Free Killer Focus by Fiona Brand Page A

information, Alvarez was now twenty-seven, which would have made him seventeen at the time he was charged.
    â€œWe’re talking to Alvarez.”
    But the chances that they were getting anything were low. Taylor didn’t need Bayard to tell her that the jump from teenage car theft to professional killing was huge. Which brought her back to the scenario that she had been shot by a professional, in which case the likelihood that he would have left any prints was close to zero.
    She set the file down. “What about Lopez?”
    The calling card had arrived the same week she had been shot. There was a direct connection. There was no way Bayard could dismiss it this time.
    â€œWe’re doing everything we can at this point.”
    Her jaw compressed. “I can help. You need—”
    â€œNo.” Bayard’s expression was impassive.
    She forced herself to calm down. “So where does that leave me?” He wanted her out of the office, on sick leave. It was even possible he would move her sideways in order to cut her ties to the Lopez case. Given what had happened, his logic was impeccable, but the thought of having to transfer out of D.C. made her head throb. She had been in line for a promotion. If she transferred to a field office, that opportunity would dissolve.
    Dana touched her hand. “We’re leaving. She’s not supposed to get upset.”
    Taylor stared at Bayard’s jaw. “I need to know about my job.”
    Colenso set down his coffee cup. The clink was oddly loud in the silence of the room. Janet looked embarrassed.
    Bayard slid another document across the desk. “I’m sorry. We’re running the paperwork now. The U.S. Attorney’s office and the U.S. Marshal’s office are both on my back. You’re too valuable to the prosecution for Lopez’s case to risk. They want you safe. All we need is your permission.”
    The paperwork was instantly recognizable. Witness Security.
    Dana’s hand tightened on hers. For that split second Taylor needed the anchor.
    Lopez hadn’t killed her, but he had come close. He had taken out her career.
    Â 
    Out on the sidewalk a freezing wind swirled, tugging at the lapels of her coat as Dana attempted to hail a cab. With every breath icy air stabbed into Taylor’s lungs, cutting through the codeine and turning the low-key solo in her chest into a full-blown concerto.
    Dana’s expression was taut as another taxi cruised by. “Damn, why won’t one stop? I don’t want you out here.”
    Taylor’s cell phone buzzed, a welcome interruption. She needed something to do besides dwell on the fact that this was the first time since the shooting that she had been out on a city street, stationary and exposed.
    The voice was low, modulated and instantly recognizable. “Rina.”
    Mexico. Sun. Heat. Dry air that didn’t hurt to breathe.
    She hadn’t ever seen a photo of the farmhouse Rina’s partner, J. T. Wyatt, had bought. She wasn’t even supposed to know where they were, but Rina had described the sprawling hacienda, mountains in the distance, a lush green river threading the dry landscape. It was a long way from cold weather and gray streets. “What’s wrong?”
    The only reason for Rina to ring was if something had changed. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to ring at all.
    â€œWe’re pregnant.”
    The day turned hazy. She caught snatches of Rina’s voice. “Hadn’t planned it…Had wanted to wait until Lopez was caught, but it happened, despite precautions—”
    A baby.
    Longing, unexpected and powerful, tightened the vise squeezing her chest. She blinked, cutting off the emotion. She didn’t want to need that—not yet. What she needed was to be happy for Rina.
    â€œTaylor, talk to me. Are you all right?”
    â€œI’m fine.” Under the circumstances. “I just lost my job.”
    Silence: no