Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 1

by J. T. Ellison

  Lincoln had tracked down the offices in California that were listed on the billing statements for the Selectnet Web site. But the trail had ended there. Despite Lincoln’s raw talent for ferreting information out of the ether, even he was stymied. Notwithstanding Gorman’s information, most of which they already had, he needed bigger resources. Which of course meant escalating the investigation.

  She was tempted to let Lincoln simply wipe her videos from the system. More than tempted. That would cover her ass. But how many other women were in those video files unaware? Could she in good conscience walk away from them too?

  She knew the answer to that. She didn’t have a choice, not anymore. She took another swig of beer, set the bottle on the deck railing, lining up the bottom of the container with the wet ring its condensation created on the dark redwood. The evening still had some lingering warmth from the afternoon sun, a nice counterpoint to the chilly start to her day. She rubbed the back of her neck, then dialed the phone. Baldwin answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, babe. How are you?”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve been better. Do you have a minute?”

  “Actually, yes. What’s wrong?”

  “I need some professional advice.” She laid out the facts in as cool a voice as she could. When she finished, she could hear him breathing in the background.

  After a moment, she heard him mutter, “Son of a bitch.”

  Yeah, you hit that one on the head.

  He continued, his voice strained. “Jesus, Taylor. This isn’t the best timing.”

  “Trust me, I’m a little perturbed myself. But that’s not the big problem. My embarrassment aside, I don’t know how many more videos are up there of other unsuspecting women. From what we could access through their firewall, the vast majority of the videos are just like the ones of me. Dark, grainy, low quality. Hidden cameras. Lincoln hasn’t busted through to their higher echelons yet, the better stuff might be hidden up there.”

  He was silent.

  “For God’s sake, say something.”

  “What do you want me to say, Taylor? This is a bit overwhelming. Are you sure there aren’t more of you?”

  “No, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything. All I know is there was a slew of videos of me fucking some guy I can’t stand. Some guy I fucking killed.” She couldn’t help raising her voice. “What is this, Baldwin? Are you jealous of a fucking ghost?”

  “Don’t start attacking me. I’m—”

  “You have absolutely no idea how humiliating this is. My team saw the video. Lincoln and Marcus saw me. And God knows how many other people. So yeah, I’m a little upset. And you’re not helping.”

  He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice had a dangerous edge.

  “I’m just not exactly thrilled with the idea of my fiancée on the Internet, fucking, as you so crudely put it, another man.”

  Taylor caught her breath. “It’s not like I arranged for this, or gave my consent. Come on, Baldwin, what the hell?”

  She was just about to hang up on him when he said, “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was cruel of me. Are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m not okay,” she snapped. “But I don’t have a choice. I need to figure out what to tell my boss.”

  “Don’t do that just yet. God, Taylor. You landed in it this time. Let me look into this. It sounds a lot like a case we had a few years back. We busted an amateur porn ring, a group of motorcycle freaks who were posting videos of unsuspecting women showering in their homes. I’ll make a couple of calls, see what I can find out.”

  “What, now you’re sorry about it all and you want to help?” The snide edge to her tone surprised her. That wasn’t fair of her. He sighed deeply then, and she wished she could take it back.

  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” Taylor said. God. She shouldn’t have told him. She knew she shouldn’t have told him.

  “Stop, okay? Trust me, I’ve got about fourteen different emotions running through me right now. I’d like to kill David Martin, but that’s not an option. I’d like to kill you, but you’re too far away.” She heard something odd in his voice. Jesus, what was happening? Was her whole life going to collapse because of David damn Martin?

  “Yeah, well, then I’m kind of glad you’re there and I’m here. I’d like to go on appreciating my life, at least as long as I can.” She reached for her beer.

  “Let me go and start checking this out. I…I’ll talk to you later.”

  The abruptness of his desire to stop talking to her hurt her feelings more than his coldness. She said goodbye and hung up, wishing she had an old-fashioned phone so she could slam the receiver down and he could hear that she’d hung up on him. The button to turn the phone off wasn’t nearly as emphatic, or satisfying.

  Darkness had descended. Taylor glanced at her watch. Not quite nine yet. She had a few more minutes before she had to head out to the cabin. She went inside, careful to lock the door. The beer was making her sleepy. She sat down on the couch, flipped on the television. He hadn’t said I love you before he hung up. She’d never fought with Baldwin before, not like that. It made her nervous. It made her realize that she loved him. She cared what he thought about her. And that was the scariest part of it all.

  An unfamiliar calm settled over her, and she fought the urge to fall asleep. Too much to do.

  But the room was warm, and she was comfortable. Though her mind was unwilling, her body, deprived of a decent rest for days, won the battle.

  *

  He stood on the back deck, watching her through the blinds. She was deeply asleep, her arm thrown up over her head, a cowboy boot propped on the coffee table. How he longed to enter the house. For now, he was content to watch her sleep. Watch the faint rise and fall of her chest, watch the spot in the hollow of her neck that flashed with each beating of her heart.

  She was lovely.

  Perfect.

  His.

  THURSDAY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Taylor was shocked when the sunlight streaming in her southerly facing front windows woke her. She looked at her watch—6:00 a.m. How in the hell? She’d slept for almost ten hours. She was a stranger to deep sleep, much less an entire evening and night’s worth at once. She felt sluggish, but when she sat up, she realized how rested she was. Goodness. If she could do that every night, she’d be in heaven.

  She got up, pulled off her boots, and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Looking out the window, she saw her next-door neighbor striding across her back lawn. Knowing he’d be on his way to the back door, she went to greet him. She realized she hadn’t turned on the alarm the night before.

  Don Holmes knocked a moment later, rattling the blinds, a manic grin spread across his features. To say Don was more of a morning person than she was would be an exercise in understatement. She opened the door, prepared herself for the torrent she knew was coming.

  “Morning, Don. How are you?”

  “I’m okay, Taylor. Beautiful morning, isn’t it? Just wanted to let you know, you had a dead rabbit in the backyard, I took care of it. Someone had killed it, then put a flowerpot over it. Crazy. The dogs were barking at it, so I cleaned everything up, disposed of the carcass. You know it had a wire across its neck? How do you think that happened? Probably some kids playing back in the woods. Anyway, just wanted you to know. I’m in a bit of a rush, need to get to work. Have a good day!”

  And he was gone. Her neighbors were very nice, but sometimes a little nutty. Well, that explained that. Getting forensics off a rabbit carcass was a long shot anyway. At least now she knew she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

  She went upstairs to shower. Jeans, cowboy boots and a black T-shirt on, she came back to the kitchen, strapped her weapon to her belt, made a cup of tea. Don should be gone by now. She decided to brave the morning outdoors and drink it on the deck. She took the phone with her. She needed to know what had h
appened with Baldwin while she slept her life away. She knew they needed to clear the air.

  Sitting in her favorite Adirondack chair, she returned Don’s wave—he was pulling out of his garage. She had all the privacy she’d need.

  Baldwin answered on the first ring.

  “Good morning,” she said, wanting something neutral, not sure how it was going to go.

  “Hi.” He was short, and said nothing further.

  “You can’t seriously still be mad at me?”

  “Who says I’m mad?” he said.

  “You sound pretty pissy. It’s not like I asked for this.”

  She heard him sigh. “Truce, okay? I reacted badly. I wanted to rush to your aid, and I couldn’t. And I’m not used to hearing your snappy side.”

  She thought about that for a moment. He’d wanted to come to her, to help. He was right, she had been snappy. Though she still felt justified in that.

  “All right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

  “What about hanging up on me? Are you sorry for that?”

  She squirmed. Being repentant was not in her nature. “Yes. I was being childish. Fair enough?”

  He was quiet for a second, and she knew she’d been forgiven. “Fair enough. Why do you sound so chipper, anyway?”

  “You’ll never believe this. I just woke up. I completely crashed last night. All this shit aside, I feel great.”

  “Maybe we should invest in some sleeping pills, get you rested like this more often.” He was teasing her, and her mood lightened. Everything would be okay.

  “Don the motormouth was over here…” She trailed off. She hadn’t told Baldwin about the rabbit, or the stalking, or the overwhelming creepiness she’d felt for the past few days. Time to change the subject.

  She took a sip of tea. “So, any progress on your end?”

  “Yes, actually. We—”

  She didn’t hear him. Over top of the railing, she saw a man standing in the forest that edged the back of their property. Her heart skipped two beats, then came back with a vengeance, showering her body with adrenaline. Her vision became pinpoint, every detail stood out. She knew immediately, without a doubt. It was him. The man who left the rabbit, who’d been calling, who stalked her dreams. He saw her looking at him and smiled, then turned and disappeared into the woods.

  She looked wildly to the east. Don was long gone, disappeared out of his drive into the neighborhood, his garage door just finishing closing behind him. She was alone. And either hallucinating or in danger.

  “Baldwin, I…I need to call you back.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Obviously she hadn’t disguised her concern when she spoke—she could hear the alarm in his voice.

  “It’s nothing. I’ve got some wacko hanging around, making obscene phone calls, that kind of crap. I’m pretty sure he just came to the edge of the lawn, stared right at me. I’m going to—”

  “Are you armed?”

  Baldwin sounded distant, a voice she didn’t recognize, and the note of menace sent a chill down her spine. She froze, then slipped her hand to her waist, unlocking the flap to her holster and unsheathing her Glock. She palmed the gun and set her finger along the trigger.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Listen to me very carefully. I want you to go inside the house, hit the alarm, then get on your cell phone and call for backup. Do not hang up the phone, Taylor, do you understand me?”

  She didn’t argue. Stepping inside, she locked the door behind her, went to the panel in the kitchen and pressed the button that would send a silent alarm to the security monitoring system. The call would let them know that she was in imminent danger, needed cops rolling her way immediately with lights and sirens off. She’d never had cause to use it before, simply pushing the button made the hair raise on the back of her neck. When she and Baldwin had the system put in, he’d insisted on the feature. She wondered now if this was the reason why. He knew something.

  “Baldwin. I’ve tripped the silent alarm. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t, not entirely. This person you saw, describe him to me.”

  “Hey. Tell me what is going on.”

  “Taylor, please, I’m asking you to trust me. Just tell me what he looked like.”

  Taylor conjured the man, feeling her pulse race as he reappeared in her mind’s eye.

  “Tall, at least six-two. Brown hair, longish, falling over his right eye. Tan slacks, a cream sweater under a blue windbreaker. I couldn’t see any more than that.”

  “If I faxed you a picture, could you ID him?”

  “You know who this is? What the hell?”

  “Just…go grab this fax. I’m sending it now. I think I might know who it is. And if it’s him, you’re in danger.”

  “I can take care of myself, Baldwin. Unless he can stop bullets—”

  “Not from him. No one is safe from him, gun or no. Just go look at the fax, Taylor.”

  His voice was strained and coupled with a note she’d never heard before. Fear. It scared her. She climbed the stairs two at a time and went into Baldwin’s office on the second floor. The paper was printing out of the fax machine. She picked it up and glanced at it.

  “Yes, Baldwin. It’s the same guy.”

  “Oh, God.” Baldwin was breathing heavily into the phone. “Where the hell are the cops?”

  “Uh, babe? I am a cop, unless you forgot.” Her doorbell rang. “Hear that? They’re here.”

  “Check before you open the door.” She started down the stairs, listening to Baldwin screaming at someone in the background. Wow, she’d never heard him get this rattled before. This character must be quite the creep.

  The doorbell rang again, and she saw movement through the glass insert. She reached for the knob. It felt slightly hot, but she knew that was her imagination. She turned the lock and swung open the door.

  The vision before her looked like something out of the apocalypse. Surreal. B-movie cinematic. Two burly men, one blond, one redhead, both crumpled in a bloody pool at the top of her steps. She could see an early-model generic gray Ford Taurus parked on the street in front of the house, knew they were the undercover unit the alarm company had sent. Their throats gaped at her, slit wide from a sharp blade. The redhead was still alive, barely. She could see him mouthing the word sorry over and over, his eyes blank, emptying. His mouth stopped moving as she watched.

  Her peripheral vision registered the man who’d been at the edge of the woods standing in the grass of the front lawn, hands in his pockets. She looked up and time stopped. They stared at each other, eyes locked. He didn’t move toward her, didn’t threaten. Then he nodded, puckered up his lips and blew her a kiss. Taylor blinked, hard, not believing what her mind was telling her was happening, and he was gone. Not more than two seconds had passed.

  “Oh, my God,” she yelled. She slammed the door shut and threw the bolt. Jesus, she’d had a clear shot at him. She’d never raised her weapon. What in the hell? Had she frozen? Had he been a figment of her imagination? Her training was unconscious at this point, she should have leveled her weapon and taken a shot. Why hadn’t she? Confusion flooded in; she came back when she heard yelling.

  “What, what?” Baldwin was roaring in her ear. She ignored him for the moment, ran upstairs and secured a second and third magazine for her gun. She came back to the top of the stairs, sat on the step. Putting the gun in her lap, she opened her cell phone, called in to dispatch. Two phones, one gun, and one suspect who was playing tricks with her head. She didn’t like the odds.

  “Hold on,” she said to Baldwin as dispatch came through the line.

  “Nashville dispatch.”

  “This is Lieutenant Jackson. Code three, 10-51, 10-54. Repeat, 10-51, 10-54! Officer needs assistance code three. I need bodies at my location, my home address immediately. I have a suspect on my property, armed and dangerous, repeat, armed and dangerous. He’s just killed two security guards on my front step. I don’t have him
in my sights—I am locked inside the house. I need you rolling now!”

  “Oh, dear, sweet Jesus.” Baldwin was cursing in her right ear. Dispatch was moving, incredulous at her call.

  “Lieutenant, confirm that for me again. You’ve got a 10-51, 10-54, code three, officers down. We are rolling, lights and sirens, Lieutenant, ETA three minutes. You all right?”

  “Confirmed, off-duty officers down. I am uninjured, but I’ll be better when y’all get here. Tell them the suspect is six-two, brown on brown, wearing tan pants, cream sweater, blue windbreaker.”

  “Will do, LT. Be careful.”

  She hung up. She could hear the faint screams of the sirens already, knew she’d be fine, but her hands were shaking. She slipped the cell back into its belt hook, palmed the Glock. He couldn’t unlock doors and get inside that quickly, and even if he did, she had her weapon trained on the stairwell, locked on the front door. Sweat beaded on her forehead, in the small of her back, between her breasts. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to force the adrenaline back into dormancy. Anger replaced the physical rush. She hissed at Baldwin.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy is happening here? And how do you know this person? Talk fast, the cavalry is coming.”

  “Oh, Taylor. I am so sorry. I should have trusted my own judgment. I knew you were in danger, I just didn’t realize he’d move so quickly. I’m getting on a plane. I’ve already got the pilots gassing up and revving the engines. I’ll be wheels up in fifteen minutes. When they clear the scene, get out of there. Go to the office, make sure you’ve got a guard on you. If it makes you feel better, it’s me he wants.”

  “Who wants? Baldwin, you are making no sense.” There was banging on her door. She looked out the front window, there were four police cruisers and multiple people milling across her front yard. “They’re here. I need to go deal with this. You’re coming now?”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Who is he, Baldwin?” She walked down the stairs, listening to his struggle on the other end of the phone. Knowing he was coming somehow gave her the courage to open the door, allowing the sight of the two dead security guards to fill her with horror again. Weapons were everywhere, black and dangerous, bristling with unvented fury. Officers surrounded her house, scattering like quail into the backyard and the forest beyond. The scent of blood was strong in the air; the dogs across the street were baying in frantic unhappiness.