Rescuing Baylee (Nightshade #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Baylee didn’t like being idle. Her life was her job, taking care of little people. It was what gave her satisfaction.

Being off work was hard. She loved her weekends, of course, but now that she’d been told she couldn’t go to work, she wanted to even more. Why was that? Within twelve hours of being home, she was looking for something to do.

There was laundry. Always. The cupboard beside the stove needed cleaned out. She’d found several expired food items recently. There was probably some online training she needed to catch up on if she felt like getting on her laptop.

None of those appealed to her.

She was feeling a little guilty about the way she’d treated the detective yesterday. It wasn’t his fault she was prickly about men in her space. In her mind, she knew he probably would never do anything to her, but she’d been na?ve before. There was no way she ever expected to be attacked the way she had been on the base in Afghanistan. And she refused to be caught flat-footed again.

Plus, with everything that happened the night before, and it being the anniversary of the Rebellion, it hadn’t been a good day to meet in any conceivable way.

Maybe she needed to give the man the benefit of the doubt and apologize.

Ugh. She hated it when she felt like she was in the wrong, but the scene from the day before rankled at her. The man had been checking on her, being nice. She’d been raised to be polite and friendly, and she hated going against the grain. Maybe she would try to talk to him, or something. She could ask him about any updates.

Updates about what? You killed the guy that shot up the hospital. That was more than likely the end of the situation. No pun.

Maybe she would make some cookies or something. She rolled her eyes at herself. How trite was that? Maybe a loaf of bread, instead. Striding into the kitchen, she went through her cupboards, looking for ingredients. Well, she had the makings for cookies, but she doubted she had enough flour for bread. So, cookies it was.

Baylee set the butter out to soften and decided she needed to do some chores while she waited for that to happen. Digging the Swiffer from the closet, she added a new pad and started through the apartment. Siggy didn’t shed a lot, but there was enough hair on the hardwood floor that she eventually needed to replace the pad.

“Jeez, cat,” she grumbled, chasing him from the living room with the Swiffer. “Are you stress-shedding, or what?”

Siggy stalked down the hallway to her bedroom, his dark tail in the air, and Baylee snorted. Damned cat had more attitude than he knew what to do with. As soon as she’d seen his battle-scarred face at the shelter, she’d known he was the one that needed to go home with her. Siggy was older, but the shelter worker had assured her that Siamese tended to live long lives. It didn’t matter to Baylee. She’d fallen in love as soon as she’d seen him, and he’d ruled her life for the past five years, she thought, laughing.

After she cleaned the floors, she dusted with a damp cloth. She looked at the streaks of dirt on the rag when she was done. Yeah, it had been a while since she’d cleaned. Heading into her bedroom, she stripped her bedsheets and threw them into the washer to get started, then she put away the stack of clean clothes on her dresser she’d been avoiding. Why were socks such a pain in the ass? They were all the same brand of white, yet they all looked different.

Stopping in the kitchen, she checked the butter. Softer, but not quite ready. In desperation, she grabbed her Kindle. Maybe she would read for a while.

Baylee sank into her armchair and waded through the saved books in her library. Nothing sounded appealing, though.

Heck with it. Maybe she just needed to get out of the house.

Slipping her old tennis shoes on, she grabbed her keys and pocketed them, then locked the door behind her as she went out. There was a small courtyard in the back for the residents of the building, and she’d kind of taken over the raised flower beds. Mrs. Traeger, the building supervisor, loved it, because it meant she didn’t have to get up and down anymore.

“My old knees appreciate you, dear,” she said, laughing and she squeezed Baylee’s forearm years ago when she’d asked.

Digging in the dirt always appealed to Baylee, surely because of the way she’d grown up. Dad had been career military, but Mom was a homebody. They’d divorced when she was young. She and her mother had lived on her grandparent’s dairy farm in Ohio for most of her life, and it had been a wonderland for a child. There were kittens to play with and calves to bottle feed, a stock pond to play in on sweltering days. Yes, there was a lot of work, too. The cattle needed milked twice a day, morning and night, without fail. She learned to get up early and go to bed early because the cows needed attention. There were no long vacations.

Baylee could drive anything mechanical she was put on, though, so when her mother’s brothers converged during hay season, Baylee was the designated driver of the hay wagons. The men would stack the bales, and she would drive, then they would return to her grandmother’s house to stack the hay in the barn and eat a monster meal, replacing all the calories they’d burned. And when it was time to do hay on her uncles’ farms, everyone would converge there and do the same thing. It was a life built on cooperation and hard work, and she’d loved it.

As she let herself into the courtyard, she stopped to take a deep breath. The sun was easing toward the horizon and the heat was easing, so it was the perfect time to weed. Baylee made her way over to the first raised brick-walled bed, sitting on the edge to lean in to pull the interlopers. The roses were blooming like crazy, and the hostas were so full, even though she forgot to water them more often than not. With a small hand trowel, she began carefully extracting the bad stuff - dandelions, crabgrass, and patches of clover. It had been several weeks since she’d done this, and it seemed like every flavor of weed had sprouted in her flowers.

Then she moved to the section where she’d planted vegetables. The dirt was thick and dark, and moist. The soaker hose was still working. She weeded through the plants, careful not to uproot anything edible. She plucked a few tomatoes from the vine, setting them on the brick edge, and tossed several that bugs had gotten into. Snipping the flowers from the basil plants, she leaned in to breathe deeply. She needed to get down here more often now that the veggies were coming in. The stress in her shoulders had eased and her head was no longer pounding.

Sometimes it was hard to allocate the time. It seemed like the more shifts she worked, the more they needed her. Pediatrics wasn’t an easy floor. It was why she’d left Texas Children’s hospital. Being a pediatric oncology nurse had been one of the most fulfilling jobs she’d ever done, but it had also been the absolute hardest. Baylee knew that her soft heart was too empathetic to work there. Every patient struggle had affected her, to the point that she had nightmares about failing her patients, and depression had dogged at her. Her counselor had called it ‘compassion fatigue’ and had suggested a critical decision about her career.

Baylee had recognized that there was a chance she would burn out if she stayed there. As much as she wanted to help her tiny patients, she was aware that she had to take care of herself as well. So, a few months ago, she’d transferred into Dell-Seton’s pediatric team, away from oncology. Only a few weeks in, she knew she’d found her home.

And the work had been diverse, like being on the emergency peds trauma team. That wasn’t a place she’d ever expected to be, but she certainly had the qualifications for. And so far, her sleep schedule had evened out, and her depression seemed to have eased. She would never be perfect, not after her history in Afghanistan, but she was trying to be the best version of herself she could be.

Stupid psychobabble. The words had seeped into her skin, she supposed.

Turning, she sank down onto the side of the brick wall, brushing dirt from her hands.

Last night, when she’d aimed and fired the gun, she hadn’t even hesitated. For a second, she’d flashed back to FOB Nightshade, and what she’d done there. Despite all the counseling she’d done, her counselor still hadn’t managed to drag any regret out of Baylee for killing people. She honestly didn’t feel the need to feel regret in taking those lives. There was only one thing she regretted doing over there, and it would haunt her for the rest of her life. Even as she thought about it, her throat tightened with emotion and her heartbeat picked up.

From out of nowhere, a sleek, dark dog shoved her head between Baylee’s dirty hands. “Oh, hello,” she said, laughing softly.

Baylee ruffled the dog’s fur, curious where it had come from. Most of the dogs in the building knew her and came to her, but this one was different. She glanced up. There were two people standing at the opening of the courtyard. One was the detective that put her on edge, and the other was a striking woman with dark hair, leaning heavily on a cane.

The dog sat before Baylee, looking up with a happy, tongue-lolling expression. Baylee laughed, stroking his ears. Or her ears. She glanced down quickly. His.

“I’m sorry about that,” the woman said, moving toward them. “Gunnar, go do your business.”

The dog gave Baylee a lick on the hands, and she snorted again, then he moved away to water a clump of grass in the yard. The dog wore a black emotional support vest.

Baylee glanced at the woman, and realized she was being stared at as well. Meh, happened a lot. She forced a smile. “He’s a cutie.”

The woman cocked her head. “I think he is, but it’s curious that he came to you. He’s better trained than that, and he knows not to interact with the public when he’s working.”

Baylee shrugged, brushing her hands together. “Dogs and kids like me,” she said simply, and it was the truth.

Detective Hunter stopped a few feet away, as if he knew she didn’t want him close.

The woman smiled, quirking a brow. “Apparently.”

“Cass, this is Baylee Mitchell, the woman I was telling you about. Ms. Mitchell, this is Cass Moran.”

Baylee thought it was curious he didn’t expand on the woman’s name any further. Partner? Girlfriend? She nodded at the woman. “Nice to meet you.” She glanced at the detective. “You were talking about me, hm?”

He winced a little. “Just getting some advice. Cass used to work in the gang suppression unit. She consults now, when we need her to.”

Baylee looked at the woman a little more closely. Yes, she could see the experience written there in her eyes. Had she been injured in the line of duty? Was she still a cop?

“Sounds like you did a good thing taking that guy out,” Cass told her.

Baylee shrugged. “Thank you.”

Cass narrowed her eyes at Baylee. “You need to be aware that the Tango Blast tends to be a retaliatory group. You should keep an eye out for any suspicious characters in the area.”

Baylee quirked a brow. “Have you heard something specific?”

The former detective shook her head. “I just know these guys. They’re an unregimented prison group, kind of flying by the seat of the pants of whoever is in charge. And we believe that was Chino Vega. They’re probably scrambling for dominance right now. And if there’s any chance they can make a name for themselves on the streets, they will.”

Baylee huffed out a breath. “Not sure what kind of name they’d make themselves taking out a nurse.”

“A combat decorated veteran,” Detective Hunter corrected, his eyes direct, “who took out a suspected member and leader of one of the most dangerous gangs in Austin.”

Baylee grimaced. “Regardless, Detective, I don’t think they’ll come after me.”

“The Tango Blast and the Texas Syndicate have been in a turf war for the past two weeks, with the Latin Kings nipping at their heels,” Cass said. “Culminating in what you saw last night. What you didn’t see were the fourteen other men shot and taken to other area hospitals over the past three nights.”

“Okay, that’s bad,” Baylee agreed, “but I don’t think it will come back on me.”

The detective was frowning as he looked at her. Even as she watched, he crossed his arms like a disapproving parent, but he didn’t say anything.

Baylee admired his restraint.

“I’ll be careful. I promise,” she said, giving him a sideways look.

He just stared at her, and she felt a moment of insecurity. Was he looking at her scar? It was kind of hard to miss, running down her face the way it did. She held his stare until he blinked and grimaced, looking away.

Baylee had learned a long time ago that when you pointed out a person’s bad habits, sometimes it was enough to make them change their ways.

“Has anyone talked to his family?” she asked.

“I spoke to his mother,” Cass said, huffing out a breath. “She wasn’t surprised, but she wasn’t happy, either.”

“I’m sure not,” she murmured.

They saw the results of gang violence in the hospital all the time. Even in the pediatrics wing. It seemed like the most innocent were always the ones who paid. She’d seen more than a dozen accidental child shooting victims over her career. And more than a few family breakups over the incidents.

Baylee sighed. There was no good answer to remedy everything. She just had to keep her head down and help the ones she could.

“Well, I need to get going,” Cass said, looking between them. “Gunnar.”

The dog returned to her side, and she took up the leash. “Baylee, it was nice meeting you. Stay safe. Landon, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later, Cass,” he said with a slight wave.

Baylee turned back to the veggie bed, needing something to do with her hands. Hunter was still behind her, and she wasn’t sure why he was staying.

“Do you keep all of these up?” he asked, after the silence had lengthened.

She glanced around. “For the most part. It’s not always easy to get the time down here, but I try.”

“The flowers look nice,” he said, kind of lamely, she thought. She gave him a look from the corner of her eye.

“Thanks, Detective.”

“Call me Landon, please.”