Runed

RUNED

A Taylor Sinclair Novel

By Wendy Hewlett

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are a result of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner and any similarities to real life names, places, and events are strictly coincidental.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book infringes upon copyright laws and could subject the infringer to criminal or civil liability.

Runed

Wendy Hewlett

Copyright © 2019 Wendy Hewlett

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 0992166756

ISBN-13: 9780992166755

ISBN: 9780992166748 (eBook)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

THE HIGHEST PRAISE I’ve received from readers is from women who’ve written to tell me how reading the Taylor Sinclair Series has helped them to heal from their own childhood trauma.

It’s taken me much longer to write the third book in the series than I anticipated. It may have taken longer without the these amazing women sharing their stories with me. Your strength and determination are a constant inspiration to me.

It is my sincere hope that Taylor’s journey continues to inspire, motivate, and encourage women to heal and grow.

The editing skills of the amazing Abbie Phillips has been a life saver once again. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I also have to thank Sherri McLean who’s been a devoted beta reader since the beginning. Your support means the world to me.

Lastly, to Carol M., I was overwhelmed and thrilled to receive your offer to beta read RUNED. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You, and those like you, are the reason I write.

To all of you lovely readers for your patience in waiting for the long overdue release of this book. Your loyalty and support means the world to me.

CHAPTER ONE

TORONTO POLICE CONSTABLE Taylor Sinclair sat with her fists clenched at her sides. If you’re planning on leaving me chained to a desk, I may as well go back on patrol. I didn’t do twelve weeks at the Academy and six weeks with a training officer so I could sit at a desk. After two weeks of nothing but admin duties and cold cases, Taylor was ready to go back to patrol. The only reason her partner, Detective Sergeant Chris Cain, took her out this morning was because she wanted her to participate in her talks to grade nine students on bullying. Taylor just observed this time, but Chris wanted her to share her experiences with bullying at the next one. God, help her.

Chris glanced at Taylor to find her staring off out the passenger window. She rubbed her hands together as she waited for her old, beloved Crown Vic to warm up and the heat to kick in. What Taylor endured just weeks before left scars - inside and out. Her black rimmed glasses did little to hide the angry red scars on her left eyelid and bridge of her nose, but those weren’t the scars worrying Chris. She seemed to be unaffected by the trauma and that was worrying.

Taylor had surrendered herself to Troy Rappaport, a drug dealer obsessed with her in order to save the life of the man she loved. Rappaport’s drug enterprise was crumbling around him as the police closed in. His plan was to escape the city with Taylor. He’d left Taylor tied to the end of a bed in a locked room and his brother, Brandon Moody, found her there, shredding her back with a bullwhip before Rappaport stopped him. When the cavalry arrived to save Taylor, Moody was gone and Rappaport held a gun to Taylor’s head. The gun discharged when Taylor made a grab for it, the bullet grazing the bridge of her nose and her left eye.

I’m just trying to ease you into it.

Taylor whipped her head around and glared at Chris. Do you treat all of the officers under your command differently because of their histories or is it just me?

Oh, for Christ’s sake, Taylor. That’s below the belt and you know it. When Taylor’s response was to stare out the window again, Chris wanted to bitch slap her.

Lane cleared me for full duty – physically, emotionally, and psychologically. The department’s psychologist, Dr. Lane McIntyre saw Taylor on a regular basis, helping her process and heal from her childhood trauma.

They had this argument numerous times over the past couple of weeks, but every time Chris requested to take Taylor out in the field she was shot down by Inspector Worthington. It wasn’t fair to Taylor because she was right, Lane cleared her for full duties on her return to work. I’ll push to get you on active cases. I don’t know what else I can do.

Fair enough. Thank you.

You really need to start bouncing on Cail again.

Mouth agape, Taylor stared bullets at Chris. What does that have to do with anything?

Just thought that might be why you’re in such a bitch of a mood.

I’m not in a bitch of a mood. Typical Chris comment. Everything related back to sex. Taylor’s relationship with Caillen Worthington had been a bit of a roller coaster ride over the past month, with Cail’s temper at the forefront of their issues. They broke up shortly before he was kidnapped by Brandon Moody a few weeks prior. With Rappaport’s funds frozen, Moody demanded a ransom from Taylor. She hadn’t seen Cail since Moody’s arrest and Cail went off to the hospital.

He’d texted. He’d called. But, if she took him back before anything was resolved, he would just keep doing the same thing - get angry with her, lash out emotionally, perhaps physically, and then walk out on her without giving her a chance to explain or defend herself. Then he’d come crawling back, apologizing and telling her he couldn’t live without her.

Great suggestion. Let’s just forget how much he hurt me and I’ll take him back so we can have sex to improve my mood. Wonderful. It will be great, at least until the next time he gets angry. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.

Chris’s shoulders hunched as she winced. One of these days she was going to learn to think before making stupid comments. I’m sorry. That was out of line. I shouldn’t have said that.

You think?

Chris’s cell phone shrieked the theme song from Hawaii 5-O, indicating the call was coming in from the Toronto Police Dispatch. She removed her foot from her mouth and answered, Cain.

A stern male voice informed her one of the detectives in her unit requested her presence at a crime scene. The only details she was given were that a female victim had been held in her own home and repeatedly raped and beaten. Ten-four, Chris acknowledged. Responding with Constable Taylor Sinclair. ETA, five minutes. She checked the time on the dash and added, Eleven forty-two.

Taylor was about to get her wish, Chris thought and proceeded to give Taylor the limited information dispatch related to her.

You’re taking me to the scene?

Yep. Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.

They drove to the scene in silence, mentally preparing themselves for what they were about to descend upon.

An ambulance was parked in front of the two storey residence, as were a slew of squad cars and an unmarked. The Forensics Mobile Unit, a large RV-like vehicle, snugged against the curb across the street and yellow crime scene tape circled the property, flickering in the wind. Two uniformed officers stood on the sidewalk at each side of the property, guarding the crime scene from pedestrians. Another officer directed traffic around the emergency vehicles and one stood guard at the front door of the victim’s house.

Taylor stepped out of the vehicle and tugged the collar of her navy uniform jacket up around her ears as her emerald green eyes scanned the street from behind stylish black framed glasses, consciously taking in every detail from the dull grey of the clouds hanging over the prettily restored narrow brick houses to the vehicles parked on the street.

As they approached the old red brick home with white shutters and trim, Chris recognized the cop on the door. He held a clipboard in gloved hands, ready to record Chris and Taylor’s names and time of entry onto the crime scene log. Constable Allen, what have we got?

Allen greeted Chris with a bright smile glowing against his café au lait complexion then sobered before giving her a brief summary. Bad one, DS. Detective Stone is with the vic. She’s refusing medical transportation and care. Vic’s friend came over to check on her when she hadn’t been able to get hold of her since early this morning. Perp was still on scene and knocked her out before fleeing. Detective Ambrose is with the friend. The photographer is recording the scene, but the rest of the forensics team hasn’t entered the house yet.

Were you first on scene?

Yes, ma’am. I got the call at 11:33 and arrived on scene at 11:35. The vic’s friend was out for about ten to fifteen minutes, so the perp had a good head start. The second unit to arrive was on scene by 11:36 and began a search of the neighbourhood. We haven’t found him yet, but the search is ongoing.

Where was the vic when you arrived?

They were in the living room. The friend untied the vic, wrapped her in a robe and a blanket, and brought her down to the living room before I arrived.

Where’s Stone. I want to see her first.

Living room. Just inside to your left.

Thanks, Constable. Let’s get a few more patrol units here. Trade off warming up in the vehicles with the officers posted outside. She held up her badge so Allen could record her badge number, then initialed the sheet and waited while Taylor did the same.

They donned paper booties over their boots and entered the foyer. The first thing they both noticed was a large, black vase, smashed on the floor with dried flowers scattered around it. Taylor placed one foot in the foyer behind Chris and was struck by a nasty vision of what the victim endured. It took her right back to the rage and violence of her own past. It probably only lasted seconds, but it felt like eons. Coming out of it, she found Chris’s face inches from her own, her hands cupping her cheeks and an intense look in her brown eyes. Are you going to kiss me? The intensity faded and a grin worthy of a toothpaste commercial appeared on Chris’s face. Taylor could have sworn her eye tooth sparkled.

Do you want me to?

Might take her mind off of what she just experienced. N-no. God, even her voice was trembling. At this rate, they’d never let her on another crime scene.

You okay?

Taylor nodded, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. She was so sick of people asking if she was okay.

Chris kept her hands on Taylor’s face, kept her eyes focused on hers. Can you do this?

Taylor narrowed her eyes. I can, she said through clenched teeth.

Chris got what she hoped for – that touch of anger to stiffen Taylor’s resolve. Yeah, you can, she said. Tell me what you saw in your vision. Taylor’s psychic abilities were a blessing and a curse. She’d been through enough trauma in her own life without having to deal with experiencing someone else’s. Chris had pushed Taylor to use it in the past, but that was before she understood the pain it caused her.

You know what I saw, what I felt.

I know it’s hard, Taylor. We know exactly what victims of these types of crimes go through. It hurts me, too.

It didn’t surprise Taylor that it hurt Chris. It surprised her she admitted it.

But, you can use it to your advantage. Do you understand? Chris asked.

Yeah, I get it. And she did. It was one of the things that made Chris the stellar investigator she was.

Okay. Chris waited a moment until Taylor seemed more stable. Ready?

Taylor nodded again and followed Chris into the open concept living room. Everything was in black and white. The walls and carpeting were only shades off pure white with a creamy tint to the carpets and a hint of blue on the walls. A gas fireplace with a white marble surround and matching mantel sat dormant on the other side of the room. The furniture was black leather framed by chrome and glass tables. Cold, except for the vibrant painting hanging over the fireplace with splashes of bright colours.

Taylor recognized Detective Daniela ‘Danny’ Stone from Chris’s unit. Her shoulder length dark brown hair greyed at the temples, but she made no attempt to cover it up. Taylor figured she was a good twenty pounds overweight, but she seemed comfortable with that, too. She sat on the edge of the sofa next to the victim who was wrapped in a blanket, shaking, and sobbing while Stone held her hand. Taylor could only see the top of the victim’s head, her short blonde hair matted with blood and in disarray, as she sat with her head hung low. Taylor cringed as she recognized the raw wounds on the victim’s wrists and ankles. She absently rubbed the raw wounds circling her own wrists courtesy of Troy Rappoport.

Two paramedics stood just inside the entrance to the living room on standby.

Stone looked up as Chris walked straight to the victim. She crouched down next to her as Stone introduced them. Detective Sergeant Chris Cain, this is Raine Delacourte.

Ah, shit, Chris said a little too loudly, before dropping her voice to a whisper. Raine, I’m so sorry.

Raine’s head came up slowly, her face red and puffy. Chris… It was said before dropping her head again, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed.

I’ve got her statement, Sarge, Detective Stone began. She really needs to go to emerg, but she’s refusing.

Chris tentatively laid her hand on Raine’s knee. I get why you don’t want to go, but you know better than most why it’s important you do.

As Chris attempted to convince Raine to go with the paramedics, Taylor scanned every inch of the living room, dining room, kitchen, and the stairwell to the right of the front door. Bloodstains smeared the white handrail and the wall. The living room and dining room appeared untouched, but the kitchen was a mess of broken dishes and scattered cutlery. A picture frame on the living room mantle held a photograph of two women, one a fit, athletic blonde and the other a tall, slim woman with long dark hair. The photograph appeared to be of their wedding. It was obvious Chris knew Raine, but just how well? One thing Taylor was sure of - this case was going to be another difficult one for Chris.

Chris motioned the paramedics over as she moved out of the way. Is there anyone I can call for you, Raine?

Bonkers … is here. Somewhere.

She’s with Detective Ambrose in the office, Stone advised.

Has she been interviewed?

Yes, Sarge.

Okay. She can ride in the ambulance with Raine. I want her to get checked out, too. Chris turned her attention back to Raine again as Stone slipped out of the room. Is there a family member I can contact for you? She had a brother, if Chris remembered correctly.

No, please don’t contact my family.

Chris nodded and let the paramedics work on Raine. They had her hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor before Stone returned with Bonkers, a tiny, pixie like woman who reminded Taylor of stories she read of fairies and sprites as a kid. Her dark hair was cut in a pixie style with wisps hugging her forehead and cheeks, her delicate nose turned up slightly at the tip. Her pale green eyes were red rimmed. She wore what looked like hospital scrubs under a black Canada Goose coat hanging well past her knees.

Bonkers went straight to Raine, holding her hand and gently rubbing her shoulder as the paramedics transferred her to the gurney.

Under the blanket, Raine wore a long, white terry cloth robe stained with blood. Taylor could barely stand to look at it. She would though. She’d look at Raine’s wounds, study the crime scene, and be a rock for Chris. And she’d prove to the whole damn police department she was more than capable of handling active cases.

Chris made eye contact with Detective Ambrose and gestured with two fingers for him to come to her. When he did, she whispered, I want you with her at all times until a patrol officer takes over. No one sees her unless she knows who they are and authorizes the visit. Let’s include hospital staff in there. I want everyone cleared before they go near her. Also, once you get to emerg, I want Delacourte and Cruise separated. I’ll be in to interview them in a while. Don’t leave them alone together until that time. Then she turned to the paramedics. Don’t take her to Toronto General.

We don’t make that call, one of the paramedics responded.

The second paramedic, a man in his thirties with receding light brown hair and gentle brown eyes, said, Let me find out what hospital they’re routing us to and we’ll see what we can do. He called in on his radio and within seconds had an answer that saved his partner from the wrath of Cain. St. Mike’s.

Thanks, Chris told him, the look in her eyes conveying relief and appreciation.

Chris waited until the door closed behind the paramedics before turning to Stone. You called me in because you know this guy isn’t done. He’s going to strike again.

CHAPTER TWO

DETECTIVE STONE FACED her commanding officer with a questioning frown. How do you do that? I haven’t even given you the briefing yet. She hadn’t caught on to the fact they were likely dealing with a serial rapist until fifteen minutes into her interview with the victim.

Give it to me then, Chris ordered without answering Stone’s question.

Stone flipped through the pages of her notebook. The victim was leaving for work this morning at oh six fifteen. She opened the front door and the offender rushed her, pushing her back into the house where she stumbled and fell.

As Stone talked, Chris walked to the front door, picturing the scene in her mind. She inspected the black ceramic vase, dried flowers, and the drying bloodstain sticking some of the dried flowers to the floor. One of the forensic techs stood inside the front door, holding his clipboard in front of him while he sketched the entryway onto a blank, grid-lined sheet.

Chris acknowledged his presence with a nod as Stone continued, She tried to get to her feet, but the offender was on her. She felt like her head exploded and the next thing she remembers she was tied to the bed and blindfolded.

Chris raised her hand for Stone to stop there. To her surprise, Taylor marched up before she could continue.

Knocked her out here, Taylor began, pointing to the drying blood partially hidden by the flowers. Struggles to get her up the stairs. She moved slowly, scanning every surface, pointing out a dent in the drywall at the base of the stairs and another a few steps up.

Chris felt that glowing sense of pride as Taylor carefully began to navigate her way up the stairs, keeping her feet to the outside of the steps to avoid contaminating evidence. Drops of blood on the carpeted stairs offered a trail up with blood smears on the wall and handrail along the way.

Intrigued, Chris followed Taylor up with Stone right behind her, placing their feet in Taylor’s tracks. At the top of the stairs, a smeared bloodstain soiled the cream coloured carpet.

Dropped her here, Taylor continued. Or, he put her down to take a break. She stared down at the stain for a moment then said, He’s going to be slight. Delacourte is petite, maybe a hundred and ten pounds and he’s struggling to carry her upstairs?

White, double doors led into the master bedroom. The trail of blood drops led straight into the middle of the room and disappeared under mounds of torn clothing littering the floor. Taylor stepped over the threshold and her entire body went rigid as her mind flooded with the violence that took place here. She didn’t even feel Chris grip her arm and move her to the side so she and Stone could enter. When the vision faded, Chris was in her face again, her hands gripping Taylor’s upper arms. Out of the corner of her eye, Taylor caught Stone ogling her as if she was crazy. Heat bloomed and spread over her cheeks. Sorry, she whispered to Chris.

No. Tell me what you saw.

It was like he was playing with her, experimenting. He called her by name, but not her name.

Are you seeing him?

Taylor shook her head. It’s more like I’m experiencing what’s in his head.

And what’s in his head?

Anger, violence, humiliation, betrayal, pain. I don’t know how to describe it. Jealousy. There’s a lot of jealousy there. Her fist tapped her heart as she spoke.

He feels humiliated and jealous? Chris asked. They weren’t emotions most would attribute to a violent sex offender.

Yeah, Taylor nodded. The heat drained from her face as she stared over Chris’s shoulder at the bed.

Stone stood gaping at Taylor in disbelief. She was shocked at how close Taylor’s words fit with what the victim told her. Sass. She said he kept saying Sass or Sassy.

Chris dropped her hands to her hips and turned to survey the room. I think we’re going to find that Sass is a late twenties, early thirties blonde. Athletic build. Possibly a nurse or works in the medical field. It looked like a tornado swept through the room. The stark white duvet lay in a twisted heap at the foot of the bed. Clothes from the closet and the dresser were strewn throughout the room. Some drawers hung partially open while others littered the floor. A lamp lay broken next to one of the nightstands. Jagged shards of glass from smashed picture frames gleamed under the overhead light.

Blue nylon ropes hung from each of the four bed posts and the white sheets were stained with blood.

Continue with the victim’s statement, Chris ordered as she continued to study the room.

She regained consciousness tied to the bed, naked and blindfolded, Stone began and went on to describe Raine Delacourte’s four and a half hour ordeal that fit with what Taylor described. She’d been beaten, raped repeatedly.

Elizabeth Cruise, aka Bonkers, used a key Raine gave her to enter the premises through the front door after ringing the bell and banging on the door just after eleven this morning. She froze when she saw the broken vase and the blood on the floor. Cruise stated she called out Raine’s name and heard her scream in response. She ran up the stairs and entered the bedroom. She doesn’t remember what happened after that until she came to on the floor. She did remember seeing a blue-green Mastercraft tool box just inside the bedroom door which wasn’t there when she came to.

The scene has been photographed? Chris asked.

Yeah. The forensic tech you saw in the foyer has begun the sketches and we’re waiting on the rest of the forensics team coming in now.

Chris walked carefully to the side of the bed and toed some clothing out of the way to reveal a long length of the same blue rope that was tied to the bedposts. Thinking of the toolbox Stone described, she said, Mastercraft. That’s Canadian Tire’s brand. What do you bet they sell this blue nylon rope?

She went to the en suite next. Towels, some wet, some tinged with blood, covered the floor. The double sinks and the shower stall showed splashes of blood mixed with water.

Taylor followed Chris into the bathroom and immediately cupped her hand over her mouth, her thumb and forefinger pinching her nose. She recognized the smell of disinfectant only it was much stronger than she was used to; so strong her eyes began to burn and water. It was all she could do not to gag. He’d started cleaning up.

Chris glanced over her shoulder. Seeing how tightly Taylor was pinching her nose explained the sudden nasally tone to her voice. Taylor scanned the room then quickly strode back out. Chris took a minute to sniff the air, smelling some type of strong cleaner that smelled like a public pool. Like chlorine. With a gloved hand, she opened each of the cupboard doors under the sink and searched for cleaners. There was a bottle of Lysol and some Clorex wipes, but neither of them smelled like chlorine. She followed Taylor back out to the bedroom and saw her on the other side of the room with her face pressed up to an open window. What did you smell?

Taylor took a few more deep breaths to cleanse her sinuses of the retched smell before turning around to answer Chris. The disinfectant. It’s the same stuff they use in hospitals. She turned her face to the window again, willing herself not to think about why that particular smell remained ingrained in her memory.

Chris returned to surveying the room then asked Stone, Have we begun door to doors?

I’ve got four uniforms knocking on doors in the neighbourhood. They should be reporting back any time now.

Okay. She turned to Taylor, appraising how she was holding up and found her with narrowed eyes, inspecting every inch of the room just as meticulously as she had herself. It almost brought a smile to her face. Sinclair and I are heading to the hospital. Check in with me when you get back to Headquarters.

Ten-four.

At the bottom of the stairs, Chris approached the tech still working on his sketch and measuring distances between each piece of evidence and points at the edges of the room. There’s a strong smell of cleaner in the master bedroom en suite, but I didn’t find the source. Could you make sure they swab the areas he cleaned in that bathroom?

Yeah, got it, the tech answered and went straight back to his measurements.

While Chris put in a call to Inspector Worthington to give him a brief report, Taylor studied the mess in the kitchen. The table was overturned, drawers pulled out, cupboards opened, and dishes and cutlery strewn all over the kitchen, plates, cups, and glasses in shards. The other rooms in the house appeared to be untouched.

When they went outside, Chris paced carefully around the perimeter of the house and found what she was looking for at a back window. The weather had been milder at the end of last week and an excellent shoe print in the dirt directly below the window was preserved by the now icy temps. Careful not to disturb the evidence, she peeked through the window and studied the view into Raine’s office. The offender would have had a perfect view of Raine sitting at her computer.

Awfully small footprint, Taylor said.

Thinking of Taylor’s observations of the offender struggling to get Raine up the stairs, Chris said, Fits with a small man.

Taylor wasn’t so sure. The print screamed woman to her.

Say it.

Taylor’s eyes moved from the print to Chris who studied her rather fiercely. I don’t know. Just a gut thing.

I know. So, tell me what you’re thinking.

Taylor blew out a breath. This was going to sound ridiculous. I just have a weird sense this print belongs to a woman.

Chris crouched down on her haunches for a closer examination of the print. It didn’t necessarily belong to their offender. Hell, it could be Raine’s. The one thing she did know was when Taylor got a sense about something, it was usually bang on the money.

Chris started the car then dropped her head and ran her hands through her hair.

You know her. Taylor stated, hoping it would inspire Chris to offer the details of her relationship with Raine Delacourte.

Yeah. Fuck.

She sat quietly, giving Chris time to pull herself together. Minutes passed and Taylor used the time to study the neighbourhood again - large brick homes with postage stamp lawns, beginning to brown with the wintery cold, but well manicured with sculpted bushes and massive trees lining the street. Christmas lights hung along the eaves and in some of the trees.

Impressions?

Taylor turned her attention back to Chris who sat staring out the windshield, her face pale and pained. I think you missed something.

Chris snorted, so shocked anyone would accuse her of missing something at a crime scene she had to laugh. What did I miss, Sinclair?

I think you missed one of Raine’s attributes that may assimilate her to this Sass person.

Really? And what attribute is that? She knew her tone was defensive, but she couldn’t help herself. Taylor pointing out she may have made a mistake or missed something hurt her pride. She knew it was petty, but she was used to the officers under her command being in awe of her.

Taylor wondered if Chris realized how closely she fit the profile she assigned to Sass. With the exception of being in the medical field, it was Chris to a T, right down to the other attribute Taylor thought Raine Delacourte may share with Sass. She’s a lesbian.

Chris pinned Taylor with the fire in her eyes. What the fuck do you think that has to do with anything?

Taylor didn’t feel so sure of herself under Chris’s death glare. If what I felt in there is true and this guy felt humiliated and betrayed by Sass, she could have left him for a woman. That would really take a chink out of his pride, wouldn’t it?

Shit. Chris dropped her head again, scrubbing her face with her hands. She had missed that. She took another minute to settle herself and then apologized to Taylor for getting angry. Taylor smiled thinly and nodded.

One other thing, Taylor said. He was looking for something.

Yeah, he was. What does that tell you? Throwing the car into drive, Chris pulled away from the curb, with the heat now pumping blissfully out of the vents, and headed for St. Michael’s Hospital.

Taylor wasn’t sure of the answer Chris’s question. He was looking for money or valuables?

Hmm. Maybe, but I think he was looking for something specific.

Taylor turned that over in her mind for a while and decided they needed more information before they could make that determination. There was a picture on the mantle in the living room, a picture of Raine with a tall, slender woman with long, brown hair.

Callie Delacourte, Chris answered before Taylor got to her question. Raine took her name when they were married a few years ago. Callie was diagnosed with cancer soon after their wedding. She passed away about a year ago.

Taylor knew very well the pain of losing someone you loved, but to watch them suffer through a long-term illness, to watch them slowly withering away to nothing, had to be an absolutely horrible and draining experience. Were you and Raine …

Chris finished Taylor’s question at her hesitation, Lovers? Their eyes met momentarily before Chris turned her attention back to the road. We were lovers for a short time many years ago, but for the most part we’ve been friends. Not the kind of friends you and I are, but I went to their wedding. Her lips curled up briefly in memory. When Raine met Callie, she fell hard. I used to tease her about it and she’d grin like a fool, saying that one day I would fall for someone and she couldn’t wait to see me experience the depth of love she and Callie shared. I figured she’d never see that day. I didn’t think someone who’d never been loved could feel love, especially as deeply as they seemed to.

Taylor looked over at Chris with a warm smile. So, does she know that day has come?

Ha. Chris let out a short laugh as her eyes burned. No. I guess not. None of her acquaintances, she supposed that was a better descriptor than friends, knew about her relationship with Kate. Their lives seemed so busy and she never had the desire to take Kate to any of her old haunts. Nor did they really hang out with any of Kate’s friends, although they would be tonight.

When they arrived at the hospital, they were made to wait while Raine was being treated which gave them time to interview Elizabeth Cruise away from Raine Delacourte. How’s the head? Chris asked.

You know I’m a nurse, right? I didn’t need to be examined, Chris. I know I was unconscious and I know how to treat a mild concussion.

Her voice was as small as she was, Taylor thought. She was pretty sure she could pick the elfin woman up and carry her around all day without a problem.

Why is it,