Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2

by J. T. Ellison

  Baldwin was quiet on the other end of the phone, letting her work through her thoughts without interruption.

  “Tell me the quote from Exodus again,” she said.

  He shifted toward her. “Exodus chapter twenty-one, verse twenty-three through twenty-seven—‘If any harm follows, then you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.’”

  She moaned softly. “He’s going to kill him.”

  “I don’t know, Taylor. The verse goes on. ‘When the slave owner strikes the eye of a male or female slave, destroying it, the owner shall then let the slave go, a free person, to compensate for the eye.’”

  “What are you saying? You think he’s been set free? Then where is he? Why hasn’t he been in contact?”

  “I don’t know what to think, Taylor. The Pretender is still hell-bent on you, that’s for sure. He’s doing things he knows will hurt you directly.”

  “I have to focus on these murders in Nashville. But as soon as I’m done, I’m going to go join the hunt.”

  “Do you think that’s wise, Taylor? These men and women know what they’re doing.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to get in the way. I’m a law enforcement officer, too. I know the protocols. I can help.”

  Baldwin sighed deeply. “Taylor, that’s what he wants. That’s what the Pretender is counting on. He knows you, too damn well for comfort. He knows that if he leaves you a bit of bait, you’re going to run headlong toward it.”

  Her chest tightened, frustration making her stomach clench. She knew she was responsible for this. She knew she’d gotten Fitz hurt. It was her fault. She didn’t need to be reminded.

  “Low blow, Baldwin.”

  “I don’t mean it as one. If it were you out there, and the police were finding pieces of your body, you don’t think I’d do the very same thing? I would hunt him down, tear the bastard limb from limb. But you can’t do that. You’re his target. You are what he wants. We need to keep you in Nashville. On your own turf, with your force to back you up. If you ever go out on your own, you’re vulnerable.”

  “I’m not that vulnerable, Baldwin. I have a gun. I know how to fight.”

  He raised his voice. “You knew how to fight on our wedding day too, and where did that get you? Tied to a bloody chair in a warehouse in New York.” She could practically hear him gritting his teeth, biting back the caustic words he’d never be able to take back. Her own temper rose unbidden.

  “Don’t you dare yell at me. I wasn’t on my guard then. Who would have been? I was in a fucking wedding dress, on my way to marry you.” She was feeling hot, furious and uncomfortable. They’d never had this argument before; she didn’t know he considered her weak for being captured.

  “I know, Taylor. Jesus God above, I know. If it weren’t for me, none of that would have ever happened.”

  “Oh, don’t be stupid. You weren’t the cause, any more than I was. It was a situation, and I mishandled it. Believe me, I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  The moment the words were out, she regretted it. “That’s not what I mean,” she said, softer now. “I mean I’ll always be on my guard. I’ll always be watching for him.”

  “So you do still want to marry me?”

  She tried to calm her breathing.

  “Of course I do. I’m wearing your ring, aren’t I?”

  His voice was bleak. “When all I bring you is danger? You’re a hard woman to keep safe, Taylor. What I do, the people I have to associate with, all of it brings you into harm’s way. Look at Aiden. If the Pretender hadn’t killed him, where would we be?”

  “I don’t know. We’d—”

  “Be running from the bastard, that’s where!”

  She modulated her voice carefully. This could easily spill out of control, and she didn’t want that, not now. Not over the phone, where the smallest turn of phrase could be misconstrued.

  “Stop shouting at me, Baldwin. You have no idea where that might have led. Stop imagining the worst and let me do my job.”

  “Your job is to stay in Nashville, or have you forgotten that? Your caseload, your team. You have responsibilities there, Taylor. You can’t just run off willy-nilly on a wild-goose chase.”

  He huffed to a stop, biting back the words.

  Taylor had learned the hard way that fighting with someone you love has rules of engagement. She’d learned never to say the first thing that popped into her mind. Or the second. Or even the third, for that matter.

  Finally, she took a breath, calmed herself, then said, “You think Fitz is dead, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that if you fall for this, if you run off after him, you might be. And I can’t lose you, Taylor. Not like that. Not to someone like him.”

  “So are you going to forbid me to go? Put your foot down, assert your rights over me?”

  “No. I’d never do that. But I can ask, can’t I? I can ask you, beg you, to stay away from this case. To stay in Nashville where I can breathe easier, knowing you’re surrounded by people I trust to help keep you safe. All I can do is ask that you’ll keep me in mind before you do something reckless. Will you, Taylor? Will you please, please think about what you’re doing before you do it?”

  Could she do that? The other thing about love, she’d quickly learned, was that you had to think about the other person first, then think about yourself and your own desires. Every bone in her body screamed to get in the car and drive, to get to that campsite, to see what was happening, to make sure they were doing everything right. But Baldwin had a point. The Pretender was trying to draw her out, to get her off balance. She would be no use to Fitz if she were captured or dead.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. I’ll stay here.”

  “Thank you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You know I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. You’re my own heart, Taylor.”

  *

  There was a puddle of water forming at the base of the driveway. A cheap penny saver, delivered to the wrong house by accident, floated in its plastic bag. She drove over it, out of the drive, up the street, wipers on, lights on. Mind completely and utterly off.

  Poor Fitz. Being used as a tool in this ridiculous game. Knowing she’d caused him to suffer was overwhelming, and she realized that’s exactly what the Pretender had in mind. The suffering of those she loved was to be her penance until he was ready to face her.

  She picked McKenzie up from his house, grateful that he could recognize she had her mind on things. He stayed silent until she finally spoke.

  “Where are we on the case?”

  He flipped open his notebook. “I think we’re very close. We’ve got all the players. Juri Edvin will be booked for the murder of Brittany Carson. His girlfriend, Susan Norwood, is cognizant of his actions—she was trying to help him run away. We get a confession out of him today about the other seven kills and we can wrap this all up.”

  “I still think there’s something else going on.”

  “Like what?”

  “This is all too sophisticated for a teenage boy to pull off. I think we should look harder at our vampire and our witch. Marcus applied for a warrant to the vampire’s house. I want to see what he had stashed there.”

  “Ariadne’s not involved,” McKenzie said, a note of finality in his voice.

  “How can you know that? She’s completely out there. How do you know she isn’t leading us down the primrose path?”

  “A gut feeling about her, that’s all. I did a little research into her last night while you were at Vanderbilt. She has no history of interjecting herself into cases. She was a very powerful political figure in the Wicca movement, a high priestess who doubled as a judge on a disciplinary committee. But she dropped out several years ago, citing personal conflicts with the direction of the religion.”

  “Then she may have a grudge.”

  “I don’t think so. I think she’s tel
ling the truth.”

  “You think she can read minds and conjure energy?”

  “I don’t know about that. I think she believes she can help, though. Just do me a favor and listen to what she has to say. I asked her to come in later this morning.”

  Taylor parked the car, and they crossed the street together. As she swiped her key card in the back door, she turned to him.

  “Okay. I trust you.”

  A small smile gleamed on his face, but he didn’t say a word.

  *

  Paula Simari was sitting in the Homicide office, chatting with Marcus Wade when Taylor and McKenzie walked in. She was on a roll, gesticulating wildly to make her point.

  “You can always judge a man by how he treats his dog, Wade. All you have to do is watch. Does he jerk its head to keep it in line? Does he yank a little too hard when he’s training, or is it justified? Dogs like to work, you know. They like to have a purpose, a job. Max knows what his job is, and he’s happiest when he’s working. But I’ll be damned if I’ll yank his head like that.”

  “Morning, you two,” Taylor said. “What’s up?”

  Simari turned with a grimace, deep black circles under her eyes. “Animal cruelty case rolled in overnight—I got stuck with it. I hate these bastards who chain their dogs and claim it’s good for their character. Asshole was training his Rottweiler, yanked a slip chain around the dog’s neck so hard that his neck broke. Didn’t kill him, the poor thing, we had to put him down after we got there. I’d like to put his owner down, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “God, Simari, sorry. That’s awful.”

  “Yes, well. It’s not your problem. I actually came to tag along on your warrant. Wade requested Max and I ride along.”

  “Are you up for it? You’ve been on shift all night?”

  “I am. It’s all good. We’ll rest after.”

  “So Marcus, we have the warrant?” Taylor asked.

  “Signed, sealed and delivered. Mr. Johnson was the guest of the county last night.”

  “What about Susan Norwood, the girl who calls herself Ember?”

  “Released into her parents’ custody at midnight.”

  Taylor slammed her hand against the desk. “Shit. I wanted her held. What happened?”

  Marcus shook his head. “Nothing to charge her with. Sneaking into a boy’s hospital room wasn’t enough. Miles Rose, slippery bastard, talked her right out of the cuffs.”

  Taylor chewed on her lip for a moment. “I want an officer on her at all times. She’s involved in this.”

  Marcus waved his hand at a pile of papers, what she assumed were the guardian orders. “Already done. Juri Edvin passed an uneventful night at Vandy. They think he’ll be ready to be released into custody tomorrow. Lincoln’s in, he’s still working with the video-sharing sites.”

  “Excellent. Thanks for running all that down for me. McKenzie, what time is Ariadne supposed to be here?”

  “The escort is supposed to bring her back at 10:00 a.m.”

  “Then let’s get moving. Simari, Marcus, you’re with us.”

  They left a few minutes later. Taylor drove, McKenzie rode next to her. Marcus was in the backseat, working his phone. Simari followed in her patrol car, Max sticking his nose out the open window, a channel of crisp, fresh air running straight up his black nostrils.

  Rush hour was ending, but the streets were still congested with latecomers and two fender-benders. The ride up to Joelton would normally take thirty minutes; they’d already been gone an hour and Taylor was getting frachetty. She hated traffic.

  Lincoln called just as they took the exit off the highway. Marcus spent a few minutes listening, then slapped his phone shut.

  “Good news,” Marcus said “One of the video sharing sites found a match to the address. They’re tracking it down now.”

  Taylor looked in the rearview at him. “What do you mean, a match to the address?”

  “Remember Lincoln said yesterday that there was a ghost in the IP address that showed him the uploads were being rerouted? There were multiple IP addresses for the uploads, but he’s found a pattern.”

  “Honestly, no. That one slipped by me.”

  “Well, there’ve been other videos posted by the person who posted the original video. They’re tracking the IP addresses now. They think they’ll have something concrete by noon.”

  “Big Brother is watching,” McKenzie said wryly.

  The morning had become glaring and hot. Taylor slipped on her sunglasses. She looked back at Marcus again, amused by the excessive floppiness of his brown hair this morning. The kid hadn’t slept much, looked like when he did, it was face-first. “Well, thank goodness for Big Brother in this case, because it may be our only credible lead. Nothing showed up on Juri Edvin’s or Susan Norwood’s computers, I take it?”

  “Susan’s hasn’t been looked at—her parents are being a bit difficult. But the Edvins were quite forthcoming, dropped Juri’s laptop off with Lincoln late last night. He didn’t find any links, but he’s still looking. The kid was into all kinds of crazy stuff though. His history reads like a who’s who of creeps and illegal stuff—some bondage footage, a guide to bomb making, cyanide poisoning, neck breaking. He’s studying violence, and violent means of death. He fits the profile we have to a T.”

  “If we can tie him to Barent we’ll be set. Any correspondence between the two?”

  “Not that we’ve found yet. We dumped his texts and are going through them, but that’s going to take a while.”

  “Anything off the personal security video cameras at any of the houses?”

  “The only one that had a camera was the Norwoods’, but it was turned off. The rest were pointed away from the scenes, so nothing of use.”

  “Well, if little Miss Ember was sneaking out at night to see her boyfriend, Thorn, she may have jury-rigged the camera to cover her tracks.”

  “We’ll have to ask the Norwoods to get the whole story. The security firm said the camera was turned off sometime during the first week of September because Mrs. Norwood felt it too intrusive.”

  “Too intrusive? I will never understand why people spend oodles of money on these elaborate alarm systems then don’t use them correctly.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Norwood was aware of her daughter’s proclivity for running around after hours and approved,” McKenzie said.

  “Do any parents approve of their child seeking nocturnal activities?” Marcus asked.

  Taylor glanced at him in the rearview. “You’d be surprised. I’ve seen parents do crazy things. If the Edvins were feeling so terrorized by their son, what’s to say the Norwoods weren’t feeling that from their daughter? Maybe it was self-preservation.”

  “Do you think she could kill her own brother?”

  “I don’t know, Marcus. I just don’t know.”

  McKenzie pointed to an ornate mailbox. “Hey, this is it.”

  Taylor braked, hard, skidding a little bit on the rough asphalt. There was a gated entrance, harled stone stacked six feet high on either side of a dirt driveway. The black wrought-iron gate was conveniently open.

  Taylor backed up a bit, then drove through, dust swirling around the Lumina in choking waves.

  The drive was about a mile long, with a hedge running along each side that blocked the view of the land.

  “He’s got a decent bit of property out here,” she said, gritting her teeth as she hit a dip in the road unexpectedly, jarring all of them. “Sorry.”

  The road curved then, and opened into a beautiful cobblestone parking area. The house beyond sprawled the length of the circular turnaround, a three-storied Gothic Victorian, columned, gray with white trim, complete with a turret. It was a lovely house, double balconies, in good shape, no peeling paint, no cobwebs. If it were rundown, then she could get the sense that the king of the vampires lived there. As it was, it was downright cheery. She snorted to herself at the thought, threw the car into Park and climbed out.

  Simari pulled in behind, l
eft Max in the car and joined them.

  Marcus stared in admiration at the surroundings. “Used to be a farm, I’d bet. See how the land rolls away? It would make a good vineyard.”

  “Lots of good farmland up here. Cotton and corn. Some tobacco, too.”

  They jumped at the voice, turned to see a small man in coveralls advancing on them, brandishing a rake.

  “You’re trespassing on private property. Can I help you folks?”

  Taylor took a step back, tapped her badge on her belt. “Yes, sir. My name is Lieutenant Jackson, Metro Homicide. Detective Wade, Detective McKenzie and Officer Simari. We have a warrant to search the premises.”

  Max began barking in the backseat, Taylor shot Simari a glance. No sense getting this guy riled up. Go calm the dog. Simari turned and went to her patrol car. Max’s throaty growls lessened.

  The man used the rake like a cane, leaned on it and scratched his freckled, balding head. He had tufts of white hair pouring out of his ears—it made him look like a party favor.

  “Now, what in the world? A warrant? For what? Why do you need to search my home?”

  “Your home? We were under the impression that it belonged to a Keith Barent Johnson.”

  “Ha!” The little old man laughed. “That’s me, and this here’s my house. But I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Sir, we have a man in custody who says his name is Keith Barent Johnson, and lists this address as his residence.”

  The man shifted the rake to his other side. Taylor could see him thinking. He finally sighed deeply, mopped his forehead with a red bandanna and waved them to the porch.

  “You’re probably talking about my son, Barry. Come on in the house, I need some coffee. We can talk.”

  *

  Mr. Johnson poured the coffee, so thick it practically slid into the cups.

  “Barry’s a good boy, you mind. Just a wee bit messed up in the head. He was a soldier, don’tcha know. A damn good one, from what I hear.”

  “What branch of service was he in?” Taylor asked. She pretended to sip from her cup—coffee wasn’t her favorite thing in the world.