Jackson 07 - Where All the Dead Lie (27 page)

Taylor quickly realized that while she was out of danger, Rachael was not. She pulled the needle from the woman’s neck, tossed the syringe across the room toward the fireplace. She shoved Rachael upright and back against the wall, then stood in front to cover her. They were smashed together, Rachael’s front against Taylor’s back. She pushed back against the wall as hard as she could, so Rachael couldn’t wiggle away. Or stab her in the back.

Memphis had taken on the look of an enraged bull. Another couple of steps and he’d be right on top of her. His voice was thick with pain and anger.

“Let. Me. Have. Her.”

“No,” Taylor said. “We need to let the police sort this out.”

“I
am
the
fucking
police.”

“No, you’re the victim’s husband. Rachael will tell us where she is. Won’t you, Rachael?”

Rachael was whimpering, in pain, in fear. Taylor didn’t care which.

“
Won’t you,
Rachael?” she said again, whirling around and planting both hands against the wall on either side of Rachael’s face. “Where is she? Where is Evan?”

Rachael was going to try defiance again. Taylor was going to have to hit her. She might enjoy that a bit too much. Without turning her head, she said to Memphis, “May I have your handcuffs, please?”

That did it. Taylor congratulated herself on being a keen judge of character. Death didn’t frighten Rachael as much as the idea of incarceration.

“She’s in Moldavia. A place up in the Carpathian mountains. If she’s still alive. That’s why I chose it. Most don’t survive the first winter. You already had the papers signed. You were going to commit her anyway. I just took care of it for you.”

Taylor punched the bitch in the stomach for adding that last bit of torture.

Chatty Rachael collapsed onto her hands and knees, vomited on the drawing room floor.

“Nice shot,” Memphis said.

“Thanks. What are we going to do with her?”

“I don’t know. String her up on the grand staircase?”

“Tempting. But perhaps we can lock her in one of the rooms until the constable arrives, instead.”

Memphis was still red in the face, upset and furious. She didn’t blame him. “I suppose that would be all right. Why is she wearing my mother’s ring?”

“What are you talking about?” Taylor asked.

“The onyx ring. It’s my mother’s. She used to bring it out as a novelty at parties. Another one of the Highsmythe family legends—that ring has a hatch in it for poison.”

Taylor went to Rachael and wrenched it from her hand.

“So that’s how she did it. I knew she put something in my beer.”

She handed the ring to Memphis, watched him turn it over and over in his hands. He could barely meet her eye.

“Oh, Taylor, I am so sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“We should probably have to have someone watch her. She’s tried to commit suicide before. She told me that’s why she became a psychologist, to help combat the demons. I want to make sure she’s never able to do this to anyone again.”

“She had me considering it. She tried to drive your wife to it. I can’t say she deserves any less.”

Taylor stood straight, flexing her fingers. Punching people hurt; she had abrasions on all her knuckles.

“Um, Memphis? Trixie has been helping Rachael poison me. Giving me something hallucinogenic. I’ve been seeing ghosts, having rather vivid dreams.”

“Trixie wouldn’t do that. Would you, old girl?”

Drawn by the shouts and screams, the entire staff of the castle had gathered in the hallway. Trixie was standing in the drawing room door, hands folded in front of her.

“No, sir. I did all I could to keep the lady safe. Dr. James was acting strangely, and the lady was obviously getting ill. I kept an eye on them as much as possible.”

“Taylor, Trixie was the first one who called me. She thought something was wrong, asked me to come home. Then Madd… I mean, Rachael, called and said you were delusional, that you’d had a break. I knew I needed to get back straightaway. The trains and planes weren’t an option, so I drove. Took me all bloody night, too.”

“I’m glad you got back in time, Memphis,” Taylor said.

“Me, too.”

Rachael didn’t fight them when they handcuffed her to the fire grate. It was as safe a place as any to hold her. Trixie stood guard, five feet away, her back ramrod-straight, a heavy fireplace poker in her hands. She looked quite menacing. Rachael had retreated within herself, to some catatonic place where she could live out her vivid, sick fantasies alone. A red welt surrounded the spot where the needle had been inserted in her neck. She’d reach up to scratch it every few minutes.

Taylor and Memphis were on the other side of the drawing room, watching.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jacques?” Taylor asked.

“I did.”

“About the threats to the family, Memphis.”

He ran his hands over his face, wincing as he touched the damaged flesh.

“Because I had no idea they were directed at anyone but my father. With him away, I felt this place was as safe as any other. I had no idea that the threat was from within. Could it be true, Taylor? Is it possible? Is Evan alive? And my son?”

His son. She didn’t know the answer to that. She shook her head and shrugged.

Taylor’s phone rang. The caller ID was from Nashville. Lincoln.

“Hold on.” She clicked the answer button. “Linc. What do you have for me? Rachael just mentioned Moldavia.”

“That’s a possibility. I’ve scoured the U.K., France and Italy. Nothing yet. Let me expand the search parameters. How would she get her there?”

“Friends. She grew up on Long Island, that much was true. Look at the Russian community, see if she did time with anyone. She probably met them inside.”

“God, you’re good. I’m ready for you to get back to work. Come home soon, okay? I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.” He clicked off.

“We’re working on it,” she said to Memphis. “Let’s deal with one thing at a time, okay?”

Trixie had brought Memphis an ice pack. He was gingerly trying to put it on his cheek.

“Here, let me.” Taylor took the bag of ice and laid it gently against his cheek. She took the opportunity to assess the damage. His nose was definitely broken, but that cheekbone would need an X-ray to know for sure.

“Why, pray tell, did you feel the need to hit me? That wasn’t very nice.”

“Like you gave me a choice? You were going to hold me down while she shot me full of God knows what. I can’t believe you believed her over me.”

“I’ve known her longer. And she’s been insinuating herself into my world for a very long time.”

His face was wrecked. The emotions from the past hour coupled with the swelling wasn’t doing him any favors.

Aside from Rachael and Trixie, they were alone in the room. Jacques had been tended to by the kitchen staff, carefully carried into the kitchens, where he was now lying on the servant’s table awaiting the local emergency services, who were coming with the police. The constable had just called; he was due in ten minutes. They had time.

“Memphis? I need to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“The night after we went to the bridge, did you come to my room?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “Would you like me to say yes, or no?”

“I just want the truth. The medicine Rachael gave me made me have very strange dreams, strange thoughts. I did a lot of hallucinating. I need to know if you were there or not.”

“You mean, whether making love with me was real? I’m glad it was that memorable.”

Oh, shit. She had slept with him.

She handed him the ice pack, avoided his eyes, and turned away.

It was wishful thinking that she could blame a hallucination for her actions. Stupid, stupid girl. Letting your hormones make decisions for you. Rachael was right. We all have a choice.

She took a deep breath. She would get through this. She and Baldwin, together, would get through this.

“Taylor,” Memphis said softly. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. If Evan’s alive… If…if there’s any chance that she’s actually alive, that she’ll forgive me, I must take that chance. She is my wife.”

“I know that. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I adore you, Memphis, but I don’t love you. I love Baldwin.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

Baldwin strode into the room, took in the scene. She felt all her air leave her. How much had he heard?

But he was smiling at her, a wide, happy, welcoming smile.

He’d only just arrived, heard her pledging her love to him.

She went to him, a magnet drawn north. Let him envelop her in his arms. A huge sigh escaped her. She was safe. She could let down her guard now.

“Memphis,” Baldwin said. “Someone did a number on your face, brother.”

“Talk to your woman. She’s got a fierce right hook.”

Baldwin coughed out a laugh, looked down at Taylor, nestled in his arms. “You did this to him?”

“I didn’t have a choice. He didn’t believe me.”

“Remind me never to disagree with you,” he said lightly.

“How did you get here so quickly? I thought the airports were closed?”

“Atlantic made a call to Special Branch, pulled a favor, and I got a ride on a Lynx that was headed up here. That was fun. The British military do have some cool toys.”

Memphis wasn’t enjoying the byplay. He gave Baldwin a mock salute. “Baldwin. Thank you for all your help. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

He stood, shakily at first, then made to leave the room. As he walked past them, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Taylor?”

She turned from her shelter, looked at Memphis.

“I wasn’t there,” he said, then smiled, sadly, and left the room.

Baldwin leaned down to give Taylor a kiss. She welcomed it. When he’d walked through the door, she couldn’t help herself, she’d wanted to leap into his arms and be held forever. She just couldn’t face this world without him. If anything, this trip, her time in Scotland, had solidified that for her.

She was just happy she’d escaped with her life.

“God, I missed you. Are you okay?” he asked.

“I am. And I am so happy to see you. You have no idea.”

He gestured at the door, where Memphis had just walked out.

“What was all that about?” Baldwin asked. “Where wasn’t Memphis?”

She debated for half a second. No, she didn’t want to go any further without getting this off her chest. Memphis had just given her the answer she needed. He’d never said he’d been in her room, but he had said that he hadn’t. She would take that. It was all a hallucination.

“Taylor? What’s up?”

“I… How to explain this?”

Baldwin released her. Crossed his arms on his chest. “You need to be honest with me. Did you sleep with him?”

“No.”

“Did you want to sleep with him?”

“I don’t know.”

The pain on his face made her cringe. He wanted honesty from her, and while she agreed that she owed him that much, what was the point? Hearing that she’d had doubts, that she was attracted to another man, was going to do nothing but hurt him.

And she was tired of hurting him. God, she was tired of so much. She just wanted to be sure again, of herself, of her life, her purpose, her trajectory. She was like a shooting star that had looked down at Earth, gotten distracted and subsequently became lost in the dark of the night’s sky.

“I was so mad at you, Baldwin. You kept so much from me. Memphis gave me friendship when I needed it most, when you were pulling away from me. Since I’ve been here… I was being drugged. I had some pretty intense dreams. But that’s all they were. Just dreams.”

“That’s an awful lot, Taylor.”

“Can you forgive me?”

His deep green eyes met hers. “Can
you
forgive me?”

“Yes. I can.”

“Then you know my answer.”

He pulled her close again, settled his lips on hers. His beard scratched her chin, and felt her heart pounding.

This was so right.

She was sorry when he stopped.

“Taylor, are you really okay?”

Not entirely. But she was getting better. She squeezed his hand.

“I’m okay. At least, I will be. Right now, we have more important issues to deal with. We need to get Memphis and Evan together. Can you help?”

He smiled.

“I think I can. Let me make a call.”

Taylor had a chance to see Rachael one last time.

The British government wanted to prosecute her, but the United States wanted to extradite her as well. She’d broken parole and stolen the identity of a woman named Madeira Hudson. Started a new life. Went to school. Got her degree. Met and married Roland MacDonald, moved to Scotland and bore him three sons. Had a normal life, for a while. Then became overwhelmingly obsessed with Memphis. Changed her name to James and started her second downward spiral.

God knew how many other crimes she’d committed. Her initial release from the state mental institution had been predicated on compliance with her probation. Since she’d broken that, and fled the country, she was going back inside.

But there were bigger issues concerning her case in the States. The parole officer assigned to her case was dead, and Rachael was the prime suspect. The New York police would be able to clear a homicide if they got her back. The Brits had her on too many charges to count—kidnapping, two counts of attempted murder, drug possession. Whoever got to have first crack at her, Rachael Mack was going away for a very long time.

Taylor didn’t know whether an asylum or jail was the right place for a person like Rachael. She was obviously a psychopath. The syringe had been loaded with penicillin, which Taylor was deathly allergic to. Coincidentally, so was Rachael, and that’s why she’d flinched when Taylor put the needle in her neck.

Taylor thought it telling that the woman would gamble that way. Or maybe, just maybe, it was her own personal suicide bomb, like a cyanide capsule, just waiting for her to be caught. Maybe she was simply crazy after all.

Rachael had stolen Evan away from her comfortable life, stashed her in an asylum in Russia, and effectively killed the child she carried. The tiny boy had been born early, in freezing conditions; with no neonatal support, he had died within hours.

That news alone had been heartbreaking for Memphis, but it was tempered by the fact that his wife had been found. She was alive. No one knew for sure what her mental state would be, but the finest doctors were lined up to take care of her.

After extensive questioning, Rachael broke and explained her crimes. The intimidation. The forgeries. The illusions. How she’d broken into Memphis’s world, his email, his office, and pretended to be him. The physical intimidation, passive-aggressive at first, when she put the cut glass in Taylor’s new coat, then more direct. The hypnosis. Then the hallucinogens, her own prescription for Seroquel tinged with LSD. How over two years ago, she’d taken the young woman she’d recently hired to nanny her sons, a woman who wouldn’t be missed, to Dulsie Bridge and murdered her, hitting her in the chest with a rock to imitate the blunt force trauma of a steering wheel. Then she cut her face to shreds with a knife and stashed her body in the truck before inviting Evan on a drive. Compromised by the drugs she’d been taking, trusting Maddee as a friend, Evan suspected nothing.

Rachael told Evan she was Memphis’s mistress, that he hated her, that he didn’t want her or the child, then knocked her out. She put the nanny in the driver’s seat, spread her blood throughout the car, and shouldered it off the edge of the road. Time and gravity managed the rest. And since it seemed Evan had been suicidal—they had that suicide note, expertly forged by Rachael—Memphis and his family had quietly hushed things up and let it be known that she’d been in a bad accident. Their influence assured nothing more was done to investigate.

Rachael had taken Evan to the coast, off Inverness, and put her on a boat. She’d made many friends while incarcerated. And the Russian mafia in Long Island possessed a legendary cruelty. They already had the signed committal papers. A few favors, a few strings pulled, and Rachael had Evan out of the way.

The story was astounding in its simplicity and duplicity. Evan’s grave up at the kirk was exhumed, the body inside tested for DNA, matched to a woman named Patricia Cantrell, who’d been missing for over two years.

The Inverness airport was situated on a strip of land between the city of Inverness and Fort George, an English garrison built to house the English troops left in country after the Jacobite uprising of 1746. There was no more fighting on Scottish soil between the Brits and the Scots after that. Their enemies were larger, from without, not within. Like the Highsmythes and Rachael Mack. They’d never seen her coming.

They were coming now. Rachael was shackled, head bent, shuffling along like a crippled dog. Taylor refused to feel anything for her. Compassion was best reserved for creatures who could be saved.

Rachael was being transported to London for holding while the various governments decided what to do with her. It seemed to Taylor that she had shrunk, and she doubted Rachael would see the inside of a prison. She’d kill herself before she went back inside for long, Taylor was sure of it. And she was certain that she wasn’t sorry about that, either.

As if she knew Taylor was there watching, she lifted her head and stared right at her. A small smile played on her lips. She awkwardly turned her hands around within their metal braces and raised her middle finger.

Such a classy girl.

Taylor resisted the urge to return the gesture, settled for watching Rachael get loaded into a British Airways 767. She hoped she’d have a very uncomfortable flight, then dismissed her. She’d have to testify, come back to England to let them know what Rachael had done to her, but that was probably a while away.

As the plane with Rachael inside left, another pulled up. This one was a private plane, a Bombardier Learjet, specially procured by Baldwin’s covert friends.

Evan had been found, desolate and alone, fighting to keep her sanity. While she wasn’t directly mistreated, the Russian government was more than happy to keep the news of a British citizen’s unlawful incarceration on their soil quiet, and were willing to do most anything requested of them.

Memphis stood five feet away from Taylor, watching the plane arrive with breathless anticipation. He’d lobbied to go directly to Russia to get Evan himself, but was denied. Instead, he’d had to wait for her to return to U.K. soil, just like everyone else.

The Lear pulled to a stop. The door swung open and the stairs unfolded. A man Taylor didn’t recognize stood in the door, then reached behind him to give a hand to some one else.

Taylor heard Memphis suck in his breath.

Evan looked nothing like Taylor in person. Her hair was shorn. She was obscenely thin. But she gave Memphis a wavering smile, and he bolted for the stairs of the plane. She met him halfway down the steps, and they embraced, two drowning souls who’d just found a bit of flotsam in a very wide sea.

Taylor felt tears prick her eyes. This was right. This was good. The universe was realigned.

She watched Memphis, his arms around Evan, the joy on his face. She was so happy for him. Having Evan taken from him so abruptly, and to have her restored, brought back from death, was too much. She couldn’t help but feel a small gnawing at her heart. Memphis would never look at her in the same way again, not now that he had his Evan back. She wasn’t jealous, not at all, but felt the sadness of the inexplicable shift that happens in every relationship, the moments of before and after that change the color and complexity of life.

No child, but the chance at redemption. They had time to create another life. They had a future.

And so did she.

To her left, there was movement. Baldwin, dressed for the weather, stood stoically watching the reunion. He looked over at Taylor. Things weren’t right between them, not all the way, not yet. But she could hope.

Baldwin held out his hand to her.

“Come home, Taylor. Please, just come home with me. We can figure everything out there.”

That’s what she wanted, more than anything.

“I need you to promise that from here on out, if we’ve got any hope of surviving, you will be honest with me. No more secrets. No more lies. I can’t take any more deception from you.”

He nodded. “Taylor, you know everything. Everything that I know. I promise. I’ll never hold back from sharing with you again.”

She looked at the man who’d fought for her so hard, through everything, through bullets and transgressions and serial killers and false starts, the man she knew in her soul she would spend the rest of her life with. He stood so still, his face hopeful, the hand he extended more than just a chance for succor, but the opportunity of a lifetime.

With a last glance over her shoulder at Memphis and Evan, she turned to Baldwin, resolute, and took his hand, smiling.

“Let’s go home.”