“No,” Taylor said. “Dr. Baldwin has some demons. He’ll have to put them to bed if he wants in on this case. I told the captain I’d play ball but I wasn’t going to babysit. If Baldwin wants to, he’ll be back.”
Sam was still glaring at Taylor.
“All right, all right. Fitz, that wasn’t very nice of you. Behave next time you see him. If we ever see him again. In the meantime, Sam, can I have a bite of your stew?” Taylor had already speared a piece of beef.
“Yes, you can have my dinner. What demons does Baldwin have?”
Fitz eyed Taylor, who nodded imperceptibly. “News reports say the doc got a few of his men killed on an operation up in Virginia. Nasty case, child murderer. They went in with a warrant, and the guy came out shooting. Caught three feebies before Baldwin took him out.”
Sam had stopped eating and glanced sideways at Taylor, who hadn’t moved. “Well, we all know it can happen. If he’s really messed up about it, who are we to judge? Right, T?”
Taylor sighed deeply and ignored the jab. “No one’s judging. And that’s not the end of the story. After they cleaned up the mess, another girl was taken and killed. He’d pegged the wrong guy, and they lost three men needlessly. So yeah, I can understand. Probably not enough, though.” She resumed eating Sam’s stew.
They were all quiet while they finished their meals. Fitz gallantly asked for and paid the check. He bid them a good-night and left the two women to their conversation.
Taylor leaned her chair back on two legs and put her arms behind her head. She knew what was coming.
“I expect better of you two. The man was clearly hurting, and you pushed him away. Now what are you going to do?”
“Sam. That man is well beyond any help I could give. And what do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m not doing anything. He’s not my responsibility.”
“Not your responsibility? Price asked you to bring him on the team, didn’t he? You’re the team’s leader, aren’t you? You sound pretty responsible to me. And you’ve both been through similar incidents.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Oh, bullshit, Taylor. You’ve been dragging around enough guilt for ten men. You have more in common with Baldwin than you think.”
“Sam, knock it off, okay? I don’t have time to get into someone else’s nightmares right now. We’ve got a nasty killer out there that I’d like to catch. By the way, did you get any more info on the girls’ tox screens?”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know. Simon said they’ll be back to me tonight. I’ll call you as soon as I have them. And no, I won’t knock it off. It’s time you got back to your life. It wasn’t your fault you had to shoot Martin. He attacked you, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like you were in love with the guy—”
“That’s enough!” Taylor was flushed and angry. She didn’t have time to rehash her own nightmares either, and she didn’t like it when Sam preached at her. She rose and put on her coat.
“I’m going home. Call me if you hear anything.”
Sam’s phone rang. She held up a finger. “Hold on. Let me get this first.” She put the phone to her ear. “Sam Owens...Yeah... Mmm-hmm...You’re kidding...Really? That’s great, thanks so much. I’ll call you back in the morning.”
Taylor had her arms crossed on her chest, breathing heavily through her nose. “What is it?”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You may change your tune about talking with Dr. Baldwin when you hear this.”
27
“Garrett, I’m out. These Nashville people don’t need me—they know what they’re doing. Please, just...don’t call me again.”
Baldwin hung up on his former boss’s voice mail. He threw the phone toward the couch, where it bounced off and lay prone on the floor. He’d been fuming around his house for the past hour. He was as pissed at himself as he was at the damn homicide team. He knew Fitz had been baiting him, trying to see if he could be taken seriously. He’d shown them, with no questions, he couldn’t. He was even more furious with himself that he gave a crap.
He reached for another beer and started to gulp. He finished in record time, even for him, the now-professional drinker. He stared at the bottle, willing it to fill itself so he could just drown in it. It didn’t. He threw it across the room, satisfied when it shattered against the wall.
He felt the familiar calm sweep over him. He luxuriated in it. This wasn’t drunkenness; it was the finishing point. He’d felt it before, and knew what he needed to do.
He went back to the bedroom. His gun was on the nightstand, right where he’d left it. He picked it up, caressing the steel. Having it in his hand made him feel better, calmer. He’d made this decision before, when he started the game. He’d always given fate a little room for chance. Now he was acting on sheer, reckless bravado. He would no longer allow himself to be steered off course.