Page 72 of The Wolves Come at Night
“Commander. Joan. You can’t—”
Huston slammed her palm on her desk. “I can, and I am. I will not have this agency run amok under my watch. Things are tenuous enough as it is, we don’t need the bad press this is inevitably going to bring. Not to mention another young girl is most likely dead, and a slew of bodies have been found. I am putting together a team who is capable of doing things the proper way. They will take over, and they will liaise with the task force in place, and with Carson Conway’s family. Take a few days, Taylor. Think about what you really want.”
“I want to solve this case. I want to find out why Carson Conway was stalked and kidnapped. I want to find out why Georgia Wray was killed. We are so close. Don’t do this, Joan.”
The setting sun gave one last spike of gold in the sky over her boss’s shoulder, blinding her for a moment, as if it was saying farewell.
“And I want you to disappear from my sight before I say something I’ll regret. You are dismissed, Captain Jackson.”
Taylor moved before she thought. Her badge was in her hand. Then her gun. She dropped out the magazine, which fell on the floor, pulled back the slide, ejecting the bullet that lived there, always ready and eager to take a life, and dumped both badge and gun on Huston’s desk, slamming them down with an almighty clatter.
“You don’t get to dismiss me, Joan. I quit.”
Thirty-Seven
New Haven
Avery Conway’s new phone rang at 5:17 pm that Wednesday, and she knew, without answering, that the news was bad. That terrible sixth sense of motherhood, a curse as much as a blessing, that tied you to your child whether they were young or grown.
She was in the kitchen, staring at the pantry, hungry but not, trying to decide what she could throw together that would sustain her for another day. Food tasted like cardboard; it mattered not what she ate, nor how well seasoned—it was empty.
The phone was on the counter. It was in a midnight-blue case, the latest Apple model, nearly too big for her slender hands, definitely too big for her small jeans pocket. Somehow Santiago had programmed the whole thing, so when the ringer chirped crickets at her, she had the image of Carson conjured in moments.
She didn’t want to answer it.
Alan was babysitting her at the moment and entered the kitchen silently. He looked at her, then at the phone. “Want me to—”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
He snatched it up. “Dr. Conway’s phone. Yes. Yes, she’s here. I’ll put it on speaker.”
A crackle and hiss, then a woman’s voice. “Dr. Conway, this is Commander Joan Huston, Metro Nashville. We have some news. Your daughter’s phone was tracked to a house in North Nashville.”
“Did you find her?” Avery cried, grabbing the phone from the counter. “Can I talk to her?”
“Ma’am, there was an incident at the house. We’re investigating, but it’s going to be several hours before we will know anything. We tracked the phone to the home, and when the investigators attempted to speak with the resident, things went a bit sideways, and there was an explosion. The suspect is dead. We weren’t able to ascertain if he was holding Carson at the residence or not. Once it cools down, the scene will be more closely examined, and we’ll know if anyone else was in the home. I’m sorry I don’t have more, or better news, at this time.”
It was cruel, really. To know Carson might be dead—again—and at the same time, she might not. But the last nightmarish call had given her a stoicism she didn’t know she had in reserve.
“Who was he?” she managed.
“His name was Theodore Burnkin. We’re trying to establish a connection to Carson right now. This is a multifaceted case, and we’re doing everything we can. I will be in touch as soon as we’ve cleared the scene and are able to determine if Burnkin was the only one in the house.”
“Where is Captain Jackson? Why isn’t she calling me? She and I have unfinished business.”
A lengthy, charged pause. “Captain Jackson has another case to manage. We have a task force in place, which is being led by Lieutenant Lincoln Ross, who has been working closely with Captain Jackson. We’re going to find out what’s happened, Dr. Conway. I will be in touch the moment I hear something.”
She rang off, and Avery stood gaping at the phone.
Alan was typing furiously on his, then raised the phone to his ear. “You heard all of that? Burnkin, Theodore. Yes. Yes. Get back to me.”
Avery whirled on him. “Is he one of yours?”
“I’ve never heard the name before. We’re checking now.” His face softened. “Just because her phone was there, that doesn’t mean she was. Don’t lose hope.” His phone rang and he put it to his ear, listened, then hung up.
“There is no connection that we can see. Burnkin is on the Feds’ radar for possible terror ties, but he’s not someone we have been tracking. They’re saying a second body was suspected to be on site, but that can’t be confirmed.”
“So there’s a chance this was just a fluke?”
