Field of Graves(91)

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.