Field of Graves(73)

“I could tell by the way everyone looked at me that they knew what I had done. They knew it was my fault. I just couldn’t handle it. So I ran, and when I couldn’t live with myself anymore, I decided that not living was a much better choice than living in the hell on earth I had created. I just didn’t have the guts to flat-out do it.”

To admit aloud what he’d done was too much for him, and he felt the despair creeping back. He went to the window, stared out into the black forest. He was shocked when he felt Taylor’s arms around him, holding him from behind.

“Baldwin, what you did? There’s no excuse. You knew in your heart it was Arlen, that he was doing the killing. You stopped a horrible person from committing even more crimes. You have to find a way to forgive yourself. You made a terrible mistake, Baldwin, but you made it for the right reasons. That’s good enough for me.”

The relief washed over him, a waterfall of cascading emotions. He turned in her arms, and before he could stop to think, kissed her deeply. She kissed him back.

He didn’t know how long it had been when they finally came up for air. Taylor was smiling but turned away, suddenly shy. Though every fiber of his being cried out to hold her again, to feel her soft lips on his forever, he knew he couldn’t push.

Taylor sat back down on the couch, but when he moved toward the chair she patted the seat next to her. He joined her with a sigh. Taylor caught the sound and put her hand on his arm.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but it’s over now. And you’re here. With me. Do you think you can make a go at this? Living your life, I mean.”

Baldwin leaned over and kissed her forehead tenderly. “I think I may have enough reason to, now.”

“Good. ’Cause I’d kinda like you to stick around for a while.” She smiled. “Even though I probably just gave you my cold.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, memorizing the feel of her beneath his hands, then folded her into his arms. “I don’t care if I get pneumonia. I’ll be here for as long as you want.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Taylor suddenly felt too exhausted to keep her eyes open. The emotion of the case, Baldwin’s confession, her feeling like crap, was all catching up with her. She felt safe in his arms, and drifted off to sleep.





60



Bullets were flying in the darkened sky. She heard them whizzing by her head, felt the heat as they ripped through her hair. She saw him go down. She was screaming, clawing at him, trying to get away from the hand that reached up and grabbed her by the throat. She fell beside him. He was dead. She could see the entrance wound, glistening silver in the moonlight. Her hands were slick with blood: It covered all of her, drowning her in its viscous blanket, dragging her down into the weeds as they curled and spread over her body. There was no hope. There was no pain. She gave up her struggle and lay serenely next to the empty soul beside her, waiting for the strangled vines to drag her into the earth to decompose along with him. She raised her hand, only mildly revolted as she watched the flesh fall off the bone. She turned to the skeleton beside her and saw the mandible smile, heard his disembodied voice. And then she was back on solid ground, walking away from David’s body, and she could see Baldwin in the distance, his hand held out, beckoning to her...

“Taylor! Taylor, wake up!” Baldwin was shaking her. She fought her way out of the dream to find him standing over her, eyes wild, hair disheveled. She looked at him vacantly, still caught up in the remnants of the dream.

“I was dreaming,” she murmured.

“No, you were having a nightmare. You were yelling to someone named David, telling him to get down. Are you okay? Who is David?”

Taylor stood up, spilling the afghan and the cat onto the floor.

“What time is it?”

Baldwin looked at his watch. “Almost five in the morning. Taylor, what was the dream about?”

A few hours of sleep had made her feel better. She ignored Baldwin for the moment and wandered into the kitchen. She pulled a Diet Coke from the refrigerator, gulped it down, and grabbed another. Setting it on the counter, she opened the antibiotics and popped three in her mouth.

“Taylor, you’re not going to get better any faster ODing on Keflex.”

“I feel better already. How long was I out?” She made her way back into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Jade jumped into her lap and made a nest, purring heavily. Taylor ran her hand absently along her silky back.

“About five hours. You zonked out so hard, I just let you sleep.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a sad smile. “You know the best thing about not sleeping for the past couple of days? I didn’t have any dreams.”

“What’s up with the dreams? Is David the detective you shot?”

She nodded slowly. “David Martin. Dirty as they come. And I came this close to getting indicted for his murder. Murder, Baldwin. He breaks into my house, attacks me, and I’m the one who nearly takes the fall. I don’t know how he could do that to me. How he could put me in the position he put me in. Trying to bribe me to let him go on his happy little way.” She snorted in disgust, shaking her head.

“There’s more, isn’t there, Taylor?” Baldwin reached over and took her hand. She wanted to pull away, but resisted the urge. It was time to get it off her chest.