14 - J. T. Ellison [132]
Win folded his arms across his chest, closing himself off. “You have a hard heart, daughter. I’m sure that fiancé 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 café 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,