14 - J. T. Ellison [33]
“Why do I get the feeling that isn’t the case? This ring has something that can lead us back to the killer, I can just feel it.”
She heard the garage door go up. “Hey, Baldwin’s home. Let’s talk about this in the morning, okay? Fitz, thank you for doing that. I appreciate you spending your evening in dust.”
“Yeah, you owe me a beer. Tell the fed I said hi.”
“See you.” She hung up the phone, went to meet Baldwin in the kitchen. He was shrugging out of his shoulder holster, balancing a Starbucks cup and his briefcase in one hand and a bundle of roses in the other. He jumped when she entered the room.
“Hey, turn your back. I’ve got something you aren’t supposed to see yet.”
“I already saw them. You got me flowers? Aren’t you the sweetest man alive?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m sweeter.” He handed her the roses, white and red, intertwined with brick-colored gerbera daisies. She took them with her left, used her right to help him unhook from the leather harness.
“Special occasion?”
“Do I need a special occasion to bring flowers to my almost wife?”
“No, of course not.” She dropped the holster on the counter and buried her nose in the flowers. “Mmm, they smell great. I better get them in some water. Where’d you find gerberas this time of year?”
“A man must protect his secrets.”
She rolled her eyes at him, eliciting a laugh. It was all so comfortable, it didn’t feel right. She got the flowers into water, set them thoughtfully on the kitchen table. Baldwin watched her; she felt his eyes on the back of her neck. Jesus, what was wrong with her?
“How was your day?”
“Other than the fact that we’re missing a piece of evidence from the Snow White case? The old cases, I should say.”
“What kind of evidence?” He opened the refrigerator. “Oh, good, you got dinner.”
“Like I’d let you starve.”
They bustled around the kitchen, getting their salads on plates, buttering bread, pouring wine, and Taylor told Baldwin about her afternoon. He listened with sympathy until she asked about his day. They sat on the floor in the living room, their plates on the coffee table, their backs propped with pillows, and talked while they ate.
When they were settled and Taylor was a few bites into her salad, Baldwin answered her question.
“Well, it was interesting, I’ll say that. Tomorrow might be a little crazy.”
She just raised an eyebrow. As if anything could be crazier in this case, in their lives.
“Charlotte Douglas is coming to town.”
“And she would be…?”
“FBI Special Agent Charlotte Douglas. She’s a profiler. Deputy chief of the unit.”
“Well, that’s not unexpected. Are you going to be able to run interference?”
“She’s coming to see you, actually. And bringing one of her forensics team. They have the DNA results.”
Taylor let her fork rest in the romaine, shaking her head at that statement.
“Why the hell haven’t they called and given us the information? Or faxed the report over, at the very least. What’s the big deal? It’s either Snow White or it’s someone else.”
“Yeah. Well, that’s the problem with Charlotte. She’s a bit of a…how do I put this nicely? She’s a drama queen. She wants to swoop in and break the case. She wouldn’t give me the information, either. I told her how unprofessional she was being, but she told me to go to hell.”
“Why am I getting the feeling that there’s more to this?”
“Because you’re a very astute, brilliant, beautiful woman who’s made the incredibly intelligent choice to marry me on Saturday.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
Baldwin shifted. Taylor leaned away from him, plunged her fork into a piece of chicken and fed it into her mouth, watching him struggle with an answer as she chewed.
“So you slept with her. When?”
Baldwin tried for a chagrined smile. “Long before you, I’ll tell you that. Taylor, you have to understand, she means nothing to me. It was a thing, a heat-of-the-moment kind of situation. She’s a viper. A true bitch. I hate her, if that makes you feel better.”
“Why do I get the sense that Miss Charlotte doesn’t hate you?”
“Fair enough.