14

Fifty-One

Nashville, Tennessee Wednesday, December 24 4:30 p.m.

Taylor sat at a round cafe table, the pungent aroma of coffee permeating the room. She took a sip of her latte, not tasting the contents of the cup. She resisted the urge to put her head in her hands. What a position to be in. She adjusted her weapon, settling it into a more comfortable spot under her arm. She rarely carried concealed, and wondered briefly why she had eschewed her normal hip holster in favor of the shoulder harness. Baldwin preferred the harness, wanted the easy access of the gun coupled with the concealment afforded having the weapon tucked away. Not Taylor. She preferred it hanging on to her hip like a barnacle.

The door jangled, and she looked up, breath in her throat. It was time, then. Baldwin had made the arrangements.

She had her role to play.

Win Jackson cast furtive glances around the small cafe. Taylor recognized him casing the place, looking for exits, assessing the crowd, making sure he could get away. She put her hands on the table in front of her, the diamond on her left hand winking. Just a normal coffee date between a father and his daughter.

Taylor got caught up in the fantasy for a moment. As he drew closer, she fought the urge to stand and throw her arms around him, greet him warmly with a long-overdue hug. Instead, she stayed put, a stone figure. This man, her own flesh and blood, was up to his ears in mobsters and friends with serial killers. Jesus.

Win reached the table and sat heavily. His eyes were bloodshot, his gray hair mussed. The sour stench of day-old beer reached her nostrils. He looked like he’d been on the run for a while.

“Nice ring,” Win opened.

Taylor spit out a little laugh. “Yeah. Not so bad. How are you?” Damn it, Taylor, what are you doing? You don’t care about this man. Why are you asking how he is?

Win looked surprised by the question. “I’ve been better, actually. Being dead isn’t so easy.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten yourself in that position in the first place.”

“Who are you to judge, Taylor? I remember your philosophy when you were a kid. There but for the grace of God go I, and all that? What happened to that little girl, huh?”

“She grew up.” Her tone was frosty. Win had just made a tactical mistake. Playing on their old relationship, fragile as it may have been, was not the gambit that was going to work with her. She felt her heart shut down, became all-business.

“Why did you want to meet with me, Win?”

“I don’t even warrant Father from you anymore, Taylor? That is what I am, after all. Your father.”

She met his eyes. A combination of diffidence and begging lurked behind the gray irises, so very like her own, and he looked away.

“You can’t even meet my eye. How am I supposed to call you Daddy when I know what you are?”

“What am I? Huh, Taylor? Answer that. You don’t know anything about-”

“Don’t push me, Win. It won’t work.” She leaned back in the chair, lifted her cup to her lips. This charade needed to end.

“Seriously, Win. Why did you want to meet with me? It’s a little dangerous to go meeting with the cops when you’re on the run from us, isn’t it?”

“Because I need your help. And you need mine.”

“Really? I need your help? Hardly.”

Win leaned forward. “Get me a cup of coffee and I’ll explain.”

“You’ll explain now. I don’t have time for cloak-and-dagger shit, nor do I intend to sit here all afternoon while you try to play your little games. Talk.”

Win folded his arms across his chest, closing himself off. “You have a hard heart, daughter. I’m sure that fiance of yours is in for quite a ride.”

“Leave him out of it.” She pushed the argument away.

“No. I…I need him, too.”

The flash of anger came so intensely she had trouble tamping it back down. Now she knew what was happening. Good old Win. He didn’t want to see her, like he claimed. Nope, that wasn’t it at all.

“Talk,” she commanded.

“Only for immunity. I’ll give the feds everything they need to take Malik down. And trust me, I know where the bodies are buried.”

“I’m so proud,” Taylor murmured.

“And I need witness protection. I want to disappear.”

“That shouldn’t be so hard. You’ve been a master at that my whole life.”

“I’m serious, Taylor. I need protection. Malik is capable of many things, and he has a lot of friends who are just as bloodthirsty. They’ll see me dead before they let me talk. I need your word, Taylor.”

“No,” she said, as calmly and softly as she could muster.

Win Jackson’s eyes bulged. “What do you mean, no? You can’t say no. You’re not authorized. You don’t work for them. You can’t make a decision like this.” The desperation in his voice was so hard to hear. Damn it, he was scared. But that wasn’t her problem. Her heart was stone.

“I’m sorry, Win. Malik was taken into custody this morning and turned over to the Argentinean government for human trafficking. He’s being extradited as we speak. We don’t need you. I don’t need you.”

She stood, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Goodbye, Dad.” She turned and started for the door. Damn Anthony Malik. L’Uomo. The Man had fucked them both. He’d taken a man who might have had a future, and tossed him down the rat hole. He’d taken her father and turned him into just the kind of man Taylor despised.

“Taylor, please?”

She turned and saw Win, standing by the table, his hands out. “Taylor, you can’t do this. He’ll kill me. It doesn’t matter whether he’s in custody. You have to get me out of town. I need money and transportation. You need to save me. For God’s sake, I’m your father.” He took a step toward her; her hand automatically crossed her body, went to her weapon. She dropped it as soon as she realized, but Win had caught the movement.

“What, were you going to shoot me?”

“No, Win.”

“You have to help me. Please,” he begged again. Something in her tore.

It was too much to ask. This charade was impossible. She was a cop. That’s who she was always meant to be. It was ingrained in her DNA, in her blood. Blood she’d spilled in pursuit of the truth, to be honest, and faithful to the law.

This was the plan, that she’d exit the building, walk away from her father and his crimes forever. Baldwin had told her that the Argentinean authorities weren’t going to press charges against him, that he was in essence a free man.

Damn Baldwin, he knew her better than she knew herself. How did she think she was going to live with letting her father, the criminal, walk away? She wasn’t. She realized she’d made the decision several minutes before and just hadn’t let the conscious thought into her mind.

“Taylor?” Win asked again, sensing the struggle she was having. There was hope in his voice. “You’ll help me get away?”

Taylor gave her father a smile. “Yes, Win. I’ll help.” She crossed to him, three long strides, grabbed his right wrist and spun him around, latching her handcuffs on to his wrist. She got his left arm before he could struggle and whipped it behind his back, slapped the cuff on.

“Win Jackson, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You-”

“What the hell are you doing? Taylor? Let me go. Taylor, you can’t do this. You can’t put me into the legal system. He has men everywhere, Taylor. They’ll kill me. They’ll kill you.”

“Yeah, Win, he might. But at least I’ll die knowing I did the right thing.” The faces of the cafe workers were wide with shock. She finished Mirandizing him and took him outside. Marcus was waiting in the parking lot, a cruiser with a plastic divider waiting with its door open, just like she’d asked. Just in case. She handed the still-protesting Win off to him.

“You may want to Mirandize him again at the station. There may be a conflict of interest.”

“Why?”

Taylor caught Win’s eye, his face cloudy with a portending storm. There was naked hatred in his gaze, and Taylor’s last little bit of love for him melted away. She turned to Marcus, a tight smile on her face.

“I assume there’s some crazy technicality that precludes me from Mirandizing him because he’s my father. And if there isn’t, he’ll find a lawyer to drum one up, get this all thrown out on appeal. Just humor me.”

She stepped away, trying not to listen as Marcus read Win his rights, then instructed him to get in the back of the car, to watch his head.

She watched Marcus drive out of the parking lot, saw Win look back over his shoulder at her, pleading in his eyes. She hardened her heart. She could no sooner let him walk away than she could stop breathing. It was his own damn fault.

She hit the door open button on her key fob. She saw a reflection in the window, and turned to see Baldwin standing behind her. He didn’t say a word, and neither did she. She just went to him and let him comfort her.