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Sam, I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I don’t love him. Not in the way he wants me to. Or needs me to. That’s the thing, he needs me, so much. It’s so different from Baldwin. Baldwin has never needed me. He adores me—that I have no doubt about. But if something happened to me, he could go on, and be happy with another woman.
Memphis has already experienced that loss. And I know I’m just a substitute for Evan. But when he kissed me, I felt something I’d never felt before. And I don’t know what to make of it.
Write me back. Say something wise.
Love,
Taylor
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Baldwin liked Sir Nigel. He was down-to-earth, pragmatic, and not a bit of help.
“I checked all of our files. We don’t have a record of ever using Julius, anywhere. Granted, that’s not much of a surprise. These kind of men are best left off paper.”
“Isn’t that the truth. Well, I appreciate your help.”
“There is someone who might know, though. I’ve got a call in to him. As soon as I hear back, I’ll ring.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
“Certainly. Till then.”
Julius. Where the hell are you, man?
Atlantic insisted Julius had simply gone off the reservation, but Baldwin wasn’t so sure. Julius had always been so reluctant. Terribly good at his job, a world-class sniper, but with a code. He wasn’t like many of the guns for hire. Julius was a thinking man’s assassin. Baldwin actually liked the man.
If anything, Julius had decided enough was enough and had dropped off the grid because he was tired of the job. He’d done this before. Baldwin had talked him into coming back.
That time, he’d tracked him to a cozy hidey-hole in Amsterdam, but so far he hadn’t shown up there.
Baldwin closed his laptop and sat back in the chair. The house was too quiet without Taylor. He missed her. God, he missed her.
If he found Julius, he was going to have to go talk him off the ledge and bring him back home, make sure he wasn’t going to lose his edge. But all he really wanted to do was catch the next plane to Edinburgh.
The texts had arrived in the middle of the night, polite and noncommittal. And he, not wanting to look like he was desperately awaiting word, had waited to respond. He got out his BlackBerry and read them again.
Tried to imagine where she was right now, what she was doing. What ridiculously charming event Memphis had pla
He was being petty. He knew Taylor wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their relationship. He understood her desire to get away. Hell, if it had been him, he’d have collapsed long ago. She’d find her way back to him. Didn’t they always say that if you loved someone to set them free?
The phone rang. He hoped to see the 615 area code, but no luck. It was Ainsley again.
He answered on the second ring.
“That was fast.”
Ainsley didn’t waste any time. “He went to Argentina.”
“Are you kidding? What’s in Argentina?”
“Wine and alpacas. Probably a woman, too. Who knows why they choose these places. I’ll send you the specifics. With any luck, you’ll catch up to him.”
“With any luck. Thank you, again. I appreciate the information.”
“Be well, Dr. Baldwin.”
“And you.”
He hung up the phone. Fuck. Argentina? Julius, you asshole.
His email dinged. The information from Ainsley. He read it, forwarded it to Atlantic.
The reply came back almost immediately.
Just received the same information. He’s not there anymore. We got a hit on one of his identities. He took a flight from Buenos Aires to Amsterdam last night. Hope your passport’s ready.
Perfect. Amsterdam he could handle. It would get him closer to Taylor, anyway.
Atlantic’s people would arrange his flights. With any luck, he could be in Europe by nightfall. He’d be met by someone from Angelmaker; they’d grab up Julius and he’d be finished before Christmas.
Then he could get his focus back. On his missing son. On Taylor.
He banged out a text before he went to pack.
Taylor, that’s good news. I’m glad your meeting went so well. I am leaving shortly for the airport. I’ll do my best to be in touch, but if you don’t hear from me, don’t worry. I’ll call as soon as I can. Be good. I love you.
He just hoped she’d be willing to have him when he got back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Di
After di
There were two snooker tables and one for regular pool. The table was grand, traditional green baize, heavy wooden lion legs, the pockets made of excellent well-broken-in leather. They assembled their cues, flipped a coin, and Memphis won. Ever the gentleman, he ceded his turn to Taylor, who, feeling frisky, ran the table.
The next game, Memphis got serious. He was a competitive man by nature, and Taylor wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. They began laying bets, a pound a game. They played late into the night, the score moving back and forth, until Taylor got on a major roll and won seven pounds off him. Not a bad night’s work.
The pallor from earlier in the day was lifted. When Taylor finally excused herself to head to bed, Memphis didn’t fight it. He walked her to the door again, gave her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek. He told her to call him if she needed anything, and to meet him in the dining room for breakfast at eight.
He lingered a moment.
“Do you want me to come in?” he finally asked.
Did she? Her body said yes, her mind said absolutely not. Her heart, well, she was learning to ignore the bitch.
Memphis. I think what happened this afternoon shouldn’t happen again.
He was quiet for a minute. “Whatever you want, Taylor. I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Good night, then.”
He headed off down the hall without looking back.
Great. Now he was pissed at her.
But it was better this way. With him gone, she could focus on the real reason she was here—getting back to normal. She was tired of feeling vulnerable. It wasn’t in her nature.
Her room was warmed by a fire, the flames dancing merrily, casting shadows on the walls. There was a tape next to the player with handwriting on it—Maddee’s biofeedback lessons. Taylor just wasn’t in the mood. She didn’t want to work right now. She wanted to forget. She wanted to disappear.
She noticed a new decanter on her bar, this one filled with a ruby-red liquid. She went to the bar, pulled the stopper out and sniffed, delighted to find the vintage port from last night. Thoughtful man. She poured herself a glass and sat in the chair opposite the fire.
She wondered how Baldwin was faring, wondered why he hadn’t called her back. She knew he was busy, that that bastard Atlantic would have him jumping through hoops on some top-secret project. She thought that maybe hearing his voice would help her center, get her grounded again. She grabbed her phone from her purse and saw the text. He’d be gone by now. She called anyway. Got his voice mail. It was better than nothing, but it didn’t help. Damn.