by Brenda Novak
She washed her hands and looked long and hard in the mirror. She wasn’t happy with the face staring back at her. Her hair had come down from its ponytail. She quickly wrestled it back into place. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her face was pale. She looked like hell, but she felt worse. Maybe she was coming down with something. Maybe she just needed some sleep. She splashed some water on her face, dried off with a scratchy towel and forced a smile at the wraith in the mirror. A little better.
Back at the bar, Baldwin had an empty pint glass in front of him, was started in on another.
She sat next to him. “Um, listen, Dr. Baldwin, take it easy, okay? We need to get our ducks in a row. This is a business dinner, and I need you clearheaded.”
Baldwin squinted at her, drained the second pint, turned to the bartender and asked for a double Glenfiddich. Drink in hand, he turned toward her as if about to say something, then bit it off and looked away. He didn’t taste the Scotch.
“Baldwin,” she said, softly. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. The lighting in here is nice. I haven’t been here in years.”
Taylor looked around and had to agree. The gas lanterns glowing softly over the brick and walnut were soothing, much more comfortable than the harsh lights they’d worked under all day. She imagined him sitting alone in the dark in an anonymous room and realized he probably hadn’t been socializing very much. But she wasn’t his keeper, and she didn’t want to start anything.
The hostess signaled the table was ready. “Are you coming?” she asked.
“I’ll just…get the tab.”
Taylor sighed and turned away, leaving her errant charge behind with his Scotch. Fitz came in the door, flirted happily with the hostess while they assembled around the table. As Taylor and Fitz sat down, the door opened and Sam breezed through.
Taylor saw her friend come in and gave a jerk of her head toward Baldwin, who still stood at the bar. Sam gazed sharply toward him, spotted Baldwin leaning against the wooden counter and made a beeline for him.
“Hi, Sam Owens. I’m the ME.” She stuck out her hand. Taylor could have sworn she saw Sam’s eyelashes bat. She glowered at her. Sam returned the look with an innocent smile.
“Do you care to join us, or are you going to drown your sorrows at the bar while we watch and make bets on when you’ll fall down?”
Baldwin’s eyes went wide in shock, and he barked out a laugh of surprise.
Taylor stifled a giggle. Baldwin certainly wasn’t aware of Sam’s inability to use the smallest measure of tact.
“Sure, what the hell. I’ve got nothing better to do.” He signaled for another whiskey, but Sam shook her head at the bartender and said loudly, “Water.”
Taylor watched the exchange with interest. Baldwin was meekly following her to the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable and nursing his chilled glass. It looked like Sam may have tamed the beast.
Once settled with drinks and food ordered, Fitz sat back in his chair, rubbing his tummy. A hint of malice gleamed in his crooked smile. “So, Baldwin. You spent all day with the files. Got any answers yet?”
“I’m not really ready to talk about any of this, I mean, I haven’t had enough time to formulate an opinion, and it would be best—”
Taylor cut him off. “Why don’t we share some of our thoughts with the Dr. Baldwin first, instead of putting him on the spot right out of the gate.” She stared pointedly at her second. Fitz choked back his smile and assumed a more serious face.
“Oh, of course. Sounds good. Okay, Dr. Baldwin. Here’s what we know. Got us a couple of dead lookers who happen to go to the same school. One’s dumped in the Cumberland, one ceremoniously placed at the Parthenon. Both were raped and scattered with herbs. You following, Doctor, or do I need to use smaller words?”
Taylor leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and cleared her throat. “Fitz,” she grumbled, the name coming out as a distinct word of warning, but Baldwin rose to the bait alarmingly fast.
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, Detective. You really don’t need me for this. I’ll just head on home now. Here you go.” He reached under the table for his backpack and pulled out the files, tossed them on the table. The contents spilled everywhere. Baldwin stalked out the door.
Taylor didn’t try to follow him. She raised a hand to Sam, who was rising from her chair, and shook her head. Sam sat back down, puzzled.
“Why’d you let him run out of here like that?”
“Don’t look at me. Fitz is the one who chased him off.”
“Didn’t take much, did it?”
Sam shook her head. “I can’t believe you two. What is this, some sort of club initiation, and he failed?”
“No,” Taylor said. “Dr. Baldwin has some demons. He’ll have to put them to bed if he wants in on this case. I told the Captain I’d play ball, but I wasn’t going to babysit. If he wants to, he’ll be back.”
Sam was still glaring at Taylor.
“All right, all right. Fitz, that wasn’t very nice of you. Behave next time you see him. If we ever see him again. In the meantime, Sam, can I have a bite of your stew?” Taylor had already speared a piece of beef.
“Yes, you can have my dinner. What demons does Baldwin have?”
Fitz eyed Taylor, who nodded imperceptibly. “News reports say the Doc got a few of his men killed on an operation up in Virginia. Nasty case, child murderer. They went in with a warrant and the guy came out shooting. Caught three feebies before Baldwin took him out.”
Sam had stopped eating and glanced sideways at Taylor, who hadn’t moved. “Well, we all know it can happen. If he’s really messed up about it, who are we to judge? Right, T?”
Taylor sighed deeply and ignored the jab. “No one’s judging. And that’s not the end of the story. After they cleaned up the mess, another girl was taken and killed. He’d pegged the wrong guy and they lost three men needlessly. So yeah, I can understand. Probably not enough, though.” She resumed eating Sam’s stew.
They were all quiet while they finished their meals. Fitz gallantly asked for and paid the check. He bid them a good night and left the two women to their uneasy silence.
Taylor leaned her chair back on two legs and put her arms behind her head. She knew what was coming.
“I expect better of you two. The man was clearly hurting, and you pushed him away. Now what are you going to do?”
“Sam. That man is well beyond any help I could give. And what do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m not doing anything. He’s not my responsibility.”
“Not your responsibility? Price asked you to bring him on the team, didn’t he? You’re the team’s leader, aren’t you? You sound pretty responsible to me. And you’ve both been through similar incidents.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Oh, bullshit, Taylor. You’ve been dragging around enough guilt for ten men. You two have more in common than you think.”
“Sam, knock it off, okay? I don’t have time to get into someone else’s nightmares right now. We’ve got a nasty killer out there that I’d like to catch. By the way, did you get any more info on the girls’ tox screens?”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know. Simon said they’ll be back to me tonight. I’ll call you as soon as I have them. And no, I won’t knock it off. It’s time you got back to your life. It wasn’t your fault you had to shoot Martin. He attacked you, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like you were in love with the guy—”
“That’s enough!” Taylor was flushed and angry. She didn’t have time to rehash her own nightmares either, and she didn’t like it when Sam preached at her. She rose and put on her coat.
“I’m going home. Call me if you hear anything.”
Sam’s phone rang. She held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this first.” She put the phone to her ear. “Sam Owens. Yeah. Mmhmmm. You’re kidding. Really? That’s great, thanks so much. I’ll call you back in the morning.”
&nbs
p; Taylor had her arms crossed on her chest, breathing heavily through her nose. “What is it?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You may change your tune about talking with Dr. Baldwin when you hear this.”
Twenty-Seven
“Garrett, I’m out. These Nashville people don’t need me, they know what they’re doing. Please, just…don’t call me again.”
Baldwin hung up on his old boss’s voicemail. He threw the phone toward the couch, where it bounced off and lay prone on the floor. He’d been fuming around his house for the past hour. He was as pissed at himself as he was at the damn homicide team. He knew Fitz was baiting him, trying to see if he could be taken seriously. He’d shown them, with no questions, he couldn’t. He was even more furious with himself that he gave a crap.
He reached for another beer and started to gulp. He finished in record time, even for him, the now professional drinker. He stared at the bottle, willing it to fill itself so he could just drown in it. It didn’t. He threw it across the room, satisfied when it shattered against the wall.
He felt the familiar calm sweep over him. He luxuriated in it. This wasn’t drunkenness; it was the finishing point. He’d felt it before, and knew what he needed to do.
He went back to the bedroom. His gun was on the nightstand, right where he’d left it. He picked it up, caressing the steel. Having it in his hand made him feel better, calmer. He’d made this decision before, when he started the game. He’d always given fate a little room for chance. Now he was acting on sheer, reckless bravado. He would no longer allow himself to be steered off course.
He walked with purpose back to the living room. He tidied up a bit, but left the broken shards where they were. Looking at them helped his tranquility; knowing he might be scattered carelessly over the wall above them gave him comfort.
Baldwin sat in his favorite chair, and didn’t waste any time. Tonight would be different, he could just feel it. He checked the speed loader to make sure the bullet was in place, leaned back, and gave the cylinder a vicious spin. Put the gun to his head.
Pulled the trigger at the very same moment someone started knocking on his door. The noise startled him, and the gun jerked. A bullet flew out of the 2-inch barrel of the Smith and Wesson at full velocity, grazing his cheek. He heard shouting and thought he recognized the voice. God, was that Taylor Jackson? What in the hell was she doing here?
His door crashed opened, and the homicide lieutenant flew into the room with her weapon drawn, looking wildly around.
Baldwin drew down on her purely by instinct. A worthless move on his part, considering the Winchester .38 bullet that had lived in solidarity in his gun for the past few weeks was now lodged in the wall of his living room. They faced each other, guns sighted point blank between the other’s eyes.
Taylor was the first to flinch. She slowly holstered her weapon, never letting her gaze stray from Baldwin’s face.
“Why don’t you put the gun down, Baldwin?” she said softly. “I’m not here to shoot you. Or to get shot. Come on, put it away. Christ, you’re bleeding.” She started toward him, still mindful of the gun trained at her head.
Baldwin started laughing. Taylor was caught short, then smiled cautiously. He lowered the weapon, and she quickly took it from his hand and tossed it into the kitchen. He was doubled over by now, hysterical with laughter.
“Baldwin, I think we need to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding badly.”
He hiccupped, still snorting with mirth. “No, Taylor. No hospital. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?” He was calming down, but still held his sides as if he would explode.
“Wanted your opinion on something. And I wanted to apologize. We treated you badly today, and I’m sorry.” Her gaze took in the room, noting the disarray, the broken bottle, the phone lying askew on the floor. Her eyes trailed to his face. “Really, Baldwin, you’re bleeding. Let me fix it up for you.”
“Leave it.” His voice was sharp, and Taylor froze four feet from him. He turned toward the kitchen, then spun back and landed awkwardly on the couch. Taylor could see exhaustion shadow his face. She dared a step, and another, then sat quietly in the chair, looking at the fireplace while he composed himself. Damn, she had barely gotten here in time. Maybe she hadn’t been in time at all; she didn’t think a quick chat was going to change the man’s mind. She decided to try anyway.
“You wanna tell me why I saw you through the window with a gun to your head?”
Baldwin shook his head, smiling at her. “Seems I just can’t win. I’ve been working this little project for a while now, and I keep getting interrupted.” He leaned back into the couch, covering his eyes with his crossed arms. “Every time I’m all set and ready, the fucking phone rings, or someone knocks. Really Taylor, it would have been better if you’d come five minutes later. You’d have assumed I wasn’t home, and seeing as the shot went off this time, I’d be out of this hell.”
This time. Oh, boy. She knew she’d have a job in front of her with Baldwin, just didn’t realize it would entail dragging him out of the jaws of Cerberus. She was shocked to see tears rolls down his face.
“I’m kinda glad I showed up when I did. You’d have been a hell of a mess to clean up.” Her tone was light, but the look she gave him wasn’t.
“Well, thanks, I guess.” He gave her the first genuine smile she’d seen since she met him that morning. God, it had only been a day, but she felt like he’d been under her skin forever. She let out her breath, suddenly aware that she had been holding it.
She gave him a small smile back. “Seriously, let me clean you up a little bit.”
“No, let it be. I’m fine. I want to know why you really came over here.”
He was staring at her so intently that she felt a shiver run down her spine. “To be honest, Sam had some news at dinner I thought you might be interested in. Some results from the tests on Shelby Kincaid and Jordan Blake came back.”
Baldwin looked at her with doubt. “And why do you think I’d be interested in any of it? I quit tonight, remember?”
“You can’t quit something you never started.” She was surprised at how bitter she sounded. Not exactly the tone to be taking with someone looked like he was prepared to kill himself a half hour prior. “I mean…”
Baldwin’s face had hardened. “I know what you mean, Taylor. You’re right. I didn’t want to be there, I didn’t want to work this case, and I certainly don’t intend to start now. Why don’t you take your do-gooding ass out of here?” He got up quickly and headed for the bedroom.
Taylor didn’t hesitate, ran after him, heart pounding. If he had a second weapon in there and was intent on finishing the job…
But Baldwin had only gone in the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. She let out a breath. Good. If he was going to tend his wound, he wouldn’t be trying to shoot himself at the same time.
“Baldwin, I…”
“I thought I told you to leave,” he said, not turning from the mirror, where he was gingerly dabbing alcohol on his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed.
“Come on, man, let me do that.” Taylor pushed her way into the bathroom and grabbed up the cotton before he could resist. She felt all the fight go out of him as he slumped against the counter. He didn’t resist when she finished cleaning the cut, pulled out a bandage and gingerly placed it over the wound. On impulse, without thinking, she reached in and kissed it.
Baldwin jumped and grabbed her wrists. “What did you do that for?”
Taylor was at a loss for words. She mumbled something and backed away. He let her go.
Baldwin turned and stared in the mirror. He shook his head, snapped off the light and followed Taylor’s trail. He could hear her in the kitchen, messing with ice. He sat on the couch and said nothing.
She came out of the kitchen with an improvised ice pack. She handed it to him with a shrug. He took it and set it carefully on his face. The cut was starting to throb. Taylor stood with her arms crossed, looking at h
im as if he were a ticking bomb that would go off at any moment. He met her eyes and gave her a weak smile.
“There’s Advil in the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Will you get me four?”
Taylor nodded. She needed to get out from under that gaze. She took her time finding the pills. She didn’t know what the hell she was doing, but as long as it kept the gun out of his hand, she’d keep doing it. She spied the revolver under the kitchen table. Picking it up gingerly, she checked the chambers, found them empty and stuffed the gun in the back of her jeans.
Baldwin’s eyes were closed when she came back in the room. She thought maybe he’d gone to sleep, but jumped when his deep voice softly rumbled, “Thanks.”
“Sure.” She got the feeling he was thanking her for more than the painkiller. She handed them to him and backed away again, stationing herself against the mantle of the fireplace.
“Have you ever been in a place, Taylor, where the only thing good that you can feel is being out of it?”
“Yes, I have.”
Baldwin’s eyes shot open, and he saw her staring at the marble inlay at the base of the hearth. He felt the sadness radiate from her. He started to ask, stopped himself. He didn’t like to talk about his demons; he couldn’t imagine she would either. He was surprised when she answered the unspoken question.
“I shot a fellow detective a few months ago. Killed him. Let’s leave it at that for now, okay? So yeah, I’ve been there. It’s not a nice place to be. Besides, I don’t think talking about my problems will help you right now.”
Baldwin was intrigued, but didn’t push it. His natural inclination was to fall back onto his training and try to draw her out, but he laughed instead.
“Sure thing. Neutral ground then. What was so important to bring you over here at midnight to interrupt all my grand plans?”
