Page 52 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Washington, DC? Why in the world would she go there?” Turley asked.
Sky shrugged. “Probably need to find out. Unfortunately, I have a case out west, so I’ll have to recuse myself. I just wanted to give you that information.” She stood, and that was enough to break up the meeting.
Now that was interesting. The timing coincided with the strange phone call Taylor had received from Dr. Conway.
“I’ll look into it, Sky. Thanks. All right, team. Tomorrow, same time. Everyone stay in touch. I’ll be out by the lake trail with O’Roarke and the dogs this afternoon if anyone needs me.” The task force members began shuffling papers and laptops, murmuring to their teammates. Taylor called out, “Sky? Do you have a moment?”
The younger woman was almost out the door. She glanced at her watch, a flash of gold on her wrist. Old school.
“Just.”
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee. My place.”
Twenty-Five
They took the elevator to the ground floor and walked the half block to Taylor’s building. Taylor liked that Sky wasn’t chattering at her as they took the elevator to the forty-fourth floor. A very self-contained woman. Who looked so damn familiar…
“Oh! It just hit me. You’re the lead singer of that awesome band who plays around town.”
A smile cracked Sky’s face.
“The Deathwish Bunnies. That’s me.”
“I remember seeing you at a New Year’s Eve show at Grimey’s a few years back. Pretty kick-ass gig. You’re one hell of a performer. You’ve got a great punk rock voice.”
“That’s kind of you. Though now we’re all off to many other pursuits, and I don’t get many chances to sing anymore. Just the odd tribute show, like Grimey’s.” She’d lit up talking about her music. “You don’t strike me as the punk rock type, Captain.”
“Taylor, please. And trust me, I am. It’s been driving me nuts trying to place you—I know you were on the force. That’s what I want to talk to you about, but—”
Sky froze. “I’m not coming back, if that’s what this is about.”
“No, no. Not at all. So did you know Georgia Wray? I know the music’s not the same…”
“Yes, I did. I mean, to say hello, nothing more. I met her at a Grammy party last year. We talked about British punk versus American country. She expressed a desire to expand her horizons.”
“Interesting. Between us, her parents were trying to get her out of her contract. The case looked cut and dried, but we’re reopening in light of the conversation I had with them.”
Sky frowned. “Well, Travis Bloom is a shrewd businessman. The contracts will be airtight. She’d probably have to surrender her IP, which is, of course, exactly what no artist wants.”
The elevator stopped and Taylor unarmed the door with key, code, and palm. Sky watched all of this with interest, but Taylor didn’t explain. She opened the door, looked at the condo with the eyes of someone new.
Despite the Fort Knox measures, their place really was beautiful, as warm and homey as glass and marble could be made. The view itself was arresting; they had the corner of the building and could see north, east, and south, overlooking the bulk of downtown. The natural white oak floors were scattered with thick wool rugs; the furniture was modern but comfortable. By all appearances, it was the home of two very successful people. Happy people. She was glad their contentment showed. It was hard-won.
Taylor gestured to a leather stool in front of the counter, which Sky took.
“Coffee? Tea?”
“Diet Coke?”
“A girl after my own heart.” Taylor grabbed two cans, cracked them, and dumped them over ice. Their refrigerator made cocktail balls, perfect-sized frozen rounds that went into old-fashioned glasses. They also kept a Coke cold and didn’t melt right away, a major bonus for her.
“I’m thinking of leaving Metro,” Taylor said, handing Sky a glass.
Sky simply nodded. “Sick of it, are you?”
Taylor blew out a breath. “No, it’s not that. Chafing at the bit, I’m afraid. They keep promoting me, and I’m not really interested in the politics of it all. I like getting my hands dirty. Not my soul.”
“Profound.” Sky tipped her glass in salute, and Taylor laughed.
