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She was so tired. She just wanted to escape. Some oblivion. She found her medicine bottles, took her pills. Chased them with a beer.
Pill.
Beer.
Pill.
Beer.
Anything that let her avoid thinking about Baldwin and Memphis. About Sam, and Evan, and the ghosts of dead babies.
The hours passed. She was so very tired. She decided to go ahead and take a quick nap. Maybe some sleep would sort her system out and her voice would be back when she awoke.
She drew the curtains and bolted the door. The room wasn’t as dark as at night, but it was dim enough that the outside light wouldn’t interfere in her sleep.
The bed was soft and inviting, and she curled up under the blanket, cozy and warm. She realized she’d forgotten to mention to Baldwin that today was the a
She closed her eyes, and was asleep within minutes.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Taylor woke from her nap feeling groggier than ever. She rose from the bed and stretched, then checked the clock. It was nearly four. She went to the window and pulled back the curtains. The estate had transformed while she’d been asleep. Baldwin was right about the storm. Snow gathered in piles; there was at least six inches on the ground. It was falling fast.
She went to the television and turned it on, surfed around until she found the BBC. After five minutes the weather update came on. The storm was getting worse by the minute—there could be up to three feet of snow overnight. Airports and railways were closing throughout Scotland. Which meant neither Memphis nor Baldwin would be getting up to the estate anytime soon.
Lovely.
She turned the television back off and pulled out her laptop. It was early back in the States. Sam would be in her office, prepping for the day’s autopsies. Maybe she could catch her before she got lost in the land of the dead.
But Sam didn’t come back right away on the chat, which meant Taylor had already missed her.
Oh, this was for the birds. All she had wanted was to get away, and now look at her. She was alone in a castle in Scotland, locked up in a snowstorm, desperately trying to reach the people in her life who’d apparently gotten on with things. Like she couldn’t handle herself alone.
Maddee’s voice rang in her ears: you’re here because the people around you don’t trust you anymore.
God, that hurt. She didn’t know whether to believe it was true, either. She knew people had been talking about her. About her actions. Asking questions. Maybe she was deluding herself. Maybe they all knew.
The truth of the matter was she’d taken things into her own hands and gotten Sam’s baby killed. There was no escaping it anymore.
There was a knock at her door.
She crossed the room and opened it. Trixie stood there, the ever-present tea cart to hand.
“Dr. James said as you may be feeling poorly. I brought ye tea to help. Will you be having di
“Hello, Trixie.”
Taylor stepped aside and let her bring in the tea. It was a job for the serving maid. Taylor wasn’t sure why Trixie was continuing to handle it. But tea sounded good. It would wash the pills down just as easy as beer.
“You’re not looking well, lady, if I may be so bold.”
“I’m not feeling so well, Trixie. I think I’ll go back to bed. Thank you for the tea. I’m going to skip di
“Aye. I’ll have a maid fetch your breakfast. Just ring if you need anything.”
She lingered by the tea cart.
“Can I help you, Trixie?”
“Will you be needing me to draw a bath, or help ye with the tea?”
“No, Trixie, I’m fine.”
The woman was nervous and jumpy. What was going on?
“All right then. You sleep well. Make sure you drink your tea.”
God, this place and their tea.
“Good evening, Trixie.”
She saw Trixie to the door. The corridor was cold as ice. Tendrils of freezing air reached into her room, winding around her wrists as if it wanted to drag her outside. Taylor felt the ghost before she saw it. The cold became a wall between her and the hallway, then she blinked and it appeared.
The Pretender. Standing across the way from her.
She jerked back into the room and slammed the door. The red wave coming on. Taylor latched the door behind her, breath coming short. Trixie was calling out. Oh God, it was happening again. She was allowing another i
She breathed deeply through her nose and flung open the door, ready to charge.
But the corridor was empty.
And Trixie was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Memphis tucked his chin lower into his jacket to avoid the wind that was blowing down the back of his neck. Visiting Frankland Prison wasn’t his favorite thing to do on a good day, much less one with lousy weather. But this was all a part of the job. Standing in line, awaiting his turn to move through the security gates into the relative warmth of the prison proper. No special preferences for a viscount here.
His detective constable, Penelope Micklebury, was obviously miserable, her nose bright red and her teeth chattering. The day was raw, the snow building rapidly. The weather forecaster said this could be a huge storm before nightfall. He was worried about Taylor, all alone back in Scotland. He could fly back up there if needs be, but if the airports closed, the train was the only option, and in heavy weather, they too could stop ru
The thought made him feel terrible. He shouldn’t be thinking of Taylor today. This was Evan’s day. He’d visited her last night, knelt on her grave, begged for her forgiveness. He hated that he was in love with another woman, hated that he was sullying his wife’s memory. But it had been three years. When would be the right time to move on? His heart already had. It was his head that was giving him problems.
And right now, he had to get his head in the game. They were going to interview a former associate of Roger Waterstone, now known as the prophet Urq. He’d offered to give information in exchange for consideration on his extensive sentence.
The queue began to move.
“Finally. Do me a favor, Pen. You talk. This fine young gentleman might open up to you more than me.”
“Of course,” she answered, cool and collected. He pretended not to see her smile. Letting her take the lead on the interview was a first for them. But she’d earned it. Pen was turning into an excellent investigator.
“Shall we?” he asked, pointing toward the gated guardhouse.
They moved past the gates and were admitted to the outer ring of the prison. They showed their identifications, signed forms. After five more checkpoints and i
A young redheaded guard unlocked it for them.
“He’s all yours,” the man-child said. “If he gives you any guff, just give a holler. We’ll get you out of there straightaway.”
Wonderful. Brilliant.
They went into the room. A young man dressed in gray was led in. His head was shaved. He looked cold.
He sat at the table and lit a cigarette.
Memphis and Pen sat across. Pen made a show of taking out her notebook, setting up her pen, before she cleared her throat and dove in.