14 BOOK 2 (29 page)

“Touch what?”

“You know.” He blushed, and Taylor took a deep breath as he drew closer.

He’d have to feed her or untie her hands so she could feed herself. Either way would give her the opportunity she needed. With any luck—yes.

He set the tray on the floor. “I’m going to untie you so you can eat. We can talk. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

She nodded. He came closer, closer. A fug surrounded him; he hadn’t bathed recently, and she tried not to gag. Easy now. Let him reach behind…

Taylor jumped to her feet, knocking the chair out behind her. Dusty’s shock lasted long enough for her surprise attack. Whipping her hand around his head, Taylor got a good hold on his left ear with her right hand, got his jaw in her left and twisted away from her body with all her might. She was taller than him, had more leverage than he’d expect. Before he could fight back, his head spun to the side hard and his neck snapped with a sickening, audible crunch. Taylor let out her breath and released Dusty’s head. He crumpled to the floor in a heap at her feet. She took three steps back and stared down at him. She’d never killed a man with her bare hands before, never had to. She’d always had a weapon at her side to do the dirty work for her. More blood on her hands. She shook the thought off. She didn’t have time to worry about this now. She needed to get out of here. Without a glance behind, she darted from the room. There was a long hallway that ended in a doorway, a window above it letting light gleam in. She headed for it, thrilled when it opened into the bitter winter air. She took deep gulps of air, cleaning the confinement out of her lungs. Her breath created gusting clouds of vapor, like a dragon snorting out smoke. The street in front of her was abandoned. To her right and left were buildings covered in graffiti, sprawling tags by ghetto artists and gangbangers, making the setting almost feel like home.

A dirty brown river sprawled in front of her, and the lights in the skyscrapers on the other side beckoned like millions of friendly fireflies. There was only one place in the world that looked like that. Even without the familiar landmarks shooting into the sky, it was unmistakable. Now she had her bearings. The freezing river breeze blew her hair, raising goose bumps up and down her arms and legs. Without another moment’s hesitation, she went down the five steps to the street, jogged south, then took the first street that allowed her to go east, away from the river. She’d hit civilization soon enough.

New York, New York

Monday, December 22

3:00 p.m.

He’d been picked up in the alley behind the restaurant by the giant goon known as Atlas, blindfolded and driven around for what felt like hours before L’Uomo met him at the door to the riverfront warehouse. L’Uomo dismissed his driver, and held the dirty steel door for the visitor. L’Uomo was polite on the surface, if nothing else. They made their way through a brief warren that ended in a door. To the right was a second door, and L’Uomo went to it, turned the knob and gestured to his guest.

“Please.”

This had better be worth it, the younger man thought. He walked through the door and down a long hallway toward a steel door with an inset window. He got closer. L’Uomo was behind him, gestured for him to look. As much as he didn’t like turning his back in the man’s presence, he didn’t have much of a choice. Magnifying glass, his mind registered. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. On the floor was a body. A man’s body.
What the hell?

He turned to L’Uomo.

“You brought me all the way back from the dead to show me a body? What kind of sick joke are you playing now? Is this just another threat? Because I don’t care anymore.”

L’Uomo looked confused for a moment, then rushed to the glass.

“Goddamn it! Where is she?”

He rushed out of the observation space and into the room. The man called Dusty was crumpled in a heap on the floor, his back to the ceiling. His head was turned three quarters of the way around, obviously not in its proper place.

L’Uomo screamed in frustration. He wasn’t a man prone to losing control, but this obvious alteration of his Machiavellian plans was the last straw. “She broke his neck. I can’t believe it. And managed to get out of here. This is not good. This is not good at all.”

The man’s eyes were full of fury, and he turned on his guest.

“Son of a bitch, Win. Your fucking daughter killed my man. This will not go unpunished.” He swept out of the room, leaving Win Jackson to stare into the milky-white eyes of the dead stranger.

Taylor? Taylor was here? Taylor had done this? Jesus, she must have been pissed off. A state she was perpetually in when it came to Win, anyway.

Son of a bitch was right. If Anthony Malik had decided to bring Taylor into the scheme, he was going to have bigger problems than he knew.

L’Uomo returned, calmer, his blue eyes troubled. “Your precious little girl made it to the 108th. We need to clear out of here immediately. Do you still have the boat I arranged for you? Yes? Let’s go.”

He clicked open a cell phone, hit a single digit, spoke tersely to whoever answered. “I need a cleaner at the warehouse. Now.”

Long Island City, New York

Monday, December 22

8:00 p.m.

Detective 3rd Grade Emily Callahan handed Taylor a pair of gray sweatpants and a blue NYPD sweatshirt.

“Here, these should fit. The pants won’t be long enough, though. What are you, six foot?”

Taylor huffed a smile. “Five-eleven and three-quarters.”

She slipped the rough white towel off her shoulders and stood, pulling the sweats on. Callahan was right—they were too short by about three inches, but they were warm and better than nothing. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head, stole a rubber band from Callahan’s desk, tied her wet hair up in a knot, then sat back down. Just showering had left her exhausted.

Taylor had found the 108th Precinct quickly. Long Island City. The bastards had transported her to New York, of all places. Once out the warehouse door, she’d recognized the signature Manhattan skyline immediately. As she moved away from the river, she’d actually been on Fiftieth, and the precinct was on her right after a block. Fortuitous. Though jogging up to the doors of a police station in her skivvies was relatively embarrassing, getting safe was much more important than her modesty. The watch captain had laughed when she ran in, tried to shoo her away, thinking she was some kind of freak. She stood her ground, announced herself with authority, gave her badge number and made a request that they call her captain. Immediately.

The watch captain realized she was the real deal and grabbed her a blanket. Calls were made, concerned glances given. It was Emily Callahan who had come to her rescue, pulling Taylor into her office, giving her food, then arranging a shower and getting her some warm clothes.

Callahan handed over socks, then a steaming cup of coffee. “Vanilla. The boys here are gourmets.” She rolled her eyes and Taylor laughed.

“I have a few of those myself. Starbucks has ruined us all.”

“You ready to talk to the LT? He’s waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready, no rush.”

Taylor gulped some of the coffee, happy just to have the warmth. It was sweet, almost too sweet, but she recognized that the sugar would be good for her. Callahan had been incredibly kind, fixed her up with some chicken soup, gave her a place to shower, gave her some space to sort through the jumbled-up emotions of the afternoon. The image of that man’s head in her hands flooded in, the sound…she shook it off. Flashbacks weren’t going to help things now. Taylor’s stomach rumbled, not happy with her choice of beverage. Stress, she thought. She tried to distract herself.

“You been here long?” she asked.

Callahan looked happy that Taylor had chosen to talk.

“The 108th? Long enough. I’ve been in the detective bureau for a year now. I’m hoping to move up a grade soon, but you know how it is.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“How’d you make LT so young? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“Worked my ass off, just like you’re doing. What are you, twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”

Callahan blushed. “Thirty-three. Thanks for the compliment.”

“I never was any good with ages. Just keep busting ass. It’ll come. We’re a smaller department, and we have lots of turnover in the higher ranks. The opportunities come around more often.” She sipped her coffee again, gained as much courage from the sugary bitterness as she would ever get.

“Let’s go do this.”

“Follow me. We’re going to be in the conference room, and it’s already pretty crowded.”

Callahan led Taylor down a hallway covered in flyerfilled corkboards. There was a sameness here that made Taylor comfortable. Cop shops were alike, no matter the locale.

She opened the door to a long room with a conference table. The room was packed.

Callahan made the introductions, going counterclock-wise around the table.

“Lieutenant Tony Eldridge, Sergeant Robert Johnson, Davis Welton, D-1, Zach Brooks, D-2. This is Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, Metro Nashville Homicide.”

Lieutenant Eldridge unfolded like a brunette crane, all long legs and skinny frame. He shook her hand. “LT, so sorry you had to come here under these circumstances. Clothes fit okay? Do you need some more coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’d rather get this over with first. Have you been to the warehouse?”

Eldridge was looking at her with a sense of incredulity.

“We went there. It was empty.”

“Fast,” Taylor murmured.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean these were professionals. I killed one of their men and they got the scene cleared away that quickly? Surely you found something?”

Eldridge cleared his throat. “I have a team combing the place now, looking for anything we can get. So far, there’s a few partials and some urine on the floor, but not much else.”

“I counted at least three different people. One a sixfoot-eight or -nine giant, the other about my height, slight build. Called himself Dusty. Creepy, nasty things, both of them. There was one more, definitely the head of the operation. He was well dressed, much more composed and collected than his underlings. He was well-spoken, with a Long Island accent. He wore a ski mask, so I didn’t see his features, other than the fact that he has blue eyes and cruel, thin lips. He spoke to me, threatened my crew in Nashville. He said he had interests in Nashville. But he isn’t on our radar, as far as I know. His voice was soft pitched, almost…soothing. Or at least it was meant to be. I pissed him off a couple of times. He doesn’t like to be challenged, especially by a woman.”

Eldridge glanced around the room. Four faces stared at her, all a bit disbelieving.

“What, y’all think I’m out of my mind? Listen, I was kidnapped. At a very inopportune time, mind you. I don’t even know what day it is. So if you’d like to dispense with the bullshit, I’d appreciate it.”

She sat back in her chair, crossed her arms and glared at them.

Callahan spoke first. “It’s December 22. Three days until Christmas.”

Taylor felt the news deep in the pit of her stomach.

“Jesus. I was gone for three days? They must have been so worried….”

Her voice trailed off. A shadow darkened the doorstep to the conference room. Taylor felt the electricity in the room, knew who was standing behind her without turning around. The room grew silent, and she risked a glance. Baldwin stood just inside the door, a terrible visage of both joy and pain etched on his haggard features. Their eyes met and they shared a look; it could have been a second, it could have lasted an hour. All Taylor knew was she was safe. She was in his arms before she recalled getting out of the chair. There was no kiss, no words, just arms around each other and a heavy heartbeat. She didn’t know if it was hers or his, but it centered her, grounded her, and she squeezed hard, once. Turning around, she saw the looks on her fellow officers’ faces and realized they were stunned.

“This is Dr. John Baldwin. FBI. He’s…” She looked over her shoulder at Baldwin.

“I’m here for Taylor.” He took two strides into the room, held Taylor’s chair, waited for her to sit and get settled, then sat next to her. He reached for her hand and held it with both of his in his lap. He indicated to Eldridge with a jerk of his head.

“Please, continue. You were saying?”

Eldridge started to reach across Taylor to shake Baldwin’s hand, then stopped, realizing Baldwin wasn’t going to comply. Instead, he put his finger to his upper lip and tapped.

“It wasn’t that we didn’t believe you, Lieutenant. You came up against some major muscle and walked away from it. That doesn’t happen. Not with the man we’re dealing with.”

“You know who’s behind this?”

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Taylor was exhausted and famished. She just wanted to collapse and sleep for a week, but she couldn’t. Not yet. There was work to be done. They decided to move across the street, get her some food and continue the discussion. Baldwin had brought a bag for her. She took out a sweater and jeans, her favorite boots and some toiletries. She changed into the clothes before they left, brushed her teeth and hair, thankful for the familiar hominess. The actions gave her new energy.

The bar across the street from the 108th was nestled in a row house, identical to the buildings on either side except for a red-and-blue-striped awning and small neon sign that read “Dog Pound.”

Baldwin opened the door for Taylor, and they entered to the strains of Frank Sinatra. Frank was warbling about the way she looked tonight. Taylor was just happy to be in the warm environment and was cheered by the prospect of solid food. Despite the universals of the precinct, this felt more like home.

The bar was long and mahogany, varnished to within an inch of its life. High café tables stretched the length of the opposite wall. There were a few men, bundled and white-headed, sitting at the far end. They paid them no mind, continued their discussion without turning. Baldwin indicated a table by the wall. They sat, and the bartender came around the bar to them with a tired smile. They ordered Guinness, sat back and reveled in each other. Baldwin stared at her hungrily, as if he’d gobble her up in one bite if she so much as moved. She felt pinned by his stare and didn’t know what to say. The waitress returned with their beer and left them to their silence.