Page 7 of The Wolves Come at Night
She had fought this promotion, begged and pleaded and threatened to quit, and yet here she was, sitting in the shiny new headquarters building, surrounded by stacks of paperwork and trying not to grit her teeth every time her new admin knocked gently on the door frame to remind her of her next meeting. She spent her life in meetings now. Half of them virtual, half of them in person, at an appropriate distance. Such a perfect metaphor for her feelings toward her new gig—she was distanced from everything she used to love about her job.
“Captain?” Knock, knock.
Speak of the devil.
“Commander Huston wants to talk to you. I told her you’d be right up.”
“Thanks, Delila. If you want to leave at lunch, go for it. They’re saying there might be severe weather this afternoon, and schools are closing early. You might as well get home ahead of the kids.”
Delila’s look of gratitude made Taylor feel bad for her earlier uncharitable thoughts toward her admin. “I appreciate it, Captain. I hate this weird tornado weather. You be safe, you hear? Don’t hang out in the sky in your condo watching this one come at you, all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” Taylor said, grabbing her notebook and stretching, little pops breaking out along her spine. “And tomorrow, do me a favor and find me another chair? This one hurts my back.”
“Will do. Thanks, Captain. See you tomorrow.”
Taylor opened her phone to the Nashville Severe Weather Twitter feed to see what was in store for the afternoon. With luck, she could have her chat with Huston and then head out herself. She supposed that was one perk of the new job: she could work from home on the ridiculous mounds of paperwork and do many of her meetings on the computer just as easily as here. And she’d have a view of the incoming weather, as Delila warned against. The condo she and her fiancé, John Baldwin, had bought during the first summer of the pandemic was on the forty-fourth floor. She dug that she could watch the storms blow in, but tornados weren’t her favorite. Their building had been only blocks away from the monster that tore through Nashville just a few days before the earliest lockdowns began.
According to the local meteorology gurus, the line of severe weather would be passing through between 2:00 and 3:00 p.m. It was 11:00 now. She had time.
Taylor rose with a small groan from the wildly uncomfortable fancy modern chair and headed down the hall to Huston’s office.
Commander Joan Huston was busy umm-hmming someone on the phone and gestured for Taylor to hold on a moment. Happy to wait, she rested a shoulder against the jamb and crossed her feet at the ankles. Huston had the better view: the city at a distance. Nashville’s copious new skyscrapers rose like beanstalks into the sky, and the edges of the Batman Building were blue in the gray haze.
“Hey hey, if it ain’t the Cap.” Taylor looked down the hall to see Detective Marcus Wade and newly minted Lieutenant Lincoln Ross hurrying down the hall toward her. Her mood lightened immediately.
“Y’all are a sight for sore eyes. What’s up?”
Marcus gave her a high five; Lincoln, a fist bump.
“Murder and chaos, as always. What’s up with you? You look like you’ve been tearing out your hair.”
Taylor whipped her hair out of its ponytail and smoothed it before piling the whole mess on her head and anchoring it with a rubber band, noticing ruefully that it was an actual rubber band, snatched from her desk drawer in an earlier moment of duress. “You spend the morning digging through requisitions and see how slick you look. Though you’re getting a taste of that now, aren’t you, Linc?”
“Yeah, but I always look slick.” Lincoln gave her a gap-toothed grin. She’d long thought he was a dead ringer for the singer Lenny Kravitz. All he needed was a nose ring and some cool tattoos. He was dressed casually today in a black half-zip sweater over a white button-down, sleeves pushed up, and a pair of black jeans. Marcus, too, looked well-put-together though casual—dark jeans, blue button-down, cowboy boots, his thick brown hair flopping over his forehead.
Taylor, in her uniform, expected of all the brass, felt a pang of jealousy. “How’s Flynn?”
Lincoln’s smile got even bigger. Lincoln had adopted Flynn last year after the boy’s mother, the wife of a fallen officer, was killed. “Getting bigger every day. That kid’s eating me out of house and home. He’s getting good grades, too. He’s smart, like his momma was. Marcus saw him last weekend. You and Baldwin should come over soon, we can grill and you can see for yourself.”
The sense of isolation widened around her. They used to be a tight-knit unit, in each other’s business and lives constantly. Now, she had to catch up with them in hallways.
“He’s a cute kid,” Marcus agreed. “Oh, speaking of, have you talked to Renn this week?”
Renn McKenzie was the fourth of their former team. She’d been reluctantly paired with him and ended up welcoming him into their circle. He was a fine detective and a good man.
“I haven’t,” she said. “What’s up?”
Marcus blushed immediately. “Oh, you gotta call. I’ll let him tell you.”
A light sparked in Taylor. “Tell me the baby is happening.”
“I am sworn to secrecy. Call him.” Though while he spoke, he grinned and nodded.
“That’s a bright bit of news. I love babies.”
“So long as they aren’t your own,” both men said in unison.
“So long as they aren’t my own.”
