Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (58 page)

Who was he trying to kid? He didn’t have any business being here. Garrett and Price knew that, and they were pushing him to come back to the land of the living, something he wasn’t sure if he was willing to do. Yet here he was, files spread before him, two beautiful girls dead, and he had only the simplest curiosity about how they’d gotten there. In his old life, he would have already taken each word of each file apart, would have a sense of whom they were dealing with. He’d be formulating plans on how to stop him from striking again. Now, well…

He struck the table with his fist, scattering the barricade of paper clips all over the table. He impatiently brushed them aside, watching them scatter in random patterns on the floor. He stared, trying to find some clue in the metal blueprint, but saw nothing. An appropriate reaction for one whose mind was a jumbled blank.

He was out of practice.

With a sigh, he pulled the file of Jordan Blake toward him, and started again.

The door to the conference room opened, light spilling in from the hall. It was the woman, Jackson, the light haloing around her head. She looked like an avenging angel.

“Mr., ah, Dr. Baldwin? Fitz and I are getting something to eat. Would you like to join us? Samantha Owens, our ME, may come with the results of the tox screens on our two murdered girls. You said you’d like to meet her.”

Baldwin glanced out the window, surprised to realize it was dark out. He’d been cloistered in this room all day with no break. Checking his watch, he saw it was past seven. In response, his stomach growled. He looked at Taylor sheepishly.

“Sorry, time got away from me. Are you sure it’s cool if I join you?”

Taylor smiled. “Everyone has to eat. Besides, you look like you could use a square meal. We’re going to Mulligan’s Pub down on Second. Come on. A walk will do you good.”

Baldwin considered for a moment. Why not? He had nothing better to do, and no place better to be.

“All right. If you’re sure.” He followed her out the door, then stopped and went back into his new office, grabbing the files and shoving them in his tattered leather backpack, shaking his head as he did. The case had its claws in him, and he didn’t want to let it go so quickly. Nor did he want to leave his notes behind.

Taylor watched him closely. He was disheveled, his hair standing on end, unshaven, clothes wrinkled. He almost looked dangerous, and much more engaged than he had earlier. She was surprised to feel a moment of longing in her stomach. There was something about him that intrigued her. She’d spent all afternoon wondering what he was up to.

Stop that
, she snapped to her mind.
You have enough problems of your own without taking on his, too.

Twenty-Six

A traditional Irish green and gold sign framed the wooden doorway over Mulligan’s Pub, holding the promise of the real deal. Quartered windowpanes gave an inviting, homey look. Upon entering the warm, smoky foyer, there was dining to the left and a cozy bar situated straight ahead. A moth-eaten Ibex, stuffed and smiling benevolently, presided over the deep walnut bar with a benign billy goat grin.

Celtic music played quietly. The weekends featured excellent live Irish music, boasted a loyal clientele braying drunkenly for their favorites and always finding succor in the generosity of the band. A plaque on the bar wall claimed the pub’s distinction as the first bar in the state of Tennessee to pour a pint of Guinness draught.

Taylor and Baldwin arrived first. After putting their name in for a table, they hit the bar for a beer. Taylor wondered for a moment if it was smart to let him drink, then decided she wasn’t his mother. She didn’t know how approach the situation, anyway. They’d walked to the restaurant in silence. She was at an unaccustomed loss for words, and the uneasy silence had enveloped them in a fog. They ordered, then she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to regroup.

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.”

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?