down smoother than the first.

Sam blew into the room like a thunderstorm, all heads turning as she wound her way through the bar. Taylor almost laughed. Sam was beautiful, dark hair sleeked into a high ponytail, pieces falling magically around her face as if planned by a master stylist. Even after a long day cutting up Nashville’s dead, she looked as fresh as if she’d just stepped from the shower. As she enveloped her best friend in a hug, Taylor smelled the blissful scent of baby powder. She almost choked on it. Sam looked her over, and Taylor saw realization dawn in her eyes. Taylor had gotten a good drunk on one or two times in the past, and she knew Sam could read the signs that she was headed that way like they All the Pretty Girls

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were plastered in neon on her forehead. Good friend that she was, she just smiled.

“What’s the emergency, sunshine? Hi, Kat.” She grinned at the bartender, a dusky-skinned half-Korean woman who looked almost Hawaiian. “Can I have some water? And get some for our friend here.” She turned to Taylor. “What’s wrong?” she asked bluntly, the smile gone.

Taylor took a deep breath, at a loss. Sam’s belly had reached her first; she was barely three months along and already beginning to show. How she had managed to get pregnant on her honeymoon was usually a great source of amusement for Taylor. Now it was simply depressing.

“I honestly don’t know where to begin. The Rainman case, you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah. Why’re you worrying about it, that’s Sex Crimes’s case, right?”

“I’ve been helping with it. And it’s going to hit the news tonight. Another victim, and I’m afraid they’re going to name names. That’s all I’m going to say about it, okay?”

Sam nodded. She was savvy to the inner workings of investigations.

“Then there’s Julia Page, all in a dither about a case she lost today. Thinks there’s jury tampering, dropped that in my lap this afternoon. Not to mention all the crap Baldwin’s going through with the Southern Strangler. Do I need more to be upset about?”

“Give me a break, Taylor. That’s all in a day’s work to you. Now, what’s really going on?”

Taylor looked at her sharply. Typical, she couldn’t pull one over on Sam. Might as well get it off her chest. She took a deep breath. “I talked to the doctor today.”

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“Oh no, honey. Is your liver not showing the right levels?”

Taylor barked a laugh, drinking deeply of her draught. “No, the liver’s just fine. There’s a whole new problem.” She tried to look Sam in the eye and failed. She knew Sam would understand. Taylor wasn’t ready for a child. She and Sam had talked about it many times in the past, especially once Sam herself had gotten pregnant. But the immediacy of having to share the news was pressing on her like an anvil. She decided she’d best be out with it before she chickened out.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “So you’re sitting here trying to get in your cups. Excellent way to manage the stress, Taylor.”

Taylor started shaking her head back and forth, a pendulum of distress. “Noo, that’s not it at all. I’m…”

“You’re at a complete loss. You’re not ready to have a baby. You haven’t told Baldwin because you don’t know how he’s going to react. You don’t know what to think, how to behave, what to do. That about sum it up?”

Taylor gave her a dirty look. “Well, leprosy cases are on the rise, too. Besides, you’re supposed to be encouraging me here. Not—”

“Not what? What do you want me to do? You’re a big girl. You can make decisions for yourself. Did you want me to toss the beer over the railing and lecture you? I’ll do it if you want. But I don’t think that’s why you wanted to talk to me. So get drunk and talk.”

Taylor leaned back in her chair. Shit. That was the problem with good friends. They wouldn’t condemn, wouldn’t fly off the handle. She realized she was All the Pretty Girls

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spoiling for a fight, much like Julia Page in her office earlier. As she fought back a snapping reply, she saw Sam motioning to Kat. A pack of fresh Camel Lights appeared at her elbow. Sam broke open the pack, pulled out a cigarette, held it out to Taylor and lit a match.