All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [106]
“I’m not taking calls today, boys.” She started to roll over, get some sun on her back, but the midget with the phone stepped closer, shoving the tray at her. The phone continued to jangle incessantly, and Taylor finally reached out a hand…
She came awake, realizing that it was her phone ringing. She groaned and rolled over, picking up the receiver with a grunted hello. She reached a hand out to find Baldwin, but his side of the bed was empty. She focused her attention back on the phone. A chirpy voice rang out into the bedroom.
“Lieutenant, this is Metro Dispatch. I was asked to inform you that we have a possible home invasion in progress that your presence is requested at.”
“Is anyone dead?”
“No, ma’am, the message I was given—”
“Then go away, Dispatch. If no one’s dead, they don’t need me.”
“Lieutenant, Officer Parks is on the scene and requesting your company. He mentioned there might be a 216 involved that you would be interested in.”
Shit. That got her attention. Bob Parks was a good friend, and if he thought there was a rape involved in the home invasion that she’d be interested in, and if she was being called off the books, that could only mean one thing. The Rainman.
Taylor was out of the bed, trying to balance the phone between her neck and ear as she struggled into a pair of jeans. She realized the TV was on—sure enough, the identical-twin midgets in blue blazers and ascots were parading across the screen in a ridiculous late-night infomercial. No wonder she had been dreaming about them. But hey, maybe their investment opportunities could make her millions and she could quit this crazy job.
“Where’s the scene, Dispatch?”
“Off Old Hickory Boulevard across the street from Harpeth Hills Golf Course. A gated community called Middleton. Are you familiar with the area?”
“Got it, Dispatch. Tell them I’m on my way. Raise Lincoln Ross and Marcus Wade for me, too, get them out there. I can be on-site in ten minutes.”
She hung up the phone, buttoned her jeans, yanked on her cowboy boots and tucked in her T-shirt. Crossing to the dresser, she snapped her holster onto her hip, glanced into the mirror and smirked. This better be worth dragging her ass out of bed at two in the morning.
Baldwin was on the couch, half asleep, piles of paper scattered across the cushions and floor. Taylor gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, told him where she was headed and let herself out of the house into the dark. A soft drizzle misted through her driveway. Shit.
She got in her truck and slapped a red light on the dash. Speeding through Bellevue, she hit Old Hickory within five minutes, tearing up the deserted road, the stone guardrail flashing dark gray as she sped past. She passed the steeplechase course and the golf course, saw the stone entrance to Middleton a moment too late. A patrol car with emergency lights rotating sat at the entrance as she blew past. Braking carefully so she wouldn’t skid on the wet asphalt, she made a quick U-turn and turned left into the community. The patrol officer held out a hand, stopping her. She put the window down and waved. The patrol turned friendly.
“Hey, Lieutenant.”
“Good morning. Where’s the scene?”
“Drive to the end of the road, then turn right. You can’t miss it, there’s a bunch of us down there. Why’re you here?”
She ignored the question, gunning the truck and waving out the window as she drove through the big steel gates. The brick houses loomed like silent giants as she drove past. Porch lights spilled golden illumination into the street. She could see