Authors: J.T. Ellison
Field of Graves (37 page)
* * *
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, relaxing, restful. 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, and Mitchell Price, and the whole Nashville Murder Squad, for forcing him back to the land of the living. Nothing in his past mattered anymore. 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 the BSU full-time. Not yet. Woods had agreed he could work out of the Nashville field office. Baldwin might be healing, 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 blond 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.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from
ALL THE PRETTY GIRLS
by J.T. Ellison.
Author Note
Thank you for taking the time to read
Field of Graves
. 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 Taylor series, which was my first sale.
I put
Field of Graves
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, seventeen 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
Field of Graves
, 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 next door and insisted he patch her up. He did. When we brought her home, we 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
Field of Graves
.
Sadly, Jade passed away in 2012 from pancreatic cancer. It took years, but we finally adopted again—this time, sisters, also shelter kittens. How Jameson and Jordan came to live with us is a story for another time, but I will share that Jade was a huge part of the process. And it’s not lost on us that we needed two kittens to fill the void Jade left behind. She was a magnificent cat.
Though it is a departure from the rest of the series, I’ve chosen to leave Jade in this story to honor her spirit. I miss my little furry muse terribly, and I simply couldn’t erase her from the book that she gave me. It wouldn’t be right.
Thank you for reading, and for being a part of my writer’s journey. Please forgive the book’s rawness. We all need to have a first.
J.T. Ellison
Nashville, Tennessee
“Grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.”
—Catherine Coulter, #1
New York Times
bestselling author on
What Lies Behind
If you loved
Field of Graves
by
New York Times
bestselling author J.T. Ellison, you won’t want to miss a thrilling moment in the Lt. Taylor Jackson series:
“Full of carefully mastered clues…a true thrillfest that will keep readers on the edge of their seats until the very end.”
—
Suspense Magazine
on
When Shadows Fall
And be sure to catch all the riveting action in J.T. Ellison’s Samantha Owens series:
“Mystery fiction has a new name to watch.”
—John Connolly,
New York Times
bestselling author
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by J.T. Ellison
One
“N
o. Please don’t.” She whispered the words, a divine prayer. “No. Please don’t.” There they were again, bubbles forming at her lips, the words slipping out as if greased from her tongue.
Even in death, Jessica Ann Porter was unfailingly polite. She wasn’t struggling, wasn’t crying, just pleading with those luminescent chocolate eyes, as eager to please as a puppy. He tried to shake off the thought. He’d had a puppy once. It had licked his hand and gleefully scampered about his feet, begging to be played with. It wasn’t his fault that the thing’s bones were so fragile, that the roughhousing meant for a boy and his dog forced a sliver of rib into the little creature’s heart. The light shone, then faded in the puppy’s eyes as it died in the grass in his backyard. That same light in Jessica’s eyes, her life leaching slowly from their cinnamon depths, died at this very moment.
He noted the signs of death dispassionately. Blue lips, cyanotic. The hemorrhaging in the sclera of the eyes, pinpoint pricks of crimson. The body seemed to cool immediately, though he knew it would take some time for the heat to fully dissipate. The vivacious yet shy eighteen-year-old was now nothing more than a piece of meat, soon to be consigned back to the earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Blowfly to maggot. The life cycle complete once again.
He shook off the reverie. It was time to get to work. Glancing around, he spied his tool kit. He didn’t remember kicking it over, perhaps his memory was failing him. Had the girl actually struggled? He didn’t think so, but confusion sets in at the most important moments. He would have to consider that later, when he could give it his undivided thought. Only the radiant glow of her eyes at the moment of expiration remained for him now. He palmed the handsaw and lifted her limp hand.
No, please don’t. Three little words, innocuous in their definitions. No great allegories, no ethical dilemmas. No, please don’t. The words echoed through his brain as he sawed, their rhythm spurring his own. No, please don’t. No, please don’t. Back and forth, back and forth.
No, please don’t. Hear these words, and dream of hell.
Two
N
ashville was holding its collective breath on this warm summer night. After four stays of execution, the death watch had started again. Homicide lieutenant Taylor Jackson watched as the order was announced that the governor would not be issuing another stay, then snapped off the television and walked to the window of her tiny office in the Criminal Justice Center. The Nashville skyline spread before her in all its glory, continuously lit by blazing flashes of color. The high-end pyrotechnic delights were one of the largest displays in the nation. It was the Fourth of July. The quintessential American holiday. Hordes of people gathered in Riverfront Park to hear the Nashville Symphony Orchestra perform in concert with the brilliant flares of light. Things were drawing to a close now. Taylor could hear the strains of Tchaikovsky’s
1812 Overture,
a Russian theme to celebrate America’s independence. She jumped slightly with every cannon blast, perfectly coinciding with launched rockets.
The cheers depressed her. The whole holiday depressed her. As a child, she’d been wild for the fireworks, for the cotton-candy fun of youth and mindless celebration. As she grew older, she mourned that lost child, trying desperately to reach far within herself to recapture that innocence. She failed.
The sky was dark now. She could see the throngs of people heading back to whatever parking spots they had found, children skipping between tired parents, fluorescent bracelets and glow sticks arcing through the night. They would spirit these innocents home to bed with joy, soothed by the knowledge that they had satisfied their little ones, at least for the moment. Taylor wouldn’t be that lucky. Any minute now, she’d be answering the phone, getting the call. Chance told her somewhere in her city a shooter was escaping into the night. Fireworks were perfect cover for gunfire. That’s what she told herself, but there was another reason she’d stayed in her office this holiday night. Protecting her city was a mental ruse. She was waiting.
A memory rose, unbidden, unwanted. Trite in its way, yet the truth of the statement hit her to the core. “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” Or became a woman. Her days of purity were behind her now.
Taking one last glance at the quickening night, she closed the blinds and sat heavily in her chair. Sighed. Ran her fingers through her long blond hair. Wondered why she was hanging out in the Homicide office when she could be enjoying the revelry. Why she was still committed to the job. Laid her head on her desk and waited for the phone to ring. Got back up and flipped the switch to the television.
