The watch captain had laughed when she ran in, tried to shoo her away, thinking she was some kind of freak. She stood her ground, announced herself with authority, gave her badge number and made a request that they call her captain. Immediately.
The watch captain realized she was the real deal and grabbed her a blanket. Calls were made, concerned glances given. It was Emily Callahan who had come to her rescue, pulling Taylor into her office, giving her food, then arranging a shower and getting her some warm clothes.
Callahan handed over socks, then a steaming cup of coffee. “Vanilla. The boys here are gourmets.” She rolled her eyes and Taylor laughed.
“I have a few of those myself. Starbucks has ruined us all.”
“You ready to talk to the LT? He’s waiting for you. Whenever you’re ready, no rush.”
Taylor gulped some of the coffee, happy just to have the warmth. It was sweet, almost too sweet, but she recognized that the sugar would be good for her. Callahan had been incredibly kind, fixed her up with some chicken soup, gave her a place to shower, gave her some space to sort through the jumbled-up emotions of the afternoon. The image of that man’s head in her hands flooded in, the sound…she shook it off. Flashbacks weren’t going to help things now.
Taylor’s stomach rumbled, not happy with her choice of beverage. Stress, she thought. She tried to distract herself.
“You been here long?” she asked.
Callahan looked happy that Taylor had chosen to talk. “The 108th? Long enough. I’ve been in the detective bureau for a year now. I’m hoping to move up a grade soon, but you know how it is.”
“Yeah, I do.”
“How’d you make LT so young? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
“Worked my ass off, just like you’re doing. What are you, twenty-seven, twenty-eight?”
Callahan blushed. “Thirty-three. Thanks for the compliment.”
“I never was any good with ages. Just keep busting ass. It’ll come. We’re a smaller department, and we have lots of turnover in the higher ranks. The opportunities come around more often.” She sipped her coffee again, gained as much courage from the sugary bitterness as she would ever get.
“Let’s go do this.”
“Follow me. We’re going to be in the conference room, and it’s already pretty crowded.”
Callahan led Taylor down a hallway covered in flyer-filled corkboards. There was a sameness here that made Taylor comfortable. Cop shops were alike, no matter the locale.
She opened the door to a long room with a conference table. The room was packed.
Callahan made the introductions, going counterclockwise around the table.
“Lieutenant Tony Eldridge, Sergeant Robert Johnson, Davis Welton, D-1, Zach Brooks, D-2. This is Lieutenant Taylor Jackson, Metro Nashville Homicide.”
Lieutenant Eldridge unfolded like a brunette crane, all long legs and skinny frame. He shook her hand. “LT, so sorry you had to come here under these circumstances. Clothes fit okay? Do you need some more coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’d rather get this over with first. Have you been to the warehouse?”
Eldridge was looking at her with a sense of incredulity. “We went there. It was empty.”
“Fast,” Taylor murmured.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean these were professionals. I killed one of their men and they got the scene cleared away that quickly? Surely you found something?”
Eldridge cleared his throat. “I have a team combing the place now, looking for anything we can get. So far, there’s a few partials and some urine on the floor, but not much else.”
“I counted at least three different people. One a six-foot-eight or -nine giant, the other about my height, slight build. Called himself Dusty. Creepy, nasty things, both of them. There was one more, definitely the head of the operation. He was well dressed, much more composed and collected than his underlings. He was well-spoken, with a Long Island accent. He wore a ski mask, so I didn’t see his features, other than the fact that he has blue eyes and cruel, thin lips. He spoke to me, threatened my crew in Nashville. He said he had interests in Nashville. But he isn’t on our radar, as far as I know. His voice was soft pitched, almost…soothing. Or at least it was meant to be. I pissed him off a couple of times. He doesn’t like to be challenged, especially by a woman.”
Eldridge glanced around the room. Four faces stared at her, all a bit disbelieving.
“What, y’all think I’m out of my mind? Listen, I was kidnapped. At a very inopportune time, mind you. I don’t even know what day it is. So if you’d like to dispense with the bullshit, I’d appreciate it.”
She sat back in her chair, crossed her arms and glared at them.
Callahan spoke first. “It’s December 22. Three days until Christmas.”
Taylor felt the news deep in the pit of her stomach. “Jesus. I was gone for three days? They must have been so worried…”
Her voice trailed off. A shadow darkened the doorstep to the conference room. Taylor felt the electricity in the room, knew who was standing behind her without turning around. The room grew silent, and she risked a glance.
Baldwin stood just inside the door, a terrible visage of both joy and pain etched on his haggard features. Their eyes met and they shared a look; it could have been a second, it could have lasted an hour. All Taylor knew was she was safe. She was in his arms before she recalled getting out of the chair. There was no kiss, no words, just arms around each other and a heavy heartbeat. She didn’t know if it was hers or his, but it centered her, grounded her, and she squeezed hard, once. Turning around, she saw the looks on her fellow officers’ faces and realized they were stunned.
“This is Dr. John Baldwin. FBI. He’s…” She looked over her shoulder at Baldwin.
“I’m here for Taylor.” He took two strides into the room, held Taylor’s chair, waited for her to sit and get settled, then sat next to her. He reached for her hand and held it with both of his in his lap. He indicated to Eldridge with a jerk of his head.
“Please, continue. You were saying?”
Eldridge started to reach across Taylor to shake Baldwin’s hand, then stopped, realizing Baldwin wasn’t going to comply. Instead, he put his finger to his upper lip and tapped.
“It wasn’t that we didn’t believe you, Lieutenant. You came up against some major muscle and walked away from it. That doesn’t happen. Not with the man we’re dealing with.”
“You know who’s behind this?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Taylor was exhausted and famished. She just wanted to collapse and sleep for a week, but she couldn’t. Not yet. There was work to be done. They decided to move across the street, get her some food and continue the discussion. Baldwin had brought a bag for her. She took out a sweater and jeans, her favorite boots and some toiletries. She changed into the clothes before they left, brushed her teeth and hair, thankful for the familiar hominess. The actions gave her new energy.
The bar across the street from the 108th was nestled in a row house, identical to the buildings on either side except for a red-and-blue-striped awning and small neon sign that read “Dog Pound.”
Baldwin opened the door for Taylor, and they entered to the strains of Frank Sinatra. Frank was warbling about the way she looked tonight. Taylor was just happy to be in the warm environment and was cheered by the prospect of solid food. Despite the universals of the precinct, this felt more like home.
The bar was long and mahogany, varnished to within an inch of its life. High cafe tables stretched the length of the opposite wall. There were a few men, bundled and white-headed, sitting at the far end. They paid them no mind, continued their discussion without turning.
Baldwin indicated a table by the wall. They sat, and the bartender came around the bar to them with a tired smile.
They ordered Guinness, sat back and reveled in each other. Baldwin stared at her hungrily, as if he’d gobble her up in one bite if she so much as moved. She felt pinned by his stare and didn’t know what to say. The waitress returned with their beer and left them to their silence.
“Baldwin,” Taylor began, but the group from the precinct wafted through the door, cutting off her statement.
