Page 53 of The Wolves Come at Night
“That’s me. Overthinking things. Anyway, you left. I’d love to hear about your decision process. Do you like working as a PI?”
Sky’s shoulders were a fine line of tension. “I left. I’d rather not discuss why. But yes, I much prefer being a PI. A lot more freedom, a lot less bullshit.”
Taylor took note of the discomfort. Interesting. Something had happened to Schuyler Abbott. She needed to look into that. “Understood. I’m more interested in how you’re approaching law enforcement from the outside. Without the badge. How hard is it to accomplish your goals, get your solves, that kind of thing.”
“You’re considering becoming a PI?”
“Not exactly. Well, sort of, but on a different scale.”
One inky eyebrow arched, then Sky shrugged. “It’s like any other job. I grind it out. It’s freeing, actually. Not as many rules. I have friends who can run interference if I need them to. Laws aren’t broken, but bent every once in a while. Things that would get you shit-canned immediately for even thinking about, that’s where we do our best work. You know there’s a lot of gray space out there when you’re working on an investigation. I lean into that. Your mileage may vary.”
“Still reactive, though, yes? You get pulled into cases after the crime has occurred?”
“Yes, of course. Nothing to investigate if no one’s been naughty. People don’t come to us to prevent crimes. They come because their spouse had lipstick on his collar or a business thinks their employee on paid medical leave is bowling every Tuesday. Every once in a while we’ll stumble into something bigger, head it off at the pass. But usually, it’s routine.”
“Don’t you do corporate work, too?”
“Forensic accounting, yes. Some close protection, too, in the right circumstances. Most of my job is hands-on, out on the field. My aunt—the whole firm, really—is very technology-driven. Which is great, and gives us a lot of shortcuts. But I prefer the old-fashioned way, just me and a camera and my Walther, waiting for the nastiness to occur.”
They chatted for a bit longer about both music and law enforcement before Sky looked again at that gold watch, men’s size, almost drowning her wrist, and made her apologies. “I gotta bounce. My flight leaves in two hours. This has been fun, Taylor. Good luck with the decision. If I can ever do anything, you let me know.”
“Before you go, tell me how you knew about Dr. Conway’s stopover in DC.”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Quit joking around. I’m dead serious, Sky. Something is going on behind the scenes with Conway, and the little tidbit you dropped confirms it.”
She watched the woman calculate her answer. Finally, she sighed. “Macallan is trying to recruit you. I think you should reconsider. You’re too good for Nashville to lose, and they aren’t as squeaky clean as they look.”
“Excuse me? How the hell do you know that?”
“PI, remember? It’s my job to know things. Ask Thierry Florian what he knows about all this. And seriously, I’m gonna miss my flight if I don’t leave, right now.”
“Are you warning me, Sky? Is that why you showed up at the task force meeting?”
That quirky black brow raised again, and she smiled. “You’re a smart lady, Taylor Jackson. Figure it out.”
Taylor saw Sky to the elevator, then returned inside and stood at the window looking over the city. Thinking. Thinking. What the hell was that? Did Macallan, and Thierry, actually have something to do with all of this?
Well, obviously, or Sky wouldn’t have mentioned it.
You’re an idiot, Taylor. Florian shows up right when things get spicy with Carson’s kidnapping? Tries to lure you away in the middle of a huge case?
Didn’t exactly endear the man to her. She lasered back in on their conversation.
“I have to solve a missing person case first.”
“There are many people who can step into your shoes. There will be this case, then another, then another. They will never end. You will never be truly finished.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong. Could she give this up? When the next girl went missing, the next body was found, the next tourist was shot, or a serial killer dropped in to wreak havoc, would she be okay not fixing things? Could she possibly live here, in this glorious skyscraper, while the people around her suffered?
Proactive autonomy, she reminded herself. That’s what Macallan was offering. You’d stop the crime before it ever happened. There wouldn’t be any dead body or investigation if she beat the criminals to the punch.
But now a private investigator knew more about what was going on than her team, and that didn’t sit well at all.
She dialed Thierry Florian, but received a polite voicemail. She said, “It’s Jackson. Call me ASAP,” and hung up. Seconds later, the phone rang. Not Florian. Marcus.
She put the phone to her ear. “Hey, puppy. What’s up?”
