Taylor wrenched the syringe free, twisted the woman around to face Memphis and plunged the needle directly into Rachael’s neck.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Rachael froze, all fight in her suspended.
“Tell them,” Taylor growled at her. “Tell them right now, or so help me God I will shoot you full of whatever is in this syringe and send you straight to hell.”
The whites of Rachael’s eyes shone. She was genuinely scared, panicked. Taylor’s instincts were dead-on. The contents of the syringe were deadly.
Taylor saw the plan. It was ingenious, devious. With all of Taylor’s strange medication allergies, it would have been a no-brainer for Rachael to inject her with something, then claim Taylor had suffered anaphylactic shock and died from a bad drug interaction. Memphis would have been there to corroborate the story that Taylor was acting crazy, that “Maddee” was just trying to help.
Too close for comfort.
Memphis was struggling to his feet. She glanced at him and immediately felt horrible. She’d done a number on him. His nose was broken, his cheekbone probably, too. Jacques was back on the ground, groaning. Knee shots were so effective.
“Tell. Him.” She moved her thumb to the plunger. Her teeth were gritted, her own voice so raspy, so broken. She didn’t even recognize herself. But that wasn’t going to stop her.
Rachael began to cry.
“Stop that. Tell him the truth. Rachael.”
“Maddee? Taylor? Tell me what’s really going on. Right now.”
Finally. Memphis was starting to realize the situation wasn’t as it first appeared. Taylor held herself back from openly rolling her eyes.
“She’s insane. I told you.”
“You poor, stupid girl,” Taylor said. Her thumb moved, and the tiniest bit of the contents of the syringe went into Rachael’s neck. She hissed in pain.
“That stings, huh? Good to know.” Taylor pressed harder.
“Stop,” Rachael screamed. “It’s true. It’s true, okay? Evan isn’t dead. I didn’t want to kill her—she’s my friend. I just needed her out of the way.”
The transformation on Memphis’s face was impossible to watch, but Taylor forced herself. Disbelief, followed by crushing pain, and then, with the tiniest of movements that settled in his eyes and forehead, hope.
Followed immediately by rage.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Taylor quickly realized that while she was out of danger, Rachael was not. She pulled the needle from the woman’s neck, tossed the syringe across the room toward the fireplace. She shoved Rachael upright and back against the wall, then stood in front to cover her. They were smashed together, Rachael’s front against Taylor’s back. She pushed back against the wall as hard as she could, so Rachael couldn’t wiggle away. Or stab her in the back.
Memphis had taken on the look of an enraged bull. Another couple of steps and he’d be right on top of her. His voice was thick with pain and anger.
“Let. Me. Have. Her.”
“No,” Taylor said. “We need to let the police sort this out.”
“I am the fucking police.”
“No, you’re the victim’s husband. Rachael will tell us where she is. Won’t you, Rachael?”
Rachael was whimpering, in pain, in fear. Taylor didn’t care which.
“Won’t you, Rachael?” she said again, whirling around and planting both hands against the wall on either side of Rachael’s face. “Where is she? Where is Evan?”
Rachael was going to try defiance again. Taylor was going to have to hit her. She might enjoy that a bit too much. Without turning her head, she said to Memphis, “May I have your handcuffs, please?”
That did it. Taylor congratulated herself on being a keen judge of character. Death didn’t frighten Rachael as much as the idea of incarceration.
“She’s in Moldavia. A place up in the Carpathian mountains. If she’s still alive. That’s why I chose it. Most don’t survive the first winter. You already had the papers signed. You were going to commit her anyway. I just took care of it for you.”
Taylor punched the bitch in the stomach for adding that last bit of torture.
Chatty Rachael collapsed onto her hands and knees, vomited on the drawing room floor.
“Nice shot,” Memphis said.
“Thanks. What are we going to do with her?”
“I don’t know. String her up on the grand staircase?”
“Tempting. But perhaps we can lock her in one of the rooms until the constable arrives, instead.”
Memphis was still red in the face, upset and furious. She didn’t blame him. “I suppose that would be all right. Why is she wearing my mother’s ring?”
“What are you talking about?” Taylor asked.
“The onyx ring. It’s my mother’s. She used to bring it out as a novelty at parties. Another one of the Highsmythe family legends—that ring has a hatch in it for poison.”
Taylor went to Rachael and wrenched it from her hand.
“So that’s how she did it. I knew she put something in my beer.”
She handed the ring to Memphis, watched him turn it over and over in his hands. He could barely meet her eye.
“Oh, Taylor, I am so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“We should probably have to have someone watch her. She’s tried to commit suicide before. She told me that’s why she became a psychologist, to help combat the demons. I want to make sure she’s never able to do this to anyone again.”
“She had me considering it. She tried to drive your wife to it. I can’t say she deserves any less.”
Taylor stood straight, flexing her fingers. Punching people hurt; she had abrasions on all her knuckles.
“Um, Memphis? Trixie has been helping Rachael poison me. Giving me something hallucinogenic. I’ve been seeing ghosts, having rather vivid dreams.”
“Trixie wouldn’t do that. Would you, old girl?”
Drawn by the shouts and screams, the entire staff of the castle had gathered in the hallway. Trixie was standing in the drawing room door, hands folded in front of her.
“No, sir. I did all I could to keep the lady safe. Dr. James was acting strangely, and the lady was obviously getting ill. I kept an eye on them as much as possible.”
“Taylor, Trixie was the first one who called me. She thought something was wrong, asked me to come home. Then Madd… I mean, Rachael, called and said you were delusional, that you’d had a break. I knew I needed to get back straightaway. The trains and planes weren’t an option, so I drove. Took me all bloody night, too.”
“I’m glad you got back in time, Memphis,” Taylor said.
“Me, too.”
*
Rachael didn’t fight them when they handcuffed her to the fire grate. It was as safe a place as any to hold her. Trixie stood guard, five feet away, her back ramrod-straight, a heavy fireplace poker in her hands. She looked quite menacing. Rachael had retreated within herself, to some catatonic place where she could live out her vivid, sick fantasies alone. A red welt surrounded the spot where the needle had been inserted in her neck. She’d reach up to scratch it every few minutes.
Taylor and Memphis were on the other side of the drawing room, watching.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Jacques?” Taylor asked.
“I did.”
“About the threats to the family, Memphis.”
He ran his hands over his face, wincing as he touched the damaged flesh.
“Because I had no idea they were directed at anyone but my father. With him away, I felt this place was as safe as any other. I had no idea that the threat was from within. Could it be true, Taylor? Is it possible? Is Evan alive? And my son?”
His son. She didn’t know the answer to that. She shook her head and shrugged.
Taylor’s phone rang. The caller ID was from Nashville. Lincoln.
“Hold on.” She clicked the answer button. “Linc. What do you have for me? Rachael just mentioned Moldavia.”
“That’s a possibility. I’ve scoured the U.K., France and Italy. Nothing yet. Let me expand the search parameters. How would she get her there?”
“Friends. She grew up on Long Island, that much was true. Look at the Russian community, see if she did time with anyone. She probably met them inside.”
“God, you’re good. I’m ready for you to get back to work. Come home soon, okay? I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.” He clicked off.
“We’re working on it,” she said to Memphis. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time, okay?”
Trixie had brought Memphis an ice pack. He was gingerly trying to put it on his cheek.
“Here, let me.” Taylor took the bag of ice and laid it gently against his cheek. She took the opportunity to assess the damage. His nose was definitely broken, but that cheekbone would need an X-ray to know for sure.
“Why, pray tell, did you feel the need to hit me? That wasn’t very nice.”
“Like you gave me a choice? You were going to hold me down while she shot me full of God knows what. I can’t believe you believed her over me.”
“I’ve known her longer. And she’s been insinuating herself into my world for a very long time.”
His face was wrecked. The emotions from the past hour coupled with the swelling wasn’t doing him any favors.
Aside from Rachael and Trixie, they were alone in the room. Jacques had been tended to by the kitchen staff, carefully carried into the kitchens, where he was now lying on the servant’s table awaiting the local emergency services, who were coming with the police. The constable had just called; he was due in ten minutes. They had time.
“Memphis? I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“The night after we went to the bridge, did you come to my room?”
He didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “Would you like me to say yes, or no?”
“I just want the truth. The medicine Rachael gave me made me have very strange dreams, strange thoughts. I did a lot of hallucinating. I need to know if you were there or not.”
“You mean, whether making love with me was real? I’m glad it was that memorable.”
Oh, shit. She had slept with him.
She handed him the ice pack, avoided his eyes, and turned away.
It was wishful thinking that she could blame a hallucination for her actions. Stupid, stupid girl. Letting your hormones make decisions for you. Rachael was right. We all have a choice.
She took a deep breath. She would get through this. She and Baldwin, together, would get through this.
“Taylor,” Memphis said softly. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. If Evan’s alive… If…if there’s any chance that she’s actually alive, that she’ll forgive me, I must take that chance. She is my wife.”
“I know that. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I adore you, Memphis, but I don’t love you. I love Baldwin.”
“Well, that’s good to hear.”
Baldwin strode into the room, took in the scene. She felt all her air leave her. How much had he heard?
But he was smiling at her, a wide, happy, welcoming smile. He’d only just arrived, heard her pledging her love to him.
She went to him, a magnet drawn north. Let him envelop her in his arms. A huge sigh escaped her. She was safe. She could let down her guard now.
“Memphis,” Baldwin said. “Someone did a number on your face, brother.”
“Talk to your woman. She’s got a fierce right hook.”
Baldwin coughed out a laugh, looked down at Taylor, nestled in his arms. “You did this to him?”
“I didn’t have a choice. He didn’t believe me.”
“Remind me never to disagree with you,” he said lightly.
“How did you get here so quickly? I thought the airports were closed?”
“Atlantic made a call to Special Branch, pulled a favor, and I got a ride on a Lynx that was headed up here. That was fun. The British military do have some cool toys.”
Memphis wasn’t enjoying the byplay. He gave Baldwin a mock salute. “Baldwin. Thank you for all your help. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
He stood, shakily at first, then made to leave the room. As he walked past them, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Taylor?”
She turned from her shelter, looked at Memphis.
“I wasn’t there,” he said, then smiled, sadly, and left the room.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Baldwin leaned down to give Taylor a kiss. She welcomed it. When he’d walked through the door, she couldn’t help herself, she’d wanted to leap into his arms and be held forever. She just couldn’t face this world without him. If anything, this trip, her time in Scotland, had solidified that for her.
She was just happy she’d escaped with her life.
“God, I missed you. Are you okay?” he asked.
“I am. And I am so happy to see you. You have no idea.”
He gestured at the door, where Memphis had just walked out.
“What was all that about?” Baldwin asked. “Where wasn’t Memphis?”
She debated for half a second. No, she didn’t want to go any further without getting this off her chest. Memphis had just given her the answer she needed. He’d never said he’d been in her room, but he had said that he hadn’t. She would take that. It was all a hallucination.
“Taylor? What’s up?”
“I… How to explain this?”
Baldwin released her. Crossed his arms on his chest. “You need to be honest with me. Did you sleep with him?”
“No.”
“Did you want to sleep with him?”
“I don’t know.”
The pain on his face made her cringe. He wanted honesty from her, and while she agreed that she owed him that much, what was the point? Hearing that she’d had doubts, that she was attracted to another man, was going to do nothing but hurt him.
And she was tired of hurting him. God, she was tired of so much. She just wanted to be sure again, of herself, of her life, her purpose, her trajectory. She was like a shooting star that had looked down at Earth, gotten distracted and subsequently became lost in the dark of the night’s sky.
“I was so mad at you, Baldwin. You kept so much from me. Memphis gave me friendship when I needed it most, when you were pulling away from me. Since I’ve been here… I was being drugged. I had some pretty intense dreams. But that’s all they were. Just dreams.”
“That’s an awful lot, Taylor.”
“Can you forgive me?”
His deep green eyes met hers. “Can you forgive me?”
“Yes. I can.”
“Then you know my answer.”
He pulled her close again, settled his lips on hers. His beard scratched her chin, and felt her heart pounding.
This was so right.
She was sorry when he stopped.
“Taylor, are you really okay?”
Not entirely. But she was getting better. She squeezed his hand.
“I’m okay. At least, I will be. Right now, we have more important issues to deal with. We need to get Memphis and Evan together. Can you help?”
He smiled.
“I think I can. Let me make a call.”
EPILOGUE
Taylor had a chance to see Rachael one last time.
The British government wanted to prosecute her, but the United States wanted to extradite her as well. She’d broken parole and stolen the identity of a woman named Madeira Hudson. Started a new life. Went to school. Got her degree. Met and married Roland MacDonald, moved to Scotland and bore him three sons. Had a normal life, for a while. Then became overwhelmingly obsessed with Memphis. Changed her name to James and started her second downward spiral.
God knew how many other crimes she’d committed. Her initial release from the state mental institution had been predicated on compliance with her probation. Since she’d broken that, and fled the country, she was going back in
side.
But there were bigger issues concerning her case in the States. The parole officer assigned to her case was dead, and Rachael was the prime suspect. The New York police would be able to clear a homicide if they got her back. The Brits had her on too many charges to count—kidnapping, two counts of attempted murder, drug possession. Whoever got to have first crack at her, Rachael Mack was going away for a very long time.
Taylor didn’t know whether an asylum or jail was the right place for a person like Rachael. She was obviously a psychopath. The syringe had been loaded with penicillin, which Taylor was deathly allergic to. Coincidentally, so was Rachael, and that’s why she’d flinched when Taylor put the needle in her neck.
Taylor thought it telling that the woman would gamble that way. Or maybe, just maybe, it was her own personal suicide bomb, like a cyanide capsule, just waiting for her to be caught. Maybe she was simply crazy after all.
Rachael had stolen Evan away from her comfortable life, stashed her in an asylum in Russia, and effectively killed the child she carried. The tiny boy had been born early, in freezing conditions; with no neonatal support, he had died within hours.
That news alone had been heartbreaking for Memphis, but it was tempered by the fact that his wife had been found. She was alive. No one knew for sure what her mental state would be, but the finest doctors were lined up to take care of her.
After extensive questioning, Rachael broke and explained her crimes. The intimidation. The forgeries. The illusions. How she’d broken into Memphis’s world, his email, his office, and pretended to be him. The physical intimidation, passive-aggressive at first, when she put the cut glass in Taylor’s new coat, then more direct. The hypnosis. Then the hallucinogens, her own prescription for Seroquel tinged with LSD. How over two years ago, she’d taken the young woman she’d recently hired to nanny her sons, a woman who wouldn’t be missed, to Dulsie Bridge and murdered her, hitting her in the chest with a rock to imitate the blunt force trauma of a steering wheel. Then she cut her face to shreds with a knife and stashed her body in the truck before inviting Evan on a drive. Compromised by the drugs she’d been taking, trusting Maddee as a friend, Evan suspected nothing.
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