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“What did you expect, old man? That I’d let her live?

That I’d let any of you continue on? You were wrong. You were so very wrong.”

Grabbing a poker from the fire, he advanced on Snow White. Before he could take four steps, his body jerked. His mouth opened, but the roar of the gun drowned out his scream.

Joshua reentered the room, a pistol wavering in his hand. He squeezed the trigger again, but Troy saw it coming and ducked, rolling away from the fireplace, away from Snow White. He made it to the door before Joshua’s empty eyes found him again, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

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Joshua went to the door and bolted it, locking him and his father in the library. He went to Snow White, who had crumpled, stricken, in his chair. He was keening, a low mourning for his daughter. His son joined him, held him while he cried, and they wept for Charlotte’s soul. Taylor went back to the CJC and found the offices nearly empty. Most people had taken the entire week off for their Christmas vacation. She had a moment’s dis

placement, knowing all that had transpired that prevented her from leaving on her own Christmas vacation, but pushed it away. There would be time for that later. She’d called Captain Price on her way into the office and told him about the recovered file folder. She hadn’t gone through it in detail, but at first glance it contained all the information they’d been speculating about regard

ing Burt Mars and Edward Delglisi. Her next call was to Baldwin, a request to meet her and go through the infor

mation. With any luck, the key to sinking Delglisi’s ship would be in these papers. Whatever Richardson had dis

covered had gotten him killed. She was ready to see what that might be, regardless of her own involvement. Baldwin had extracted a promise from her to wait until he got there to go through the file. The suspense was killing her. She was toying with the edge of the folder when Baldwin came into her office with two cups. The steaming latte was a welcome treat; she didn’t realize how chilled she was until she wrapped her hands around the warm cardboard. She thanked him and sipped gingerly.

“So, can we look now?”

“I want to talk to you about a couple of things first.”

“What?”

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J.T. Ellison

“I had a conversation with a friend of Lincoln’s, an…official with the South American and Mexican gov

ernments.”

“The spy. Lincoln told me he helped with the chauf

feur.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that he’s a spy. I think he’s more of a facilitator.”

“Okay. I won’t even ask how he came to be friends with our Lincoln, then.”

“There’s nothing sordid. Lincoln doesn’t know the extent of this man’s reach. Anyway, he’s had Delglisi on his radar for a while.”

“The South American co

“Right. Well, they want him. And they’re willing to do just about anything to get him. There’s just one little problem.”

“Win.”

Baldwin looked at her. “You peeked into the file, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. I can only imagine that’s what it must be, because you’re treating me like a five-year-old. My father is a criminal, Baldwin. I can take it. So spill.”

“Okay. Mars was the bank, but your dad is Delglisi’s bagman. He’s the one moving the money. The authorities were closing in on him two months ago. He went overboard from THE SHIVER, but left a cool four million on board when he bailed. So not only are the South Americans and the Mexicans looking for him, he cost Delglisi a lot of money.”

“That’s why Delglisi thinks he can trade on Win’s life. Win’s a dead man regardless. There’s no way we can keep this quiet.”

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“Taylor, there is a way.”

She set her latte on the desk and looked Baldwin straight in the eye. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’ve been talking to Garrett this afternoon. He can arrange for the Marshall Service to take him into pro

tective custody. Your dad will have to testify against Delglisi, but they can keep him safe.”

Taylor leaned back in her chair, staring up at the wa

termarked ceiling tile that she’d inherited with the office. Official requests to replace the moldy brown splotch had been effectively ignored. She focused on the mark while her mind whirled. Was she willing to allow her father that kind of judicial forgiveness? She had never been able to muster her own absolution for him. Now the law would do something her heart would never allow, and her mind would fight. She didn’t think she could stand by and watch him glide yet again. But at the same time, the greater good would be served. Shit. Typical Win, ruining her thought process by simply existing.

“You’re right. But here’s a question for you. If Win is as big a part of this as we think, what now? He gets to go scot-free?”

“No, that’s not really how the witness protection system works. At this level, they’ll give him immunity to testify against Delglisi and his cronies. They’ll relocate him, probably out of the country, give him a new face, a new name, anything he needs to effectively disappear. It’s a lot more dangerous than romantic, I’ll give you that.”

“I can’t help it, Baldwin. It’s just not right. Besides, it’s all a moot point. He won’t do it. He won’t. He’ll go to jail before he rats Delglisi out. You don’t know my dad, Baldwin. He had a chance, way back at the begi

J.T. Ellison

get off on the bribery charges. All he had to do was testify against Galloway. But he wouldn’t do it. He’s too stubborn. He’s got just enough of the gentleman in him that he feels obligated to stand by his criminal associates. He won’t testify.”

“We’ll make him, Taylor. The trick is to get Win here. We need to make the deal with him and take down Delglisi.”

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s look at these files first, see what Richardson came up with.”

“Okay. Time out on mystery and intrigue for a few moments. You read, I’ll look over your shoulder.”

“I hate it when you lurk.”

“Fine. You read, I’ll just sit here and take in your beauty.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll pass you the pages.”

She opened the file. “Okay, Frank. Show me what was so important that it cost you your life.”

Black and white. Frank Richardson was a journalist. He had deep contacts, many people he could turn to if he needed a confirmation. He was old-school—two sources or he wouldn’t go to print. His diligence had won him the Pulitzer. And a seasoned journalist like Frank Richardson would have hit upon this immediately. The paperwork didn’t lie.

Anthony Malik was indeed Edward Delglisi. There was more. Buried seven pages into the printouts, which were covered in scribbles, block capital letters and speculations, most of which they’d already figured out, there were three words. Two words, really, and a phone number.

Sex. Video. 212-555-3457.

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She went back to the page and read it again, and again. She handed it to Baldwin. His eyes lit up.

“Call the number. Put it on speaker.”

She dialed, and they sat back. A prerecorded voice cut through the air. “You’ve reached the offices of New York State Attorney General Conrad Hawley. Our offices are now closed.”

Taylor clicked the phone off. That was all they needed to hear. She and Baldwin shared a long look. The shit was about to hit the fan.

She stood and stretched. “I’ve got to get out of here. Let’s walk.”

He followed her out and they left the building, trudging up to Second Avenue until they came to the Hooters on the corner.

“This’ll work,” she said, and they went in. “I’m hun

gry, anyway. Let’s get a couple of beers and burgers and talk this out.”

They ordered and Taylor waited until she had a beer in her hand to talk again.