Field of Graves(39)

Taylor wandered into the kitchen, grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, and made her way back to the couch. She picked up the remote and put it down. She wasn’t in the mood to surf for an old movie or other distraction. She was thinking about Baldwin.

Jade followed her to the couch, jumped up into her lap, kneading her way to Taylor’s shoulder, where she settled in with her nose pressed into her neck.

“Oh, sweetie, that tickles.” She stroked the cat, lost in thought. “You know, John Baldwin is a complete mess.” The purr in response was the only encouragement she needed.

“He’s as screwed up as I am. He lost three of his men and feels totally responsible. He may be, for all I know. But wow, he’s on the edge. I found him getting ready to shoot himself tonight. I can identify with that. I mean, there were a few times there when I didn’t think I was going to make it.” The feelings she’d been bottling up all night overcame her, and she choked back a sob, her shoulders starting to shake. Jade didn’t seem to mind, and kneaded a little more, settling in closer, giving her a hug. Taylor squeezed back, trying to get herself under control.

She took a deep breath, holding it for a count of thirty then letting it out slowly. It was a trick her therapist had taught her, and it did work. She felt much calmer when she let it out. She thought she had finished the self-flagellation. She had been cleared in David’s death. Been put back to work. She’d dealt with the looks, the whispers. Went on with her life with a small empty spot gnawing quietly at her heart.

“Baldwin seems like a decent man. He could be handsome if he got himself back together. I’m telling you, cat, I may be in the business of saving people, but I really didn’t know what to do when I saw him with that gun. I just reacted, like I would do with anyone I found like that. It seemed to work—I think he may be okay. But it scared me.”

Jade gave Taylor one of those unnerving stares, holding the eye contact until Taylor scratched her on the nose and she settled back in.

“Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I want him to be okay. Sam seems to like him, and she’s a pretty good judge of character. We’ll see.” She shrugged, too hard, and the cat dug in her back claws and leapt off her shoulder.

“Damn, girl, why do you do that?” Taylor peeled back her shirt and saw the long scratches on the top of her arm. “I swear, you do that again...”

Jade sat calmly on the rug, washing her front paw. Confession time was over. “Fine.” Taylor drained the Diet Coke. “I’m going to bed.”

Exhaustion hit her like a brick as soon as the word bed came out of her mouth. She made her way up the stairs with Jade galloping ahead of her, sounding like an elephant on a tear. She made it to her bedroom and to the bed, lying down fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes, a purring bundle of fur curled up behind her legs.





THE

FOURTH

DAY





30



Taylor was dreaming again. She knew it was a dream this time, but couldn’t drag herself out of it. It wasn’t exactly the same dream; it was a more tailored nightmare. Only the worst parts replayed themselves: the yelling, the heat of the bullet as it flew, the look of absolute shock on her face when she realized whom she had killed. It replayed slowly, inexorably, as all tragedies do. She could see every detail as if it hadn’t been dark. The tiny spot of blood from a shaving cut mingling with the blood pouring out of his head, the gel he applied to the cowlick on his forehead making each strand of hair glow and shine, the blue fleck entrenched in the brown of his right eye. And then it all sped up, and she was standing over him, the cold steel smoking, a smile on her face.

She woke with a start, tears wet on her cheeks yet unable to open her eyes, her brain lingering on the final scene. It was different this time. Before, she’d never been able to stop before she died along with him. She didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain that usually accompanied the dream. In fact, she felt almost peaceful. She concentrated for a moment, trying to relive the last moments. She could have sworn she’d heard a word just before she came to, but her rapidly awakening neurons forced it away, and the word slipped from her grasp as quickly as it came.

Taylor opened her eyes to the sun streaming through the window. Jade was still zonked out at the foot of the bed, a surprise. Usually when she had the dream the cat was right next to her face, her piercing emerald eyes full of concern, as if she shared in her pain. She mustn’t have shouted out this time.

She got up, peeled yesterday’s clothes off, and jumped into the shower. While she washed her hair she tried to recall the element of the dream that had changed, but still couldn’t put it into words. She gave up, finished her shower, dried and dressed and headed to the kitchen, the thought of a fizzy jolt of Diet Coke pushing everything else out of her mind.





31



Baldwin hadn’t slept, but the constant nagging voice in the back of his mind had blessedly shut up. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Eight hours before he’d been loaded and cocked, recklessly imbuing fate with chance. Now he felt a strange sort of hope, almost as if he had absolved himself of something.

After Taylor left, he’d sat in the dark the rest of the night, thoughts turning, cascading waterfalls of feelings through his head. None made much sense, but when the sun came up, he was determined to help Taylor Jackson.