down, and he doesn’t give up. He has a real vendetta against me. I had him banned from the States. He had a mother, a wife, if you can imagine that. He tries to get home to…see them, and so far I’ve been able to head that off. Five years, actually, that I’ve kept him from his family. Now that he’s here, I have to get them protected.”
“See them. You mean kill them.”
“Not exactly. His mother is still alive, but in a mental institution in Rhode Island. His wife, that’s more complicated. His wife was the one who turned him in originally, back in 2006. She caught him up to his elbows, literally, in the stomach of a prostitute in Berlin. Didn’t know what to do, so she ran. Went to the consulate, told them about it. I was called in soon after that-once the information filtered up the chain, my contact was made aware of the situation. Aiden had gone off our grid, was ‘working on his own,’ as they like to say.” He was silent for a second, and she started to talk, but he squeezed her arm.
“I know what you’re going to ask. Why would he come after you?”
She nodded.
“There was nothing for him to prey upon with me. As an adversary, Aiden has always had a level of, well, let’s call it respect for me. And I, him. He’s one of the most complex killers I’ve ever profiled. He makes Ted Bundy look like a charm school dropout. But now…I have you. I’m finally vulnerable. Prevailing wisdom is he may have seen us in Italy, that’s the only way we can imagine he would have known the level of emotion at stake for me now. Killing me doesn’t serve his interests. Killing you would make me suffer in unimaginable ways. That’s how he works. Problem was, we weren’t sure of his intentions, not all the way, until he showed up here.”
He squeezed her arm again. “There’s more you should know.” He got up, slipped on his boxers and sat in the chair across from the bed. The fact that he’d severed physical contact was disconcerting. Taylor had the feeling she was playing confessor to his sins. She was right.
“I killed Aiden’s wife.”
Taylor felt her eyes widen. “What do you mean, you killed his wife?”
Baldwin sank his head into his hands for a moment, hiding his face. He ran his fingers through his hair and met her eye.
“It was an accident. A terrible accident. She came after me and I shot her. It was self-defense. At least, that’s what Garrett called it. I think I could have handled things differently. She was a woman, weaker than me. I should have been able to fight her off. But she blamed me for Aiden’s issues. Accused me of making him into the monster he’d become.
“After she caught him with the prostitute, she decided she wanted help. I managed to slip her out of the country, right under Aiden’s nose. I knew he was going to come for her, he’d promised me he’d kill her. When he came to her we’d just gotten her out. We had her stashed in a safe house in Vienna, and he found the address. I got the warning just before he showed up, got Lucy out of the house no more than five minutes before he arrived.
“And then it went all wrong. Without telling us, Lucy had arranged for Aiden to come. She wanted to be with him, was helping conspire to take us down. I can’t imagine what she was thinking, she’d just seen her husband slaughtering a woman. Aiden got to her somehow.
“We forced her out of the house. She didn’t want to leave. Was making excuses we ignored. In the car, she pulled a knife, attacked me. I was caught by surprise, reacted. I shot her in the leg, trying to stop her. Hit an artery. She bled out before I could get her to a hospital.”
Jesus. “And Aiden hasn’t forgiven you.”
“No. I took her from him. She was buried here in the States and he hasn’t been able to see her grave. He swore he would make my life as big a living hell as his. That’s why I’ve never gotten so close to anyone before. Now, there’s you. I couldn’t help myself. You became my world. And he knows it.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but he stopped, searching her face. Taylor could feel the waves of frustration coming off him.
She went to him, knelt in front of him, took his hands in hers. “Oh, Baldwin. I’m so sorry. I had no idea what you were up against. What can I do?”
“You can let me keep you safe. I failed Lucy. I refuse to fail you, too.”
He reached for her, and they both stood up. He kissed her fiercely, with a hunger that made her stomach clench and her head swim. The stubble on his chin scraped hers, she didn’t care. She wanted more, raked her nails down his back. He pulled his boxers off with one hand and they were on the bed in a flash. He thrust into her with a single stroke and the world shrank away. No tragedies, no serial killers, no failures. There was nothing but him, filling her, claiming her, crushing her in his arms with brute strength, their frustration and hurt bringing them both to a climax within moments.
Getting up for the second time that morning, Taylor made a decision.
Baldwin had showered and left her blushing in their room. Good grief, that man was insatiable. There was something so joyous in their passion; even when their mutual moods were down they could always find solace in each other’s arms. He’d given her strict instructions not to leave the house, left an armed guard at the door and had patrols rolling through the neighborhood.
Fuss, fuss, fuss. She was no stranger to dangerous criminals, knew she could hold her own if need be. Being aware was nine-tenths of the law when it came to being hunted. Not being where you were expected to be also helped. And that’s exactly what she planned to do.
No one knew about the conversation she’d had with Jasmine on Wednesday. Thalia Abbott was at St. Ann’s. She could swing by there after she went to see Ellen Ricard, who was expecting her to come by at eight.
She invited the guard in for coffee, explained her intentions. She made it clear that he had no choice and made him swear not to tell Baldwin she had left. Give me two hours, she told him, then I’ll be back and be a good girl.
When she rolled out of the garage, she was whistling. They may take her badge, but damn it, they weren’t going to stop her investigation of these crimes.
Her conscience kept trying to get her attention, but she ignored the little voice in her head that said to go back home, nestle in with a good book, and let Baldwin handle things. When had she ever trusted a man to take care of her? Never. It wasn’t that she was thumbing her nose at him, but somewhere, she subconsciously wanted to prove to him that she was the tough girl he thought her. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
She watched for cars following her, but saw nothing that gave her the slightest bit of concern. So far, when Aiden was around, she’d always been able to tell. He set off her warning systems; all her antediluvian adrenaline caches pushed into the red zone whenever he was in proximity. She trusted that wouldn’t change.
His wife’s grave. Baldwin had said that Aiden had a twofold plan-ruin Baldwin’s life and see his dead wife. She’d forgotten to ask where Lucy was buried. Maybe Aiden had decided to slip off and commune with her spirit before garroting Taylor’s throat.
The drive downtown was uneventful and she pulled in to the parking garage under the building. It was dark and gloomy. She wondered briefly if she should go ahead and park at the meters on the street. Deciding that would be the smart thing to do-see, Baldwin, I’m not a total idiot-she wound her way back up the ramps and onto West End. She found a spot on a meter that had a sign saying she could park there starting at 8:00 a.m. She looked at her watch. Seven forty-five. Close enough. What would they do, give her a ticket?
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Baldwin had her spooked enough to watch her back, that was for sure. The thought that Aiden had taken off once he knew Baldwin was in town came back, stronger than before. It made sense. Wishful thinking, probably, but hey, a girl could dream. What would life be like if they weren’t chasing madmen? Boring and staid, definitely.
In the lobby, a black lacquered sign listed Dr. Ellen Ricard’s office on the eighth floor. There was a communal bustle toward the elevators-patients, receptionist, the odd nurse in blue scrubs coming in with coffee from the nearby West End Starbucks. Taylor moved into the scrum and took her place in the elevator.
Dr. Ricard’s office was at the end of the long hallway on the right, next to an emergency stairwell. Taylor entered, a discreet ding announcing her presence. The office was finely decorated-a red and gold patterned Aubusson rug took up almost all the floor space, making the matching textured impressionist oils by local artist Jennifer Wilken stand out against the creamy walls. The furniture was thick, square and suede. A glass coffee table held Town and Country magazines, and the place smelled slightly of Chanel perfume.
Alerted by the door’s subtle chime, Dr. Ricard emerged from an interior room. She had shoulder-length silver hair that didn’t match her youthful face. Square black glasses, minimal makeup, black knit pants with a deep-cut
