Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

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Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1 Page 60

by J. T. Ellison


  The faint wail of sirens reached their ears, growing steadily louder. Taylor murmured to the children to stay put and went to Quinn.

  “You have to step back now, Quinn. We need to make room for them to work on Reese.” Taylor could see the waxiness of his skin, the light fading from his eyes as he struggled for breath. Funny, neither she nor Baldwin had made an effort to help him. She supposed that was fitting.

  Quinn was down on the ground, smoothing Reese’s hair back, murmuring to him. The blood was flowing steady and strong from the wound in his chest, and Taylor could see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He was whispering back to Quinn, over and over, repeating the same two words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  The sirens cut through the night. The ambulance pulled to the road and the EMTs rushed through the clearing. Taylor pulled Quinn back.

  “We need to give them room to work on him, Quinn. Hold it right here for a moment.”

  Quinn looked at Taylor. “Will they be able to save him?”

  Baldwin stepped into the light, laying a hand on Quinn’s arm. “Let’s let them work, Quinn. You’re going to need to step over here with me.”

  Baldwin signaled to the patrol officer that had joined the ambulance. “Please take Mrs. Buckley to your car. She needs to sit down.” The man marched her smartly away.

  Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to have to charge her?”

  “She just shot a man. I think there will be enough to claim some kind of self-defense, but we need her clear of the scene.”

  Quinn was put into a patrol car, eyes down. Baldwin signaled to another patrol, the children needed to be attended to, as well. Neither was badly hurt, just shaken. Jake Junior had a thin line of blood along his collar. One of the EMTs came to them, looking them over. They were going to be just fine. They were seated in the car with their mother, who gathered them in her arms and buried her face in their shoulders. Baldwin studied them for a moment. They would remember this night forever, he was sure of that. He turned back to the focus of the night.

  The EMTs were lifting Reese onto the stretcher, ready to take him to the hospital. Taylor went to them.

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  The EMTs’ hands were slick with Reese’s blood. “Yeah, we should be able to get him to the hospital without too much trouble. Another inch and he wouldn’t make it. Lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Then hold on just a moment.” She pulled her cuffs out of her back pocket, reaching for Reese’s arm. He was groaning and cursing, incoherent with pain and weak from blood loss. She snapped the cuff around his wrist, then affixed the other end to the stretcher rail.

  “He’s under arrest. Don’t let that cuff off of him, do you understand?”

  The EMT started to protest. “But we can’t—”

  “Don’t even think about arguing with me. A patrol will ride with you for security. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Now go.”

  She walked the few steps back to Baldwin, a smile on her face.

  “We got him.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Taylor and Baldwin were seated on the back deck, drinking ice-cold beer from the bottle. Reese Connolly was being arraigned today.

  The past week had gone by in a blur. Reese had made it to the hospital, and after several touch-and-go hours, the doctors had repaired the damage and declared that he would live. Taylor felt such immense satisfaction at the declaration. The bastard would pay for his crimes, would be brought to trial and judged. Reese’s instincts had been right, he was a national story, one his aunt would have been desperate to cover. As it was, in death Whitney Connolly had gained the fame and notoriety she’d always craved.

  Quinn kept insisting Reese was so consumed with hatred and misguided loyalty that he wasn’t in his right mind when he committed the atrocious murders that paralyzed the Southeast for the summer. The D.A. had decided not to seek an indictment against her. She had hired the best criminal attorney in Nashville and was fervently seeking support for an insanity defense for her eldest son.

  Baldwin had spent a long afternoon at Riverbend prison, visiting with Nathan Chase, trying to find if there were any missing pieces to fill in. Nathan happily admitted to his past crimes and showed genuine pride in his son’s accomplishments, as he’d referred to Reese’s murderous spree.

  For his part, Reese was seeking sympathy from all quarters, doing his damnedest to make sure all involved knew he wasn’t culpable for his crimes. At the hospital, after his surgery, he had explained in detail what he had done. How he had shadowed Jake Buckley, watched him cuckold Quinn again and again. Had decided that Jake would be the perfect fall guy for the crimes.

  Reese had admitted that he had started running out of time, had started killing the girls on the road instead of taking the time to get them back to their homes. Blood evidence had been found in a roadside rest stop just forty miles south of Roanoke. The blood matched Marni Fischer. Baldwin had been correct about Noelle Pazia’s asthma attack. She’d died in the trunk of the car, and his fury at finding her dead drove him to new lengths of horror with Ivy Clark.

  There is no such thing as killing for the right reason. But in his mind, Reese was doing just that. He was reaching out in the only way he knew how, trying to get the approval and nurturing he thought he’d been denied for so long. Ironically, it was Quinn who met all those needs, something he never recognized.

  His lawyer, a shrewd and experienced man, was making it quite clear to anyone that would listen that Baldwin had coerced a confession out of his client while the man was still under the influence of narcotic drugs from the surgery. He was making a play to get the whole case dropped on the technicality. It was turning into one of the most impressive three-ring circuses that Nashville had ever seen.

  *

  Baldwin was quiet, basking in the late-summer sun. The days were cooling, the evenings bringing a chill to the air. Fall would be here soon.

  “Taylor,” he said softly. She looked at him, eyes smiling.

  “I talked to Garrett this morning. Told him that I was resigning.”

  Taylor turned to him, putting a hand up to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. “Are you kidding me?”

  He shook his head. “No, I’m not kidding. I want to strike out on my own, get away from the Bureau. Maybe start my own firm, consulting. You could come work with me.”

  “I’m not ready to leave Metro, Baldwin, you know that.”

  “Then you could confer with me on some of the consultancies. Regardless, it’s done. I’m mailing the papers in the morning. I want to be here, Taylor. With you.”

  He stood and went to her, hands on her arms, head bent to touch her forehead.

  “I’m tired of this life. Tired of watching these crimes, waiting for the next killer to surface. I want more. I want to be with you. Today, tomorrow. Forever. I want you to be my wife.” He took her left hand in his and she felt something hard slide down her fourth finger. She looked at her hand, astounded by the sparkling diamond.

  Taylor was stunned. Not so much by the proposal, but by the emotion she was feeling. Wife. The word was so foreign to her. It wasn’t something she had really thought about, not seriously. She knew Baldwin loved her, and she him. But the idea of spending the rest of her life with him wasn’t something she’d let herself think about.

  They faced such danger every day. Evil spread like a cancer through their lives, binding them to the darkness. Marriage seemed like such a hopeful proposition. Happiness wasn’t a luxury she’d thought she could afford.

  “Baldwin, I… I don’t know what to say.”

  The look on his face broke her heart. “I don’t mean that I’m saying no. I just hadn’t thought about it. Not seriously. I… Baldwin, I hate the thought of losing you. I’m scared that if we do get married, I might lose you.”

  “Taylor, that’s crazy thinking. I’m not going anywhere. No one is going to come between us. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep us both safe.”


  She felt tears prick the corner of her eyes. Baldwin was standing back a few feet now, looking at her as if she might explode. The naked vulnerability on his face overwhelmed her. He took it as a sign that she was refusing, started to leave, to go into the house. Taylor caught his arms. She grasped his hand, brought it to her lips. The tears were coming now, trickling down her cheeks. She swiped a hand across her cheek, smiled through the haze that was clouding her eyes. She pulled him close, drawing him back down to her. She brushed his lips with hers.

  “No, please don’t. Please, don’t go.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Yes.”

  *

  ISBN-13: 9781460395820

  All the Pretty Girls

  Copyright © 2007 by J.T. Ellison

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com

  Rediscover fan-favorite Lieutenant Taylor Jackson in book two of this riveting, intricately crafted thriller series from New York Times bestselling author J.T. Ellison.

  Ten victims, each with pale skin and long dark hair. All slashed across the throat, the same red lipstick smeared across their lips.

  In the mid-1980s the Snow White Killer terrorized the streets of Nashville, Tennessee. Then suddenly the murders stopped. A letter from the killer to the police stated that his work was done.

  Now four more bodies are found, marked with his fatal signature. The residents of Nashville fear a madman has returned, decades later, to finish his sick fairy tale. Homicide Lieutenant Taylor Jackson believes the killings are the work of a copycat killer who’s even more terrifying. For this monster is meticulously honing his craft as he mimics famous serial murders…proving that the past is not to be forgotten.

  Originally published in 2008

  14

  J.T. ELLISON

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  PROLOGUE

  Would the bastard ever call?

  Smoke drifted from the ashtray where a fine Cohiba lay unattended. Several burned-out butts crowded the glass, competing for space. The man looked at his watch. Had it been done?

  He smashed the lit cigar into the thick-cut crystal. It smoldered with the rest as he moved through his office. He went to the window, grimy panes lightly frosted with a thin layer of freezing condensation. It was cold early this year. With one gloved finger, he traced an X in the frost. He stared out into the night. Though nearly midnight, the skyline was bright and raucous. Some festival on the grounds of Cheekwood, good cheer, grand times. If he squinted, he could make out headlights flashing by as overpaid valets squired the vehicles around the curves of the Boulevard.

  He tapped his fingers against the glass, wiping his drawing away with a swipe of leather. Turning, he surveyed the room. So empty. So dark. Ghosts lurked in the murky recesses. The shadows were growing, threatening. Breath coming short, he snapped on the desk lamp. He gasped, drawing air into his lungs as deeply as he could, the panic stripped away by a fluorescent bulb. The light was feeble in the cavernous space, but it was illumination. Some things never change. After all these years, still afraid of the dark.

  The bare desk was smeared with ashes, empty except for the fine rosewood box, the ashtray and the now-silent telephone. The room, too, was spartan, the monotony broken only by the simple desk, a high-back leather chair on wheels and three folding chairs. He opened the humidor and extracted another of the fortieth anniversary Cohibas. He followed the ritual—snipping off the tip, holding the lighter to the end, slowly twirling the cigar in the flame until the tobacco caught. He drew deeply, soothing smoke pouring into his lungs. There. That was better.

  The isolation was necessary. He didn’t like people seeing him this way. It was better if they perceived him as the strong, capable man he’d always been, not this crippled creature, this dark entity with gnarled hands and a bent back. How would that image strike fear?

  Not long now. Fear would be his pale horse, ridden from the backs of red-lipped girls. His duplicates. His surrogates. His replacements.

  The ringing of the phone made him jump. Finally. He answered with a brusque “Yes?” He listened, then ended the call.

  An unhurried smile spread across his face, the first of the night. It was time. Time to start again, to resurface. A new face, a new body, a new soul. With a last glance out the window, he snubbed out the cigar, closed up the humidor and braved the shadows. Moving resolutely toward the door, he disappeared into the gloom.

  *

  The phone was ringing. Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, she recognized the sound, knew she’d have to answer. But damn it, she was having a really nice dream. Without opening her eyes, Taylor Jackson reached across the warm body next to her, positioned the receiver next to her ear and grunted, “Hello?”

  “Taylor, this is your mother.”

  Taylor cracked an eyelid, tried to focus one eye on the glowing clock face—2:48 a.m.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Goodness, Taylor, you don’t have to be so gruff.”

  “Mother, it’s the middle of the night. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night? Because you have some kind of bad news. So if you could just spit it out so I can go back to sleep, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Fine. It’s your f
ather. He’s gone missing. From THE SHIVER.”

  A rush of emotion filled her, and she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Win Jackson. Winthrop Thomas Stewart Jackson IV, to be exact. Her illustrious father, gone missing? Taylor let the lump settle in her throat, blinked back the uncharacteristic tears that came to the surface.

  Her father. Her chest tightened. Oh, man, she didn’t even want to think what this might mean. Missing. That equals dead when you’re gone from a boat in the high seas, doesn’t it?

  Father. Amazing how that one word could trigger an avalanche of bitterness. She heard the rumors fly through her head like migrating birds. Daddy got his little girl a place in the academy. Daddy bought his little girl a transfer out of uniform into Homicide. Daddy gave the mayor a major campaign contribution and bought his little girl the lieutenant’s title. Good ole Win Jackson. Corporate raider, investment banker, lawyer, politician. An all-around crook, wrapped up with a hearty laugh into a deceptively handsome package. Win was a Nashville legend. A legend Taylor tried to stay as far away from as possible.

  Sitting on the edge of her bed in the darkened bedroom, the thought of him evoked a rich scent, some expensive cologne he’d gotten in London and insisted on importing every year for Christmas.

 

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