14 - J. T. Ellison [87]
The driver turned and smiled, and Taylor had a brief moment when she thought, no, I’ve been wrong, this is all a joke.
A flash of black caught her eye and she focused on the object in the driver’s hand. Her heart skipped a beat and she sucked in her breath involuntarily. Her brain registered the situation. It took only a fragment of a second, but when the smile widened, she knew absolutely that she had to get her weapon up, now.
The motion was smooth, graceful, lightning quick. Such close quarters, there was no need to aim, just cock the hammer and pull. A full squeeze, the roaring boom. But her body convulsed. Pain shot through her. She dropped her weapon, dropped the bag, her eyes rolled back in her head. Her last thought tore through her like an electrical impulse—Baldwin is going to kill me. Then all was dark.
The driver grinned at his handiwork. Everything was going according to plan. All he had to do now was make the body disappear. He turned back in his seat, turned the key with his gloved right hand and glided back onto the highway. He went a short way, then exited onto the huge flying overpass that led to Briley Parkway. A few miles ahead was an airport and a plane. All he needed to do was reach it, and he would be home free. All the missions accomplished. His boss would be very happy.
Twenty-Seven
Nashville, Tennessee
Saturday, December 20
3:40 p.m.
Baldwin paced outside the grand edifice of St. George’s, seeing everything and nothing. He was vaguely aware of being cold; he had no overcoat on, just a formal morning suit—traditional tailcoat in dark gray, a barely discernible stripe in his trousers, waistcoat in a subtle dove-gray check and a slate ascot replete with a mother-of-pearl stickpin that had belonged to his great-great-grandfather. Taylor might laugh at him for being such a dandy, but he only intended to do this once, and he wanted to do it right. Besides, the various shades of gray reminded him of her eyes.
Yet there was no bride.
He checked his watch again. She was forty minutes late. And he was dying inside, shriveling up second by second. Each heartbeat hurt a little more than the last. In all the fantasies he’d had about this day, Taylor not showing wasn’t among them.
St. George’s Episcopal Church was situated in Belle Meade, barely fifteen minutes from the Hermitage Hotel in downtown Nashville. Ten minutes if the lights were all green and there was no traffic. There was no reason for the limo to be taking this long to get to the church. If it had broken down, or there’d been an accident, either the limo company or the responding officer would have called to let them know. The wedding party was all law enforcement, either Metro or medical examiner, and most of the guests had their hand in the mix in one way or another. Nashville was small enough that very few members of Metro Police Department didn’t know the LT was getting hitched today.
Calls to Taylor’s cell phone were useless; Sam had it stashed in her diaper bag because Taylor didn’t have room for it.
Baldwin fought the urge to strip off his jacket and run howling into the parking lot. Damn it, where the hell was that woman? How could she do this to him?
A gust of warm air enveloped Baldwin midstride and the strains of Handel’s Water Music drifted to his ears. Fitz came out of the large wooden doors that led to the nave of the church. An avuncular smile filled his broad features. Baldwin stopped pacing for a moment, happy to have the short-lived heat and the company.
“Son,” Fitz began, but Baldwin shook his head and held up a hand.
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Son—”
“I know what you’re going to say, Fitz.” He adopted a deep baritone with