She set the photo down. No sense going there. Memphis had been clear about what he wanted, had shown her the possibilities. Regardless, he was her friend, nothing more.
So what was she doing in his office, looking through his desk?
She sat heavily in his desk chair. The scent of him, all leather and wood smoke, lingered in the room. He smelled different here than in America, where he’d been subjected to hotel soaps. Here, he smelled real. Maybe he was right not to mention anything. Maybe they could forget it ever happened. She wished to God it hadn’t. And she was going to have to bear that knowledge for the rest of her life.
Annoyed, she grabbed the newspaper. There was a file underneath it, sitting on the top of his desk. She read the tab. It was labeled Evan.
Evan?
She glanced over her shoulder. Listened carefully. No one was around to see her sneak a peek.
The file was about an inch thick. She used a pencil to open it.
There was a picture of Evan on the top, and a pile of newspaper clippings underneath. Taylor set the pencil down and leafed through them. As she already knew, the story of Evan’s death had made the front page of all of the U.K. papers. The Scotsman had done the most intensive stories, with deep background on Evan, her family, and her life.
Taylor realized it would take her hours to go through all the material. She didn’t know why this file was left out, practically in the open, for anyone to see. Anyone who had a key to his office, that is…
But Memphis was gone, and would be for a few days, at least. She might as well take it with her, read at her leisure. She needed to get going if she was going to make her meeting with Maddee anyway.
She tucked the file inside the newspaper, just in case one of the servants came along. If it were private, Memphis would have locked it up—heck, maybe he’d left it for her, knowing she was interested. Maybe it had answers to questions she didn’t know to ask.
As she turned to go, she saw a glimpse of red, just a quick flash out of the corner of her eye. Her heart rate sped up, and the hair on her arms stood on end. She forced herself to look into her peripheral vision. There was nothing.
Get a grip, Taylor. You’re being an absolute idiot.
She folded the newspaper around the file and stuck it under her arm. She started to stroll out the door, going for nonchalant. Two steps in, she tripped. The newspaper and the file flew out like a flushed quail. She reached to catch herself on the doorjamb. She tried to curse but nothing came out, which frustrated her even more. She looked at the floor and saw a small needlepoint-covered footstool. She kicked it over, then, feeling guilty, uprighted it and moved it out of the path to the desk. Stupid footstool.
The file’s contents were spread out in a five-foot radius. There was no way to cover up that she’d been looking through it now. She gathered all the paper up and managed to get out of Memphis’s office without further mishap. She hurried to her room, barred the door behind her and sighed in relief.
The fire was cozy, fresh tea had been laid out by the chair. She sat down, poured herself a cup, put the file with Evan’s stories in the top desk drawer and covered it with stationery. She’d read through it all later, try to get it back in order.
She opened the paper instead.
The front page focused on the latest tragedy on the A9 near Inverness, deemed one of the most dangerous roads in Scotland. They’d driven right past that spot yesterday. Creepy.
A fisherman had gone missing off the Hebrides. And there was a small story about the missing London girls. Memphis’s case.
She skipped the rest of the news and read about it with interest. Memphis had mentioned he wasn’t completely convinced that they were on the right path. Maybe she could help.
The paper had seized on the one thing the girls had in common—the church that Urq built.
Urq, as he called himself, was an interesting character. His real name was Roger Waterstone. He was the son of the famous British financier, Stephen Waterstone, and heir to the family fortune. He’d been educated at the finest schools, dated the finest women. For fun, he’d pursued a career as an architect.
Four years ago, he’d disappeared. Went to Bali for vacation and never came back. She remembered reading about the case; it was rather high-profile at the time.
Then his father died, and Roger reappeared, a changed man. He’d found God. He used some of his inheritance to start a church. Brought together people from all walks of life. Stopped short of saying he was the messiah, but Taylor couldn’t help but think this was a cult. It had all the markers.
If he wasn’t above murder to get his point across… How did his father die again?
“Yoo-hoo! Earth to Taylor….”
She jumped a mile. Maddee was shouting and knocking on her door.
She went to the door and pulled it open. Maddee looked genuinely relieved to see her. Goodness, she must have everyone in the house and surrounds worried about her. Or Memphis told them she was terribly delicate and needed looking after. Most likely the latter.
“Finally. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. When you didn’t show up downstairs I decided to fetch you myself. That old bat Trixie is off in the kitchens, but she let me in so I could come by. Are you ready?”
Taylor nodded.
“Okay. Let’s go then.”
She let Taylor out the door in front of her, but glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ve stayed in this room before. One of those nights when they had a party and we couldn’t make it home. It’s changed a bit since last time. I don’t remember all the books.”
A gift from Memphis.
Taylor wondered if it was her imagination, but she could have sworn Maddee’s smile grew tight. Hmm. Maybe Dr. James had a bit of a thing for her friend Memphis.
It was understandable. Memphis was handsome, obviously witty and fun, and heir to a massive fortune. He was certainly a catch. But Maddee was married to his best friend, and supposed to be a close friend to Memphis’s dead wife. Perhaps that hadn’t been the case after all.
Taylor made a mental note and let the thought go. Women were strange creatures when it came to attraction, that much she knew. They got territorial, even with their male friends that they had no amorous intentions toward. She didn’t plan to get involved in the dynamics of their relationship any more than she had to.
“Our Memphis was always one for grand gestures. You’d best be careful, he’ll sweep you right off your feet and you won’t want to leave.”
Taylor let that one go. God, if Maddee had any idea of what had transpired in here last night…
She followed Maddee down the stairs. Her long hair was in a bun today, drawn back from her face sharply. It looked uncomfortable, pulled so tight, like a ballerina about to go on stage. Taylor’s omnipresent headache throbbed in camaraderie. She hated wearing her hair down. But she didn’t have a choice; the pressure of her ponytail was too much to take.
The drawing room was set up just as before—the EMDR equipment on the table, a fresh and full tea cart at the ready. Taylor gladly accepted a cup. Her throat was terribly sore and the warmth helped. She wondered how many pounds of tea the estate went through in a year.
“How are you sleeping?” Maddee asked, handing Taylor her laptop to write with. Taylor didn’t know why, but she didn’t want Maddee to know she had her voice back yet, either. She was being foolish, she knew that. The minute Maddee did the hypnosis, she’d be yakking up a storm. It just felt…private, somehow.
Sleeping is okay. Bad dreams, but I’m actually tired. That’s new.
“So the melatonin helped you sleep?”
Helped me GET to sleep, yes.
“That’s wonderful. You can take up to two capsules at night. That will really knock you out. How’s the headache?”
Bad in the evening, but if I take the meds early it simmers down to a dull roar. The Percocet does a good job taking away the worst of the pain. Either that, or I’m getting used to it.
“Any dreams?
Good ones, bad ones?”
Some. A couple of bad nightmares. Creepy stuff.
Maddee laughed. “It’s this castle. Plays tricks on the mind. They claim it’s haunted. I think that’s wishful thinking. Drives the tourists in. Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts.”
Me either.
Truly, Taylor didn’t believe in ghosts. But she did believe in the power of suggestion to kick-start her imagination. That’s why she hated ghost stories, and horror movies. She’d seen enough bad things in real life. She didn’t need someone else’s overactive imagination horning in on her.
“All right then. Anything else you want me to know?”
Maddee seemed a bit distracted this morning, but Taylor didn’t think it was necessary to point that out.
Maybe just one thing. I… How to put this without sounding completely nutty? I’ve been seeing things. Just flashes, really, of things and people who aren’t there.
Maddee sat back in her chair. She played with an oversize ring on her right hand, heavy gold with an onyx stone. “You know, there are many accounts of people with head trauma who are left with echoes of things that happened before the accident. Seen it a few times myself, too. This is normal, Taylor. It means you’re healing. Your brain is rewiring itself after a severe shock. Even a bad concussion can cause these echoes. It’s perfectly natural to be unnerved by it. Anyone would.”
A sigh escaped Taylor’s lips. That’s what it was, then. She wasn’t being haunted. It was all in her head.
Though the Pretender standing in a doorway wasn’t an echo, or a remembrance. It was a new image, and felt more like a message. A threat.
She didn’t tell Maddee that.
“Anything else I need to know about?”
Taylor shook her head.
“Then let’s get started. Lay back for me now, and think about that warm sunlight hitting your toes. That should be a nice change from the chilly weather we’re having.”
Maddee took five minutes to get Taylor into her relaxed state, watching the blue balloon lift into the sky before asking her to revisit the hour before the shooting. Taylor felt her blood pressure rise immediately. She didn’t really want to go there. But Maddee was insistent, and her voice was so gentle and soft, so comforting, that Taylor allowed herself to be pulled under. Maddee talked for a few more minutes, then dove in.
“We’re going to talk about Sam now. You knew she’d been kidnapped, correct? And answer me aloud, Taylor.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew where the Pretender had taken her, correct?”
“Yes.”
“When did you know that?”
“I’d always known that it would end there. That’s what he wanted. He liked the idea of a show, of continuity. But when we realized Sam was missing, that’s when I knew we were coming to the end.”
“And how long did it take you to get to the house?”
Taylor squirmed. The balloon started to fade.
“Taylor, look at the balloon. Let your arm rise in the air, light and carefree. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”
The balloon reappeared, pale and translucent against a cartoon-blue sky, though it was fighting to float away.
“Good job. Now, tell me. How long did it take you to get to Sam?”
“No more than an hour. I had to find a way into the house. I couldn’t just go bang on the front door.”
“But if you’d called for backup, you could have done that.”
“No. I couldn’t. I had to go myself. I had to finish it.”
“But in that hour, what happened? Isn’t that when the Pretender was torturing Sam? If you had gone straight to the house the moment you knew she was there, could you have saved her baby?”
“I don’t… I—”
“Taylor, think about the moment just before you entered the house. You wanted to kill the Pretender, didn’t you? You wanted to make him go away, to stop hurting you and your friends. That’s good, Taylor. It’s good to want to eradicate evil. That’s what your job is, to find and kill the people who hurt innocents. That’s why you’ve been put on this earth, to eliminate those kinds of people.”
Taylor shook her head. No. No—she wasn’t supposed to kill them. She respected the law, even though it didn’t always work perfectly. This case, the Pretender, that wasn’t how things were. It was a one-time thing. She wasn’t like her father, bending the rules when they didn’t suit him.
Was she?
“It wasn’t like that.”
“You say that now. But when you’re faced with another adversary, another killer who gets in your way, your first inclination will be to kill them. To eliminate them. To assassinate them. To, what did you say, ‘put him down’? That’s what you do. That’s what you’re good at. Look at your record. So many police officers never fire their weapon, yet you’ve killed four people. Tried to make that five. You are a weapon, Taylor. And if you’re honest with yourself, you like it. You like killing. It makes you feel good. You could have saved Sam, and instead, you followed your own path so you could see what it felt like to murder someone.”
“No!”
The balloon was gone. The calming pool of light disappeared, leaving her chilled and shaking on the couch. She didn’t want to open her eyes.
Was that true? If faced with the situation again, would she choose to kill? Was it the easy way out? Had she lost her moral compass entirely?
Dr. James surely seemed to think she had. And her own actions last night certainly pointed in that direction. Was a moral compass key to getting her job back? Would her team think she was trigger-happy? No, they didn’t know. They couldn’t know. No one knew that she’d planned to take out the Pretender herself. No one knew that. Until she’d spilled her guts to Maddee James.
She opened her eyes. Maddee was standing over her, watching, a small smile on her face. Taylor jerked back and upset her teacup with a clatter. It spilled to the carpet unheeded.
Maddee stepped back and shook her head. “Sorry, I was just trying to see if you were still under.”
“Not very—what the hell, Maddee? I am not some blunt instrument that kills for fun. I’ve only ever killed when I had no other choice, in self-defense. I hate that I had to, every moment of every day.”
“Wow. Your voice, Taylor. You’re back. And you aren’t under hypnosis. You’re speaking again. Well done.”
Maddee sat back on her chair, quietly contemplating Taylor. She steepled her fingers under her chin.
“Now. Let’s talk about what just happened. Do you really believe that’s true, Taylor? Be honest with me. Hell, be honest with yourself. If you look inside your soul, to your very core, can’t you admit that a part of you liked it? Liked planning to kill him?”
“No. Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not. It haunts me, Maddee. That’s why I’m here, trying to get away from it.”
Maddee shook her head slowly. She wasn’t smiling anymore.
“Oh, but Taylor, it’s all inside of you. You have free will. You have a choice. Even when your life, or lives around you, were in danger, you chose to kill. To end a life. What does that make you, hmm? How is that any better than doing it instinctually?”
Taylor didn’t like this at all. She wasn’t here to answer for her past sins. She was here to exorcise the demon of what she’d almost allowed herself to do. To regain control over herself, not go deeper into the abyss.
“Taylor, you’re not in therapy to regain your voice. That was a surface issue, a symptom. You’re here because the people around you don’t trust you anymore. Whether you realize it or not.”
“No. That’s not true.”
“You’re here alone, aren’t you? My God, you’re on an entirely different continent. Your boss wouldn’t let you go back to work. Your best friend is back in the States, letting you go through this alone. Your fiancé is off doing his own work. Even Memphis has left you behind. You’re here, all alone, because even you recognize that you’ve lost control. You’ve lost your ed
ge. You’ve become the people you hunt. And everyone but you seems to know it.”
Taylor stood up, teeth gritted. Frustration made her cry, and she refused to let that happen now.
Don’t you dare do it, Taylor. Don’t you even think about it. You’ve shown her enough weakness. Walk away. Walk away now.
“I think we’re done here.”
“Don’t go, Taylor. Don’t run away now. We’re just starting to get somewhere.” Maddee sat contritely on the chair, her hand extended. “Please, sit down.”
Taylor shook her head. No. She was done.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Taylor grabbed her boots and Memphis’s jacket and took off out onto the grounds of the estate. It was freezing cold, about to snow, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get away. Away from Maddee and her accusations, away from herself.
She heard a car engine revving and looked over her shoulder. Maddee’s Mercedes. She was leaving. Good. Taylor didn’t want to be anywhere near the woman. She didn’t want to see Dr. Madeira James ever again.
She turned and headed off into the woods. Memphis said she could have anything she wanted. And right now, she wanted that therapist to go directly to hell.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of the coat to find her gloves. Instead, she found a pill bottle. Her Percocet. She didn’t remember putting it in there, but she was glad she had—her head was splitting. The demons from the past hour were close about. She popped the bottle open and shook two pills into her hand. Swallowed them dry, forcing them past the lump in her throat.
Leaves lay thick on the path, reds and oranges and golds, as if it were a gaudy New England fall. The seasons here were not distinct. She knew the temperatures were relatively consistent, a range that normally covered no more than thirty degrees between winter and summer.
The dogs were barking, chasing each other around in circles down the path toward the gardens. She avoided them, cut north, going up the hill. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she wanted to be away.
Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2 Page 114