Страница 28 из 73
“Too bad your dad’s not around to ask.”
Yes, too bad. Taylor gave Baldwin a weak grin and finished off her wine.
“Excuse me.”
It was the valet, with her keys. He handed them to Baldwin. “I’m leaving for the night. I pulled the car up—
it’s right outside the door.”
14
149
Taylor looked at her watch. It was nearly 2:00 a.m.
“Oh, I am so sorry. We didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”
Baldwin pulled out his wallet and handed the young man a ten. He nodded his thanks and took off toward the kitchen, probably to snag some leftovers as additional payment for the evening.
“We should go.” Baldwin stood and stretched.
“Yeah. Let’s see if we can get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”
They bundled up, got in the truck and headed out of downtown, both lost in their thoughts.
Fifteen
The lights were driving her mad. After a productive evening in the bar, and a not-so-productive tryst back in a stranger’s hotel room, Charlotte had retired to her suite. Men. She was always amazed at their selfishness. How hard was it to make a woman come, for God’s sake? She’d picked poorly tonight; the fool was too drunk to care about getting her off. He’d passed out after his own release, and she’d stolen from the room like some kind of whore. If he’d left money on the dresser, it might have been a more redeemable situation.
After treating herself to a moment in a warm tub, she crawled between the stiffly starched sheets and tried to get some rest. But the lights from downtown Nashville spilled in through the too-sheer curtains, keeping her awake. She got up and raided the minibar, sloshing some Scotch on the floor as she dumped three airplane-size bottles of Joh
Amazing, at two in the morning there was still life on 14
151
the streets. The Nashville she remembered from her youth was a quiet, somnolent place after dark. At least in the areas she’d been allowed to traverse. Church, maybe a res
taurant or two. In her Peter Pan collar and pressed skirt, Mary Janes and velvet headbands, always on the arm of the latest in a series of na
The joys of traveling in a private jet meant she could bring her pharmaceutical stash with her and not worry about security. It was always such a pain to travel com
mercial; she had to be much more discreet than hiding a few pills in with her medication.
She lay back on the bed, thinking about Baldwin. And that bitch, Taylor Jackson. How that country frump had cap
tured the eye of a man like John Baldwin was beyond her. Baldwin’s strong arms, the thick, unruly black hair, those green eyes… Charlotte started regretting the hit of X. She should have known better; it always made her horny as hell. 152
J.T. Ellison
Well, tomorrow was another day. She finished the whiskey and lay down on her right side, facing away from the windows. Just as she began to drift off, her cell phone blared to life.
She reached across to the night table and picked up the phone.
A gruff voice greeted her. “Hi.”
“How’s the old man?” she asked.
“Just that. Old. Bent and crabby and missing his former glory. Just like you said.”
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong. I told you to trust me. Aren’t you glad I did? You’ve been having some fun, haven’t you?”
“Mmm,” he said. “I miss you.”
Charlotte rolled onto her back and slipped her free hand into her panties. “How much?”
“You can’t even imagine.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it, baby. Tell me all about it.”
Sixteen
Nashville, Te
Thursday, December 18
9:00 a.m.
“I gotta make.” The little boy was muttering, plucking at the front of his ski pants. “Mama, I gotta make.”
“Jeffie, where in the world did you hear that phrase?”
Tami Gaylord looked in amusement at her three-year-old son. He was at that stage, picking up every word that floated past his tender ears.
“Don no. Gotta go, Mama, gotta make.”
A sledding outing had been the perfect respite for Jeffie’s boundless energies. But the reality of nature would strike at the most inopportune moments. The young mother looked around the park. They were on the opposite end from the bathrooms, and a three-year-old with a full bladder wasn’t going to survive a five-hundred-yard walk in the snow back to the restrooms. She looked around—
no one was close. He was a boy, after all. They could step into the short brush, strip off his snowsuit, point and shoot. 154
J.T. Ellison
She knew his father had been teaching him to write his name in the snow the other night. She’d caught them at it, on the far side of the garage, and scolded while she laughed. Men. She was blessed.
“Come here, sweetie. We’ll go right here behind these bushes. Remember what Daddy taught you the other night?”
“I write my name?” Jeffie started stripping out of the snowsuit, and Tami laughed, reaching over to help her pre
cocious son. When he was unbundled, they stepped into the screen of bushes, shielded from the rest of the park. Tami played with the branch of a pine tree while Jeffie started peeing, singing a happy, tuneless song, spelling his name in the snow just like his daddy taught him.
“Big J. Little E. Little F—Aaaah! Mooommmyyy!”
Startled by her son’s scream, Tami flew to his side.
“What, baby, what’s wrong?” Jesus, did he get bitten?
Was there an animal lurking in these woods?
Jeffie was pointing, a look of horror contorting his rounded features. Tami followed the boy’s finger, strain
ing to see into the gap where her son was pointing and shouting.
“What the hell?” There was a lump in the bushes. It twitched and moved, and both Tami and Jeffie jumped and screamed.
A tired voice rose from the snow-covered surface. “Por favor. Please. Help. Me.”
The ambulance lights made kaleidoscopes on the crys
talline snow blanketing Edwin Warner Park. The icy surface refracted the spi
155
the ambulance, watched the dark-haired girl wince every time the light struck her eyes.
She approached the EMS team, who were hovering over the girl. She knew one of the men, a strawberryblonde named Mike Bunch. He was bandaging the girl’s scraped knee tenderly.
She tapped him on the shoulder. “Mike.”
He jumped, then smiled at her. “LT,” he said. “What can I do you for?”
“Mind if I turn off your rack? They’re bugging me.”
“Girl, you can do anything you want to my rack.”
Bunch’s mustache twitched. She rolled her eyes at him, went to the driver’s side and cut the switch. She came back to the open ambulance doors, heard a whispered, “Gracias.”