“Okay. I promise not to bring him up again in public.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. She accepted the kiss, squeezed his hand in forgiveness.
Memphis appeared through the hotel doors, looking excited.
Baldwin looked at his watch, tapped the face. “Time to go.”
Memphis held up a hand. “My apologies. My DC called with some news. She thinks she’s found a witness to one of the Macellaio dumps.”
“That’s great news,” Baldwin said. “I asked the valet to grab us a cab, we can talk about it on the plane.”
“Where’s your car?” Taylor asked.
“At home. We’ve had a driver tonight.”
“Yes, quite fancy,” Memphis said.
The valet pulled up with Taylor’s 4Runner. “Oh. Well, do you want a ride? I need to go back to the office for a bit anyway.”
“You don’t mind?” Baldwin asked.
“Of course not. Hop in.”
It was cool downtown. A few cars traveled up and down West End, and a group of drunk Vanderbilt students huddled together on the corner, ready to cross the street onto campus and head back to their dorms. What she wouldn’t give to have their innocence, their naivete. They couldn’t know what a mean world they lived in, unless they’d been personally touched by violence.
They talked about the hopeful ramifications of a possible witness as Taylor drove them to John C. Tune airport, trying to stifle the horrible memories it brought her. She’d been spirited out of town from that airport, unconscious, at the whim of a killer who manipulated her entire family. She forced herself to breathe, to move the tension out of her jaw and shoulders. She felt a hand along the back of her neck, deft fingers digging deep into the cords. She looked over to Baldwin with a smile of thanks, saw him working his BlackBerry. With both hands.
She bucked upright, jerked the brakes a bit and the hand disappeared.
“What’s wrong?” Baldwin asked.
“Nothing,” she said. Memphis’s eyes met hers in the rearview mirror. He was smiling. “Nothing at all.”
Twenty-Six
G avin didn’t usually stray into Williamson County. Though he lived on its northwestern edge, he rarely had cause to cross the county line. But today he had no choice. The printer in his office was out of its special ink, and there was only one place in town that carried what he needed. The store was in Franklin, twenty minutes south of Nashville. It was a private enterprise, run by a quiet man who didn’t feel the need to talk very much, either. Gavin liked working with him-it was a simple “I need this, it will be ready Friday” kind of relationship.
His, well, friend would be much too strong a term, wasn’t even in the shop, but had left the package on the counter with Gavin’s name printed in block letters. Gavin left one hundred and ninety dollars in cash in a drawer under the counter. It would be safe. This was a good neighborhood.
Leaving the house had been especially hard today. He should be in mourning for his dearly departed doll. He just wanted to be home, to smell the fragrant air surrounding her resting place, to look at the pictures he took. Maybe even talk with Morte. Morte always understood Gavin’s upset after a doll was finished. But Morte wasn’t speaking to him.
He could reach out to Necro, but that wouldn’t be much help. Necro was still role-playing. Paying women to have sleepy sex with him. Of course, he thought Gavin was doing the same. Morte was the only one who knew that Gavin’s dolls were truly his for the taking.
He got back into the Prius, took the circle through downtown Franklin, turned left at the McDonald’s, then crossed back onto 96 West. The sun was low in the sky, bright in his eyes. He flipped down his visor and put on sunglasses. The suburbs of Franklin quickly gave way to verdant farmland, dotted with gated drives, large houses and an abundance of cows.
He thought of his doll, and cried a little. He hated to see them go. It took so much out of him. He’d stopped collecting for quite a while, because the loss was too much to bear. He’d never been caught, but that was probably pure luck. To keep safe, he used the Internet to satisfy his desires for a long time. Then he’d met Morte and Necro. Morte pushed him right back over the edge, and the urges overwhelmed him again. Morte gave him new power, new desires. Permission. Encouragement. He wanted to show Morte he was just as good as him. What was he going to do without him? He had to find a way back into Morte’s good graces.
The massive concrete double-arched bridge that carried the Natchez Trace Parkway over Highway 96 appeared in front of him. He marveled at its size, the beauty of the lines, the grace of the curves echoing the breasts of a woman. He was nearly to the bridge when he saw a car on the side of the road. A car, and a woman.
His pulse quickened, he reflexively slowed his Prius. She was waving at him. Gesturing. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She was stunning: tiny waist, delicate features, her hair long and braided. He stopped behind her car, heart in his throat. She walked to him, thin hips swinging. Her skin was the color of mocha cream. Dear God, was this a sign? He was frozen.
She tapped on his window. When he met her eye, he knew.
He pushed the power button, the window slid down with a whisper.
“Thank God you stopped. I’ve been out here for twenty minutes and haven’t seen a soul!” She smiled at him, friendly, open. He didn’t quite know what to say. She took care of that for him.
“Can you give me a lift? My car’s out of gas and the battery is dead on my cell phone. My dad keeps telling me not to forget to charge it, but I did. Hey, cool Prius!”
The girl walked around to the other side of the car. Gavin just watched, knowing his eyes were wide and he must look like an idiot. He quickly redid his features into a semblance of friendliness, and unlocked the passenger- side door.
The girl yanked open the door, slid in and tossed her backpack on the floor in front of her. “So, like, what kind of music do you have in here?”
She reached for his iPod. Gavin held himself back. He didn’t like people touching his things, but this was a gift. This was a sign. This was his chance. He swallowed, and managed to grind out the words.
“All sorts. Where do you need to go?”
The girl cocked her head to the side like a spaniel. “Bellevue. I was on my way to the Y I’m a lifeguard up there, and I am totally late for my shift. They’ll probably fire me. Hey, don’t I know you? I’ve seen you there before, right?”
Oh, dear God. How to answer? Should he admit it? What if…He nearly laughed out loud with glee. He could tell her anything. He could lie. He could tell her a multitude of lies and she’d never know the difference. She would never know.
He put the car in gear. “The Y. Sure. Yeah. I think I recognize you, too,” he said. He’d never seen the girl in his life. Yet here she was, practically gift-wrapped. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Was this a test? Or the most beautiful of opportunities?
The girl was nannering on about his playlist on the iPod. Why didn’t he have anything cool and hip? Didn’t he have some Ashanti, or maybe some old-school Run DMC?
“I like classical,” he replied.
“That’s dumb,” she said, pouting. He nearly burst out laughing, then realized he hadn’t laughed in a very, very long time. It must be fate. This girl, his present, his doll, had made him smile.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kendra. Kendra Kelley. What’s yours?”
He’d already made the decision by then, though he wouldn’t realize it until much, much later. “Gavin Adler.”
“Gavin. Cool name. Oh, hey, you just missed the turn. You need to go back that way.”
He ignored her. Within two miles, he could have her home. He finally took a second and listened to the
