“Baby.” She kissed him on the neck, softly. “I’m sorry.”
He accepted the invitation. He rolled over on her, grabbed her hair roughly in his right hand.
“You’re mine, Taylor. Don’t forget it.” His lips crushed hers, and took her breath away with the intensity. He kept a hold of her hair, had his other hand between her legs, was kissing her as if it was the last kiss they’d ever share, and she had no idea how much time had passed, just knew that she was almost there, almost, when she heard the phone jangling two feet from her ear.
“Ignore it,” she said, breathless, urging him on with her hips.
“It’s yours.” He stopped, inches from entering her, breath ragged with the effort.
Groaning, she wiggled out from under his hips far enough to grab her cell.
There was static, then emptiness. A void surrounded her.
That tinny, childlike voice, the one from her answering machine, from the earlier call, spoke. “I’ll see you soon, Taylor.”
The line went dead, and she started to shiver. It wasn’t over. It would never be over.
Epilogue
T aylor had spent the overnight flight home from Italy thinking. Her life, her world with Baldwin, her father and the letter she’d been towing around for days. She’d made some decisions, small steps toward taking her life back. They landed right after the dawn, the warm sunlight of Nashville enveloping her in calm. She felt safest when she was home.
The house was still standing when the cab dropped them off, tired and a little giddy from lack of sleep. Sam had taken care of stopping their mail, arranging to have it held until they returned. Delivery would begin again today. The first thing Taylor did when they pulled in the drive was march to the mailbox with the letter to her father in hand. It was time for her to say goodbye.
She pulled open the door to the mailbox. It wasn’t empty. Sitting quietly on a white note card was a bullet. Chills crept across her body, and she backed away like it was a poisonous snake.
“Baldwin?” she called.
He came to her immediately, sensing the strain in her voice.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
She pointed. “In the mailbox.”
He wheeled around and looked, cursing under his breath when he saw the bullet.
“Camera and gloves,” he said, voice low and controlled with fury.
She fumbled in her briefcase, pulled out a single latex glove and her camera. Baldwin took them from her grimly, started taking pictures.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” she asked. “He was here.”
Baldwin didn’t answer, just reached in the box and pulled out the bullet. A. 40 caliber Winchester jacketed hollow point, the standard issue for her service weapon.
Holding it gingerly, he read the handwritten note, then extended it to her. She didn’t touch it, just read the words, feeling the pressure start to build in her chest.
Dear Taylor,
May I be the first to congratulate you, Lieutenant? You’ll be getting the call tomorrow that you’re being reinstated, and may I just say how proud I am? You showed courage and ingenuity to solve the case of poor little Gavin and his big bad brother Tommaso. Of course, I knew you would. That’s why I removed the copyright pages from the Picasso monographs. Gavin wouldn’t think that far ahead, the silly child. But I knew you’d find that little clue, and it would lead you to them.
Bravo, my lady. Bravo.
Keep this little gift handy. You never know when you might need it.
Until we meet again…
Love and bloody kisses,
THE PRETENDER
