All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [137]
“You have to step back now, Quinn. We need to make room for them to work on Reese.” Taylor could see the waxiness of his skin, the light fading from his eyes as he struggled for breath. Funny, neither she nor Baldwin had made an effort to help him. She supposed that was fitting.
Quinn was down on the ground, smoothing Reese’s hair back, murmuring to him. The blood was flowing steady and strong from the wound in his chest, and Taylor could see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip. He was whispering back to Quinn, over and over, repeating the same two words. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The sirens cut through the night. The ambulance pulled to the road and the EMTs rushed through the clearing. Taylor pulled Quinn back.
“We need to give them room to work on him, Quinn. Hold it right here for a moment.”
Quinn looked at Taylor. “Will they be able to save him?”
Baldwin stepped into the light, laying a hand on Quinn’s arm. “Let’s let them work, Quinn. You’re going to need to step over here with me.”
Baldwin signaled to the patrol officer that had joined the ambulance. “Please take Mrs. Buckley to your car. She needs to sit down.” The man marched her smartly away.
Taylor raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to have to charge her?”
“She just shot a man. I think there will be enough to claim some kind of self-defense, but we need her clear of the scene.”
Quinn was put into a patrol car, eyes down. Baldwin signaled to another patrol, the children needed to be attended to, as well. Neither was badly hurt, just shaken. Jake Junior had a thin line of blood along his collar. One of the EMTs came to them, looking them over. They were going to be just fine. They were seated in the car with their mother, who gathered them in her arms and buried her face in their shoulders. Baldwin studied them for a moment. They would remember this night forever, he was sure of that. He turned back to the focus of the night.
The EMTs were lifting Reese onto the stretcher, ready to take him to the hospital. Taylor went to them.
“Is he going to be all right?”
The EMTs’ hands were slick with Reese’s blood. “Yeah, we should be able to get him to the hospital without too much trouble. Another inch and he wouldn’t make it. Lucky son of a bitch.”
“Then hold on just a moment.” She pulled her cuffs out of her back pocket, reaching for Reese’s arm. He was groaning and cursing, incoherent with pain and weak from blood loss. She snapped the cuff around his wrist, then affixed the other end to the stretcher rail.
“He’s under arrest. Don’t let that cuff off of him, do you understand?”
The EMT started to protest. “But we can’t—”
“Don’t even think about arguing with me. A patrol will ride with you for security. I’ll meet you at the hospital. Now go.”
She walked the few steps back to Baldwin, a smile on her face.
“We got him.”
Fifty-Three
Taylor and Baldwin were seated on the back deck, drinking ice-cold beer from the bottle. Reese Connolly was being arraigned today.
The past week had gone by in a blur. Reese had made it to the hospital, and after several touch-and-go hours, the doctors had repaired the damage and declared that he would live. Taylor felt such immense satisfaction at the declaration. The bastard would pay for his crimes, would be brought to trial and judged. Reese’s instincts had been right, he was a national story, one his aunt would have been desperate to cover. As it was, in death Whitney Connolly had gained the fame and notoriety she’d always craved.
Quinn kept insisting Reese was so consumed with hatred and misguided loyalty that he wasn’t in his right mind when he committed the atrocious murders that paralyzed the Southeast for the summer. The D.A. had decided not to seek an indictment against her. She had hired the best criminal attorney in Nashville and was fervently seeking support for an insanity defense for her eldest son.
Baldwin had spent a long afternoon at Riverbend prison, visiting with Nathan Chase, trying to find if there were any missing pieces to fill in. Nathan