Sweet Dreams Boxed Set (80 page)

“Come on, Taylor, open your eyes for me, come on sweetheart, open them up.”

But she lay still as marble. He was pulled back off her, and fell into the dirt. The EMTs had arrived. They hustled her onto a gurney and slapped a pressure bandage on her neck. The doors to the ambulance closed and it screamed away.

Baldwin was on the ground next to Gabriel; he couldn’t move. He stared at their suspect. The man was dead, head cocked toward Baldwin, his eyes open, a small smile playing on his lips. Baldwin sat paralyzed, almost as if Gabriel’s mythical death gaze had turned him to stone.

He thought of Taylor’s dreams, her nightmares. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t stand it.

Then he was up, on his feet. Fitz pulled him toward the car.

“Don’t give up on her yet,” he said grimly, and started the engine.

They followed the ambulance in Taylor’s car. Surreal, it was all so surreal, so fast and unthinkable. She’d been on her feet, had shot Lucas, and suddenly was down, on the ground, bleeding out, the knife calmly resting in the dirt by her head, just out of reach of Lucas’s outstretched hand.

The ambulance screamed down Hillsboro, blowing by all the cars and trucks. Fitz drove without speaking, though Baldwin could see his lips moving in silent prayer. Baldwin was still in shock, not seeing the trees, the cars and signs as they sped through the neighborhoods toward Vanderbilt University Hospital, the closest available trauma emergency room.

They arrived at the hospital in record time, less than ten minutes after they had left Gabriel’s lair. In the Emergency bay, the ambulance doors opened. Taylor’s limp body was pulled out, rushed into the hospital.

Fitz screeched to a stop behind the ambulance. “Go, go. Go with her.”

Baldwin gave him a tight smile, then ran, right on the heels of the stretcher. Taylor was so pale, so pale, they were pumping air into her, the EMT perched on the stretcher, doing chest compressions, the pressure bandage dark and wet.

Someone in blue scrubs grabbed his arm, shouting, holding him back.

“Sir, sir, you have to wait here, they’re taking her into surgery. I’ll go check and give you an update. You can’t go in. Sir, sit here.” She pushed him hard into a chair. Baldwin felt his world shrink to pinpoint depth. All he could hear in his head was his own prayers. 

And Taylor was gone, through the honey-colored wood doors, a hand trailing off the edge of the bed, her blond hair red with blood.

Seventy-Four

Two interminable hours had passed since the doctors had taken Taylor up to Surgery. It seemed every cop in Nashville had arrived at the hospital. Price and Sam were in a corner, Sam crying her eyes out. Simon stood at her elbow, helpless, tears running down his face. Marcus and Lincoln slumped in two chairs opposite a coffee machine, contemplating the linoleum floor.

Fitz found Baldwin staring at the door to Surgery, not seeing, overcome with his internal dialogue, which he didn’t realize he was saying aloud. “Dear God, don’t let her die. Dear God, don’t let her die.” The mantra seemed to be comforting him somewhat, but Fitz could tell the man was in shock, and was furious no one had attended to him.

“C’mon, Baldwin. Sit down here. Good, good, that’s more like it. Here, drink this.” He handed Baldwin a cup, which he drank automatically. It was brown and bitter; he assumed it was supposed to be coffee.

“She’s going to be okay, Baldwin. Taylor’s the toughest chick I’ve ever seen. She’s going to pull through, you just watch. She’s too stubborn to die on us.” His words thickened, and Baldwin noticed he was wiping tears from his eyes.

“What the hell happened? I couldn’t see, she was blocking my view of him. I sure as hell couldn’t shoot, didn’t want to hit her. All I could see was Miller, down on the ground, like he’d been cold cocked, which I guess he was, since he’s over there.” He pointed across the room, Miller had a bandage on his forehead. “Baldwin, what did you see? Did Lucas attack Taylor? She tried to stop him and got cut?”

Baldwin shook his head, searching for words. “I think, well, I’m not sure exactly. I just saw flashes of it as we pulled up. They were fighting. It looked like Taylor had the gun between her and his chest. She spun away from him to get a clear shot, but Gabriel had the knife up, and he lunged at her. She was moving around him; it just caught her in the neck as he went down. Freak thing…Then Taylor collapsed and I was frozen. I didn’t move to do anything, I couldn’t, I…I just don’t know.” He fought back the tears. A strangled sob came from his throat, and Fitz held him like a little boy, murmuring words into his hair. They stayed like that for a moment, Baldwin trying to pull himself together, to be strong.

“You weren’t frozen. You were right by her side, you had your hand on her neck. You probably saved her life. Don’t you remember?”

He did, but it hadn’t felt real. He looked at his hands; though he’d washed them, there was still blood around the edges of his nails.

“Come on. Let’s get some air.” He guided Baldwin from the waiting room, down the pea green hallway and into the ambulance bay. He leaned against the railing and pulled the ever-present cigarette from behind his ear. “I think a little toke is called for about now, don’t you?”

Baldwin stared at him blankly. “Could I have one of those?”

Fitz looked around, then fished a pack of Camels out of his front pants pocket. “Don’t tell anyone I bought these, okay? Taylor’d kill me if she knew.”

Baldwin sucked smoke into his lungs. “Ah, hell, I might’ve got her killed. She was a sitting duck. I think I distracted her. When she was about to shoot Gabriel she hesitated, just for a second, because she saw me come around the corner of the house.”

Fitz took a deep breath. “That’s not what I saw. She hesitated because she didn’t want to take his life if she didn’t have to. She was being a good cop, assessing the situation, whether to use deadly force. She was doing it right. She always does it right.”

“If she hadn’t hesitated, he wouldn’t have been able to slap at her with the knife.”

“Buddy, listen to me. Everything happens for a reason. And we saved a girl. Jill is okay. She’s with her parents upstairs somewhere. Docs say she’ll be fine, and the baby’s doing well.”

“I’m glad. I am.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow. “I heard some of what he was saying before Taylor shot him. He really thought he could create the apocalypse and his son would be the Savior. The son of a bitch certainly succeeded in creating his progeny. A son to raise the world and to lead us to salvation. The guy’s a whack job. Too bad he didn’t survive, I hear we have enough evidence from the Granny White house to fry the son of a bitch.”

Baldwin took a long drag on the cigarette, then flicked it over the edge of the railing. “I just…I need some time to sort through all of that. I think, no, well…Fitz, we need to go back in. They may come out any time to let us know how she is.”

Fitz put his arm around the younger man, and they walked wordlessly back through the ER.

As they rounded the corner to take them to the waiting room, Lincoln came flying down the hall, grinning, shouting to them, “She’s gonna make it! She’s going to be okay!”

He smashed into Fitz, hugging him and pounding him on the back.

Baldwin barely registered his knees buckling underneath him as he pitched head first into the linoleum floor.

Epilogue

Taylor and Baldwin were sharing a beer, holding hands and watching the sun set. The air was pink and chilly; the fire pit at their feet put out a steady heat.

After a time, the sky turned purple and the shadows around them disappeared. She finished off the beer and grinned at him.

“Want some dinner?” Her voice still sounded like sandpaper, and the scar that traversed her neck stood out, a stark red reminder of how close he’d actually come to losing her.

“Yeah, but I’ll cook. You just sit here.” He stood and bent to her, giving her a long kiss. When he went inside, whistling, Taylor felt the absence of his lips sharply, pulled her scarf closer around her throat.

Her survival had been nothing short of miraculous. She’d only been out of the hospital for a few days. It had taken three weeks of advances and setbacks, plus two more surgeries until she had been released. She would be in therapy for several more weeks, but the prognosis was excellent. She’d always had a raspy voice, but now it was deep and husky. She thought she sounded awful; Baldwin found it incredibly sexy.

He’d been by her side the whole time, and she was so grateful. There’d been an attraction between them from the beginning, certainly, but it had grown into more, much more, in the weeks since they’d met. In the hospital, through the pain and agony and recriminations, every time she opened her eyes, he was close by, reading, working on this computer, sleeping. He talked to her, read to her, kept her spirits from flagging when the pain threatened to overwhelm her.

She should have told him to leave, to go live his life, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want a life without him in it.

When she’d been discharged, he’d driven her home. She’d asked him to come in, and he hadn’t left. She was so very glad. Having him in her life, in her house, banished the demons she’d been facing. She felt right again, like she’d come back to herself. She knew he felt the same way.

Baldwin opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the steaks. He set them on the counter, pulled out a pot to cook the corn. Her home was easy to be in, comfortable. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in years.

Taylor had saved him, and nothing would keep him from her side ever again. He thanked God every day for bringing her into his life. And Garrett Woods, for forcing him back to the land of the living. Nothing in his past mattered any more. Taylor had forgiven him, and he’d forgiven himself. He’d have to go to Quantico at some point, grab some of his things from his apartment up there. He didn’t want to go back to them full time. Not yet. Woods had agreed he could work out of the Nashville field office. He may be healed, but there were still people who would never forgive him. Staying away seemed like the best course of action for now.

There was also the added bonus of the blonde goddess out on the deck, the fire making her skin glow.

His stomach flipped as he watched her. The cat hopped in her lap, settled in by the fire. She stroked her soft head, kissed her between the ears. Gentle and strong. Loving and fiery. Capable, yet vulnerable.

Mine. She’s mine.
Yes, staying put was a very good thing. 

He put the corn in the water, was carrying the steaks to the grill when the phone rang. He picked it up.

“Hello? Yeah. Oh, wow. Okay, I’ll tell Taylor. Yeah, she’s doing well. Thanks for calling.”

He left the food in the kitchen and went out to the deck.

“Was that the phone?” She started to sit up, but he put a hand on her shoulder, dipped down and gave her a small kiss on the forehead, a longer one on the lips.

“It was Fitz. Jill delivered the baby an hour ago.”

Taylor nodded. “We knew this day was coming. Jill finally fulfilled Gabriel’s prophecy.”

He took her hand. “Sort of. It’s a girl, Taylor. Gabriel’s Messiah is a girl.”

***

Author’s Note

Thank you for taking the time to read CROSSED. I hope you enjoyed seeing Taylor and Baldwin meet and fall in love, and of course, how Taylor got her remarkable scar.

This novel was my very first full-length work. Written between 2003 and 2005, in a complete and utter vacuum, it is the novel that landed me my agent, but didn’t sell to the marketplace. On my agent’s advice, I went on to write ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS, continuing the series, which was my first sale.

I put CROSSED in a drawer, jokingly calling it my 80,000 words of backstory. Over the course of the Jackson series, I stole from it on occasion, referred to it often, making it a living, breathing document, a real part of the series, though unseen by readers’ eyes until now.

It has been lightly edited, and I’ve done this on purpose. First, fifteen novels later, I am now a better writer, with a more solid grasp of story and a more distinct voice and style. Second, there were some scientific and forensic mistakes that have now been corrected. Third, since I did steal some scenes verbatim for later books, I needed to smooth over those sections. I apologize for any repetitions I’ve missed.

But I didn’t want to change the book too much. It is my first novel, with the flaws inherent to a debut effort. It was rather fun to revisit the book and see these flaws. Some I’ve left; others, where egregious, I’ve fixed.

The Nashville setting represents the city at the time I wrote the book; there are places, restaurants, and cultural situations no longer familiar to our town.

The biggest issue I found was how to deal with Taylor’s cat, Jade. In the current series, beginning with ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS, she does not have a pet. Between the books, I realized the demands being placed on her character would preclude the time and effort needed to care properly for an animal. Having someone at home who needs you to show up, feed, water, and love does take time away from catching bad guys.

But in CROSSED, Taylor has Jade.

Some of you may recognize the name, and the description of the cat. The Jade in this book is my baby, Thrillercat. For those who don’t know the story, let me share it with you. 

She came to us as a replacement cat, after we suffered the loss of our nineteen-year-old Siamese, Jiblet. (All names in my family start with J - from parents to siblings to animals to husband). When I first saw her at the pound, she was five weeks old, suffering from a bad cold. So bad that they were going to put her down. They can’t afford to have sick kittens in the cages; disease spreads too quickly.

We took her to the vet and insisted he patch her up. He did. We took her home and named her Jade for her intense green eyes.

Having just moved to Nashville, I couldn’t find work in my chosen field, so I was happy to accept a position with the vet who healed little Jade. I thought I’d be working the desk, but he wanted me as a tech in the back. Bad. Bad. Bad. After my first neutering, I was done. But before I could quit, I picked up a large golden retriever and herniated a disc in my back. That led to surgery, and recovery time, and library books, where I discovered John Sandford. The rest, as they say, is history. I sat down and wrote a Jackson novella, then took what I’d learned and created CROSSED.