“What’s the matter, Fitz? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything okay?” Taylor looked spooked. There was something in Fitz’s eyes that was freaking her out.
“That was Missing Persons. They just got a report of a girl named Jill Gates, who’s been missing for the past few days.”
Taylor sat down slowly. “Spit it out, Fitz.”
“She’s a student at Vanderbilt.”
32
The flurry of activity died down as the news sank in. Two dead, another missing. Taylor sat with her head in her hands, and Baldwin tried not to show how shaken he felt. This suspect was moving too damn quick for them to get the slightest idea of what he was trying to do.
Taylor stood, shaking her head. “I need a smoke,” she said to no one in particular. Everyone watched her stalk out. Baldwin half rose in his chair, indecisiveness painted all over his face. He looked to Fitz first, almost asking his permission to try and reach out to Taylor. Fitz nodded imperceptibly. Baldwin gave a relieved sigh and headed out to the landing where he had seen all the cigarette butts.
What the hell are you doing, man? He barely knew Taylor, but for some reason felt protective of her. Even through his own pain he could see she was suffering, and he felt it was more than just this case. From her simple statement last night, telling him she’d shot a fellow detective, he assumed it was a case gone south, but perhaps there was more. He’d overheard Fitz and Marcus talking in the hall yesterday, caught Taylor’s name, but they’d clammed up the moment they realized he’d walked up to them. Something was up; both men looked earnest and concerned, but they had switched gears and welcomed him, asking if he wanted coffee or anything. He’d refused and continued down the hall, curiosity draping him in its mantle.
He let himself out of the door quietly, as if she wouldn’t notice the beep on the lock as it disengaged. Taylor didn’t turn, just shifted her weight to her other foot. He didn’t know what to say, but she took care of that.
“What’s up, Baldwin?” she asked. He didn’t know how she knew it was him, but was grateful she had initiated the conversation.
“I had a feeling you might want to talk.”
She whirled around, and he could see she had been crying; her nose was red and her eyes puffy. He felt a pang of relief. This gorgeous woman wasn’t perfect; she looked like hell when she cried.
“Talk about what? That this case is getting to me? That I’m feeling overwhelmed and pissed and utterly incapable of stopping this predator? That I’m having panic—”
She stopped herself, and Baldwin realized she must feel she was letting way too much information out. He didn’t blame her. He was a stranger to her. But she’d said enough to let him know she was in pain, and it broke something inside him. He just wanted to reach out and help.
With a last deep inhale, she flipped the half-smoked cigarette out in the street and pushed past him to the door. Baldwin reached out and grabbed her hand.
“Don’t, Taylor. Talk to me.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you want me to say? I don’t know you, Baldwin. I don’t know if I want to. Every time I look at you I get the feeling...ahh, screw it. I don’t need this right now.” Yet she didn’t move to grab her passkey. Baldwin seized the moment, spoke quietly, still holding her hand.
“Taylor, circumstance has brought us together in a pretty bizarre way. A couple of days ago, I was willing to be gone from this world, and the next thing I know I’m working a case with a bunch of people who would probably prefer I head back to Virginia and leave them alone. I can’t get a handle on what’s happening either. Maybe I’m running from my own problems by trying to help you with yours. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. But I’m here for you if you want me.”
“You’re here for me?”
He could see he’d said the wrong thing. Her eyes were blazing, her face suddenly transformed into anger. He locked in on her eyes, and felt himself lost in her internal storm. They are the most peculiar shade of gray, he thought to himself. They looked just like the storm clouds that had been rolling through the sky for the past few days. He heard her voice from a distance, and drew himself out of his momentary trance.
“What do you think you can do, Dr. Baldwin?” The sarcasm was biting, and he involuntarily winced. “You think you can ride in here on your white horse and make everything right? You can’t. There are some things you have no idea about, and my life is on the top of the list.” She whipped her hand out of his and drew the passkey through the lock. The door almost struck him as a gust of wind blew it back on its hinges. He watched Taylor stalk down the hall, shoulders straight, back strong.
He smiled ruefully to himself, and looking back over his shoulder at the sky turning black, he whispered, “My white horse? You were the first one in the saddle.”
33