Page 8 of The Wolves Come at Night
Lincoln cocked his head. “You know, you really should rethink that. You and Baldwin would make really pretty babies.”
“A—sexist. B—why does everyone keep telling me that? C—we aren’t even married yet, and you’ve already got me knocked up. One step at a time, boys. One step at a time. And when we do get married, it’s going to be quiet, and we aren’t going to tell anyone. Elope Central. And then maybe—and I say maaaybe—” She let it drag on a moment for effect, enjoying how their eyes lit up. “A hamster.”
While they guffawed, she shuddered at the memory of her own interrupted nuptials. Taylor had come inches from marrying John Baldwin in a traditional, elaborate, tons-of-guests church affair, but was kidnapped by a psycho on the way to the altar.
But that was years in the past, and now, she was actually ready again, if one can ever be ready to make such a life-altering change, especially when you’ve been alone for so long. They’d do it on a beach somewhere. Someplace no one knew about but her best friend, Samantha Owens, and Sam’s fiancé, Xander Whitfield, the two people she would not marry without. Vows in private, a huge party back home once the deed was done.
Her friend from New Scotland Yard, Memphis Highsmith, had offered his castle estate in Scotland, with him and his wife, Evan, as witnesses, but Taylor had demurred. As glorious as the home seat of the Viscount Dulsie was, she still had too many bad memories of her time there.
“Y’all quit jawing and get in here,” Huston yelled.
They shuffled in, the guys letting Taylor go first.
Huston looked entirely harassed, a view Taylor saw more and more these days. Being in the leadership of Metro was for the birds. Law enforcement in general was having a rough go of it, with the cultural shifts happening throughout the world. A lot of their own cops had quit, or been forced out after the mandates, but many had doubled down on their commitment to keeping people safe, focusing tremendous amounts of energy on finding a new path forward that worked for all involved. Huston was in the latter camp and had made serious strides in making sure body cameras were on at all times, instituting new sensitivity training at the academy, doing high-level outreach to the community at large, and shutting down even the tiniest whisper of complaint from the troops. As a result, though Nashville still had problems, community relations were improving, and Taylor was grateful for the steady hand at the helm.
Still. A hard job had been made harder, and Taylor felt utterly neutered. As much as she enjoyed outreach to the community and sit-downs with younger cops, teaching them how to do it right, how to show respect to people who rarely experienced it, how to get to the root of the issue with a young repeat offender instead of just tossing someone into the back of a car, she longed for the streets. A teacher she was not.
“Georgia Wray,” Huston said, pulling Taylor from her reverie.
“The country singer?” Lincoln said. “What about her?”
“That’s the ID on the body Detective Wade pulled off the mountain last night.”
“Oh, what a shame. She’s been hitting it pretty big lately.” Taylor said. She was more inclined to listen to the New Wave romantics and punk rockers of her youth, but even she knew about Georgia Wray. Nashville born and bred, a gorgeous blonde, wrote her own songs, and had a voice that didn’t need a whopping dose of auto-tune. A real star in the making. They were saying she was the next Taylor Swift.
“Her family and label are up my six, as you can imagine,” Huston said, gesturing toward the phone. “We need a quick close on this. There’s a witness, I understand?”
Marcus nodded, and for Taylor’s sake, said, “Two Vandy students were on a GPS hunt yesterday and heard arguing and a gunshot. They hightailed it down the trail and called us. I hiked up there with one of the witnesses, the app’s founder, a tech, and a couple of patrols to find the body. Poorly buried, recently deceased. I’ve already started on it,” he said to Huston, who shook her head.
“It’s a high-profile murder, the record label wants a high-profile cop. No offense, Marcus. But Taylor, this one’s yours.”
Taylor’s heart lit up in macabre reaction to the news of a dead girl. Finally, something to do.
“No problem. I’m happy to help.” She hoped she sounded serious and not gleeful. She hated like hell that the girl was dead but was already seized with the frisson of a new case, even without knowing much about it.
“I assume you’re both okay working with the captain, Lieutenant Ross, Detective Wade?”
Lincoln nodded. “Always.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Marcus chimed in.
“Good. Get to it. There’s a presser scheduled for this afternoon, and Dan is expecting you to brief him on where you stand.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Taylor said. “We’ll figure this out.”
Huston already had a hand on her phone. “You better. That label has clout. It’s all of our asses on the line.”
Four
Taylor stopped in her office long enough to grab her keys before following Lincoln and Marcus to the Violent Crimes offices. Clean, sterile almost, brisk. Their new building was modern, all glass and wood, steel beams—a beautiful, functional, aesthetically pleasing box, surrounded by a black metal fence. It didn’t have the sordid, sloppy personality of their old office downtown—the rabbit warren of desks crushed in cheek to jowl, the dirty windows and ashtrays outside the door, sliding stacks of printer paper atop coffee-soaked carpeting, random tourists wandering into the courtyard. Of course, the old Criminal Justice Center had been demolished; that squalid room in the CJC lived on in her memories only. Change. She was becoming a dinosaur, resisting the benefits of the new space. Metro now had their own lab, a successful decentralization to the precincts, better coverage across the city. All positives for them.
Maybe it was her.
Taylor fingered the tiny, puckered scar on her temple, a souvenir from a madman. He’d taken her voice, her autonomy, nearly her life. A year removed, so much had changed. She was back…but was she? When she returned from her medical leave in Scotland and was cleared by Dr. Willig, the department shrink, for active duty, she’d been summarily promoted, ostensibly taken out of harm’s way. But was the city trying to keep her safe, or keep themselves safe from her? Sometimes she wondered.
Lincoln’s office was on the far side of the room. He hesitated a moment, sending a glance her way, before sliding behind the desk. Taylor didn’t mind. This was his domain. He’d worked hard to get the promotion to sergeant, and with her recommendation, the step up to lieutenant. Her old position.
If Marcus felt any qualms about Lincoln’s new leadership role changing their dynamic, he didn’t show it. He flopped in the chair to the left. Taylor more sedately took the one to the right. Even the chairs were nicer. They were all going to get soft, riding a wave of high-end interior design glory.
