J. Ellison - The Immortals

“Don’t talk,” Taylor said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Ariadne rolled her eyes. “Hey, I might lose a few pounds. Can’t be all bad.”

Taylor cracked a smile. If she was okay to joke, she’d live. A weight crashed off her shoulders. She stepped closer to the bed to avoid its fall to the floor.

“I will find him,” she vowed.

“I know. He will be punished. So will you, if you’re not watching. Go careful, Lieutenant.” Ariadne was done in. She closed her eyes again. Taylor was certain they’d given her a powerful sedative, something to alleviate both the physical and emotional gashes.

Taylor patted her awkwardly on the hand and walked out of the room. McKenzie stayed behind for a few minutes, then joined her in the hall.

“What did she say?” Taylor asked.

“Nothing. She’s asleep. I was just…”

He broke off, and Taylor nodded at him. She knew what he’d been doing, she’d done the same thing. Silently pleaded for forgiveness.

“Let’s go.”

She’d never felt so wretched as she did at this moment, pulling into her garage, the house lights burning brightly on their new timer, designed to turn on the outside lights at dusk and off at dawn, gaily welcoming her back. The sorrow in her gut wasn’t just for Ariadne, but all of the victims-the children who’d been taken, Brittany Carson and her giving rush of life, the boy, Brandon Scott, betrayed by a lover. Nashville wouldn’t be the same after this Halloween weekend, would forever be marked by the twisted desires of a teenage boy. The Green Hills massacre would be remembered forever-Ariadne was right; so long as there were living people to remember the dead, they’d reanimate, live on forever.

Would that be her feeling about Fitz, were he never found? Would a memory of the man be enough to suffice?

If she lost it now, there might not be any going back. She opted for being strong, grabbed a Miller Lite from the refrigerator, and went up to the bonus room. Her beloved pool table sat quietly in the dark room, waiting.

She pulled off the cover and drained the beer, grabbed another from the small refrigerator she kept up here for just this purpose.

Racking, breaking, shooting, the rhythm soothed her. She cleared the table in five minutes, playing eight ball against herself, then lined up the balls in a triangle for a game of nine ball. When she sank the seven she had a thought, glimmering in the back of her mind. By the yellow and white striped nine, she felt a peace steal over her limbs. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the pool, maybe it was knowing that no matter what, Baldwin would come home and they’d be together. She forgave herself and went to bed.

The phone was ringing. Taylor heard it, some part of her brain recognized the noise. She was so tired, sleep dragging her back into the clutches of darkness. She glanced at the clock-6:40 a.m. Damn.

She answered, forcing her voice to sound alert.

“Lieutenant? Commander Huston here. You need to report to Hillsboro High School. They’ve gotten a threat against the students. We’ve put them on lockdown. Looks like your suspect is there, waggling a gun around. He’s got a class full of kids hostage, and I’ve gotten reports that the security officer was disabled, though I don’t know details. Get yourself over there. And Lieutenant? Be careful. This boy sounds like he has nothing to lose.”

She was already out of the bed. “I’m on my way,” she said, breathless, then threw the phone down.

Waning Crescent Moon Fifteen Percent of Full Three Days Past Samhain

(Halloween)

Quantico November 3 7:10 a.m.

“S o what do you want to do?” Garrett asked.

They were having breakfast in a little diner they liked. Baldwin hadn’t slept. His beard was growing in, itching his cheeks. Reliving the Arlen case was torturous. Having to remember the worst time in his life, his biggest mea culpa, was wearing on him.

And the bastards on the disciplinary committee had suspended him. Possibly permanently.

“Honestly? I want to go to North Carolina and see if I can’t help with the Pete Fitzgerald case. I know that the Pretender is behind it. We have no idea how long they’re going to play this suspension game.”

“Until Tucker is satisfied that you’ve learned your lesson and won’t be going off the reservation ever again. Which is exactly what you’re telling me you want to do.”

“Garrett, this case is going to explode. I can feel it. And if we’re not on top of things, we’ll have even more egg on our face. The Bureau doesn’t need to have any more bad press.”

Garrett raised an eyebrow at him.

“I know, I know. I’m the one generating the bad press right now. Which makes an even better case for me to get out of town and help untarnish my reputation.”

“You’re suspended, Baldwin. You need to go back to Nashville and quietly play house until they recall you.”

He set his fork down, his eggs untouched. “Is that what you would do?”

Garrett gave him a familiar sideways smile. “Of course not. But I’m not you. I can’t promise that I can keep you safe if you continue to piss Tucker off. He’s got it in for you.”

“I know. Thank goodness for Reever. If he hadn’t started spouting off they might have actually fired me.”

Garrett finished his coffee.

“Go to North Carolina. See what you can dig up. But do it quietly. I’ll run interference from here.”

“You’re the best, Garrett.”

“What are you going to tell Taylor?”

He toyed with his coffee cup.

“As little as possible. She’s compromised already. She has a serial killer stalking her, her father figure is missing, she’s just gotten her command back. The last thing she needs is to hear smut about me and Charlotte.”

“I gotta tell you, Baldwin, I think you’d be smart to tell her the truth. All of it.”

“She’d never forgive me.”

“Baldwin. You’ve been carrying this load for five years. No one will blame you.”

“I don’t think so. Not now. The timing isn’t right.”

“There’s never going to be a good time. You know that. Charlotte is dead. The boy isn’t. Be careful, man. You don’t want to lose her.”

“I know. Thanks, Garrett.” He stood and tossed a twenty on the table, trying to force the image of his smiling, green-eyed, red-haired son out of his head.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Nashville November 3 7:10 a.m.

T raffic was at a dead stop. She put the flasher on the roof of her Lumina-she’d kept it overnight, knowing that if something went down in the morning, she wouldn’t have the time to go to headquarters and trade her personal vehicle for an official one. And now that she was back at the rank of Lieutenant, that was her right. There weren’t enough cars to go around all the plainclothes staff, so they shared. And part of being a good leader, in her mind, was never putting her own comfort above her troops’. They appreciated the gesture, and she didn’t feel guilty when she did.

Hillsboro High School was ahead on her right. She eased her way onto the shoulder, scooted around the edge of a black BMW 6 coupe, not even taking the time to covet the magnificent vehicle, and weaved into the parking lot.

The school’s parking lot looked like a war zone.

All officers on duty were in attendance, plus the tactical response team. Shit. SWAT, that was never a good sign. The department’s hostage negotiator, Joe Keller, was standing next to their mobile command unit in a suit and tie, buffed and polished, gray hair cut in a military flattop that bristled with authority, looking appropriately somber and excited. No one liked a hostage situation, but they did serve to get the blood pumping.