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the sound of a lighter being struck, then Remy breathed out heavily. She’d just lit a cigarette.

“That’s the other thing. She may have been young but she wasn’t at all gullible. She had a radar for people, not that it mattered. She could find the best in a grunged-out junkie and the worst in Miss America. That’s just the way she was.”

“If you’re still at the M.E.’s office, you’d best put that cigarette out. Sam will have your head.”

Taylor heard a shuffling noise. Remy coughed once, deep. “Taylor, remember that time when we were kids, we snuck Mrs. Mize’s cigarettes out of the pack, went up into the woods behind your parents’ house and smoked? What were we, ten, eleven, then?”

Taylor laughed despite herself. Mrs. Mize was her parents’ housekeeper, a mother, na

“Eleven. She beat me blue when she found out. You lifted the Crest from her bath so we could wash our mouths out, but you forgot to put it back. She knew she’d just bought a new tube, got suspicious, started counting her smokes. Jeez, she was pissed off.”

“She told my parents. They were furious.”

Taylor thought about that for a moment. Her own parents had been informed of the incident. Taylor had been grounded, of course, told not to play with the St. Claire girl anymore, but it was Mrs. Mize who’d beat her silly, then loved and hugged her because she hated that she was the one doing the disciplining instead of Kitty and Win. She clucked, and brought hot chocolate and nuzzled Taylor, telling her an old Norwegian folktale that evening. 166

J.T. Ellison

“Where is Mrs. Mize these days?”

“She passed on last year. Sweet old thing, she went in her sleep. A true martyr, putting up with my family all those years, I’ll tell you that.” Taylor laughed softly, mind fuzzed with the memory of something good and happy. Then she shook her head and brought her focus back to the woman on the other end of the phone.

“Remy, I’d love to keep on reminiscing, but I have work to do. Is there anything else you can tell me about Giselle, about who she’s friends with, people outside the family that might have known her well?”

There was silence, and Taylor realized that no, Remy wouldn’t know these intimate details about her daughter. That would be about as likely as Kitty having any clue why Taylor was sneaking smokes with the St. Claire girl. Taylor’s heart broke, just a little bit, in a place she wasn’t aware had any more room for jagged tears.

“Okay, Remy. Thanks for calling. I’m so sorry about this, I really am. Sam will have everything else you might need. We’ll let you know what we find out.”

“I trust you to find out who killed my baby, Taylor. I’m glad you’re the one who’s going to catch her killer. I know that son of a bitch doesn’t stand a chance against you.”

She hung up, leaving Taylor with a strange, crazy sense of pride coupled with sorrow and longing for what they all used to be. For who they all used to be. Taylor sat with her head in her hands for a long moment after the phone call. She felt like the wind was gone from her lungs. What had her life become? Investigating the rapes and murders of her childhood friends’kids? Something was dreadfully wrong with that, she knew it deep in her soul. 14

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Soft knocks on the door made her raise her head.

“Hi, babe. Everything okay?”

Taylor stared at her handsome fiancé. The clear, seagreen eyes, the laconic smile, the black hair peppered with gray. The broad shoulders, the way he towered above her. Safety. That’s what she felt every time she gazed upon him. And that was terribly dangerous. She knew it. Vul

nerability wasn’t her strong suit; hell, she slept with a gun by her pillow. And a night-light. And dreamed of strong arms that pushed away the monsters and the nightmares. She’d found him, this savior of hers.

“Yeah. Just a little tired. What are you up to?”

“I came for a glimpse of the great Remy St. Claire.” He gri

“You want her autograph? I’m sure I could wrangle that one up for you. She’s over at Sam’s. We can catch her if you want.”

He laughed. “No, thanks.”

“What, you don’t have the hots for a shallow, plastic bimbo?”

“With you sitting here, wearing my ring, ready to marry me? Hardly. I’m just passing along a message.”

“Mmm-hmm. What’s the message?”

“The girl found in the park wants to leave. She’s fight

ing with the hospital, trying to sign out against medical advice. They called over, told Marcus. I told him I’d tell you.”

“Saraya?” Taylor rubbed a thumb against her right temple. A gnawing pain had started earlier and was grow

ing. She ran her hand through her hair, opened her desk drawer, took out her Advil, popped three, then stood up.

“All right. Where’s the drama queen this morning?”

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J.T. Ellison

“Charlotte? She’s at the field office, getting slaugh

tered by the media for missing the DNA co

“Aren’t you sweet. She is such a lovely girl. I hope the wolves enjoy her.” Taylor smiled at him. “But before we go Snow Whiting, I need to hear what my beating victim is so frantic about.”

The ride to Baptist Hospital was quiet. Baldwin drove, Taylor rested her head against the cool window and wished for summer. Truth be told, she didn’t really want winter to end. She loved the cool, crisp weather, the gray skies, the warm fires and soft clothes. But if it were summer, this would all go away. She’d be done with this case, the wedding would be over, they could go to the beach and lie in the sun, baking brown as bu

They parked and entered the hospital through the emer

gency room. Taylor shuddered briefly as a woman on a gurney was rushed past. She’d been there once, and didn’t want to go back. She fingered her neck, a habit she’d broken along with her cigarettes. The scar was there, still in sharp relief across her throat. A suspect’s last gasp. 14

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She’d wear his desperation forever. She’d just gotten used to it. There was something about nearly losing your life—

you either let it haunt you or you accepted that it had happened and moved on. She’d chosen the latter. She was perfectly content to be the one doing the killing, thank you very much, not being the one who someone had tried to kill. Being that kind of victim just didn’t work for her. As though he read her thoughts, Baldwin slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and gave her right buttock a squeeze. She tried to ignore him, but it tickled, and she laughed.

“You’ve been lost in thought. Anything you want to share?”

“Naw. You know me, I hate hospitals. Where’s our girl?”

“Four. Here, we can take this elevator.” The doors were already open, so they slipped inside and hit the button for the fourth floor.

Baldwin leaned against the metal walls, an eyebrow raised. Taylor watched him, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. Outside of work talk, she was being much too quiet these days, knew he could sense something was wrong. She spun her engagement ring around her finger twice, decided to take a chance.