She always got home precisely at 5:35 p.m. She’d change into lovely, tight-fitting Lycra, drink a protein shake, eat a banana, then head out for either a run or a bike ride. Frances was in training. Biathlon. She was strong. Capable. Not his usual type. Maybe she’d fight back. The thought excited him.
He pulled the electronic pad out from its resting spot, grabbed the bulky box. It was time. Time for Frances to say goodbye.
Thirteen
Nashville, Tennessee
T aylor and Baldwin arrived in Nashville with enough time to get to Vanderbilt before Fitz awoke from surgery. Taylor was exhausted—her day had started at 5:30 a.m., with no appreciable sleep in the past forty-eight hours. The adrenaline from the morning’s adventures had drained away, and she sagged a bit against Baldwin’s arm as they walked across the tarmac to the parking lot.
“You need a coffee or coke to get your head back in the game? We can stop at Starbucks,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m starting to drag.”
“Why don’t you let me drive, then? Give you a chance to shut your eyes for a few minutes.”
She smiled at him gratefully. “That would be great. Just give me a second.”
She opened the back door of the 4Runner and took a gym bag off the seat. She unzipped it and rummaged around, then pulled out a fresh pair of jeans. Baldwin stood in front of her as a shield to prying eyes. She yanked off her boots, shimmied off her jeans and pulledon the new, bloodless pair. That was better. She couldn’t have faced another moment wearing Nadis’s blood.
She stowed the bag and the dirty jeans, then tossed the keys over. They climbed into the truck and headed toward downtown.
There was no snow in Nashville, just the lingering bitter chill that ate into her bones despite her shearling jacket. She turned the heat up and sat on her hands. They’d been cold all day.
“Do you really think he’s come to Nashville?” she finally asked.
The “he” didn’t need explaining. Baldwin shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine he’s going to go anywhere else. We need to get a name for him, a real, legitimate name, not a copy, not a fake. The better I understand his background, the easier it will be to predict what he might do next. He’s certainly paying close attention to everything you’re doing. We may need to discuss some increased countermeasures.”
“Draw him out using me as bait, you mean?” She stared out the window as Baldwin took the 440 split that would lead them onto West End.
“God, no, Taylor. I’m not using you as bait. What I meant was prep a team for distraction. Something to assure us that he won’t be able to touch you.”
“Using someone else as bait, you mean. Haven’t we lost enough already?”
She glanced over, he was staring straight ahead, face grim. She put her hand on his knee.
“It’s wrong, Baldwin. We need him to come for me. We need to end this. He’s already told Fitz that he’s ready to make his play. I assume that’s going to happen sooner rather than later, regardless of the bait.”
“I don’t disagree. But I won’t dangle you out therelike a carrot for him to covet. We need you keeping a very low profile.”
She didn’t answer, just let the cold street flow beneath her, the trees beckoning with dead branches. The longer this dragged on, the more opportunity the Pretender would have to hurt those she loved. She didn’t plan to give him a chance to get that far.
Baldwin stayed silent, pulled into the Starbucks drive-through. He ordered them both venti lattes. When the coffees were ready, he pulled back out onto West End, narrowly missing a coed in a Tri Delta sweatshirt jogging up the sidewalk. When he slammed on the brakes, a bit of hot espresso sloshed onto Taylor’s hand. She cursed loudly and immediately felt better. Being back in Nashville was going to help make everything okay. Nothing could hurt her here.
The HoneyBaked Ham store had a massive sign advertising
He pulled the electronic pad out from its resting spot, grabbed the bulky box. It was time. Time for Frances to say goodbye.
Thirteen
Nashville, Tennessee
T aylor and Baldwin arrived in Nashville with enough time to get to Vanderbilt before Fitz awoke from surgery. Taylor was exhausted—her day had started at 5:30 a.m., with no appreciable sleep in the past forty-eight hours. The adrenaline from the morning’s adventures had drained away, and she sagged a bit against Baldwin’s arm as they walked across the tarmac to the parking lot.
“You need a coffee or coke to get your head back in the game? We can stop at Starbucks,” he said.
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’m starting to drag.”
“Why don’t you let me drive, then? Give you a chance to shut your eyes for a few minutes.”
She smiled at him gratefully. “That would be great. Just give me a second.”
She opened the back door of the 4Runner and took a gym bag off the seat. She unzipped it and rummaged around, then pulled out a fresh pair of jeans. Baldwin stood in front of her as a shield to prying eyes. She yanked off her boots, shimmied off her jeans and pulledon the new, bloodless pair. That was better. She couldn’t have faced another moment wearing Nadis’s blood.
She stowed the bag and the dirty jeans, then tossed the keys over. They climbed into the truck and headed toward downtown.
There was no snow in Nashville, just the lingering bitter chill that ate into her bones despite her shearling jacket. She turned the heat up and sat on her hands. They’d been cold all day.
“Do you really think he’s come to Nashville?” she finally asked.
The “he” didn’t need explaining. Baldwin shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine he’s going to go anywhere else. We need to get a name for him, a real, legitimate name, not a copy, not a fake. The better I understand his background, the easier it will be to predict what he might do next. He’s certainly paying close attention to everything you’re doing. We may need to discuss some increased countermeasures.”
“Draw him out using me as bait, you mean?” She stared out the window as Baldwin took the 440 split that would lead them onto West End.
“God, no, Taylor. I’m not using you as bait. What I meant was prep a team for distraction. Something to assure us that he won’t be able to touch you.”
“Using someone else as bait, you mean. Haven’t we lost enough already?”
She glanced over, he was staring straight ahead, face grim. She put her hand on his knee.
“It’s wrong, Baldwin. We need him to come for me. We need to end this. He’s already told Fitz that he’s ready to make his play. I assume that’s going to happen sooner rather than later, regardless of the bait.”
“I don’t disagree. But I won’t dangle you out therelike a carrot for him to covet. We need you keeping a very low profile.”
She didn’t answer, just let the cold street flow beneath her, the trees beckoning with dead branches. The longer this dragged on, the more opportunity the Pretender would have to hurt those she loved. She didn’t plan to give him a chance to get that far.
Baldwin stayed silent, pulled into the Starbucks drive-through. He ordered them both venti lattes. When the coffees were ready, he pulled back out onto West End, narrowly missing a coed in a Tri Delta sweatshirt jogging up the sidewalk. When he slammed on the brakes, a bit of hot espresso sloshed onto Taylor’s hand. She cursed loudly and immediately felt better. Being back in Nashville was going to help make everything okay. Nothing could hurt her here.
The HoneyBaked Ham store had a massive sign advertising
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