Field of Graves (36 page)

Taylor spoke calmly. “I know what you think you’ve done, Gabriel. I know you think you can create the Messiah through Jill. But you haven’t, you can’t. All you’ve done is get a young girl pregnant and murder five other people. You’re sick, and we want to help you. Now turn around and get on the ground. Get on the ground now. Now!”

Gabriel ignored the command. He was looking over Taylor’s shoulder. She caught it, realizing that Gabriel must have seen Jill somewhere behind her.

The transformation was amazing. He was suddenly calm, the joy on his face shining like a beam of light. Gabriel held out his arms.

“Oh, my love, my sweet. You’re okay now. I won’t let anything happen to you. Come to me, my dove.”

His eyes were glazed, and he had a smile on his face, one so yearning that Taylor almost felt sorry for him for a moment. The man was seriously ill, and it was possible his illness had robbed him of his ability to think competently. But they had him now, and he would pay. She’d make sure of it.

She gave a quick look over her shoulder and saw Jill standing with Fitz in the back door of the house. The light radiated behind her, and she shone like an angel.

Taylor turned back to Gabriel. She saw something in his eyes that frightened her. She shouted over her shoulder. “Fitz, get the girl back inside. Now!”

Gabriel’s face was suffused with love and hatred. Taylor watched him warily as she heard the first of the sirens pulling into the drive. He was going to go after the girl; she was certain of that. She couldn’t let him get past her.

Fitz was yelling now, and Taylor saw Miller out of the corner of her eye, down on the ground. She didn’t know if he was alive or just knocked out. She knew she was in the way; Fitz couldn’t take a shot, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t take the chance that Lucas had a gun and would try to kill everyone to get to Jill.

In that moment, Gabriel launched himself at the house, screaming wildly. Taylor met him with a punch to the chest, and he staggered for a moment, not expecting resistance. She launched a kick at his abdomen, connected solidly, heard the breath go out of him in a groan. She stepped in to take him down, but he managed to get his feet under him and plowed into her. He started toward the house again, his arms locked on her shoulders.

She fought him, and they grappled for a moment, until his weight and frenzy started to overpower her. A step closer, another, and the gun was finally within reach. She shoved Gabriel backward with all her strength and swung her hand down. Caught the grip of the gun on the first try, whipped her arms up. “Stop. Don’t take another step.”

With a roar, Gabriel charged, the knife flashing in the light from the back door. She reacted as quickly as she could, spinning around him, out of reach, the Glock pointed at his chest. He kept coming, the knife high, lunging at her, and she spun away again, pulling the trigger, once, twice, three times. He went down, hard, and suddenly, she couldn’t breathe.

75

Marcus pulled into the drive at speed, and Baldwin caught sight of the fight in the headlights. He saw a flurry of blond hair, the flash of a knife, heard the shots. He jumped out of the car as a wash of red spurted into the air. He froze. Taylor was facing him, standing stock-still, and looked confused, as if she couldn’t understand why she’d discharged her weapon. A small smile played on her lips, and her hand rose to her throat, then she crumpled to the ground, next to the body of a man.

Baldwin felt as if he was watching the scene underwater. Every motion was sluggish, unhurried, casual. He stared for a moment in disbelief, then snapped back to real time. Gabriel had landed neatly at Taylor’s feet, three shots to the chest, his tainted blood mingling with Taylor’s where she’d fallen. It was all over in a second, but Baldwin felt a lifetime had passed. He could hear his own screaming, but it was simply a background noise to the commotion that ensued.

“Officer down, officer down, get the EMTs in here now!” Fitz was on the walkie-talkie screaming for help, Marcus was on the radio in the car yelling for assistance. People were rushing around in the background, yet Baldwin couldn’t identify them. More sirens wailed closer and closer, and suddenly the yard was full of people babbling, yelling.

Taylor was down, one booted leg bent, hands to her neck. He dropped by her side. Her eyes were closed, her face pale. Bright red arterial blood spilled recklessly from her neck.

He pressed his hands against the flow, and her eyes opened, briefly, full of pain. “You’re going to be okay—just hang in there. Don’t try to talk.”

The eyes closed again, and Baldwin felt his heart stop. Had he just seen her eyes for the last time?
No, don’t think it, don’t think it, man
.

“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 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 and 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.

76

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 coldcocked, which I guess he was, since he’s over there.” He pointed across the room, where 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.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, Fitz. 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 Gabriel’s 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 anytime 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 headfirst into the linoleum floor.

Epilogue

Taylor and Baldwin were sharing a beer, holding hands, 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 cleared for release. 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 his 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, as if she’d come back to herself. She knew he felt the same way.