But more people meant more opportunities for leaks, for mistakes. And that might bring her the chance to end all of this sooner rather than later. All it would take to end her nightmare was a twitch of her forefinger. One clean shot, and the world would breathe easier.
She revisited her ongoing fantasy, thought about how she could lie in wait, and kill Copeland the moment she had confirmation that it was really him. She envisioned the setting—Copeland begging for his life, his pleas falling on deaf ears as she stood over him and shot without hesitation. The end.
Getting away from Baldwin and her team to enact such measures wouldn’t be difficult. Deception was a part of her job, misleading statements, sleight of hand. She was a magician with real handcuffs.
Everything up to now has been a dress rehearsal, you bastard. I won’t let you hurt anyone else I know.
God, she was tired.
“Are you okay?”
Taylor’s eyes flew open at Baldwin’s voice. He’d managed to sneak up on her. Good grief, had she dozed off standing, like a cow in a field? She nearly laughed at the image.
“I’m fine. You scared me.”
“Sorry about that. I thought you might have a headache. Your forehead is all squinched up like it gets when something hurts.” He ran his thumb softly across the two little wrinkles that appeared between her brows when she was frustrated or concentrating. Her railroad tracks, he called them, miniature furrows in her otherwise smooth skin. Her mother had good skin, and her grandmother before her. Lots of collagen. They’d both aged well, she hoped she’d get the same chance.
Something hurt, all right. The bleeding edge of her soul where she’d taken the knife and sliced off a piece the moment she’d decided on revenge as the only path to sanity. She tucked it away. There was plenty of time to wallow later.
“I’m good. Just thinking. What’s happening with you?”
“Waiting on a bunch of call backs. It’s rather frustrating not to be able to do anything.”
“You’re here. That’s doing something.” She pushed off the wall. “Want a coke?”
“Nothing cold. I need coffee. It’s freezing in that interrogation room.”
“I need a coke. Sorry you had to suffer. I keep it cold in there on purpose. Makes the bad guys ’fess up quicker. I have a hard time keeping a straight face when I’m in court and they play video of the interrogations. Watching the suspects try to warm their hands with the cuffs on is a source of great amusement for me.”
“Taylor, my dear, you are a first-class sadist.”
“You know it.”
They started walking, shoulders touching. Taylor took comfort in the contact. It reminded her that even though she was alone in this, she had someplace to turn if she backed out, or if she truly needed a safe place to run to.
“How’s Colleen Keck?” Baldwin asked.
They reached the soda machine. Baldwin peeled a dollar out of his wallet and put it in, chivalrously handed the Diet Coke to Taylor. She accepted it, cracked the lid and took a long drink before she answered.
“I had to have Lincoln take the blog down, but that’s as far as I can go. Colleen is not cooperating the way I’d like. She’s more worried about protecting her sources than helping us stop the Pretender. Without her permission to scan the personal information of the blog commenters, I’ll have to get a warrant, and warrants take time. I lied a little, told her we were already contacting them, but she’s no dummy, she knew we couldn’t do that without securing paper first. I left Lincoln in with her, she seems to have developed some rapport with him. If that doesn’t work, I thought I’d let you have a go at her, see if she’ll soften up.”
“What is she hiding?”
“I wish I knew. She’s certainly aware of the situation, and she’s given me enough so I can start calling the other jurisdictions. She’s holding something back, and damned if I know what it is, or why.”
“What other jurisdictions?”
“Boston and New York, so far. I just got a call from Paul Friend at Fox News, they’re putting the story together. It’s only a matter of time before the whole world knows.”
“Do we need to bring Hall and the North Carolina guys in on this, too?”
“According to Colleen. She’s profiled the cases and feels they’re all connected.”
Baldwin was silent for a moment. “She’s probably right.”
“Hell, I know that. Copeland’s sister in North Carolina, and some of his other little buddies scattered across the country? He’s showing off, telling us how much control he has. And he’s two steps ahead of us. That’s the problem. What in the name of all that’s holy is a blogger doing putting together the pieces of my case before I get a chance to?”
“Your case. You’re assuming jurisdiction of the case?”
“Of Keck’s portion of it, yes. Keck is my responsibility now. We need to find out how he knows her online persona as Felon E, and fast. I think she’s just being used as a tool, because she has a direct connection to me. I was her husband’s training officer. Only for a couple of weeks, but that’s long enough. I passed the sergeant’s exam, got transferred into plain clothes, and he was picked up by another officer. Two years later, Tommy Keck was shot in the line of duty, doing a drug stop out on Interstate 40. The shooting is on video. Keck walked back to the car he’d pulled over, and the driver laughed as he shot him. Car took off, left Keck lying on the side of the road, drowning in his own blood. It was all over the news. Colleen had given birth just a few weeks earlier. He was just back from paternity leave. It was terrible. Just…senseless.”
“And now Colleen Keck has become a pawn in Ewan Copeland’s game. We should look into her past as well, just in case. Where is she from?”
“I don’t know. What bothers me is he’s decided to start pulling ancillary people into the game. Tommy’s been dead for a long time, and though I’ve met Colleen, it was only a couple of times, and at his funeral. I didn’t even recognize her when she showed up. She looks…different.”
“Grief does that to a person.”
“Of course it does. But that was four years ago. I wasn’t on Copeland’s radar then. It wasn’t until Snow White reemerged that he caught wind of me. We’ve always agreed that he saw me on the television at the beginning of that case.”
Baldwin tapped his forefinger against his front teeth. “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ve been assuming that. Assumptions are very dangerous things. Once we add the Kecks into the equation…I don’t know, Taylor. You could have come across him much earlier than that.”
“No. No way. How?”
“I don’t know. But I think we should do a records search, see if we find anything.”
“Search what records?”
“All of them. Everything Metro and the FBI has. I think we should go back through your arrest record, and I’d like to put together a ViCAP query as well. You’ve been his target all along. He’s showing off for you. Haven’t you ever asked yourself, why?”
“Every day.”
“I think we need to think differently about this. We need to pull all the minds together, in one place. Let everyone have a hand in.”
“Your team and my team? Or are you thinking a task force?” As she said it, she felt her heart drop. Was he starting to get the idea that she was planning to hunt the Pretender down, was trying to distract her with procedure? She must be more transparent than she thought. Task forces meant layer upon layer of accountability. Accountability took time. Time was a luxury she couldn’t permit. Not if she was going to finish things herself.
“Multiple jurisdictions, multiple cases. That might be the easiest way to coordinate. We let them worry about the other states so we can focus on Tennessee. On you.” Crap, he was getting suspicious. She played with the tab on the top of the Diet Coke. “I don’t know, Baldwin. Besides, that’s out of my hands, I can’t make that call. Task forces cost real money. It’s way above my pay grade, and you’re on suspension, so it’s out of yours, too. I’m goi
ng to call Emily Callahan up in New York, see if she knows what’s going on with the case up there, then report to Commander Huston and drag A.D.A. Page out of bed. Let Julia handle Colleen’s privacy protestations.”
“Callahan. I’ve always had a soft spot for her, considering. Tell her I said hello.”
Considering the fact that instead of honeymooning in Italy, they’d spent a couple of days in New York with then-detective-third-grade Emily Callahan from the 108th precinct of Long Island, trying to solve the case of the Snow White, the bastard who was the Pretender’s maker. He was dead and gone, now, a victim of his creation. She hoped the Pretender would soon follow in his mentor’s footsteps.
They reached the break room, and Taylor decided to change the subject.
“Enough of all this. What have you been doing? I thought you’d pop in on me and Colleen.”
Baldwin sighed heavily. “I’ve been on the phone with Kevin. He’s been working on Ruth Anderson’s hard drive. If there’s something to find, he’ll get it.”
Taylor had always wanted to get Lincoln Ross and Kevin Salt in a room together and set them to work on the same impossible task, just to see who could finish faster. She’d put money on Lincoln, but Salt was worth every penny Baldwin paid him.
“Can you do that? I thought you were suspended.”
He gave a rueful laugh. “I am. Couldn’t be better timing, either. My team is working directly with SSA Hall. They flew the evidence from North Carolina to Quantico. Garrett is in charge of things for the time being, but Kevin is keeping me informed. Right now, I’m afraid I’m a man without a country.”
“Hmm. A man without a country, yet Kevin was happy to give you the particulars…”
Baldwin smiled. “Well, to his credit, he snuck the call in from the bathroom. I may have to promote his ass when I get my command back. Anyway, it’s going to take more time. Ruth Anderson has been in contact with an awful lot of people.”
“Surely Ewan Copeland is in her system? Can’t we find out where he is from that?”
“They’ve been covering their tracks for years. It’s going to take more than a couple of hours. Kevin’s a genius, but he’s only one man. And as far as we can tell, Copeland hasn’t used that name since he was eighteen and got spat out of juvie. He completely dropped off the radar.”
“Right.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t we head back to the house, take a shower, catch an hour’s worth of sleep. You’re dead on your feet, I can see your molars every time you yawn.”
“I’m not yawning,” she said, just as her jaw spontaneously opened, wide enough that her ears cracked.
“Yeah, right. Make your calls, then I’m taking you home for a couple of hours.”
She had to admit he was right. These were the in between hours, when paperwork created lag time, research was under way and information was barely trickling in.
She decided to be smart. She might as well take advantage of the momentary lull. She had no idea when she’d get another chance to rest. They’d call if they found anything relevant.
“It’s going to take Julia Page a while to secure the warrant, I’ll have Marcus or McKenzie type it up. Callahan won’t be in the office for a couple of hours, no sense dragging her out of bed so early. And she’s on eastern time, it’s an hour later there. Let me tell the boys I’m taking off. A couple of hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt. I’ll meet you in the parking lot in five.”
She watched Baldwin walk away, waited until he was out of site, then started down the hall to her office.
Maybe she could parade through the lot, or wander up the street, see if he took a shot? He wasn’t in the building, and so long as she was safely ensconced in the CJC, he couldn’t get at her. She needed to be outside, out in the open, marking her scent along the trees, drawing him closer and closer.
If only it would be so easy. No. She’d been in Nashville long enough now that if he were here, he’d know she was back and gunning for him. It was time to start hunting.
Thirty-Four
Taylor had never been happier to see her exit.
She’d thought about getting a condo downtown for years, and with the influx of housing in the Gulch, Terrazzo and The Icon opening with their rooftop pools and private security, she was even more tempted. She’d spent most of her adult life in a cabin atop a hill west of town, and when she and Baldwin got engaged, they’d bought a home together, one that was big enough for them both to have offices, and a beautiful bonus room for her pool table. She loved the house. It was open and airy, lovingly decorated in their eclectic style, but at times like these, when she was hauling herself home, twenty minutes from downtown, she wished she had something closer. Driving, hell, walking a few streets over from the office would be a nice change, especially when she was this tired.
Her insomnia was getting worse the older she got, and she’d noticed that lately her waking hours were tinged with a slight fog. Stress and years of sleepless nights were finally catching up with her. When she did sleep it was due to sheer exhaustion. Not good. Situations like that would take her off her game if she wasn’t careful. She would run, run, run then collapse, never getting the right amount of sleep, and to be honest, until now, never really having to. She could do with three or four hours a night and be perfectly fine.
Maybe it was just this case, the horror of what happened to Fitz, the pressure she’d put on herself to eliminate the threat to her life’s order, but she was feeling the lack of sleep keenly. It worried her. She didn’t want to be anything less than razor-sharp right now. Since she didn’t know how long this case would drag on, she really needed to start taking better care of herself. Even the tiniest slip could derail her world, and she couldn’t afford any mistakes. Not now. Not when she was so close.
After this case was over, she could always get Sam to give her something to sleep. Or Baldwin, though she hated admitting her weakness to him. She liked that he reveled in her strength. It made her feel even stronger, more inspired. No, Sam was the place to go. Even if it was just for a night, she could recharge the batteries.
Baldwin had been quiet on the way home. She loved their silences as much as their conversations. It was a sign of true love to her that she could be quiet with him, letting the air charge with electricity without ever saying a word. He had a stillness inside of him, a deep inner peace, which attracted her like a fly to honey. She had the same piece of quietude within her, and the two spoke to each other wordlessly, their bodies flowing in a symbiotic dance.
He pulled into the garage and smiled at her. “Go upstairs. I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.”
She was happy to oblige. She felt her body dragging as she mounted the steps. The sun getting ready to rise, casting meager light through the blinds. She pulled the curtains shut so the room was totally dark, stripped off her clothes and fell naked into the freezing bed. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Baldwin paced the downstairs, making laps through the dining room, foyer, living room, kitchen, dining room. He knew he needed to get some sleep. He was just as deep in the slumber deficit as Taylor was, and she’d been visibly dragging. As tired as he was, his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. The idea that Taylor had come across Ewan Copeland’s radar earlier than they’d originally thought was haunting him. If he’d known that, he would have approached this case very differently.
He stopped to put the kettle on, maybe some herbal tea would help him relax. He was amped up on caffeine and adrenaline, and pure, unadulterated fear. Losing Taylor was something he’d never be able to handle. He knew that now. The mere thought that he’d miscalculated, that he could have gotten her hurt or killed with his mistake, nearly handicapped him fully. All he wanted to do was get Taylor on a plane, get her the hell out of here. Find some little tropical island where he could buy off the local constabulary to keep them safe and protected, hire a phalanx of bodyguards and nestle down until this bastard was caught.
Not rational, but tempting. Very t
empting.
The stove’s small burner was taking forever to heat up. He decided to go out and get the mail from yesterday. They’d been gone to North Carolina and he’d not bothered to get it when they first arrived home. He disabled the alarm so the beeping wouldn’t wake Taylor and slipped out the front door. Sunlight streamed into his eyes, making him squint. He put his hand to his forehead to block the light—fresh, new sun, first of the day, as blinding as a strobe light.
The mailbox was full, the usual crap. He thumbed through the stack as he walked back to the house. Bill. Bill. Credit card solicitation, two of them, one for him and one for Taylor. Catalogs from stores they’d never shopped. Magazines. He sighed. Just a bunch of junk. He shuffled the edges back together as he returned to the house.
He almost missed it.
If he hadn’t tripped on the step and dropped the stack, he wouldn’t have seen it until it was too late. It spilled out onto the brick patio, buried between the magazines. A red envelope, with the name Taylor hand-printed on the front. It wasn’t glued closed, the flap was just tucked into the bottom of the envelope. He used his pen to feed it open. There was a Valentine’s Day card inside.
He opened it, ignoring the schmaltzy words in favor of reading the note inside. It said:
Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
Colleen Keck is Dead
And So Are You.
Inside the card was a thin, clear plastic case with what looked like a CD inside.
He dropped everything on the steps and rushed inside the house, slammed the door behind himself, took the stairs two at a time.
Their bedroom was dark, quiet, the only noise Taylor’s soft breathing.
She was fine.
He wasn’t. He was thoroughly rattled. He watched her sleep for a few minutes, then quietly went through the entire house, clearing closets and bathrooms. No one there. No traps, no tricks. The son of a bitch was playing with them again.
So Close the Hand of Death Page 20