14 - J. T. Ellison [131]
Taylor wiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. There was nothing more she could do. This was a part of life, this process of the dead feeding the living. The survival of the fittest, the weak providing sustenance for the strong. It didn’t have to be this way, not in this instance, but it had happened so many countless times in the past….
Taylor got in the truck and pulled away. She did a U-turn and headed back toward the house. She owed Baldwin an apology. Damn that man for being right all the time.
Fifty-One
Nashville, Tennessee
Wednesday, December 24
4:30 p.m.
Taylor sat at a round café 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 café. 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