14

“What is his name?” Taylor had asked Saraya.

“Oh, no. I no tell. I no want to get dead.” Poor girl’s eyes were dead already, it wouldn’t take much to finish her off. The bullets at the hospital had been overkill.

“Taylor!”

She jumped, looked up to see Sam and her husband, Simon, standing over her.

“You were so far gone, girl, where were you?”

“Sorry, Sam. Hey, Simon. How’s it going?” Taylor scooted her chair around to make room.

Simon mumbled a reply. A good Catholic boy, he was desperately uncomfortable to be in the strip club with Sam. He’d settle down once she left, Taylor was sure of that. They’d gone to high school and college together; Taylor knew his reticence was simply respect for his wife. 14

203

Sam took a seat, ordered two more beers, glanced ap

preciatively around at the nakedness, the girls writhing on the stage pole and nodded. “Yep, this should do the trick. Get the man so fired up I’ll be getting lucky all night.”

Simon went a deep burgundy. “God, Sam, could you just leave now?”

Sam nuzzled up to Simon and chucked him under the chin. “Just you wait, sexy man. You’ll get rewarded, trust me.” She kissed him; he turned a deeper shade of beet-red. Sam turned back to Taylor with a grin a mile wide.

“Jesus, Sam. You’re a sick puppy, you know that?”

“Speaking of puppies…”

She pointed at the door, where Marcus, Fitz and Lincoln were standing. It seemed the basic premise of the club. A person came through the door, stood, took it all in, then decided what they wanted—a seat up close, a drink at the bar, a lap dance or a private room. The three men were swarmed in an instant. Captain Price followed them through the door a moment later. Extri

cating themselves, they spotted Taylor and Sam and wound their way to the table, pulling up chairs and getting settled.

“LT, where’s Baldwin?” Fitz asked, leaning in close so he could be heard—the music had bumped up a notch. The bar was filling, the evening getting into full swing. Taylor looked at the door, and Baldwin walked through it. Her heart filled at the sight of him, at the way he found her eyes, didn’t look at the other women, just made his way across the room to her, planted a kiss on her lips, then took the proffered chair next to her.

“Long night?” she asked. Her look asked something entirely different— did you get rid of her?

204

J.T. Ellison

“You could say that.” He squeezed her hand, an unmis

takable I hope so.

She gave him a smile, then stood. “Sam, let’s leave these boys alone so they can misbehave.” She dropped forty dollars in Baldwin’s lap. “Have a lap dance on me, sugar.” She blew him a kiss to the hoots and hollers from her coworkers, then walked to the door with her back ramrod straight.

“That’s some woman you’ve got there, Baldwin. Don’t fuck it up.” Sam gave Simon a quick peck on the forehead, then left them, as well.

Fitz stood, signaling to a group of women in various states of dishabille nearby. “Okay, Mr. FBI man. It’s time for you to experience a last night of bachelorhood, Nash

ville-style.”

Taylor was already stomping her feet from the cold when Sam joined her in the street in front of the club.

“About damn time,” she grumbled, blowing warm air into her cupped hands. “What were you doing, giving him the lap dance?”

“More like some motherly advice. Got waylaid at the door by some chick. C’mon, let’s go in here, it’ll be warmer. And quieter. Am I getting old, or was it loud in there?”

“It’s loud. They design them to be so loud and flashy your conscience turns off—sensory overload. Makes men do things they normally wouldn’t.”

“Amen to that.”

Taylor glanced at her sharply but followed her into the small bar next door. Control was nearly empty, the music muted, the lights dim. Taylor felt her shoulders relax. 14

205

They ordered beers and took a table in the corner. Taylor took off her jacket, realized she’d forgotten to remove her weapon and holster. Her Glock was still tucked snugly against her right hip.

It wasn’t unheard of. She was much more comfortable with the weapon than without, though she usually went with a small revolver in an ankle holster when she was off duty and out on the town.

She saw the bartender making a beeline toward her, his face contorted in anger. He pulled up short when he saw her shield.

“Sorry, Officer.” He held up both hands, as if she were trying to rob him on the street and had yelled “Put ’em up!”

“Lieutenant. That’s okay. And put your hands down. I’m not arresting you.” She shrugged back into the jacket. No sense advertising.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. How about the next round on me?”

“No problem….” She left it open, and the man supplied his name.

“Jerry. I’m the bartender here.”

“I caught that. Thanks for understanding, Jerry. No need to buy a round.”

“No, I insist.” He disappeared, and Taylor looked at Sam, exasperated. All she wanted to do was drink a couple of beers, get the next two days over with, wrap up the cases and go to Europe. She was ru

Sam just smiled and excused herself to go to the Ladies’. Jerry returned with two beers and a sly look on his face. Taylor took a bottle of Miller Lite from him, then sat 206

J.T. Ellison

back, eyebrows raised. He obviously had something to get off his mind.

She was right.

Jerry leaned close while he handed Taylor her beer.

“See that guy that just came in? Don’t look, but I think he was here the other night.”

“Really? My goodness, a repeat customer. In this neck of the woods. Imagine the odds.”

“No, you don’t get it. I mean he was here the night that little girl went missing.”

Taylor nearly dropped her bottle.

“What are you talking about? Which girl?”

“The little black-haired reporter. Jane. I think the paper said her last name was Macias. I don’t remember if the guy was in then, but I absolutely remember that he was here the night Jane disappeared.”

“What about the last victim, Giselle St. Claire? Was she in here, too?”

“Couldn’t say. I don’t remember what she looks like. Jane, I remember. She was a sweet kid. That’s not good, is it?” His face fell.

“Uh, Jerry? Did you tell anyone this?”

“Well, no. But I’m telling you now. Isn’t that enough?

I just put it all together. I didn’t see him again, so I didn’t really think too much about it. And I don’t know if I want to get too involved, you know what I mean?”

He rolled up a sleeve and Taylor saw the ink, the home

made prison tattoos that covered his forearm. Yes, she understood entirely.

“Okay, Jerry. This is great. Thanks so much. Go back behind the bar now. My friend is coming back. We’ll take it from here.”

14

207

“She a cop, your friend? ’Cause I got a…bat, behind the counter.”

“The medical examiner, actually. But there’s a gaggle of good police next door, and we’re going to get their at

tention and have a chat with this guy. Okay? Now, go on back to the bar, you’re starting to look suspicious. And don’t worry.”

He went, and she sat back in her chair, looking at the man Jerry had pointed out.

He was at least six foot four, with brushed blond hair cut high and tight, as if he were military. She couldn’t see his face full on, just in profile. He sat comfortably, hands loose between his knees, not quite leaning on his forearms. He was strung tight, but not ready to snap. The door to the bar opened and a woman walked through. Taylor watched his body language, saw him open himself. It was almost imperceptible. The woman ignored him, walked right past and went to the bar. She plopped onto a stool, ordered a drink, lit up a cigarette.