Field of Graves(36)

“That’s enough!” Taylor was flushed and angry. She didn’t have time to rehash her own nightmares either, and she didn’t like it when Sam preached at her. She rose and put on her coat.

“I’m going home. Call me if you hear anything.”

Sam’s phone rang. She held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this first.” She put the phone to her ear. “Sam Owens...Yeah... Mmm-hmm...You’re kidding...Really? That’s great, thanks so much. I’ll call you back in the morning.”

Taylor had her arms crossed on her chest, breathing heavily through her nose. “What is it?”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You may change your tune about talking with Dr. Baldwin when you hear this.”





27



“Garrett, I’m out. These Nashville people don’t need me—they know what they’re doing. Please, just...don’t call me again.”

Baldwin hung up on his former boss’s voice mail. He threw the phone toward the couch, where it bounced off and lay prone on the floor. He’d been fuming around his house for the past hour. He was as pissed at himself as he was at the damn homicide team. He knew Fitz had been baiting him, trying to see if he could be taken seriously. He’d shown them, with no questions, he couldn’t. He was even more furious with himself that he gave a crap.

He reached for another beer and started to gulp. He finished in record time, even for him, the now-professional drinker. He stared at the bottle, willing it to fill itself so he could just drown in it. It didn’t. He threw it across the room, satisfied when it shattered against the wall.

He felt the familiar calm sweep over him. He luxuriated in it. This wasn’t drunkenness; it was the finishing point. He’d felt it before, and knew what he needed to do.

He went back to the bedroom. His gun was on the nightstand, right where he’d left it. He picked it up, caressing the steel. Having it in his hand made him feel better, calmer. He’d made this decision before, when he started the game. He’d always given fate a little room for chance. Now he was acting on sheer, reckless bravado. He would no longer allow himself to be steered off course.

He walked with purpose back to the living room. He tidied up a bit, but left the broken shards where they were. Looking at them helped his tranquility; knowing he might be scattered carelessly over the wall above them gave him comfort.

Baldwin sat in his favorite chair, and didn’t waste any time. Tonight would be different; he could just feel it. He checked the speed loader to make sure the bullet was in place, leaned back, and gave the cylinder a vicious spin.

Put the gun to his head.

Pulled the trigger at the very same moment someone started knocking on his door. The noise startled him, and the gun jerked. A bullet flew out of the two-inch barrel of the Smith and Wesson at full velocity, grazing his cheek. He heard shouting and thought he recognized the voice. God, was that Taylor Jackson? What in the hell was she doing here?

His door crashed open, and the homicide lieutenant flew into the room with her weapon drawn, looking around wildly.

Baldwin drew down on her purely by instinct. A worthless move on his part, considering the solitary Winchester .38 bullet that had lived in his gun for the past few weeks was now lodged in the wall of his living room. They faced each other, guns sighted point-blank between the other’s eyes.

Taylor was the first to flinch. She slowly holstered her weapon, never letting her gaze stray from Baldwin’s face.

“Why don’t you put the gun down, Baldwin?” she said softly. “I’m not here to shoot you. Or to get shot. Come on, put it away. Christ, you’re bleeding.” She started toward him, still mindful of the gun trained at her head.

Baldwin started laughing. Taylor was caught short, then smiled cautiously. He lowered the weapon, and she quickly took it from his hand and tossed it into the kitchen. He was doubled over by now, hysterical with laughter.

“Baldwin, I think we need to get you to a hospital. You’re bleeding badly.”

He hiccuped, still snorting with mirth. “No, Taylor. No hospital. What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing here?” He was calming down, but still held his sides as if he would explode.

“I wanted your opinion on something. And I wanted to apologize. We treated you badly today, and I’m sorry.” Her gaze took in the room, noting the disarray, the broken bottle, the phone lying askew on the floor. Her eyes trailed to his face. “Really, Baldwin, you’re bleeding. Let me fix it up for you.”

“Leave it.” His voice was sharp, and Taylor froze four feet from him. He turned toward the kitchen, then spun back and landed awkwardly on the couch. Taylor could see exhaustion shadow his face. She dared a step, and another, then sat quietly in the chair, looking at the fireplace while he composed himself. Damn, she had barely gotten here in time. Maybe she hadn’t been in time at all; she didn’t think a quick chat was going to change the man’s mind. She decided to try anyway.

“You wanna tell me why I saw you through the window with a gun to your head?”

Baldwin shook his head, smiling at her. “Seems I just can’t win. I’ve been working this little project for a while now, and I keep getting interrupted.” He leaned back into the couch, covering his eyes with his crossed arms. “Every time I’m all set and ready, the f*cking phone rings, or someone knocks. Really, Taylor, it would have been better if you’d come five minutes later. You’d have assumed I wasn’t home, and seeing as the shot went off this time, I’d be out of this hell.”