capacious seat, she tried the other door. Also locked.
What the fuck was happening? A vanload of children passed them by, all their happy faces stuck to the windows on the right side of the van, contemplating and waving to the solitary limo on the side of the road. Taylor had a moment of sickening clarity, realized that this wasn’t a joke. Calmly, she slid back to the right and knocked on the glass again. There was no response.
She cursed, loudly and extensively. The string of oaths was impressive even to her, and made her feel a little bit better. There wasn’t a lot she could do locked in the backseat of a limousine. There was a wet bar packed with champagne, but a drink didn’t seem like the best idea. But to the left of the bar was a small green light. A speaker.
“I’ll be damned,” she muttered. He must have heard everything she’d said. Scooting forward in the seat, she pushed the talk button, trying hard for a more reasonable tone.
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
There was still no answer. Fine. If he wanted to play it that way, she was more than willing. She knew the divider wouldn’t be bulletproof.
She reached into her satin handbag, a brief moment of thankfulness overwhelming her as she remembered the argument she’d had with Sam over carrying the stupid thing. Purses just weren’t Taylor’s style. Sam had assured her that she’d need somewhere to stash a few items. Taylor had relented, deciding that she didn’t want to strap a gun to her leg for her walk down the aisle. A diminutive pearl-handled. 22 that she’d bought at a collectors’ gun show a few years back fit perfectly into the tiny bag. Thanking whatever unseen force that influenced her decision to carry on her wedding day, she snapped open the bag and palmed the gun. She drew her fingers out, trying not to draw attention to the fact that she was now armed. It didn’t matter. The panel between them dropped.
The driver turned and smiled, and Taylor had a brief moment when she thought, no, I’ve been wrong, this is all a joke.
A flash of black caught her eye and she focused on the object in the driver’s hand. Her heart skipped a beat and she sucked in her breath involuntarily. Her brain registered the situation. It took only a fragment of a second, but when the smile widened, she knew absolutely that she had to get her weapon up, now.
The motion was smooth, graceful, lightning quick. Such close quarters, there was no need to aim, just cock the hammer and pull. A full squeeze, the roaring boom. But her body convulsed. Pain shot through her. She dropped her weapon, dropped the bag, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her last thought tore through her like an electrical impulse-Baldwin is going to kill me. Then all was dark.
The driver grinned at his handiwork. Everything was going according to plan. All he had to do now was make the body disappear. He turned back in his seat, turned the key with his gloved right hand and glided back onto the highway. He went a short way, then exited onto the huge flying overpass that led to Briley Parkway. A few miles ahead was an airport and a plane. All he needed to do was reach it, and he would be home free. All the missions accomplished. His boss would be very happy.
Twenty-Seven
Nashville, Tennessee Saturday, December 20 3:40 p.m.
B aldwin paced outside the grand edifice of St. George’s, seeing everything and nothing. He was vaguely aware of being cold; he had no overcoat on, just a formal morning suit-traditional tailcoat in dark gray, a barely discernible stripe in his trousers, waistcoat in a subtle dove-gray check and a slate ascot replete with a mother-of- pearl stickpin that had belonged to his great-great-grandfather. Taylor might laugh at him for being such a dandy, but he only intended to do this once, and he wanted to do it right. Besides, the various shades of gray reminded him of her eyes.
Yet there was no bride.
He checked his watch again. She was forty minutes late. And he was dying inside, shriveling up second by second. Each heartbeat hurt a little more than the last. In all the fantasies he’d had about this day, Taylor not showing wasn’t among them.
St. George’s Episcopal Church was situated in Belle Meade, barely fifteen minutes from the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville. Ten minutes if the lights were all green and there was no traffic. There was no reason for the limo to be taking this long to get to the church. If it had broken down, or there’d been an accident, either the limo company or the responding officer would have called to let them know. The wedding party was all law enforcement, either Metro or medical examiner, and most of the guests had their hand in the mix in one way or another. Nashville was small enough that very few members of Metro Police Department didn’t know the LT was getting hitched today.
Calls to Taylor’s cell phone were useless; Sam had it stashed in her diaper bag because Taylor didn’t have room for it.
Baldwin fought the urge to strip off his jacket and run howling into the parking lot. Damn it, where the hell was that woman? How could she do this to him?
A gust of warm air enveloped Baldwin midstride and the strains of Handel’s Water Music drifted to his ears. Fitz came out of the large wooden doors that led to the nave of the church. An avuncular smile filled his broad features. Baldwin stopped pacing for a moment, happy to have the short-lived heat and the company.
“Son,” Fitz began, but Baldwin shook his head and held up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Son-”
“I know what you’re going to say, Fitz.” He adopted a deep baritone with a long Southern drawl. “You haven’t known her for that long. Y’all rushed into this. She’s a wild one, Baldwin, and I mean that in a good way.” He went back to his regular voice.
“I know you were shocked as hell to see her fall so hard for me. What you’re saying is that maybe this is for the best. Right? You haven’t approved from the beginning.” He glared at the older man. “And quit calling me son.”
“Hey, Junior. You just don’t get it, do you?”
Baldwin rocked back on his heels, staring at Fitz with his mouth open. The indignation grew in his chest and he couldn’t help but lash out.
“You son of a bitch. You talked her into running, didn’t you? You gave her a way out. I know she’s been a little freaked about this big wedding thing, but…I can’t fucking believe this.” He stomped away, then whirled back, shoulders bunched, hands balled at his side. “And you stand there grinning like a fool, thinking this is funny?”
Fitz coughed into his hand. “Funny? Naw, I wouldn’t call it funny. Your reaction is amusing, yes, but I don’t think this situation is at all humorous. How well do you really know her, son? Do you honestly believe she’d stand you up at the altar?”
“I…” Baldwin swallowed hard. His hands unclenched, his shoulders slumped. He gritted his teeth, a small muscle in his jaw leaping to life. Did he? Did he really think that the love of his life would be so merciless and fearful as to not show up for their wedding? The lump in his chest started to dissolve, only to be replaced by a larger, much more painful knot.
“Finally figuring it out, aren’t you, son? ”
Yes, he was. Fitz was pissed at him because he’d lost faith in Taylor. That he’d believed even for a fraction of a second that this strong, astounding, beautiful woman wouldn’t have the guts to tell him to his face that she didn’t want to be with him. The dread washed over him like a bucket of water. He looked at Fitz, seeing him for the first time. The smile wasn’t pleasant, it was tight and worried, small lines shooting between the older man’s brows.
“Jesus, Fitz, what do you think happened to her?”
“I don’t know, but I think it’s time to go inside and ask for help.”
