Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (72 page)

He took her hand and squeezed it. “In his world, Taylor. In his world. We’ve got him.”

Fifty-Seven

Jill began to wake. She had been dreaming of something, but she couldn’t remember it exactly. But she felt peaceful and happy, so it must have been a good dream.

She started to get out of the bed and realized where she was. Locked in a room by a man she thought cared for her. She started screaming his name as loud as she could, desperate to know what was going on.

“Hello? Hello? Are you here?” There was no response. She yelled louder. “Is anyone there? Help me, please, help me! He’s holding me prisoner. Please, somebody help!”

She heard footsteps running down the hall. The locks turned and the man came into the room. He was disheveled and looked like he was sick. There was sweat dripping off his brow, and his face was gray, like no blood was reaching it. He came over to the bed, breathing heavily. Jill scooted out from under the covers and tried to back away, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and nearly threw her back onto the bed.

“Don’t do that again, Jill. I’m warning you.”

She had never heard that tone from him. It was angry, threatening. His body was tensed, and she feared for a moment that he would hit her. She cowered on the bed.

The man reached in his pocket and drew out a syringe. His entire demeanor changed. He smiled sweetly and transformed back into the man she knew. But she was afraid now, afraid that he was actually going to hurt her.

Jill began to beg. “Oh, God, please, no. Don’t give me any more of that. I swear I’ll be good. Please, just let me go home.”

He shook his head sadly and chucked her under the chin. She flashed to an old memory of her grandfather—he used to ball his fist and gently bump her under the chin just the same way. “Chin up, girl,” he always said.

He grabbed her hand and his touch made her shudder. His hand was cold and clammy, and she tried to yank it back. But he held fast, caressing her fingers one by one.

“Oh, my sweet, darling girl, I wish I could let you go. But there is a bad world out there, a world that is conspiring to hurt you. There are men who want to take you away from me, but I need to keep you with me. I need to know my son is safe. They will take him away from us, away from me. I am his father. I need to show him the way. I’m the only one who can help him, guide him. He has so many things to do to save us, and it is my responsibility to let the world understand his importance. Don’t you understand? I have taken all the steps I know of to keep both of you safe. But it’s better for you not to fight. I hate to see you anxious, and it’s not good for my son. You just need to stay calm and relaxed. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Jill started crying. She knew he was crazy, and what he was saying made no sense. His son was going to save them? Save them from what?

“Please, I don’t understand. Let me go home. I know my family’s frightened to death. I don’t even know how long it’s been since you brought me here.” She saw she wasn’t getting anywhere and decided to try a different tactic. She was willing to tell him anything to make him let her go. She pitched her voice low, seductive.

“I love you, you know that. I’ll always come back to you. I’d never take your child from you. Why have you changed so much? Please, just let me go, or let me call my parents and let them know I’m okay.”

Her pleading was having no affect on him. He held the syringe up to the light, checking for air bubbles. “Soon, love. Soon, you’ll be able to see them. After my son is born.” He pulled her arm straight and injected the drug into her vein. “In the meantime, I’ll tell you a bedtime story.” He fluffed up her pillows and pulled the blanket up around her chin, stopping briefly to put his hand on her growing belly.

“Do you remember Plato?”

She nodded weakly; whatever drug he was giving her was already taking effect.

“Then you remember the story of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Where all of humanity was kept underground, in the dark, chained to their seats, their heads immobilized? And the only things they were allowed to see were the shadows on the walls. Remember the puppet masters? Those who controlled the images of what humanity was allowed to see? They’d show humanity the shadow of a woman, or a chair, or a mouse, and that was the only representation they would ever know as a woman, or a chair, or a mouse. But one man was strong enough to break the chains, and he snuck out of the cave into the real world. The sunlight was so strong his eyes teared and stung, and when he could finally adjust to the light, he saw what a real woman looked like, and a real chair, and a real mouse. And he ran back into the cave to tell the others, to let humanity know they were being tricked, duped into believing what the puppet masters wanted them to believe.”

He ran his hand lovingly under Jill’s chin. She didn’t resist, and he could tell she’d fallen under the spell of the morphine he had given her. He felt himself stir, but it wouldn’t be right. He couldn’t take the chance that he would harm the child.

She was so lovely, her mouth slightly open as she slipped into sleep. Oh, just a moment or two of that softness couldn’t hurt. He’d be so gentle and sweet.

He loosened his pants and pulled down the blanket. Jill was naked in the bed, and he stretched out beside her. As he entered her unconscious body, he whispered the rest of the story in her ear.

“And the man returned to the cave, but humanity was stupid and didn’t believe him. They finally got fed up with his lies and killed him. But no, my darling, that won’t be the fate of our son. He will be strong, strong enough to lead them all out of the cave, into the light, and let the lives of all those worthy begin again.”

Fifty-Eight

After an hour of arguing, Taylor relented and agreed to head home for the night. The whole crew had ganged up on her, insisting that she was too sick to go through another all-nighter. They’d all had rest, and she hadn’t. Marcus and Fitz had taken it upon themselves to secure a warrant for the records of all the professors from the Classics and Theology departments at Vanderbilt, and were on their way with a court order to drag Vanderbilt’s Dean out of bed to gain access to the names of their possible suspects. Lincoln was setting up to run the names they retrieved through his databases and look for past indiscretions that would help solidify their case. Price had practically forced her out the door, handing her jacket and purse to her and walking her to the stairs that led to the parking lot.

Baldwin drove her into the night, stopping briefly at the Walgreens drive-through to pick up a prescription for antibiotics Taylor’s doctor had called in for her. He followed her directions and got her home.

Taylor lived in a remote, rambling log house with lots of windows, perched on several acres of land. She loved watching the animals, kept the bird feeders full all year and salt licks out for the deer. The inside of the house was as comfortable as the outside, with a soft leather sofa, throw rugs, and a big fireplace with logs stacked perfectly on the brick hearth. A second-story loft overlooked the open living/dining room, and Taylor made her bedroom up there, along with her precious pool table. She was as dependent on the table as she would have been a drug to help her relax in the middle of her sleepless nights. It was a great pastime for an insomniac. She had an office set up in the bedroom downstairs, with inset bookcases filled with everything from the hardbound classics to paperback mysteries. It was lived in, comfortable, away from the world she had to deal with day in and day out. It was a little lonely at times, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. It was a casual and comfortable lifestyle for her.

Seeing Baldwin in her space confused her. He fit so well. Like he’d been a part of her world from the beginning.

Baldwin got Taylor laid out on her couch, a mug of steaming green tea sitting on the coffee table next to her. Taylor was impressed by his domesticity and bedside manner. He had been clucking over her like a mother hen since they got to her place and was currently in her kitchen, using her pots and pans to make her an omelet. Normally, she would have been uncomfortable having him wait on her hand and foot, but she felt so lousy, she didn’t have the strength to argue. She relaxed a little, letting herself enjoy his ministrations. She heard him humming to himself as he put together her food, then laughing and scolding the cat for trying to get into the eggs.  

As he came back into the living room carrying their dinner, he couldn’t help but notice that despite being sick, run down, and sleepless for two nights, Taylor looked beautiful. She fit so well into her home. She’d changed clothes when they’d gotten there, and was casually dressed in cut-off jeans and a long-sleeved University of Tennessee T-shirt; her feet bare revealed toenails polished hooker red, which surprised him a bit. She didn’t seem the type. He was surprised to find himself wondering how he could fit into the sanctuary Taylor had created for herself.

He shook his head, laughing quietly. Man, he was getting the cart before the horse. But he recognized he was finally coming back to life, and he liked how he felt when he was with her. As strange as it was, he sensed that it was right.

They ate together in silence, both anticipating their next moves. Baldwin finished his eggs, pushed the plate away and gave Taylor a smile.

“You want me to make a fire?”

“Aren’t you just the little domestic?” she teased. “Yes, that would be nice. Thanks.” She settled in deeper, grabbed her cup of tea and watched him. She was drawn to him in a way she couldn’t understand. It was more than lust: though he was a very handsome man, he was still much too thin and had dark circles under his eyes. But she could sense the change in his energy. The sense of purpose he carried with him was palpable.

He got the fire lit and returned to the chair facing the sofa. “Can I get you anything else? More tea? More food? Soup? You have some nasty canned stuff in the pantry. I could heat it up for you?”

“Nasty canned stuff? Thanks for the commentary on my taste. No, I’m fine. I just want to sit here and relax. It seems like days since I even sat down.”

“It has been a crazy couple of days.”

“Do you think Fitz and Marcus have found anything yet?”

“Taylor, they told you they’d call the minute they had anything worthwhile. There has to be thirty or so professors for them to look at, and the school is still closed after the storm. It’s going to take them some time. They’re good cops. They won’t miss anything.”

“I know, I just feel so stupid lying here doing nothing.” She coughed.

“Like you sneezing all over the faculty at Vandy is going to help things? C’mon, Taylor, give yourself a break. Let’s give them a little bit of time, and we’ll call and check on their progress later. Why don’t we just talk about something other than the case for a little bit?”

Taylor gave him a sidelong glance. “Like what?”

“How about these panic attacks you’re having? You want to tell me about that?”

“Not particularly. Want to tell me how things are going with you?” she challenged.

Baldwin looked off into space and gave a big sigh. “Okay, if I talk then you have to. Fair enough?”

“No, but I’ll think about it.”

“Great, thanks. So what do you want to know?”

She looked him frankly in the eyes. “I want to know why you were busy playing with your life when I met you.”

He snorted. “You are direct, aren’t you?”

“C’mon, Baldwin. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

He sat back in the chair. “If I tell you this, you may feel you need to get involved, and I don’t want that.”

“I’m already involved, Baldwin,” she said softly.

He met her gaze with a long look. “That’s not exactly what I meant, but it’s good to know. I’m feeling involved myself. Very involved.” He smiled at her, then his lips curved down in a frown. “You know the whole story about the shooting up in Virginia, right? How I got three good men killed for no reason?”

“I’ve heard some. You went in to a suspect’s home, he came back unexpectedly, drew down on you, and you shot him. But he got off shots and hit the three you were with. It shook you up and you left for a while. That’s what I know.”

“That’s the official story, but it was a little more complicated than that.” He got up and went to the fire, throwing on another log and using the poker to mess with the hot coals.

“Tell me, Baldwin. Is that not the whole story?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “No. It’s not the whole story. Harold Arlen was a bad man, Taylor. Evil. We just didn’t have the evidence to sink his ship. He was raping and killing little girls, and we couldn’t get him for the murders. There was no evidence at his house except tons of child porn, which wasn’t enough. We couldn’t find any other properties he may have used to rape and kill them. Nothing. But I knew it was him. Knew it in my heart. I knew if we let it go, he’d just kill again. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“What did you do, Baldwin?”

He turned to her. “No one knows this, Taylor. At least not officially. Have you ever done something you know in your heart is wrong, but it’s the only way you can see to resolve a situation?”

Taylor was getting an idea of what he was talking about. “You planted evidence,” she said flatly.

He hung his head, turning back to the fire. “Yeah, I did. I know it was wrong, but I had to get this guy. There was blood evidence in the case; enough from one of the girls that could be slipped out and used. I took a handkerchief and put some of the blood on it, broke into his house, put it in one of his dresser drawers. When we went in with the warrant, one of the guys found the handkerchief. We had him, and he was going away for a long time.”

“God, Baldwin. How could you do that?” Taylor knew she sounded judgmental, and tried to change her tone. “You just weren’t thinking, right?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I was in a pressure cooker situation, with other…” He stopped abruptly, like he’d change his mind about telling her something. “It seemed like the only course of action I had left. And it got three guys killed. I got three guys killed. Arlen got off the shots before I could react. I hit him and he went down, but I was too late.” His eyes were welling up; he shook his head sharply to stop them from spilling over. “But that’s not the worst of it. Arlen was dead and the case was solved, right? A few weeks later another little girl turned up. She’d been dead for at least a couple of weeks and was majorly decomposed. But there was no way to know for sure if it was another one of his victims that we had missed or a copycat killer. The scene was in close proximity to where we found the other girls. The body was placed in the same position as the others. There was no discernible DNA. It looked just like one of his. But there were a couple of unfamiliar hairs found on the girl. They ran them for DNA, but it wasn’t a match to Arlen.