It was near midnight when his cell phone finally rang. Thank God, it was her. He answered the phone, short and sharp.
“Jesus, Taylor, where have you been? You scared the hell out of me.”
He heard the thickness in her voice, like she’d been crying recently. It broke his heart. Not a characteristic that was common to his woman. Weakness wasn’t her style.
She spoke softly. “Don’t yell at me, okay? I’m fine. I’m heading home. I need sleep. I need to figure out what I’m going to do. I’m tired. Are you there?”
“I am.” He softened his tone. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry,” came the flat reply. “I could use a cigarette, though.”
He gave a half laugh. “Okay. I can probably arrange that, you have a pack stashed around here somewhere. Just drive safe, all right? I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Bye,” she said, and she was gone. All the breath left him in a hurry. He hadn’t realized just how worried he was for her until he knew she was okay.
Damn. How could things have gone so far south so quickly? It was barely twenty-four hours since she’d called and told him of the sex tapes. Now they were all over the news, in addition to the one showing Taylor shooting David Martin. He felt certain he could discredit that video easily, he had people working on it already. It seemed an audio track had been added that made it sound like Martin was begging for his life. Easily proven. But the damage of Taylor being forced to hand in her badge would take longer to undo.
He saw lights angle into the front window. He snapped off the television midreport, went to the garage and opened the door. He smiled when she came into the warmly lit room. Her hair stood on end, her nose was slightly red. Her gray eyes were stormy, a furious tempest raging in their depths.
“Who’s the porcupine now,” he asked, taking her into his arms. She sighed, not rising to the tease. Her back was ramrod-straight, her muscles clenched. He ached for her, wondered if he should try to talk or take her straight to bed. Instead, her stomach rumbled loudly.
“Let me make you something,” he said.
“No, really. I’m okay.” Her heart wasn’t in it, she sounded decidedly absent. He released her. Ignoring her protestations, he went ahead and opened a can of soup, warmed the oven for bread. She stood woodenly at the sink, staring out into the backyard.
The soup heated quickly. He poured a cup, set it and half of a sliced baguette on the table, then prodded her to the seat. He was struck by a memory of his mother, easing him into a chair after appendix surgery in junior high. Her cosseting had upset him, so he took the lesson to heart and stepped away, allowing Taylor to reach for the spoon without condemnation.
A few more moments passed. He let the silence linger, then poured a cup of soup for himself and sat across from Taylor at the table.
She finally spoke. “I keep trying to build a future, and the past won’t let me. Martin, L’Uomo, my idiot parents. Every time I take a step forward, something happens to slam me back. I don’t get it.”
Her tone had changed to quiet resignation. Arguing her success was fruitless now, he knew that. He decided to try a different tack.
“Do you want to hear what’s going on, or would you rather not?”
She looked at him, a fine spark of curiosity crossing her features. That’s my girl, he thought.
She sighed deeply, then dipped her bread in the soup and began eating. “Oh, it’s hot.” She dropped the bread back on the plate, laid the spoon down. “You might as well tell me. It’s not likely to go away just because I’m avoiding it.”
“No, it’s not. But I think I can help.”
“I don’t know about that, babe. I might’ve just fucked things up for good.” That uncharacteristic note of fragility was back, and Baldwin longed to comfort her.
“Hardly. I have a friend working on the tape of David Martin’s shooting. She’s already found several dubbing marks, so we should be able to discredit that accusation by morning. As for the others, I spent some time with Lincoln after you left. He wants you to call him, by the way.” He gestured toward his cell phone, but she shook her head.
“Later,” she said.
“Okay. He gave me all of his data and I fed it to another friend, the one I told you was working on a similar case. He’s already tracked down the owners of the Web site and had it pulled from the Net. No new tapes will show up.”
“Oh, crap. The girls!”
“Huh?”
“I was supposed to go over to the cabin, look for any cameras that might be there. I fell asleep last night, and forgot this morning, with all this…mess.” The bitterness in her voice was unfamiliar.
“They called. They went through everything and found a couple of minicams, right in the vents where you suggested they look. Your crime scene tech, Tim Davis, has already collected them and taken them back for analysis. I’m having them sent to Sherry Alexander, she’s the friend I mentioned who’s working on the tapes. If anyone can find a route back to their owners, it’s her.”
Taylor nodded, her hair swinging forward to cover her face. Impatiently, she started to wind it back into a ponytail, then stopped. Her arms dropped to her side as exhaustion overcame her.
“Still want that cigarette?” he asked.
Taylor shook her head. “Hon, I need to go to bed. Take me?”
“Of course.” He stood, pulling her to her feet. He intended to be tender, to gently raise her to her feet, brush her lips with his, but the proximity of her body coupled with this strange vulnerability was too much for him. He kissed her roughly. She responded, arms wrapped around him like a vise, and for a moment he wondered if they’d even make it upstairs. The kiss deepened and he felt himself harden. She grabbed his hand and led him from the kitchen. He turned off the light as they went.
Friday
Thirty
Taylor woke at 5:00 a.m. The barest hint of light nudged at the blinds, day trying to force its way into their bedroom. She glanced at Baldwin—he was lying on his back, naked, arms flung over his head. She rolled toward him, snuggling in to his bare chest. His arms came round her body automatically, their warmth and safety allowing her to close her eyes again.
She was just drifting back to sleep when the phone rang. They both jumped. She glanced at the clock, more time had passed than she thought. It was now six-forty.
“You get it. I don’t want to talk to anyone,” she said.
Baldwin groaned, then unhanded her and reached for the phone. She curled up on her side, strangely happy. After everything that happened yesterday, the knowledge that he was here with her made the bad stuff seem less important.
Baldwin rumbled hello into the phone, sounding so hoarse and male that it warmed her insides. A few seconds later he stiffened, then sat up, pulling the sheet with him. He reached for the television remote, clicking it on and turning the station to MSNBC. He nudged her in the back. She rolled to him, and he pointed at the TV. He turned the sound up, and her heart sank. A blonde wearing a well-cut cream suit and a New York newscaster bob was in a split screen with Michelle Harris. Concern was etched across her artificially smooth forehead.
“Miss Harris, you’re telling us that the Metro Nashville Police have mishandled your sister’s murder investigation? It was our understanding that a suspect has been arrested in the case, your brother-in-law, is that correct?”
“That’s true, they have arrested Todd. But after the situation yesterday, I can’t be sure that he was the right person to arrest. If the police can’t be trusted not to kill their own, how could they possibly arrest the right man?”
“Oh, God,” Taylor said.
The blonde pursed her lips and tapped a pen against them, looking pensive. “Ms. Harris, is there something that you’ve discovered that questions the veracity of the arrest?”
Michelle looked confused for a moment, and Taylor realized she didn’t know the meaning of the word veracity. A moment of pity overcame her and just as quickly fled when Mich
elle spoke again.
“All I know is that this investigation has been a mess from the word go. And to top it all off, the woman leading the charge has been on the news here because of her sordid private life.”
A malicious smile spread across Michelle’s face. Taylor thought don’t do it. Michelle ignored the silent plea.
“It was all over the news last night, those disgusting tapes of her having sex with her partner, then shooting him to death in cold blood. What kind of person does that? And how can the Nashville police leave her on the job?”
“An excellent point, Ms. Harris. Representatives from the Metro Nashville police have confirmed to MSNBC that Lieutenant Taylor Jackson has been relieved of duty pending an investigation into her actions.”
Taylor’s stomach turned. “Oh, Jesus. I think I’m going to throw up.”
Baldwin started to turn the television off. His face, unguarded for a moment, was contorted with anger.
“We will sue the living shit out of them for that, babe. Don’t worry for a minute. They have no right—”
“Wait, shhh. Stop, stop, don’t turn that off. What’s she saying?”
The blonde had finished her character assassination of Taylor and gone back to the matter at hand. “Now, tell me, Ms. Harris, what did you find last night that convinces you that this investigation is being mishandled?”
Michelle Harris gleamed. She held up a sheaf of papers and shook them. The rustling was amplified, she’d gotten the papers directly next to the mike that was clipped to the top of her blouse. “That detective on the case, the lieutenant, she’s got a history of brutality. I have a friend who told me she has been cited several times in the past for over-the-top violence against suspects. She’s killed more people than anyone on the police force. It’s all right here.”
The anchor was beside herself with glee. “We need to take a break, please stay with us.” The screen went to commercial and Baldwin hit mute. Taylor already had the phone in her hand.
“Whoa, who are you calling?”
Taylor stopped, then set the phone back in the cradle.
“Work. Fitz. Someone. I don’t know. I can’t believe she’d go on the news and say that. Where is she getting her information?”
“That’s an excellent question. Mischaracterized as it may be, that’s damaging.”
Taylor started to pace. “I figured she was a fame seeker the second she started doing the talk shows. Corinne was the favorite, Michelle was the one in the family who always felt outcast. I’ve assumed this is her way of getting some attention—first going on everywhere to talk about finding the body, the 911 tapes, and now this. Something isn’t quite right with Miss Michelle, I’ll tell you that right now. No way, José.” She grabbed the phone again.
“Taylor,” Baldwin said.
She continued dialing, setting the phone between her shoulder and her ear, looking for a pad she kept on the night table to write some quick notes.
“What?”
“Babe, you can’t do that. You need to let me handle it.”
“Of course I can. What do you—” The realization hit her. She stopped short, nearly fell back in the bed with the weight of it.
She had no badge. She was suspended. Without her shield, she couldn’t do a damn thing to stop this. Anger rose to the surface. That damn bitch Norris.
The phone was answered on the other end. Taylor murmured, “Wrong number.” She hung up the handset, looked at Baldwin.
“I can’t just sit by and let this slide, Baldwin. I have to do something. What do they expect, I’ll sit here like a good little girl while they submarine my career?”
“Honey, you’re going to have to do just that. Let me handle this. We’ll be able to prove your innocence in no time, but while that’s happening, you need to keep out of it. Keep your nose clean. Though I admit, I’m not comfortable letting you sit here unguarded. Aiden is still out there. He’s not happy with me.”
Great. An international psycho camped in her backyard, her shield and gun confiscated, a case breaking wide open, and she needed to keep her nose clean. Right.
Baldwin climbed out of the bed. “I’m going to take a shower and head downtown. Let me think about how to keep you protected.”
“I don’t need protecting, Baldwin. For God’s sake, I’m a cop. I have weapons. We have the alarm. Aiden isn’t going to get anywhere near me again.”
He turned to her, sat back down on the edge of the bed. She slid closer, rested her head on his shoulder. She didn’t want someone else protecting her. Between the two of them, they could handle anything.
“Babe,” he started again, softer this time. “You need to understand my position. Aiden is a cunning bastard. He’s been killing with impunity for years, practically sanctioned by my own actions on his behalf. He doesn’t lie down, and he doesn’t give up. He has a real vendetta against me. I had him banned from the States. He had a mother, a wife, if you can imagine that. He tries to get home to…see them, and so far I’ve been able to head that off. Five years, actually, that I’ve kept him from his family. Now that he’s here, I have to get them protected.”
“See them. You mean kill them.”
“Not exactly. His mother is still alive, but in a mental institution in Rhode Island. His wife, that’s more complicated. His wife was the one who turned him in originally, back in 2006. She caught him up to his elbows, literally, in the stomach of a prostitute in Berlin. Didn’t know what to do, so she ran. Went to the consulate, told them about it. I was called in soon after that—once the information filtered up the chain, my contact was made aware of the situation. Aiden had gone off our grid, was ‘working on his own,’ as they like to say.” He was silent for a second, and she started to talk, but he squeezed her arm.
“I know what you’re going to ask. Why would he come after you?”
She nodded.
“There was nothing for him to prey upon with me. As an adversary, Aiden has always had a level of, well, let’s call it respect for me. And I, him. He’s one of the most complex killers I’ve ever profiled. He makes Ted Bundy look like a charm school dropout. But now…I have you. I’m finally vulnerable. Prevailing wisdom is he may have seen us in Italy, that’s the only way we can imagine he would have known the level of emotion at stake for me now. Killing me doesn’t serve his interests. Killing you would make me suffer in unimaginable ways. That’s how he works. Problem was, we weren’t sure of his intentions, not all the way, until he showed up here.”
He squeezed her arm again. “There’s more you should know.” He got up, slipped on his boxers and sat in the chair across from the bed. The fact that he’d severed physical contact was disconcerting. Taylor had the feeling she was playing confessor to his sins. She was right.
“I killed Aiden’s wife.”
Taylor felt her eyes widen. “What do you mean, you killed his wife?”
Baldwin sank his head into his hands for a moment, hiding his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and met her eye.
“It was an accident. A terrible accident. She came after me and I shot her. It was self-defense. At least, that’s what Garrett called it. I think I could have handled things differently. She was a woman, weaker than me. I should have been able to fight her off. But she blamed me for Aiden’s issues. Accused me of making him into the monster he’d become.
“After she caught him with the prostitute, she decided she wanted help. I managed to slip her out of the country, right under Aiden’s nose. I knew he was going to come for her, he’d promised me he’d kill her. When he came to her we’d just gotten her out. We had her stashed in a safe house in Vienna, and he found the address. I got the warning just before he showed up, got Lucy out of the house no more than five minutes before he arrived.
“And then it went all wrong. Without telling us, Lucy had arranged for Aiden to come. She wanted to be with him, was helping conspire to take us down. I can’t imagine what she was thinking, she’d just seen her husband slaughtering a woman.
Aiden got to her somehow.
“We forced her out of the house. She didn’t want to leave. Was making excuses we ignored. In the car, she pulled a knife, attacked me. I was caught by surprise, reacted. I shot her in the leg, trying to stop her. Hit an artery. She bled out before I could get her to a hospital.”
Jesus. “And Aiden hasn’t forgiven you.”
“No. I took her from him. She was buried here in the States and he hasn’t been able to see her grave. He swore he would make my life as big a living hell as his. That’s why I’ve never gotten so close to anyone before. Now, there’s you. I couldn’t help myself. You became my world. And he knows it.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped, searching her face. Taylor could feel the waves of frustration coming off him.
She went to him, knelt in front of him, took his hands in hers. “Oh, Baldwin. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what you were up against. What can I do?”
“You can let me keep you safe. I failed Lucy. I refuse to fail you, too.”
He reached for her, and they both stood up. He kissed her fiercely, with a hunger that made her stomach clench and her head swim. The stubble on his chin scraped hers, she didn’t care. She wanted more, raked her nails down his back. He pulled his boxers off with one hand and they were on the bed in a flash. He thrust into her with a single stroke and the world shrank away. No tragedies, no serial killers, no failures. There was nothing but him, filling her, claiming her, crushing her in his arms with brute strength, their frustration and hurt bringing them both to a climax within moments.
Getting up for the second time that morning, Taylor made a decision.
Baldwin had showered and left her blushing in their room. Good grief, that man was insatiable. There was something so joyous in their passion; even when their mutual moods were down they could always find solace in each other’s arms. He’d given her strict instructions not to leave the house, left an armed guard at the door and had patrols rolling through the neighborhood.
Judas Kiss Page 21
