14 - J. T. Ellison [115]
Baldwin had been quiet on the last half of the flight, distracted when they landed, and Taylor had left him to his devices. She’d been racking her brain trying to put a name to the face of the man with the signet ring. It just wouldn’t come. She needed the library, the society pages from her childhood. She knew there had been photographers at the party—the Nashville media were always in attendance at her parents’ soirees. The library would have thirty-year-old society nonsense, she was sure of it. She hated to lose the time looking, but she had no choice.
There was a regular welcoming committee when they got to the CJC. Lincoln and Marcus stood on the landing without their coats, both young men jumping up and down in an attempt to keep warm. Captain Price was standing just inside the door, waiting to buss her on the cheek.
She was greeted with hugs and Baldwin with handshakes and back slaps. They didn’t linger long over the festivities. They had a killer to catch.
Baldwin took Lincoln aside, speaking to him out of earshot of the rest of the crew. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it.”
“I’d like to have a conversation with your South American friend. Juan. Could that be arranged?”
“Of course. I’ll go make the call right now. Would you like him to call you back here or on your cell?”
“My cell would be great. Thanks, Lincoln.”
“No problem. Do you…never mind. I’ll just go call him right now.”
Baldwin went back to Taylor’s office, shut the door behind himself and took a seat.
“I have a theory,” he started, but her phone rang. She held up a hand in a wait-a-minute gesture, and answered the phone.
“Taylor? Honey, is that you?”
That voice again. This time deeper, richer. Not a tape. Taylor tried not to respond, but the word slipped out. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Taylor, it’s me. Dad. Win.” He was whispering. “You’ve been making life a little difficult here lately, sugar.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sugar.”
“Taylor, listen to me. You need to follow Mr. Delglisi’s—”
She slipped a finger to the keypad and silently pushed the speaker button. Baldwin leaned forward to listen. “—instructions. Just make the massage parlors go away. Taylor, I’m sorry for all this. I’m trying to make it all right. I know I’ve botched everything, but I—”
Her blood started to boil, that familiar sensation of disbelief streaking back into her mind. Her father wasn’t dead. He was alive, working for a fucking mobster, and wanted her to turn the other cheek to something illegal he was involved in. Abso-fucking-lutely not.
“Stop. Just stop. What do think I am, Dad? You seem to forget that I’m a sworn officer of the law. I work for the good guys, Win. Not the bad guys. Not the ones like you.”
“Taylor, knock it off. You have no idea what kind of situation we’re in. You need to cooperate with him, Taylor. If you don’t—”
“What, Win? What kind of threat can you throw my way this time? Kidnapping isn’t enough for you? Now you’re going to have me taken care of?”
A rush of noise spilled from the speaker, what sounded like banging and yelling. Then another voice came on the line.
L’Uomo laughed, a sneering, belittling noise. “Oh, Win. I should have known I couldn’t trust you. Leave you alone for a second and you try to warn your sweet girl. Hello, Lieutenant. Lovely to speak with you again. Just wish it were under better circumstances.”
“What have you done with my father?”
“Nothing, yet. But I’ll kill him if you don’t cooperate. Slowly.”
Taylor felt herself pale. The mixed emotions—she hated her father, but she loved