Page 97 of The Wolves Come at Night
“I was hoping you’d get in touch. Everything okay?”
“Okay enough. I hear you’re getting a profile that matches your gut instincts. Where do we stand on Bloom? Where do you stand, I mean? Baldwin already told me his conclusions.”
“Man, this is going to take some getting used to.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We’re going to do what Baldwin suggested. Spook him and watch him run. We have cops in LA on alert, and we have eyes on him here, too. He’s scheduled to come back to Nashville tonight and be back in LA by the weekend. Sometime in the next few days, we need to hang this on him. Lincoln has a line into his computer and phone. O’Roarke is working on the voice recognition, though without video or other evidence, it’s going to be a difficult path to have it hold up in court. We’re trying to get paper to go into his house here, but it’s taking forever. The audio isn’t going to be enough, we need more.”
“Agreed. I’d reach out to both Georgia’s bandmates and her parents, let them know there’s a development. See if they have anything else to add to this. What did her phone give us—you?”
“All the texts between her and her folks. There’s nothing illegal on there. Just complaints—he’s controlling me, made me break up with Justin, need to get out of the contract. Nothing that implicates Bloom in the murders.”
“There has to be something else, Marcus. Something we’re missing.”
“Agreed. We’re working on it, Taylor. The second I get the paper, and we’re up on his phones, his houses, everything, we’ll nail him. Everything good with you?”
“Good enough. I’m going dark, though, so I wanted to check in before I did. And no, you don’t want to know. Well, maybe you do, but it will be a story for our grandkids one day, okay?”
“Just let me know if there’s anything you need. Seriously. I don’t care if Huston fires me. If you get into trouble, shout and I will drop everything. We all feel that way, you know.”
“I do. You’re a good guy, you know that? Hang in there. Talk soon.”
She hung up and stared at the phone for a few moments, then went to the window. The grounds were charming, and she wasn’t tired. She decided to take a walk, burn off some steam.
Angelie Delacroix did not need Taylor for this job. Yes, she had come in handy when Santiago hurt his ankle, but they had plenty of people on their team who could have slotted in for backup. She was starting to wonder if maybe Thierry wanted Taylor compromised in some way. Hunting down a killer was well within her purview. Stealing things, murdering people who got in her way—that was not.
But if she wasn’t an official law enforcement agent…she no longer had that cover.
Hunting a killer wearing a uniform was no different than hunting without one. Game was no different from Bloom. From the Pretender, from the Snow White killer. Those who would see them punished were different, but the basic premise? Rid the world of those who do harm to innocents: that had been her mantra for as long as she could remember.
She lapped the garden twice. Thinking. Thinking.
Admittedly, she was getting tired of having this argument with herself. She was as willing as anyone to bend the rules if it meant getting the job done. She’d done so more times than she could count. Was the resistance she was feeling simply a function of taking orders from someone she didn’t respect? Or something more?
That wasn’t the right word, either. She did respect Angelie, albeit grudgingly. She was a devoted friend, and one hell of an operator. She was quick on her feet, and if Taylor was being honest with herself, certain of her path. Angelie wasn’t making laps around a fragrant garden, wrestling with her conscience. She was making plans to remove her enemies from the world. Which meant she was ten times more effective at her job than Taylor. Besides, who was she to judge Angelie Delacroix?
Ah, but you’re judge, jury, and executioner, Taylor. That’s your job. It’s always been your job.
Then why in the world was she going along with this?
Oh, that one was easy. To save the innocent. That was always the reason. It mattered not whether she could sleep at night so long as innocents didn’t have to suffer.
The gardens were quiet, perfumed with the last of the season’s roses and a smattering of bougainvillea fighting for purchase before the chill stole the blooms for good. Well-established swatches of night-blooming jasmine, too—whoever built this garden was a romantic. The gravel crunched under her boots, and as she paced in the moonlight, she felt a peace steal over her. These past couple of years had been hard. She’d nearly died at the hands of a serial killer, then at the hands of a terrifying madwoman who almost managed to drive her insane. She’d been forced to question everything she believed after that. She’d lost people she loved. These things change a person. You begin questioning the ways of the universe. How could she not wonder if her path was supposed to be altered?
It was. She knew that. And it was time to stop fighting herself, her conscience. She would always do the right thing in the end. There was no reason to worry anymore.
Taylor made one last turn and started toward the house, just in time to see Angelie tearing out the door, calling her name.
“Jackson? We need to go, now. Now!”
Taylor jogged the rest of the way to the house.
“What’s the matter?”
“Game. The salaud is changing the rules. Avery is missing. Alan feels certain Game has taken her. He is no longer willing to wait for us to meet his demands.”
They were in the house now, where the gear was already stacked by the door. Santiago was downstairs, pale but upright, his foot on the chair next to him, typing on the laptop and talking to Alan on a sat phone.
