Taylor

by Irish Winters

  “There you go. Good girl. See how easy? With the right incentive, I can turn all of you into puppets,” Steele gloated, his breath hot and moist on her cheek. “Now watch this.”

  She cringed, turning her face from his but exposing her neck in the process. What now?

  He parted her blouse and traced the curve of her bra with the still warm barrel of his pistol. It dipped down between her breasts, then over her bra to her belt until—he tucked the point of it inside her jeans. His roaming left hand lifted to cup her right breast.

  Her heart stalled. She’d only read about it in newspapers.

  Object rape.

  Taylor had to be angry as hell out there, but the despicable thing was going to happen and he couldn’t stop it. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again.

  The barrel dipped lower, digging into her tenderest skin until the tip of the gun stopped at her left femoral artery. He meant to kill her. A microburst of relief coursed through her body. It’d soon be over. She’d join Mary and forever watch over Taylor.

  Gracie closed her eyes and prepared to die.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Steele abruptly pulled the gun out of Gracie’s jeans and turned, leaving her swaying unsteadily on her feet. “What am I thinking? This must be done in the right order.”

  Taylor groaned in helpless frustration. The man was stark raving insane the way he stalked back and forth, ranting and raving. Little did the bastard know Harley had Peter’s knife all along. He’d been sawing through the cable ties at Taylor’s wrists. It took a while and it cost a few nicks, but Harley was nearly done.

  The knife Peter had intended as a weapon, was now a gift from the universe and their only hope. Taylor intended to use it—the second Gracie got out of his way. He focused all of his love on her. Every last beat of his heart. Don’t let him get to you. Hang on. I’m coming.

  Pulling her blouse shut, she bowed her head, her poor face red with humiliation.

  Look at me, Gracie. Not him. Only me.

  As if she heard, she lifted her chin. Teary eyes locked with his. Anger flooded his heart. That sonofabitch made her cry!

  Steele kept ranting. “My leading lady grows weary, boys. It’s time to end the show. I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

  Harley had just made the final cut. He slipped the knife into Taylor’s palm. Inverting the blade, Taylor let the handle slip through his fingers until just the tip of the knife remained between his index finger and thumb.

  Fall, Gracie. Pretend to faint. Duck.

  With one arm around her neck, Steele raised his weapon and drew on Peter. “You die first, White Hawk.”

  “You won’t get far.” Despite his bleeding cheek, Mark bought a little time, but Gracie still didn’t get it.

  Steele kept rambling. The bastard couldn’t shut up to save his life. “You’re wrong, Houston. Stewart’s men have always been his greatest weakness, and I intend to use it against him. He’ll blame himself once you’re dead. We all know his penchant for deep, dark depression. I foresee a downward spiral and a pathetic suicide. Interesting, isn’t it? The stark raving madness that grief can distill into a strong man’s soul?”

  Steele aimed at Mark again. The dumb ass stuck his chest out, ready to die for and with his TEAM. Gracie still stood paralyzed, the dazed light of a trapped animal in her eyes. Already given up. Already dead.

  No fucking way.

  Taylor heaved up from the ground. He cocked his right arm. Wounded or not. Last play of the game. Less than a second. The buzzer already sounding.

  “Gracie! Get down!” he bellowed.

  She obeyed. With a God Almighty, go-to-hell flick of his wrist, Taylor let the blade fly. True. Sure. Straight through the whirl of Gracie’s hair as she fell and—

  THWACK!

  Steele jerked to face Taylor. “You?”

  “Me,” Taylor spat, his fists clenched and dripping blood but free. “Fall down. You’re dead.”

  The bastard waved his weapon in Gracie’s direction.

  She scrambled to Taylor. He pulled her under his arm, where she belonged, damn it.

  Steele lurched to his left. “But I can’t be... dead. I’m better... than you.”

  Harley and Mark were off the ground, and by God, enough was enough. Taylor handed Gracie into Mark’s safekeeping and stalked up to Steele. He jabbed two fingers to the bastard’s shoulder and shoved. Just once. “I told you to leave her alone. Now die.”

  Steele’s lip twisted upward. He dropped the pistol and fell, twisting face first to the ground, pushing Peter’s knife in deeper. Right where it belonged.

  And damned if Gracie wasn’t in Taylor’s arms the moment he turned around, burrowing into him like she couldn’t get close enough. He wrapped her up tight, his nose in her hair and his heart filled to bursting with relief. Never better.

  She lifted her chin. Dazed, teary eyes peered up from the. “You saved me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. No way was that bastard going to hurt you one more time.”

  Harley and Mark had already retrieved their weapons. Mark had Peter off the ground while Harley attended to Luke.

  “How is he?” Taylor asked.

  “I just grazed him,” Harley replied. “The fall knocked him out. I’m bandaging him now. He’ll be fine.”

  Gracie cupped Taylor’s chin. “But how?”

  He leaned into the soft touch of her hand. “Harley ended up on Grandfather’s knife when Steele ordered us to kneel. He had it up his sleeve by the time you restrained us. It was just a matter of getting that blade from him to me. He knows I’m a dead-eye.”

  “But your hands were behind your back.”

  “I know. That’s why Harley kept crying about his dogs. He’d already freed himself, but he couldn’t let on.” Taylor pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, Gracie. You’re safe. Please don’t cry.”

  “I can’t help it. After he killed that man like he did.” She shivered in his arms. “I thought we were next.”

  “No way. It just took me and Harley a while to get the job done.” His voice caught at the close call. He tipped Gracie out of his arms and began re-buttoning her shirt, needing to see her smile. “I hope you know that under most circumstances I wouldn’t exactly be doing this.”

  A shy smile brightened her face. She reached for his bleeding fingers. “Taylor. You’re hurt.”

  He pulled her into his chest. “Believe me, I’m good.”

  “Peter will go to prison now,” she whispered.

  The dominoes were falling. First Peter. Luke and Matthew. Gracie. “So where’s Uncle Matthew in all this? I thought you worked alone?” Taylor asked his grandfather.

  Of all things, Peter winked. “After Gracie’s delicious bread pudding, my sons convinced me the only way to complete my hunt was to let them help. Matthew is behind the brig. I’m proud of my family. Mary is finally at peace. The Great Spirit is satisfied.”

  “So Matthew’s the guy who dusted the area with CS powder, huh?” Harley asked, a brow spiked. “He’s the joker who hurt my dogs?”

  “And Matthew drugged me?” Taylor asked.

  Grandfather answered both questions with one quick nod. The oddest thing happened. He smiled.

  “You’re hurt, son.” Alex put his hand to Taylor’s wounded shoulder. “What the hell happened? Did Steele shoot you, too?”

  Alex, Zack and Gabe had come running after they’d gotten a report of gunfire south of the brig. Good thing, too. Commander Ryan had a handful of distraction compared to what Mark and Harley had stumbled on.

  Taylor winced. “It’s nothing, Boss. I’m fine.”

  Like hell. Not the way he kept his hands on the young woman at his side. His junior agent was hiding something besides what had to be a damned serious injury.

  “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Gracie Fox, Mr. Stewart.” Gracie extended her hand for Alex to shake, her gaze direct and strong. “I’ve heard many great things about you.”

  “She’s ta
ken care of me these last few days,” Taylor said.

  And doing a pretty good job if the tender glances between these two meant what Alex suspected. He gripped her hand, needing to get to the bottom of Taylor’s AWOL. “Did you shoot him?”

  Taylor squirmed. “Damn. No. It’s not like that.”

  “Then tell me. Where have you been? How’d you two end up here today? In this mess?”

  “Mr. Stewart, I took care of Taylor because I also kept him restrained at my home.” Gracie offered her other hand for Alex to cuff. “I’m a willing accomplice to the actions of Peter White Hawk. Taylor and I came here today to prevent more bloodshed. Yes, Taylor was shot, but not by Steele. Luke shot him with an arrow. I doctored Taylor afterward. I surrender myself to the claims of justice.”

  “No.” Taylor pulled her free from Alex’s grip. “I’m telling you, it’s not like that.”

  “Then what the hell’s going on?”

  Before Taylor could answer, Gracie spoke. “Taylor has only recently become aware of his grandfather and his tribe, Mr. Stewart. He was not involved in the blood hunt.” Again the look in her eye was piercingly honest. “He’ll try to protect me, but I’m prepared to accept the consequences of my actions. I knew what Peter was doing. For that, I’m guilty.”

  Taylor pulled her into his side, his face grief-stricken. “No. Don’t do this. Not yet.”

  This was not the stoic young man Alex had hired. Taylor was falling apart. He clung to Gracie, intent on saving her, but she argued. “I won’t lie, not even to save my life. Mr. Stewart already knows. I see wisdom in his eyes. I’m not afraid. Not anymore.”

  Alex watched the tender exchange, moved at the bravery of both Taylor and Gracie, but damn. The change in Taylor. The tenderness in his eye. Somehow, this young man had fallen in love over the past few days, and he’d fallen hard. But the truth needed sorting out.

  Alex motioned to one of Ryan’s security guards. “This is Gracie Fox. She’s involved with White Hawk somehow. Place her in protective custody.”

  Taylor whined, “No,” when the guard cuffed Gracie and escorted her to where Peter already stood cuffed. He scrambled after her, but two guards blocked his path. “Come on, guys. I just want to—”

  “Taylor,” Alex called to him, but the young man didn’t hear or chose not to.

  “There’s got to be a different way,” he pleaded. “Don’t take her.”

  “I knew what I was doing.” Tears filled her eyes. “I promised.”

  “No. You and your damned promises. I won’t let you go. Not like this.”

  “Yes, you will,” she said. “Please. You have to. I’m just sorry I won’t be able to keep my promise to watch over you the rest of your life.”

  Sonofabitch. This young woman had strong feelings for Taylor. Even a blind man could see it. Taylor fisted both hands. The poor kid stood close enough to touch her, but wasn’t allowed to. “I love you, Gracie.”

  “And I you.” She lowered her eyes as more tears fell, and Alex cringed. What the hell was he doing to these kids? Tearing them apart? There had to be a way to help them.

  “Keep her safe,” Taylor told his grandfather. “You protect her.”

  Peter nodded once, but what did Taylor think he could he do? He was in cuffs, too.

  The guards escorted Gracie and Peter toward the front door of the brig, while an ambulance loaded Luke for transport to a nearby hospital. Another ambulance had already transferred Steele and Webster’s bodies while the installation’s security police processed the crime scene.

  Alex went to Taylor’s side. “Come on, son. Let’s get you to a doctor.”

  “No, I need to give these guys my statement or something.” Taylor hadn’t taken a step, his eyes still searching the path where Gracie had gone.

  “Commander Ryan’s interested in what you have to say, but let’s look at that shoulder first,” Alex said gently. “You’re hurt.”

  “Hey, Boss. You got a minute?” Mark asked. “We’d all be dead if Taylor hadn’t taken Steele down when he did.”

  “He’s a hero,” Harley chimed in.

  Taylor hadn’t heard a word. He stood there with his back to his friends and his heart on Gracie Fox. The kid didn’t look like a hero, not with his eyes red and fighting tears. He looked more like he’d lost everything.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Steele hated you,” Taylor said. “That’s why he was there. He wanted to pay you and my grandfather back, to hurt you guys for getting him tossed out of the Corps. That’s why he killed Webster, so it would look like you screwed the pooch, like you failed to protect him. He was going to make it look like Granpa killed us, too. He said it would drive you crazy.”

  “It would have,” Alex admitted. “Steele was my CO in Iraq. Bastard was a lunatic then, too. He used to brag how he’d torture prisoners if he could run the war his way. He hated Peter on sight, not sure why other than your grandfather was a damned better man. Steele planted a mole in our office, too. That’s how he knew Webster was sequestered at Quantico. That’s also how he knew about the evidence in the White Hawk rape case.”

  “You know about that?” Taylor studied his boss’s profile. Somehow, it helped that Alex knew about Mary. Taylor wiped his eyes. The whole damned world needed to know. His grandfather was not a bad man.

  “Yes, I know. I also know who your father is.”

  Shit. That. Taylor bit his knuckle and faced the window. His carefully constructed life had just ended. “Am I fired?”

  “Hell, no. Why would I fire you?”

  “Because I lied.” Just do it. You’ll want to once the General takes over The TEAM. You’ll see.

  “Knock it off. I don’t give a shit who your old man is, just wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me before I found out myself.”

  But you will. You’ll see. He doesn’t give a shit who you are, either.

  “So was Steele there at Manny’s that day?” Taylor asked, needing to change the subject. “He knew about the napkins. The broken glass.”

  “Not likely, but I’ll have Mother check into it. My guess is he knew just enough to push Peter over the edge.” Alex paused a moment too long. Taylor stole another look. His boss seemed—lost in a memory or something. Like he’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say.

  “A father doesn’t need much,” he finally murmured. “You’ll understand when you have kids.”

  Ouch. What the hell happened that made this rock hard man look so—broken?

  Taylor shifted the conversation. “Then who’s the damned mole, Boss? Who’s in Steele’s pocket?”

  “Charles Oakes. He’s done more than pass evidence to Steele.”

  “Like what?” Taylor demanded. He needed something—someone—to hit. Charlie would do, the bastard.

  “Let me worry about that. Right now, you need a couple days off and a good night’s rest.”

  How’s a guy supposed to kick back and take a nap while the woman he loves—I love—is locked behind bars. Huh, Stewart? Answer me that.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes. “I thought you’d kill my grandfather.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “I overheard my uncles. They said he should be working for you, not against you.”

  “I wish he did. He’s a good man, Taylor. Don’t ever doubt that. I can’t imagine the day we’d draw on each other, though. I totally understand why he did what he did. A daughter’s a precious gift. To have her assaulted and then watch her waste away like Mary did, well, let’s just say Peter went a helluva lot easier on those bastards than I would have.”

  “It’s called a blood hunt. It’s an ancient Indian thing. He was just trying to find peace for Mary,” Taylor explained, needing Alex to understand why Peter did what he’d done. And now he’ll never see the light of day.

  “I knew he had a good reason. He never took killing lightly. Even deer hunting. It always had to serve a greater purpose, like putting food on his family’s plate.”

  “I’m gl
ad I killed Steele. The sonofabitch needed to die. And I’m glad my grandfather killed those reporters. They put Aunt Mary through hell.”

  My Aunt Mary. God, he wanted to cry for the whole damned White Hawk family, but mostly he wanted Gracie back. She’d been so brave. So honest. “I need the name of a good defense lawyer. You know one?”

  “I do, but complicity in two murders is a capital offense. Not to mention kidnapping, assault, and—”

  “But I won’t press charges. She helped me track Grandfather, so I—we—could prevent another murder. She’s taken good care of me and—”

  Alex shook his head. “Not good enough. You don’t press charges in a murder case. The state does. Besides, Gracie Fox held you against your will. She aided and abetted a murderer. The next time you see her will be in court.”

  Taylor groaned and looked back out the window, still held captive and wanting to be any place but in his boss’s car. Anywhere but leaving Gracie behind. She’d stolen his heart. His sweet warden was getting farther away all the time and he hated it. He was losing her and he’d never really had her. For the first time, he’d found hope. Wrong again.

  Quantico wouldn’t keep her for long. She’d be transferred to a civilian jail, if not today then tomorrow. There had to be a way to set her free. She never hurt anyone. Not even me. Not really.

  “Your parents are waiting at the office to see you.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Taylor answered respectfully. Great, the perfect end to an enormously crappy day, a meeting with dear old Dad.

  The last rays of the setting sun lapped at the western horizon. Freeway lights flickered on, then off in the gathering dark. His stomach growled, but who cared. Condemned men might get one last meal. Not Taylor. Not with Gracie in jail and The General toe tapping his impatience with his failure of a son.

  Taylor mentally prepared himself for the upcoming conversation. He didn’t have to wait long. His father stood polished, pressed, and impatient to be gone when Taylor and Alex stepped off the elevator at The TEAM’s office.

  Alex took the lead like the businessman he was, his hand stuck out in welcome. “General Armstrong. Good to see you again, sir.”